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wildlyglittering · 3 years ago

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A Love for all Seasons Part 1 (Winter)

I said that I would write a piece for Nessian Month to be posted each Sunday so here is the first!

I’d hoped to have this up earlier but hey ho. I ended up scrapping 8,000 words of something that I’d previously done and re-wrote this in a day. It’s barely edited so I can only apologise for dubious quality and numerous spelling errors.

I asked for prompt requests and this one is based on ‘modern au, Nesta as a ballerina.’ You’ll probably see that it’s not entirely modern au because I just can’t write modern au - sorry!

I’ve decided to link all 4 prompts received together as a 4 part series. Not all other sections will be as long as this one. Probably. I mean, I’ve not written them yet so....

***

Velaris at Solmas was a magical time and Nesta wasn’t thinking metaphorically – Solmas was literally a magical time.

Solmas was a blend of both fae and human traditions and, as a time for celebration, this meant spirits were up and magical shields were down. Active magic rippled through the air as did the leakage from those who had magic but never used it.

No one truly remembered when the lines between fae and human’s merged and there was the possibility the fae had decided to adjust the truth in collective memory to make it seem like they had always been part of the city.

Perhaps they had. Perhaps they hadn’t. Not a human amongst them could tell and not a fae amongst them would.

As centuries passed, or decades - no one was quite sure after all, the fae evolved to blend in. They shed talons, claws and teeth, and moulted wings and shimmering skin.

That wasn’t to say a good deal of them didn’t have remnants of their previous lineage; there were still those who had wings and those who were always followed by a mist. Some slipped from human form like their flesh was a dress.

There wasn’t a fae who didn’t have some magic, however small. But then, so did Nesta and her sisters, Feyre and Elain.

At some point in their collective past, the fae decided they liked the humans and vice versa and so romantic liaisons were not an uncommon occurrence. Despite a few differences, both species were compatible and that was how magic managed to bleed into some human veins. As Feyre said, they were human but with ‘added spice’.

Sometimes all that magic, especially at this heightened time of year, was damned irritating.

That morning Nesta had been in a café, reading her book when a lady biting into a gingerbread man had to stop on account of her baked good starting to scream.

Then, when she’d left to make her way to the ballet, she’d been caught in a snow flurry where the snowflakes took the form of small fairies and danced around her. She’d slapped them away, ignoring their outraged cries.

The walk which should have been ten minutes from her favourite café down into the theatre district ended up taking forty after some enchanted horses pulling sleighs decided to protest and caused a blockage across three streets, causing numerous detours.

When she finally reached the theatre, the peace of her day shattered, Nesta stormed into her dressing room and slammed the door. “Fucking fae.”

Nesta didn’t hate the fae. Technically, you couldn’t. Anytime anyone had a negative thought there was a haze which descended over people’s minds to remind them how much they loved the fae and how pleased they were to live beside them.

The magic in her blood meant the haze was a pithy little thing which Nesta mentally told to shove its pleasantries up its non-existent asshole leading it to drift away, pretending it wasn’t offended.

No, she didn’t hate them but she found them so inconvenient.

Nesta had settled at her dressing table when her door opened following a knock. A head peeked round, long ruby-red hair streaming downwards. One of the fae Nesta did like.

“Nesta?”

“I’m here.”

“Viviane said she’s going to turn a portion of the Sidra into an ice rink later, fancy coming? I might also take an ice-dive. Good for the pores!”

Gwyn, the production assistant at the Velaris City Ballet Company was fae but was classified as a water nymph. Nesta had only discovered this when they took a trip to Adriata the beach city the previous year for a ‘hot girl summer’ and she realised Gwyn had a set of gills accompanying her lungs.

Nesta met Gwyn’s eyes in the mirror and raised an eyebrow.

“What? I can’t help myself; you know that. I take it the ice-rink is a no?”

Nesta shook her head in response as she began on her hair but smiled. Despite herself she really did like Gwyn and Viviane, and a lot of the production company too even though the company was riddled with nepotism and bias.

Few humans managed to win a place in the ballet. Arts and creative pursuits were hard to break into when you were auditioning against fae. The only reason Nesta was as successful as she had been was because of that drop of magical blood.

She reached for the headdress resting next to her make-up. The Solmas production was The Nutcracker which their performance director, Eris had choreographed and screamed over for weeks.

“Tchaikovsky was a close, personal friend of mine,” he’d bragged. “He was fae of course, well – half-fae, but then no one can be perfect.”

Nesta had rolled her eyes and ignored Eris’ glare, not at all intimidated since they both discovered she immune to glamours and spells.

Nesta hadn’t been able to score the prima ballerina role for the production but then she hadn’t for years. How can a human compete with fae who spun in the air and flew on invisible, gossamer wings?

She’d auditioned for the role of Sugar Plum Fairy and wasn’t offered the position on account of the actual fairies also auditioning. If Nesta had managed to win the role then she wouldn’t have lasted a week before a surprise accident befell her, regardless of the amount of protection charms she wore.

The role she had won suited her fine, the dance being one of her favourites – the Illyrian dance. The steps weren’t complex but the performance was all about attitude and frankly, Nesta had that in spades.

When she’d been offered the dance, Gwyn took her aside in the corridor, a frown on her face. “Are you sure you want to perform this Nesta?”

“I know what you’re going to say, the dance should have gone to an Illyrian and you’re right – it should have. I’ve been trying to petition Eris for years now about Illyrian ballerinas but he’s always up to his typical high-fae purist bullshit.”

Gwyn had given a nervous laugh and looked around them, making sure Eris wouldn’t somehow leap out of the wall at the comment. It was a fair suspicion; he’d done it to performers before if they had any critique of him to say.

“Just do the dance cultural justice.”

Nesta swore she would.

On the scale of species hierarchy, full humans remained at the bottom. They were aging mortals with no magic and poor immune systems. The fae laughed themselves silly at the concept of chicken pox and the common cold. However, it didn’t mean every fae species was revered.

High fae like Eris were basically royalty while lesser fae were their middle-class cousins. Nymphs were considered useful and the majority of other fae fell someplace in between.

Illyrians were almost a side step from the hierarchy.

As a species they were immortal, eternally youthful and ripe with magic as powerful as some of the high fae. Some of their bodies were like machines with what they did with them and they would have been able to perform ballet for days on end without breaking.

They also had those vast jet-black wings which were terrifying and enthralling at the same time. It was a shame Illyrian Air didn’t do well, but then there were far too many customer service issues.

The only reason they weren’t on par with the high-fae (in the eyes of the high-fae) was that they weren’t elegant enough. They moved with a violence underneath the surface of their flesh like their blood was fire.

They also had complex histories which no one understood because Illyrians refused to discuss anything about Illyria and their heritage with anyone who wasn’t an Illyrian.

She once asked Feyre about them to be told Illyrians had spent their entire lifetimes being looked down upon by other fae so when those same fae demanded Illyrian secrets, they refused to comply.

Feyre had said, “Cassian told me, ‘Why should we give them anything when we have to fight for everything,’” and Nesta conceded he had a point. Possibly the only point Cassian had ever had but a point nonetheless.

Why was she thinking all this now? Why was she thinking of her baby sister’s stupid friends? She knew very well why.

Gwyn had stepped into Nesta’s dressing room. “Isn’t tonight when your sister and her friends are coming to the show?”

Yes, that was why.

Gwyn leant against the wall, in Nesta’s line of sight in the mirror and Nesta shrugged keeping her voice nonchalant. “Yes, unfortunately.”

It wasn’t unfortunate Feyre was coming, Feyre who loved anything to do with art and ballet but Nesta wasn’t looking forward to the rest. Rhys, Feyre’s half high-fae, half Illyrian boyfriend had all the arrogant superiority of the high-fae and the volatility of the Illyrians with none of the manners.

Nesta was painfully aware Rhys didn’t like her.

The rest of the group were also non-human with Feyre seemingly abandoning humans completely, preferring the exclusive company of Rhys circle of fae friends. Elain was the opposite, living outside the walls of the city in her cottage, wanting nothing to do with fae at all.

Feyre had told Rhys a bunch of stories from their childhood and Rhys didn’t quite comprehend how human sisters worked, didn’t quite comprehend how complex their relationship had been.

The spit of magic in their blood had made things all the more difficult as humans were not the best containers for magic. In Nesta’s eyes what made it worse were all the tattoos Feyre had inked into her skin; amplifiers mostly.

Anger had been born from Nesta’s worry and her worry was from her love.

Feyre understood the root cause of Nesta’s peevishness even if she didn’t like it but Rhys saw disapproval and returned it in kind.

At the thought of some of the attendees Nesta’s heart started doing something change, fluttering away like it was a bird trapped in a cage. She remembered when Ianthe, one of the ensemble, had shown them the pet bird she’d brought.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she’d said, her eyes glittering as her fingernails grew sharp. “Such a pretty pet for me to love.”

Nesta remembered the poor thing desperately trying to fly out of its cage, smashing its wings and beak against the bars.

Ianthe ended up eating it. She’d sobbed she hadn’t meant to but she hadn’t grabbed her protein bar that morning when she’d left her apartment and she was starving.

They couldn’t help it; it was in their nature to consume. The fae were like locusts that way, consuming land, lives, birds. Hearts.

Gwyn’s smile at Nesta’s response stretched into one which took up most of her face and Nesta refrained from shuddering. Nymph embodied the gentle and the harsh of their element. Water nymphs had the ability to be as tranquil and soft as summer rain or as vicious and deadly as a shark in deep water.

“Uh-huh. Will Cassian be attending?”

“I don’t know, probably.”

“Are you nervous about doing the Illyrian dance in front of Illyrians?”

Yes. Terrified.

“No,” she said, “I’ve done my research.”

Eris’ choreography for the dance was lazy and aggressive, rooted in his high-fae misperceptions of Illyrian culture. Nesta convinced Eris to let her put together her own steps and when he let her, not giving a damn about the dance, Nesta sought out the sole Illyrian choreographer in Velaris - a woman named Emerie.

At least the dance would contain authentic steps, she’d just never performed it in front of any Illyrians who weren’t Emerie before.

Gwyn’s grin was still wide.

“Oh, go away would you,” Nesta said with a scowl. “I need to focus before the matinee.”

Gwyn laughed at Nesta’s scowl and Nesta knew Gwyn understood Nesta’s words were harsh but her meaning wasn’t.

“Fine, fine. I’ll see you later, my little witchy dancer.”

Nesta glared at her friends departing back. I’m not a witch, she wanted to say, just a human whose great grandma caught the eye of a high-fae and had at it.

The matinee performance went well. Performances at the Velaris City Ballet Company always went well. The city made it so, drawing in an audience like moths to lamplight.

For all its splendour, Velaris was ancient and small. What was once a human village at the base of the mountains with the Sidra River running wild aside it, grew in population and glamour once the fae came pushing through the veil.

Human technology and fae magic combined to turn the place into something unique which rippled out to other human towns and dwellings but Velaris remained the first and the original.

While other cities grew, Velaris kept its quaintness. Old buildings built from red stone were covered with trailing ivy which bloomed with different flowers depending on the inhabitants’ moods. Rooms would change their size and shape according to the number of people within and wallpapers would shift when required to become something new. A piece of furniture could be a chaise longue in the morning and a mahogany dresser by nightfall.

Outside was no different. The cobbled side streets were slightly off kilter and you could look back, having walked up a steep street only to realise the path you’d walked was now heading a different direction and upwards, not down.

The ballet house was one of the oldest buildings and contained concentrated magic the way a bottle contained liquid. It also meant, much like liquid, if the bottle was shaken then there would be spillage.

Truth told; they’d had some difficulties with previous performances.

The first performance of Sleeping Beauty had left the majority of the audience passed out in their red velvet chairs while thickets of thorns grew up from the stage floor, encompassing the dancers. Nesta had to hack through several vines to reach her dressing room to grab her apartment keys.

The Snow Queen last Solmas followed suit. Viviane had been their prima ballerina that year and was in her utmost element. That had been the worst winter Velaris had ever experienced with uncharacteristic heavy snowfalls and biting frosts. The less said about the temporary missing children and ominous women in sleighs, the better.

Aside from when Eris turned actual rats into human sized dancers and the whole city was put into a three-day long lockdown while fae exterminators went to work, The Nutcracker was going fairly well.

Magic whirled the audience through each act and they heard and tasted and smelt everything being shown to them. Music would drift into their ears as performers danced fluidly across the stage. Some of the audience sobbed, overcome by the magic which sank into their skin.

The experience took some time to get used to if you were human. The first time Nesta had performed ballet in Velaris she was dizzy with nausea and slick with sweat. Now she even managed to use some of her own dormant abilities to counter the effects, or even to add in some of her own.

Before the evening performance began, her phone beeped with a message from Feyre.

Can’t wait to see you dance! Catch up with you afterwards!

Nesta groaned. She’d agreed to go for a drink at the in-house bar with Feyre and the rest but now she wished she was going straight home.

The stage melted away from the dance before hers into Nesta’s scenery as she waited in the wings for her cue. She eyed up the boxes, knowing Rhys had sponsored one for Feyre but didn’t have a clue which one.

The Illyrian dance had a sparse stage, to demonstrate the Illyrian steppes but the painted backdrop was one of Ramiel, the revered Illyrian mountain. Despite the sparsity, the set pulsed with a dry heat; the scent of crackling wood fire and spice filling the air, the sensation of warm winds tickling her skin.

When the music started, she danced on, determined to prove to Illyrian eyes in the audience she would do it justice.

Nesta drew on the same magic which ran in Feyre and Elain’s bones, the same magic Feyre had permanently etched on the surface of her skin. When Nesta leapt, she cast imaginary wings on her back which carried her further forward and higher. When she pirouetted, she was spinning on ice. Her arms were graceful and her legs sharp.

Nesta formed herself into a blade of dance as she undulated her hips and curved her spine. She swore the heat under her skin caused the air to burn around her.

She finished to rapturous applause and resisted eyeing up the boxes again although she wanted to know if any particular hands were clapping.

In the wings Gwyn was waiting and handed her a towel and Nesta realised she was glistening with sweat, droplets highlighting her cleavage.

“Very nice,” Gwyn said, clapping. “A small fire broke out in one of the stalls.”

Before Nesta said anything, Eris walked by with a low whistle. “Great performance, Nesta. I now have a raging boner.”

The women shrieked in disgust and Nesta threw her towel at him. “Animal.”

Eris grinned, “You know it” and his eyes shone as he caught the towel. Nesta made a mental note to ask Elain for more rowan to put around her dressing room door.

Nesta watched the rest of the performances from the wings until curtain close. Usually she never dawdled, always wanting to remove her costume and dress into civilian clothes as quick as possible but tonight she took her time, idly drawing out each minute until she couldn’t avoid her fate forever.

Audience members with children, fae or human often left first, clearing the way for those who wanted to remain behind in the theatre bar. When the fae discovered alcohol a new set of problems arose. Regardless of what species you were, once you were drunk you did stupid things.

The bar was below ground level and took up a vast amount of space. Overstuffed seating was positioned around tables in compartments, each draped with their own set of thick, crimson red curtains with gold tassels. If the occupants wanted privacy, then they had it.

Nesta shimmied past groups; fae, human and mixed, who laughed and clinked their champagne flutes, none recognising her as a dancer they’d watched earlier.

Feyre was likely to have a private booth booked along with the theatre box as Rhys had so much gold he likely melted it down and bathed in it. The last time Nesta met up with Feyre, her little sister had been wearing a diamond encrusted corset top.

Ahead of her stood two figures, both leaning against the open fronted bar and deep in conversation. Cassian and Azriel. No one was able to miss them even if they tried to blend in. Illyrians were known for their size and their wings and not exactly known for their love of ballet.

Almost as though he sensed her arrival, Cassian stopped talking and turned, strands of his black hair falling from his messy bun. Her eyes met his and she felt how she always did whenever they glanced at each other – a little bit anxious, a little bit horny and a little bit excited.

Nesta was worried if she opened her mouth, a thousand butterflies would float upwards from her stomach.

The look on his face, one she couldn’t place, slipped into something familiar as she drew nearer. Cassian smirked at her and followed it up with a slow, obvious glance from head to toe.

“Hello, Nesta.” He drawled his words, husky and deep. His voice was a baritone which always had her itching to dance across his words. Illyrian magic wasn’t the strongest but those who wielded it were.

What Illyrians wielded their magic for was anyone’s guess but if she had to, Nesta would have guessed it was for making panties drop if the turning heads of the crowd and little sighs was any indication.

There had been occasions where she too was driven with the need to show him more skin of hers then he deserved, to beg him to lay her down and cover her body in honey before licking it off with rasps of his tongue.

Must have been magic.

“Cassian,” she said with barely a nod and turned to his companion. “Azriel.”

Azriel nodded back a polite hello while Cassian leant against the bar directly facing her, wearing a grin as sharkish as Gwyn’s. She was like a lamb on the ground being circled by a taloned beast.

“Interesting performance.”

Azriel coughed at Cassian’s words, spluttering on the beer he was drinking and Nesta frowned, heat flooding her cheeks. Was he mocking her?

If he was, she wouldn’t give his smugly handsome self the satisfaction of getting to her and instead she ignored his words asking who else was here and where her sister was.

“Feyre, Rhys, Az and me. Amren came to watch the ballet but didn’t stay for drinks.”

“And where’s my sister and Rhys now?”

Cassian jerked his head over to the direction of the compartments. “They’re having a private ‘conversation’ behind closed curtains.”

Nesta’s face twisted in disgust. Fucking fae. Always fucking.

“Why didn’t Amren stay?”

“She never sticks around after The Nutcracker. Says it’s derogatory and insulting and she only comes to refill her well of rage.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, what was it she said Az? That the performances were brimming with cultural appropriation?”

The heat on Nesta’s cheeks turned into furnace. It wasn’t as though Cassian explicitly referred to Nesta’s performance but his words had to crawled under her skin. Feyre’s fae friends weren’t fans of Nesta’s, not after Rhys had spilled to them everything Feyre had told him.

For a group so ancient, they acted like spoilt human teenagers. Nesta would take the high road and try and find dignity in silence.

The bartender brought out another beer for Azriel and a glass of dark liquor for Cassian. A glass of wine from the Rosehall vineyard was handed to her and she was surprised someone had the foresight to order for her before she arrived, and with her favourite drink.

“Did you not like it then?” Nesta asked after taking a sip, her voice light. Azriel coughed again and this time Cassian shot him a glare, his rough-hewn face growing solemn before sliding into his more casual expression.

“There were some authentic Illyrian steps involved which is impressive. Didn’t realise old Eris had it in him.”

“It wasn’t Eris,” Nesta said, “It was me. I found an Illyrian choreographer in the city and she taught me some steps.”

Cassian’s face stilled for a moment, motionless like stone before letting out a roaring laugh which reverberated around the bar. The lesser fae behind him jumped and splashed his drink on the counter, quivering in fright.

“Well, that explains it!”

Nesta’s flesh prickled, her skin chilling in the overly warm bar. Goodness knows what she’d been dancing. Some dance of self-mockery probably. Her throat was burning and she didn’t understand whether she was upset because she thought Emerie liked her or upset because Cassian had seen.

Nesta’s fingers clenched the stem of the wine glass and she took a gulp of her drink, downing almost half as her hand wavered and her eyes watered. Cassian immediately stopped grinning.

“It was a beautiful dance,” Azriel said from her right and she turned to him, his face serious. “Other performances of The Nutcracker have the Illyrian dance as the violent, hostile war dance. Yours was the best one I’ve seen. Cassian liked it very much.”

Nesta whispered her thanks, looking between the Illyrians standing at either side of her who were now glaring at each other. She was out-flanked next to their bulk and she wished her sister was done doing whatever the hell she was doing so Nesta could say her hellos and goodbyes and get out of there.

“There’s only one Illyrian choreographer in this city,” Cassian said, his voice softer as his fingers trailed around his glass rim. “No other Illyrian would ever bother with this place.”

Nesta looked around the theatre at its gilded gold décor and red curtains but somehow knew Cassian was referring to Velaris as a whole. Illyrians never came to the city to visit, let alone live.

She glanced at him and found his smile was gentler and his hazel eyes, which always bordered on lascivious, were kinder somehow. Perhaps he hadn’t meant to mock her, perhaps he realised his raucous laughter had hurt.

He had no reason to care if he’d hurt her feelings and she shouldn’t have cared either but there had been a sting to his words which sunk deeper than she’d liked. She wasn’t opposed if he wanted to soothe over his words.

But she wasn’t about to let him know that. Instead, she fixed a bored expression onto her face. “Oh,” she said, looking into her glass as she swirled her wine around, “and who would that be?”

Cassian, still leaning against the bar, mirrored her by looking into his own glass before taking a sip.

“A friend of mine from the old country moved here a couple of years ago because her attempt at bringing ballet into the township was less than successful. You know her human name as Emerie.”

Cassian was still leaning against the bar, now looking into his own deep amber coloured liquid before taking a sip.

Nesta’s head snapped up to find Cassian now looking intently at her. “Yes, that’s her.”

“Figured,” Cassian said with a chuckle and took another long sip.

His mood seemed less jovial than before, more pensive and Nesta glanced around to discover Azriel had gone from her side. She looked around the crowds but didn’t see sight of him. How she lost an Illyrian of his stature she didn’t know but when she whipped her head around to the booth Cassian gestured towards earlier, the curtains were still closed.

She didn’t even have it in her to be irritated. The whole night was a wash-out and because of the stupid enchanted horse incident earlier closing streets, she was now adding additional time to her walk home.

“Well, then,” she said. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired; I have another two performances tomorrow and I want to head out and avoid any festive idiots.”

Cassian stood upright, alert and facing her, his glass sloshing the liquid violently as he placed it back onto the bar a little too hard. His wings flexed. “You haven’t seen Feyre yet.”

“If Feyre wanted to catch up with me then she wouldn’t be playing hide the fae penis with her boyfriend right now.” Her tone was sharp and she glared at Cassian. “It doesn’t take much to say a quick hello to your sister.”

Did Nesta care if Cassian thought her rude? Not a fucking bit. Despite Elain living an hour outside the city and Feyre only living on the other side, a journey which took less than a minute travelling by Winnow Express, Feyre was the sister Nesta saw the least.

“If she comes out at any point,” Nesta continued, “tell her I’ll call her.”

It wasn’t a lie when she said she was tired. Two performances a day took it out of her let alone when magic clung in the air at Solmas and let alone the fact that Nesta had used a tiny amount of her own as some kind of performance enhancer.

Whatever energy reserves she had was depleted, the glass of wine making her feel like she’d drank the entire bottle.

Nesta didn’t bother saying goodbye to Cassian, just left her empty glass on the counter and spun around.

Being a ballerina was on her side as she wove through the crowd and up into the foyer which was blissfully empty. Sadly, the world outside the doors was not so much and Nesta took a breath before wrapping herself in her stole.

The statues guarding the entrance waved her a goodbye, one with a human Santa hat adorning its head and the other with a fae garland wrapped around its waist. Nesta rolled her eyes. Human and fae decorations were put on everything so management could say they’d met their Equal Opportunities criteria.

Nesta stepped onto the pavement and looked down the street of the theatre district.

She couldn’t deny Velaris at night was beautiful.

History books stated the first fae who settled in the city were night dwellers and while they were able to survive in the sun, it was under the starlit sky where they thrived. So, the stories went that they made the night spectacular.

The ink black sky was painted with whorls of galaxies and splashed with stars. At first glance everything appeared white but when Nesta looked closer it was clear they were silver and gold and the purest, palest blue.

Feyre had once told her fae eyes saw more colours than humans and the stars were a multitude of colours – the rainbow and beyond. One of Feyre’s tattoos was designed to allow her to see what the fae saw.

The theatre district was still buzzing with humans and fae alike. Because of the nature of the city, it was usual for the streets to be filled until the early hours of the morning and after any performance in the theatre district there was no time for relaxing.

There was always residual magic left over from the ballet. The ballet theatre was the largest of the theatre buildings and so the magic started strongest at the end Nesta now stood before dissipating the further away you walked.

Snowflakes and flowers alike drifted down from the empty, cloudless sky. The Waltz of the Snowflakes and the Waltz of the Flowers often combatted against each other for prominence in their audience’s minds and refused to give in to each even after the show was done.

Thankfully, the Land of the Sweets didn’t involve themselves in this battle. They had done one performance many weeks ago and when chocolate rained from the sky it was delightful. Boiling hot coffee? Not so much.

Nesta navigated her way though the cobbles and crowds as petals landed in her hair and snowflakes melted on her eyelashes. She heaved a sigh of relief when she made it to the end past the gathered individuals who spilled out of the smaller theatres and theatre bars.

She turned left to go into a side street and stopped, almost tripping over her own feet.

Leaning against the wall, silhouetted against the streetlamps and fae lights was the hulking shape of an Illyrian.

“What are you-? How did you-?”

Cassian laughed as he used his elbow to propel himself from the wall and stride towards her. “What am I doing here and how did I get here so fast?”

“Well... yeah.”

“Wings,” he said, jabbing his thumbs in the direction behind him. “They come in useful from time to time. I thought I would fly you home.”

Nesta eyed up the wings behind him, remembering all the news reports of Illyrian Air. “No thank you, I like the walk.”

“Ok, then I’ll walk with you. Make sure you get home safe.”

She frowned. Nesta had lived in this city all her life and despite the occasional fae related incident which was brought on by personal vendetta, unavoidable prophecy from birth or magic spell gone wrong, Velaris was a safe place.

It also helped that Nesta had that splash of fae blood herself and a glare which froze bones. Literally. There had been an incident with an ex-boyfriend but she’d filed an explanation with the police and it was never brought up again.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“I know you don’t but I’d still like to walk you. Please.” The last word was said so softly she almost didn’t hear it but she caught the imploration.

Cassian stepped further into the light of a streetlamp, a few pale pink petals falling from his shoulders, desperation in his eyes.

Nesta sighed. “Fine, but I’m on the other side of the Sidra. The quickest route is over Mermaid Bridge.”

Cassian paused for a moment, “Mermaid Bridge? There won’t be any actual mermaids on it right?”

“Not at this time of year, the water’s too cold and they travel south.”

“Thank god, one of my ex’s was a mermaid. They are terrifying.”

Nesta shook her head, not able to imagine a creature of his size being scared of anything. They started walking in companionable silence. The further away from the city centre they strode, the more the crowds thinned.

Some shops remained open, including the café Nesta sat in earlier and groups had gathered around tables to laugh over mugs of frothy hot chocolate which overflowed with cream. Cinnamon, gingerbread, and candy cane scented the air.

As they walked, humans and fae alike paled when they crossed paths with Cassian and many darted out of his way. One lesser fae flattened himself against the red brick wall while another gave a quiet yelp and ran down an alley.

Nesta glanced up at Cassian but either he was pretending he didn’t notice the running onlookers or he didn’t care.

“What do you do?” she asked. She knew nothing about any of Feyre’s friends in any detail. “For that matter what do any of you do?”

Cassian laughed. “Rhys has a lot of inherited wealth, Amren trades precious stones – we think from the old dragon mines, and no one has a clue what Azriel does. I’m a bounty hunter.”

Oh.

“Caught anyone I’d have heard of?”

“Heard of the Tooth Fairy?”

Nesta grimaced, quickly swooping her tongue over her teeth. “Yes.”

“He was one of mine. So was the Bone Carver, the Weaver and Lanthys.”

Nesta’s eyebrows shot up. “Lanthys? The gold miner? What did he do? Wait, I don’t want to know. He asked me out once.”

Cassian glanced over at her; his own eyebrows raised. “Yeah? Did you say yes?”

Nesta pulled a face. “Good grief, no. He kept sending me telepathic dick pics. It’s bad enough being sent dick pics across dating apps.”

They approached Mermaid Bridge, which was, as Nesta said, devoid of the creature it was named for. Lights twinkled on the other side of the city, the residential side where Nesta lived. There were shrieks of delight further up the river in the dark and Nesta wondered if Gwyn was ice-diving next to Viviane’s ice rink.

Cassian coughed. “You’re on dating apps?”

“Not many, I thought I’d give them a go. My sisters are busy, I only have a few friends and I need something other than work in my life.”

“Yeah, I understand. ‘All work and no play’ make Cassian a dull boy too. The play part of life is fun,” he looked at her from the side of his eye and winked.

Nesta felt the blush spread across her cheeks and she willed it down with whatever force she had left. She wasn’t a virgin so she wasn’t about to start blushing like one.

They climbed the steps to the bridge and walked across. Of all the bridges which connected the two halves of the city, this was Gwyn’s favourite. Nesta’s human eyes couldn’t pick out the colours at night but in the day the railings glittered gold and shimmered with turquoise gems.

“Do you date?” The words slipped out before she stopped them. “You mentioned a mermaid ex so....”

Cassian’s laugh was more a breath and he started to smooth down non-existent knots in his hair. “Yes. Well...no. I did but work is busy and I’m sort of interested in someone and I guess until I purge them from my system, I’m not interested in anyone else.”

“How long have you been interested in them?”

“A while.”

“Why don’t you ask them out rather than eradicate them from your options?”

Nesta wanted to slap herself in the face. Or pitch herself off the bridge into the black, ice-cold water. Even as she was speaking, she wanted to not be but it was as though her mouth and mind had fallen out and no longer wanted anything to do with each other.

Cassian shrugged, “I guess. They just never struck me as someone interested in dating fae.”

They came to the end of the bridge and Nesta looked upwards at the sky. On this side of the river without the city lights, the stars were clearer to her eyes, more defined. One shot across the sky.

“You should go for it,” Nesta said, “you might be surprised.”

“Maybe,” Cassian sighed. “She’s kind of intimidating though.”

“You’re over six foot tall with massive wings and can use magic. I’m sure you’re more intimidating.”

“Me? Nah, I’m sure she thinks I’m an oversized bat.”

Nesta cringed. Those had been her words once a couple of years ago when she was first introduced to Feyre’s new friendship group and the Illyrian’s within. She didn’t think they’d heard her say it but then again, fae hearing was something exceptional along with fae sight.

The streets they walked were now quieter, the hustle and bustle of the inner-city gone. The chill settled in easier on this side of the river and Nesta knew she’d wake to frost across her window panes in the morning.

They were silent until they reached her apartment building, halfway up one of the steepest lanes. It was a small four storey which wasn’t spacious or modern but it gave her brilliant view across the river and Velaris and most importantly, it was hers.

“This is me,” she said, stopping outside the steps leading to the red entrance door. “Thank you for walking me back.” It was on the tip of her tongue to invite Cassian in for coffee but she held back.

He smiled, his eyes warm and shining. “Honestly it was my pleasure.” He leant forward, the sheer bulk of him covering Nesta and for a moment she thought he would kiss her but instead he took her slim fingered hand in his larger one and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand.

“Goodnight,” he said, “I hope you have a good Solmas Day when it comes.”

Cassian was no ballet dancer but he sure moved like one, letting go of her hand and swivelling to face the direction they’d walked in from, marching down the slope of her street while Nesta stared at his retreating back.

He was clad in black and would have easily blended into his surroundings if not for the red jewels he wore at his wrists.

Nesta gaped down at the back of her hand, her mouth open. She still felt his lips, warm and soft, on her skin.

“Wait!”

Cassian turned back to face her, tilting his head.

“I’m sorry if my performance in the ballet was offensive. I know Azriel said it was beautiful and that you liked it but if that was a lie to save my feelings, it’s ok. I went to Emerie because I wanted to make it authentic. I should have left it alone.”

Cassian smiled but it wasn’t mocking. He took a few steps back up the street towards her. “You know I said Emerie was a friend from the old country?”

Nesta nodded.

“She’s a really good friend. I like her a lot. She’s no nonsense with a great heart. I was trying to set her up with Rhys’ cousin Mor and in the process we got talking about dating and relationships and she asked if there was anyone, I was interested in. As it happens, I discovered this evening that she knows the person I was talking about. I’m sure she saw this as her opportunity to do some matchmaking of her own.”

“Oh,” Nesta said, her throat dry.

“Yeah. I also happened to tell her in one conversation I would be watching The Nutcracker this year on account of it being Solmas. So, there you go.”

The butterflies were flittering in Nesta’s stomach again and Cassian’s words were taking shape in her mind and building a story. “The steps Emerie taught me for the Illyrian dance – was that an invitation?”

Cassian’s smile stretched wide and he tilted his head back and laughed, the dark column of his throat shining in the starlight. “Oh yes, a very specific invitation. Emerie must have had the day of her life when she pieced everything together.”

The flittering in her stomach was now pooling in her chest. This type of conversation should have her fleeing up the steps and racing through the foyer until she threw herself into her cold bed to hide under the covers.

Nesta wanted to know what she’d inadvertently done without meaning to. Not that she minded whatever it was she’d done.

“What did I dance then, Cassian?” Her voice was lower than usual and rich like the overflowing cream in the café.

Cassian’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hazel eyes were almost black. “The dance you performed half naked on a heated stage was most definitely an invitation, Nesta.” He smiled at her again, soft like before but there was something behind it. Suddenly he was a wolf and she the lamb again. He was all claws and teeth and animal.

A shiver of anticipation ran through her. Her pulse beating in her throat, drawing Cassian’s eye.

“Oh, Nesta,” Cassian said, his voice almost a growl. “You performed an Illyrian dance of seduction.”

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makeste · 4 years ago

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obstacles do not block the path

they are the path.

or something. it’s a zen proverb. anyway, so this is yet another post about Bakugou potentially losing his quirk. I’m gonna try to articulate it a little better this time. rather than just explaining why I think it’s likely to happen, I tried to explain why I think this specific and as-yet-still-hypothetical character decision is a very deliberate and purposeful one. in other words, this isn’t my argument for why it will happen; this is a post about why it should happen.

to start, there are two Horikoshi interviews which I want to quote here, and the reason I’m quoting them is because they do a good job of summing up the dual nature of the hero model that BnHA is built on. I’ll start with the longer quote, which is Horikoshi’s answer to the question, “so Sensei, what heroes do you like?”

[It would] probably have to be Goku and Spider-Man. To me, when mentioning heroes, these two are the ones that I think of. In Goku’s case, it’s the reassurance that everything is going to be fine which he brings when arriving. Such as, on Namek, Goku was getting healed, and his friends were all beaten badly. When Goku finally recovered and walked out of the healing machine, that reassurance right there is what I’m talking about. Something like “Ah, everything is going to be fine”. When I first read it and saw it was really Goku who had arrived, I continued reading thinking the thought “gonna win”. (laughs) That reassurance is something that all of the other characters don’t have. I thought about it afterwards, and even though there are a variety of heroes, the hero model that is built up in my mind is built around the concept that the hero is somebody that brings reassurance. That’s why I think a hero to me is somebody that helps and brings reassurance to others.

In Spider-Man’s case, the first experience I had with this character was the movie, in which there were a lot of scenes with him rescuing people, which I felt that was really cool. The moment he “saves somebody” is really awesome. Well, in Goku’s case, it’s because he likes fighting that he fights, so that’s a bit different. (laughs) You can say that Spider-Man and Goku are two different aspects of being a hero.

I’m sure you all can figure out just who Goku and Spider-Man each represent in respect to our beloved series.

as for the second Horikoshi quote, this one is much shorter. just a single line, actually, in regards to the development of Bakugou’s character:

I also thought to have [Bakugou] and Deku improve on two separate vectors as they entered U.A.

that’s it. just a single sentence lol. except that this one sentence can basically be used to sum up the entirety of Bakugou’s character development throughout the series, and it also serves as a roadmap as to what I think might happen next.

let’s start with the very first line in the series.

this sets the stage for everything that happens next. it establishes who these characters are right from the get-go. we see the hierarchy of quirk society, and we see two children born on polar opposites of the spectrum. Izuku, who was born quirkless, who exists at the bottom of the food chain. and Katsuki, born with a powerful quirk and the natural talent to back it up, who sits comfortably at the very top of the pyramid. two children who, from a very young age, are set up to walk completely different paths in life.

and yet the curious thing is, their goals are the same.

they both want to be like All Might. interestingly, though, they look up to him for different reasons. each boy admires All Might for what they see of themselves in him. Izuku sees a hero who protects others and works to save them no matter what. and Katsuki sees a champion who never gives up and who always emerges victorious.

and what the story eventually goes on to explain is that these are two halves of the same hero. Spider-Man, who rescues people and brings them hope. and Goku, who always wins no matter what, and by doing so brings reassurance to others. these two aspects together make up the perfect, consummate hero which both Izuku and Katsuki aspire to be. and the story is about how they get there.

but it’s that how that’s really where things begin to get interesting. because as previously mentioned, Katsuki and Izuku each start out their respective journeys in very different places. their origins, their “starting lines” as the series sometimes puts it, are polar opposites of one another, and yet they both are heading for the same goal. they want the same thing, but to get there, they each have to journey from a different place.

and what that means is that right from the start, it was impossible for Izuku and Katsuki’s journeys to be the same. more than that, they’re not just different journeys, they’re the opposite journeys. if you start from two opposing ends of a path facing towards the same goal, the only way for you to reach that goal is by traveling in the exact opposite direction as the other person. as an illustration of this, please accept this visual aid which I drew with love:

eh. eh.

so let’s continue to retrace each of their paths as the story progresses. we’ll start with Izuku first. his story begins when he receives One for All, a quirk that allows him to compete with other would-be heroes on equal ground for the first time. by this point he has already learned inner strength and compassion and selflessness. he already cares deeply about others. and so his trajectory now veers towards him learning what it means to be a champion. learning the things that Katsuki already knows.

and Izuku makes a lot of mistakes when he first starts out. he is too selfless. he rushes in to save others without sparing any thought for himself, resulting in repeated instances of him getting in over his head and getting injured and taking himself out of the fight. he almost gets himself expelled for this on the very first day of hero school, and Aizawa’s very first order of business is to chew him out over how irresponsible he is.

we see Izuku struggle to learn how to inspire others and be a leader, traits which happen to come to Katsuki naturally. Katsuki instinctively smiles when he’s up against a wall. he inspires others without even trying -- inspires them even in spite of his abrasive personality. but these are things which don’t come naturally to Izuku. Izuku is more inclined to follow than lead, because he doesn’t feel compelled to put himself in the spotlight, and because he is cooperative and will defer to others who are more aggressive about putting themselves in the leader role. Izuku doesn’t do the whole hero grin thing naturally, either; this is something he has to be coached on and consciously think about, and his early efforts are a bit hit-or-miss.

Izuku is more focused on saving people, and sometimes misses the fact that in order to do so, sometimes the best course of action is to just straight up beat the shit out of the bad guy(s). he learns this over the course of the series, and we see him doing the never-give-up thing against Muscular, and Overhaul, and Gentle. and Izuku’s selfless nature almost causes him to give up OFA to Mirio because he sees him as being more worthy; Mirio has to talk him out of it in order to stop him. in short, Izuku’s arc is all about him gradually learning confidence and becoming a badass.

now contrast this against Katsuki’s arc, which has the opposite trajectory. Katsuki starts out as someone who is already strong and confident. he is hard-working and driven and dedicated to his own self-improvement. he’s a prodigy when it comes to battle, and his determination to succeed inspires others to challenge and push themselves in order to keep up with him.

he is a natural leader, and a terrible follower. and he completely overlooks the “saving people” aspect of being a hero in favor of the “kicking ass” part.

so now here’s the interesting thing. Izuku’s growth comes from achieving new things and gaining new abilities and skills. his growth comes from experiencing victory and success. but Katsuki’s growth takes the exact opposite path. as someone who has experienced success his entire life, Katsuki’s first steps toward progress only come once he starts experiencing failure for the very first time. it might seem counterintuitive, but his breakthroughs only come after he experiences setbacks. because just like Izuku needed to experience victory in order to grow, Katsuki needed to experience loss. just as Izuku needed to grow stronger, Katsuki needed to learn what it was like to experience weakness. without that understanding, his growth would have stagnated.

so from a certain perspective, the story’s treatment of Katsuki vs Izuku might not seem fair. Izuku constantly receives help while Katsuki only faces hindrances. Izuku’s strength only ever seems to increase, while Katsuki is repeatedly confronted by his own limitations. he’s attacked by villains. he’s kidnapped. he blames himself for his hero’s downfall. etc. etc. etc.

but the reason why Horikoshi keeps putting him through all these situations is because in order to have someone grow as a character, you need to have them slowly overcome their flaws. and it just so happens that Izuku and Katsuki’s flaws are the exact opposites of each other’s. and so when you think about it, it only makes sense that in order for them to develop, they’re going to need to take opposite routes. “what they lack” is completely different. and thus “what they need to gain” will also be completely different. this is something which has been very plainly laid out from the earliest chapters of the series...

...and which has been hammered into our heads over and over again ever since.

anyway! enough of my long-winded rambling. you get the point! Katsuki and Izuku have the same goal but are approaching it from opposite sides. just as they are mirrors of each other, so are their arcs mirrors of each other’s arcs. they balance each other out.

but now I’m going to add on a bit more to that, though, so just hear me out. yes, it’s very good and wonderful that they can do this. their strengths complement each other’s flaws; their weaknesses offset. the two of them can and will one day be unstoppable together, and all of that is cool and great and epic.

but it’s also limiting to think of the two of them solely in these kinds of terms; as half-formed individuals who can only be complete and whole when they’re by each other’s side. they are each still their own person as well! and in order for them to achieve this same kind of balance within themselves, they can’t just simply meet in the middle and be done with it. both of them need to continue to walk down their respective paths and experience each other’s side, not just their own. here, let me just break it down:

Deku: starts out quirkless -> learns humility and compassion and how to put others before himself -> gets a quirk -> learns how to be strong and win and inspire courage in others -> becomes a hero that both wins and saves.

Kacchan: starts out with a good quirk -> learns how to be strong and win and inspire courage in others -> ??? -> learns humility and compassion and how to put others before himself -> becomes a hero that both saves and wins.

ah. and now we finally get to our actual fucking point lol.

do you see?? they are perfect mirrors of each other, except for one critical juncture. Izuku grew up on Rescue Road, but the entrance to Beating Villains Boulevard was always barricaded off. until one day he finally got a quirk, and so was permitted entry. meanwhile, Katsuki has lived on BV Blvd his entire life, and until very recently he never even knew there was a Rescue Rd. and now that he finally does know, he’s been working very hard to get there, and has made many detours all over Plot Parkway, and has finally reached the point where he’s at least able to see the road that leads where he needs to go. but he still hasn’t gotten there yet. for him it’s still barricaded off in the same way that his road was once barricaded off to Izuku.

and there are other ways for him to gain access to this road. ways which involve far less pain and suffering, tbh! but the problem is, he’s never been the type of boy who has the patience for any of those other roads. he can’t be bothered to take the scenic route there. he’s in a rush. and so he keeps on trying to force his way past the barricade using brute strength and whatever other means he can think of, perhaps even trying to use the toll pass he got back on his own street (stay with me, metaphor; we’re in this till the bitter end now), thinking that if it worked over there, it should work for him here too. but it doesn’t. and the longer he keeps pressing up against this barricade, the more frustrated he becomes.

and meanwhile Izuku has already made himself at home over on Katsuki’s own street. and so that sure is annoying! except it turns out that by watching Izuku very closely, Katsuki can sort of get an idea of how they do things over on Izuku’s old street, just like Izuku once observed Katsuki and admired him as the closest he could get to being on BV Blvd himself. so at least that’s something. and the more Katsuki does observe and imitate him, the more he’s actually able to do a passing impression of a true Rescue Rd native. and maybe eventually he even starts thinking to himself, I don’t really need to go down this stupid road anyway, even though deep down he knows that the only route through to All Might Avenue is through that road. and also though, the other thing is that seeing as he’s only ever lived on his own street, he still thinks, even now, that his street is objectively the better of the two and the more important.

but that’s not how it works. the plain fact of the matter is that in order to get to All Might Ave you need to pass through both roads. if it was just Hero Highway that they were trying to reach? well then sure! that one’s easy. exit’s right over there. but they don’t want plain old Hero Highway. they want All Might Ave. they want to be the best heroes. they want to complete their respective character journeys. and to do that, Kacchan needs to find what he lacks. and to do that, he needs to gain access to this road.

so what I’m trying to say here is that because of who Katsuki is, and because of what his goal is, the surest and most logical way to complete his character arc is by bringing it around full circle as a mirror to Izuku’s. in order to fulfill his goal of becoming the best hero, Katsuki has to lose his quirk. it’s symmetry. it’s yin and yang. it’s equilibrium. in order to move forward he must first go back. in order to win, he has to lose. for him, this is the missing piece.

and just to clarify, because I feel like this needs to be said: this is not about “redemption through suffering”, though. it’s not “oh he deserves it for how he treated Izuku all those years ago.” and it’s not “let’s make the audience feel sorry for poor little Kacchan so that they feel more sympathetic towards him”, either. that’s not it at all! because the thing is, this isn’t about punishment; this is about fulfillment. this isn’t angst for the sake of angst. this is about placing a very deliberately and meticulously crafted obstacle in front of him for the purpose of forcing him to learn how to overcome it.

because he will overcome it. this is Bakugou fucking Katsuki. he is not fragile. he is not delicate or frail. and so for anyone who’s worried this might be a crushing mental blow? I think you just might be underestimating him.

that’s not to say it won’t be grueling for him, mind. losing his quirk would mean coming face to face with the very real possibility of losing his dream too. because society doesn’t believe that people without quirks can be heroes. Katsuki himself never believed that someone without a quirk could be a hero.

but you know who did believe that? because he had to believe it, growing up, because no one else believed in him?

yeah. that’s right.

you see, for Izuku, his own intrinsic worth isn’t inherently tied to his quirk, because growing up he never had a quirk. now contrast that with Katsuki, whose own sense of self-worth is completely wrapped up in his quirk, his strength, his natural talent. Katsuki, who grew up being told how amazing his quirk was, and believing that the hierarchy of the world around him meant that having a good quirk placed him above other who didn’t. and who consequently also grew up with a correspondingly huge fear of failure, because his sense of security and fulfillment is contingent on his being strong. and if that were ever to change, to him that would mean a total loss of everything he is, everything he’s ever known, and everything he is striving to be.

“lol I thought you just said this wouldn’t be the crushing blow for him”, and yeah, lol, fair enough. but this is also exactly why it’s so important for him to finally face this fear head on. because even though it frightens him, even though it would devastate him, I don’t think it would defeat him. rather, I think that once he came to terms with what had happened and accepted it, he would do what he always does. he would rise back up.

because in spite of what he has always feared, he isn’t weak. and so even though losing his quirk would be harrowing, I think that, if done right, it could also be liberating and even empowering. because it’s him facing his fears. it’s an obstacle to overcome for the sake of him realizing that he can overcome it. because him being quirkless is not, in fact, the end of the world.

because his strength isn’t in his quirk -- it’s in his spirit. exactly like the boy he once secretly feared. exactly the same as Izuku.

so yeah. that’s basically it. tl;dr Deku and Kacchan are on opposite vectors and Katsuki’s is becoming particularly hazardous to navigate at the moment, but what at first glance seems to be a potential death blow could in fact be the thing that finally propels him forward towards where he wants to go and who he truly wants to be. and I am here for it. I want my boy to find himself some enlightenment. and then to rise back up again like the badass he is.

#bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku #bnha meta #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #some of this is partially in response to a long anon ask I received about two weeks ago and never replied to sob #sorry anon!!#also on that note I feel like I should mention that one of the unintended side effects of writing all these metas about bk losing his quirk #is that it lends the impression that I am more fiercely committed to this theory than I actually am lol #like it won't be the end of the world or anything if it doesn't actually happen #I just like talking about why I think it would be interesting and compelling and thematically fitting if it did #quirkless!bakugou #bakugou meta

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kaberkhart · 4 years ago

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The Haunting of Oakspane : Part 2

Author's Note: This story was previously titled "Incandescence" it has since been completed and renamed! I will continue to post parts here

Wattpad: @ka_berkhart

Three weeks had past since Amber's body was pulled out of the lake and the academy was still quiet. Even with the hustle of final examinations and the approaching holidays Oakspane stood in silence. I swirled the glass of wine in my hand and brought it to my lips. A gentle Cabernet Sauvignon, courtesy of our drama director Johnathan Anderson. Johnathan was twenty four, fresh out of graduate school, and forever in touch with his youth. From my place at the crackling fire, I watched as he instructed Darrius through his final act of Hamlet. How ironic. A boy who had recently lost his lover lamented the ode of a suicidal man. I wondered how he could still hold it together. If it had been me I would have jumped in the lake and swam to my death with my lover. Darrius's voice echoed off the walls of the Drama club study. The study was hidden away in a private tower on the East side of campus. We were known as The Stags, a name that preceded our birth's and rang with the academy's legacy. In order to enter the tower each Stag owned a single gold key that fit perfectly into the main doors lock. There was no other way in or out. John, Johnny as he often liked to be called, brought wine to our meetings. He would droll in his now Americanized French accent about how intoxication stimulated the brain. I took it as nothing more than a sea of funny words to mean that he was an alcoholic who just didn't like to get drunk alone. I wasn't complaining, Cabernet Sauvignon was light on the pallet and the more I drank the farther the Oakspane lake got behind me. I brought my knees to my chest and watched the rehearsal unfold. Darrius stood front in center singing his song of sorrow and Johnny stood in the foreground echoing him. I watched as Darrius respectful took Johnny's direction, but I could see the jaded expression behind his eyes. Criticism, a rich boy's worst enemy. Tania entered the scene and took her place beside Darrius. She was our new Ophelia. The role had previously belonged to Amber who was always a favorite on stage, but now that she was gone a new hierarchy within our club had been set. In the flickering light of the candle's flames Tania was a divine picture of femininity. Her thick curly hair bounced in the light. The champagne tinted dress she wore draped elegantly over her subtle curves. Her voice held a softness that I could never master in my own. I felt myself grow envious and I took another sip of wine. Yes, a new hierarchy had been set and I was still at the bottom of the list. The scene came to an end and Johnny called out for us to take five. I had been taking five since I entered the tower. That was the life of the technical assistant. Never on stage, never heard, but always right there in the background. While the actors presented the fantasy to our audience my eyes would always see the truth. Darrius took a seat in a velvet armchair and Tania promptly followed to his lap. They weren't keeping their relationship secret anymore, but still the question remained: How long had it really been going on? "What'd you think?" I looked up to see Aiko taking the empty space beside me. I turned my body towards the flames so I wouldn't have to face her. Aiko was the leader of the technical team. She grew up as a theater prodigy, directing her first show in Japan at age four then touring with her parents directing every show their pockets could produce. At age ten they moved to America and sold out Carnage Hall with her rendition of Macbeth. Rumor had it that she had the choice to enter graduate school on a full scholarship but chose the academy instead. She wanted to experience life with other students; real life. Was this real life Aiko? authors note: part 2 will be continued in my next post!

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 6 years ago

Note

Hey! I love all your recs so much thank you for taking the time! Please can you put together a list of fics where everyone thinks Stiles is amazing or gorgeous and he has no idea? Thank you!!

Here’s a bunch of insecure!Stiles. - Anastasia

Best Laid Plans of Wolves and Men by Jerakeen

(1/1 I 2,026 I Teen I Sterek)

Maybe murder seems better to Derek than being Stiles Stilinski's pretend boyfriend.

Blood Moon Run by jackgyeoms

(1/1 I 2,292 I Explicit)

Stiles wasn't really sure why everyone insisted that he participate in the Blood Moon Run.

Or the one where Stiles doesn't want to run but has to, and it ends up being a very good thing.

A Question of Pack by CawCawMF

(1/1 I 5,290 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles had always been sure of his place in the pack. That place being the absolute lowest tier in the hierarchy of werewolf pack dynamics, but he was sure of it all the same. He wasn’t necessary exactly, since just about anyone could conduct research on supernatural mythology, but his job was still important to the pack and he felt good about that. At least, that’s what he always thought. That all came crumbling down one sunny afternoon in the form of Jackson’s big mouth.

Where In the World is Derek Hale? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 5,968 I General I Sterek)

It had been four days.

Four days since the incident. And he hadn’t heard from Derek once since then.

They’d been out fighting the most recent big bad, because Beacon Hills was a fucking magnet for bad things coming to town. They’d been in the middle of the fight, and Derek had told Stiles to run, which he hadn’t, because fuck you Derek Hale. So he hadn’t run, which ended up being a good thing, because he ended up saving Derek’s life.

When they’d won, the two of them dirty and panting, Derek had rounded on him and proceeded to shout at him for being stupid and reckless. Stiles had screamed back, and it had basically been a giant back and forth shouting match before Stiles had blurted out, “Because I fucking love your dumb, stupid face you idiot!” and had proceeded to kiss said idiot's dumb, stupid face.

What's Held on Our Shoulders by chameleonoverhere

(1/1 I 8,458 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek drops Stiles off at school, and this attracts the unwanted attention and harassment of some kid. He exploits Stiles' greatest insecurity, has him asking questions about his relationship with Derek that he never had before.

The Courting Dilemmas of a Spark and a Werewolf Prince by green-leaf (greenleaf)

(2/2 I 11,472 I Teen I Sterek)

Talia smiled calmly. “I am well aware that you are not a werewolf, my darling, but I thought this would be the best reading material for you to use as reference. After all, how would you know how to act during a courting ritual if you do not study it?”

“But I don’t... I’m not…” Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you setting me up with someone?”

Talia rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t be obtuse, my darling. Why would I set you up with someone –”

“Oh, well, that’s good, because–”

“–when I have a son who is already perfectly enamored with you?”

A Cunning Plan by yodasyoyo

(17/17 I 32,737 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles has a plan to get Lydia Martin to notice him. Derek is not impressed.

Your Pain is My Pain (So Stop Being So F#@$ing Clumsy!) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(1/1 I 7,878 I Teen I Sterek)

“Wouldn’t it be hilarious if it was you?” Scott asked, looking between Stiles and Derek with a grin. “You turned eighteen yesterday. Derek got his soulmate yesterday.”

“Dude!” Stiles insisted, horrified, at the same time Derek snapped, “No!”

“I think it’d be sweet,” Talia said from the head of the table. “You’ve known one another for a long time, and this would certainly solve the Werewolf problem.”

“Derek is not my soulmate,” Stiles insisted. “I mean, look at him!” He motioned Derek. “He’s all grumpy and sourwolfish, and I mean, yeah, he’s great to look at, with the stubble and the working out, and face of a God sculpted out of stone and all that, and arms that could definitely carry me damsel-in-distress style whenever he wanted and what was I talking about again?” He turned back to Talia. “I think I lost my train of thought.”

He's...something by countrygirlsfun

(2/2 I 22,894 I General I Sterek)

Stiles has to admit, keeping his secret under wraps is easier than he expected around his new-found werewolf friends.

Except for the Alpha that is never where he should be.

Secondhand Soulmate by AnnoyinglyCute, Inell

(7/7 I 25,211 I Teen I Sterek)

Not always, not even most of the time, but sometimes -- 24% of the time, statistically speaking -- people meet their soulmates and live happily ever after.

THIS isn't that story.

This is the story of Stiles Stilinski, whose soulmate died before he was born. This is the story of all the sorrows and heartache Stiles experienced, all the bullying and oppression from those who should know better but didn't. This is also the story of the friendships Stiles made along the way, of the battles he fought -- and won -- and the love that endured through it all.

Bite Down Hard by KuriKuri

(1/1 I 25,730 I Explicit I Sterek)

For a moment, Derek can’t breathe.

Because moles aren’t the only thing marring the pale skin of Stiles’ neck. Oh no, that’s –

– that’s a bond bite. A bond bite which Stiles definitely did not have yesterday, and which appears to have roughly the same dimensions as Derek’s own mouth.

Shit.

(Or: In which Secret Service Agent Derek Hale accidentally gets bonded to First Son Stiles Stilinski. Oops.)

We Prefer Good Love to Gold by i_am_girlfriday

(9/9 I 63,371 I Explicit I Sterek)

This week on Millionaire Matchmaker: Supernatural Edition - Derek Hale, a thirty-year-old millionaire venture capitalist and beta werewolf, finally gives into his sisters’ pressures to start dating again and reluctantly agrees to use the services of a supernatural matchmaker. Stiles Stilinski, at age twenty-five, just sold his start-up to Google for undisclosed millions, and ends up on a reality dating show when his true alpha best friend tries to help him get over his broken heart.

***

The last thing anyone expects is for the two eligible bachelors to fall in love with each other behind the scenes.

An Alpha's Mate by EmeraldOcean

(14/? I 68,313 I Explicit I Sterek)

The threat of a rival pack and the discovery of a previously forgotten Hale family legend has Derek playing reluctant partners with his uncle Peter. And that's not the only strange thing that Stiles has noticed about Derek lately. But even the unexpectedly pleasant changes to their relationship can't completely erase the feeling that there's something he's not being told... Something that may change his life irrevocably.

This is Yours by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(2/2 I 73,317 I Mature I Sterek)

‘Lance’ had one hand against the back of his neck beneath his hood, and the other gripping the back of Derek’s head, sucking on his tongue almost lewdly while rocking his hips forward into Derek’s. A groan slid its way up his throat, and Derek broke the kiss, biting at the other’s full bottom lip.

“Seriously,” he said loudly, “what’s your name?”

“It’s a secret,” the other informed him, still smiling impishly, then dove in for another kiss.

Derek decided to let it go for now, he had the rest of the night to get a name out of him.

Higher Ground by Kikileduc

(18/22 I 161,121 I Mature I Sterek I Rape)

This is the story of 9 high school students from around the country, who have been sent to Beacon of Hope, a boarding school for ‘at risk’ teens. They each have a past as well as closely guarded secrets and have all dealt with trauma in one sense or another.

They’ll have to learn to trust and love again in a world that was simply too cruel for their young ages. Luckily for them, John Stilinski started this camp that combines outdoor bonding activities with schooling just for students like them who come from broken homes or got mixed up in illegal activities.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #insecure!stiles #high school au #colorfulwizardpolice

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owlespresso · 5 years ago

Text

Silicon / Mollymauk Tealeaf/Reader

IDK incubus Mollymauk AU. This is smut, so be warned. My tip jar is open! I write headcanons in exchange for donations! If you’re interested, check it out HERE. I am also open for commissions, information HERE.

Your plans for Saturday had been sitting on your couch, absentmindedly scrolling through your laptop. It would have been great, fantastic to settle your weary back against the soft couch cushions, maybe shut your eyes and take a nap because you had nowhere else to be, nothing else to do.

Needless to say, that simple plan did not come to fruition. It was your fault, honestly.

Janet, a work acquaintance with an aggravatingly big heart and the puppy dog eyes of a practiced actor, had bumbled up to your door with tears running down her cheeks. Somehow, she charmed her way into your apartment and sat on your couch, telling you that the volunteer project she’d been apart of was falling apart. Her best friend cancelled last minute, the building materials weren’t being shipped fast enough, and soon, her idea to build houses for miners near the silicon-filled caves of the outskirts would be ruined!

In her desperate time of need, who else could she turn to but you? You, who always got your work done on time? You, who worked late hours and was the star of the company? Her praises were lavish and had you been in your right mind, you would have denied her, shoved her out of your apartment and onto the cold streets where do-gooders like her belonged.

But you didn’t. For a moment, something warm and idealistic seized you, and you thought “What if I could make a difference?”.

You rationalized it in your head in a split second and soon, she was giving you a tearful hug, going on and on about how great it was to have you on the project. Then, the door shut behind her and you felt like the silent, still remnants of a town that’d just been rolled over by a hurricane.

In all honesty, you could have cancelled, but Janet had friends in the decrepit hierarchy of your workplace, so you didn’t. Doing this small favor for her would be worth it if she put in a good word for you with the higher-ups.

The toe of your sneaker hits the edge of the mirror—it this close to the door—and sends you falling. Adrenaline jolts through your system and you brace for the shattering of glass, the ripping of your skin, the howling of an ambulance, stitches, the pain of recovery—but it never comes.

You open your eyes and there’s only blackness. There’s solid floor underneath you, sure. But everything else is black. The void is chilled and no sound travels through it, not even your footsteps as you begin to move forward. As much as you should be, you aren’t panicked. Your brain scrambles to rationalize the situation and does a pretty damn good job of it.

You passed out, and this is a weird dream. Eventually, you’ll wake up in a hospital bed, the glass shards picked out of your skin and organs or wherever they wound up. You really weren’t looking forward to it, but there was nothing you could do to change the situation. The darkness that swelled around you, unmoving, static, boring. The only change is that the mild chill has actually vanished, which only makes it more dull.

Maybe you should sit down and wait? Maybe lay down and try to wake yourself up? If this is a lucid dream, then you should be able to—

Something stirs in the distance, and your heart jumps into your throat. It’s the shift of something large against solid, hard ground, a subtle but voluminous noise of giant footsteps coming closer. On instinct, you shuffle back, back, back, suddenly forgetting that this is very probably a dream as your carnal, base emotions overcome your coherency.

A pair of vibrant, solid red eyes peer out at you from the dark. Each one is the size of a dinner plate. They pierce through the veil of blackness that encompasses the area, their soft glow freezing you in place. Somehow, the form behind them is completely invisible. The light they emit is only going forward, looking right at you. Your breath seizes in your lungs, heart thump, thump, thumping in your chest.

“Tripping and falling is one thing. Tripping and falling into a completely different dimension is another thing entirely.” It’s a smooth, masculine voice that rings all around you, encompasses your entire body. There’s an amused lilt to it, and if you weren’t scared out of your mind, you’d probably admire the rich sound.

The bottoms of the eyes curl upwards. You can only hope that means it’s smiling.

Despite its lack of pupils, you somehow know it’s looking right at you. Uncomfortable heat swells over your skin and pulses inside of you, making your fingers twitch.

“This is just a dream,” You take in a deep breath, trying to calm the manic pounding of your heart.

“I hate to break it to you, but it’s not. We’re real and we’re one-hundred percent right here,” It continues and its voice dips into a sneer. The fear in you is starting to settle, given how it doesn’t seem like it’s going to attack you.

“Whatever you say.” You huff, your agitation twitching, leagues above the dull fear that’d previously seized you.

The temperature of the room begins to dip, and a humid quality slowly infiltrates the air. Your eyes narrow, but you don’t mention it. Dreams are weird. The subconscious is completely possible to understand and you’re not going to try it anytime soon.

“Hey, so, what are you?” Might as well amuse yourself while you wait to wake up. You cross your arms and your posture stiffens, attempting to look assertive. You sincerely doubt that whatever is on the other side of the room respects you or is capable of being scared of you, but it’s worth a try.

“What am I?” It echoes, “Well, that’d take a lot of explaining, and believe me, it’d be boring to listen to and talk about, so—”

Suddenly, the darkness begins to ebb away to the far corners and reaches of the room like a cloud being sucked up by a vacuum cleaner. You squint against the sudden change in light—fortunately, it’s still dim, but what you do see elegant, polished wooden floors that stretch far in front of you. Shelves that reach near to the ceiling stand on either side of you, stacked with pretty, leather-bound books. They’re not just next to you, but across the room, on all sides, arranged in a square around an open area—an open area which houses a large, circular bed.

Its covered in lavish, iridescent blankets and the matching pillows look soft beyond your wildest dreams. The entire room, instead of being clouded by darkness, seems to be filled with light fog. It leaves you astonished and hot and somehow hazy, creeping arousal rolling up your spine.

It’s a hot, flushed feeling that bewilders and frightens you all at once, but dreams are known for being spontaneous, right? It can all be explained.

You take a step forward, cautiously surveying the area. There’s no evidence of the creature that’d spoken to you only moments ago. Maybe the subject of the dream shifted? That’s happened to you before?

The sound of footsteps behind one of the shelves forces your adrenaline to surge. Your wide, frantic eyes look in the direction of the noise, and you’re unprepared for the figure that emerges from behind one of the shelves.

Purple is the first thing you register. Deep, purple skin. It’s a tiefling.

Two sets of horns curl out from dark, curly waves of hair. The dim, red lighting from lanterns hung from the ceiling give the locks a vibrant sheen. His eyes are deep and red but what really attracts your focus next is the smattering of tattoos along his arm, bare shoulder and torso, that winds up his cheek. The colors are deep and vivid and you’re both surprised and impressed at your own imagination.

“Sorry for the scare,” He apologies. His grin widens the closer he gets, revealing two sharp fangs that stretch from the top lip. “But to be fair, there was no good way of introducing myself in that situation.”

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow and fix him with an unimpressed expression, absolutely not convinced.

He stops to stand in front of you. Now that he’s completely up close, you can make out the finer details of his tattoo. There’s a snake on his hand, designed so its mouth opens and closes when he moves his thumb and index fingers. There are scars all over his body, faint but still there. Two, small nipple rings catch the overhead light and gleam, held on (admittedly impressive) pectorals.

“Alright, I’m lying. But the look on your face was well worth it,” He tips his head and his smile becomes crooked, smug. “That’s all in the past, though,” He dismissively waves his hand. “My name’s Mollymauk. Molly to my friends.”

“Okay, Mollymauk.” Maybe it’s bitchy of you to emphasize that you’re not friends straight off the bat, but that’s what he gets for scaring the shit out of you! You cross your arms and cock your hip out. making sure that every inch of you oozes challenge.

“Well, I think you should at least tell me your name, seeing how I was polite enough to give you mine.” He mimics your posture, resting a hand on his hip, raising an eyebrow at you. The ridiculousness of the situation almost makes you give up, but the stubborn part of you stays firm, refuses to buckle no matter how minor the act of giving him your name is.

“I don’t see why that matters. I’ll probably wake up in a minute.” You’re actually not looking forward to that.

“You really have a bad memory, don’tcha?” The corners of his lips press into a flat line and you feel mild satisfaction at managing to wipe the grin off his face. “This isn’t a dream.”

“That sounds a lot like something a dream would say.” You retort and tilt your chin up, haughty and arrogant.

“Bless your little heart,” He takes a wide step forward, into your personal bubble and you freeze. He looms over you, suddenly so close that you can make out every single eyelash, every stroke of the tattoo that crawls up on his right cheek. He’s admittedly handsome, but the sudden pulse of arousal that strikes your lower stomach makes you shift uncomfortably. “You’re real stubborn, but I can prove that this isn’t a dream.”

One of his hands reaches forward and presses onto your hip. You can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric. The atmosphere between the two of you has been turned on its head, leaving you flailing and unsure how to react. Your voice stalls in your throat, tongue fumbling as you try to materialize some witty retort, something smart to say that’ll smack that stupid smile off his face.

But his face moves closer, and his hooded, red eyes draw you in, keep you quiet.

It’s bizarre—unreasonable—heat presses up your body with unbidden suddenness and your skin gets hotter where he grips it.

“Uh-huh.” You say, trying to find as forceful as possible to make up for the pure lack of wit. Something about him muddles your thoughts and god, he’s so close, but you don’t want him to move away. As miffed as you are, you’re also curious about this imaginary figure that your mind has conjured up. “I don’t think you can.”

Contrary to what you were expecting, his gaze softens and his eyelids dip low. His other hand reaches up and cups your cheek, so direct that you almost don’t notice the press of his hips against yours as he shuffles closer. Something hard rubs against your crotch and oh.

You’ve had lewd dreams before, but never one as intricate as this. It has a whole plot line and everything.

Just a dream, though. So anything that happens here should be fine.

A little voice in the back of your head asks, “what if it’s not?” but it is. It is because you don’t have the energy to believe it’s real.

“I can fix that.” He coos, and the honey of his voice makes another wave of heat ripple through your body. The mist seems to thicken and coagulate tight to your skin. Your clothes start to stick and the need to get out of them is sudden, but overwhelming. “Do you want that?” His voice, a slow and rich drawl, beckons and calls. Your pride swells, tells you to hold your ground, but his sculpted body is pressing against you entirely and his clothed cock rests wantonly against your cunt and god, it’s so hot. Why is it so goddamn hot?

You nod before you can think and he leans in, presses your lips together with no preamble. The kiss is soft and you tilt your head into it. The hand on your hip reaches for the buttons of your shirt and undoes them with deft, practiced fingers. The more clothing that comes off, the cooler you feel. His tongue brushes against your lips an you open them, letting him slide into your mouth. Your hand reaches for his broad shoulders. Warmth pulses under his heated skin.

Desperation takes hold as he pulls away, grabbing your sleeves to yank your shirt off. In the split second he’s not pressed against you, you notice the vibrant glow of his eyes and his grin, wild, carnal, ravenous—

And then he’s on you again, hips shoving tight against yours, forcing you backwards. You stumble and struggle to stay on your feet until your knees hit the back of the mattress.

The library rushes around you as you topple onto the bed. The silky sheets are cool against your back and your gaze draws up to the lanterns that hang from the ceiling. Mollymauk’s hands slam on the mattress on either side of your head, effectively caging you in and monopolizing your attention, holding it captive.

You focus on the splash of vibrant green against his lavender skin until he gives you a chaste kiss, before trailing a path of them along your jawline, dipping down to your neck. You give a soft keen, tilting your head to the side. Goosebumps spread over your heated skin at the low noise of approval he makes, pleased at having more skin to cover in attention. His tongue scorches over you and wow, it’s forked.

The realization jolts you, leaving you momentarily distracted and able to be surprised when he nips at the crook of your neck. You squeak and he apparently he likes the sound, because he repeats the motion and soon the amorous affection becomes rougher, more impassioned.

The cool sheets are a striking juxtaposition against the sear of his body, and your hands eventually find his shoulders, caught up in the picturesque stretch of colors that make up his being.

“Lovely.” He praises, voice a balmy whisper. He raises a hand and light catches off his ring finger and pinkie, nails both akin to sharp talons while his pointer and middle are perfectly manicured.

There’s the tearing or fabric. The middle of your bra snaps, jolting you from your stuptor. The garment is haphazardly tugged off your body before you get the chance to scold him, and you suddenly realize how exposed you really are.

His hands run down your sides to perch on your hips, slow and tender, like he’s really taking time to savor you. The right comes back to cup your breast, his thumb rolling over your nipple, teasing the nub to full hardness. His eyelids droop as his face looms over your other breast, lavishing the soft skin with kisses. They’re the short, teasing kind that make your insides feel all hot and hooey, the kind that make you arch your back for more, more, more, the slightly wet kind that chill your skin and make you squirm.

“Mollymauk, stop teasing!” The ache between your thighs swells and you rub them together.

“It’s cute that you think you’re in charge here.” He punctuates his statement with a harsh squeeze to your breast, earning a gasp. His palm brushes tight against your nipple. “You should at least say ‘please’ when you ask for something.

His dexterous tongue curls around your untouched nipple and makes you wiggle against the covers, swathes of sticky warmth making your cunt wet, before he finally slides down the bed. His lithe body wiggles to rest in between your knees, and the visual makes your cheeks hotter. He grabs your thighs and tugs you down the bed with surprising ease. The suddenness of the motion jolts your inebriated system, but the unexpected strength behind it sends another pulse of warmth to your core.

“Mollymauk,” You breathe as his thumbs hook under the waistband of your shorts and panties, bringing them down in a single, swift movement. For as inconsiderate as he was with your bra, he has the decency to set your bottoms aside. You instinctively close your legs but he snaps his grip to them, pulling them apart, pushing passed the soft cotton of your sheepishness like a wolf’s teeth through the hide of a lamb.

The gentle press of his inner thigh makes the muscle twitch. You can’t see his pupils but can somehow feel the heat of his gaze. It pins you in place, keeps you pliant as he trails kisses towards your cunt. Arousal thuds in your body and sloshes in your veins, makes your fingers curl into the sheets.

His teeth catch on your skin and you jolt with a gasp. A velvety chuckle rumbles against your thigh as he continues to trail up, up, up. Trepidation trembles deep in your chest and promptly vanishes at the drag of his tongue over your slicked folds. A squeal flies from your lips and he responds with an eager moan.

Your hips instinctively roll off the bed, into his mouth, desperate for more.

“Stay still, alright?” His arms wind around your thighs and squeeze as if to remind you who’s in charge. “I can’t work my magic if you’re wiggling all over the place.” His lips pill away from your cunt and you whine at the chill that settles in his absence. Impatient, wet kisses spider up your other thigh and his tongue again rasps a single stripe up your slit. Your hips roll again and the muscles in his arms flex briefly as he holds you in place, not lifting his face away for even a moment.

Delight sears up your spine as one of his fingers dips against your entrance. God, please, please—your need boils deep and smothers you. The slender digit teases you for what feels like years, time stretching until he slides one finger inside. It’s impossible to stop your thighs from trying to clamp back together, but he holds you open still.

Knowing he can keep you pinned to the bed as long as he likes terrifies and exhilarated you at the same time.

The broad of his tongue swipes at your bundle of nerves, the forked tips delving deep and making you squirm with each steady thrust of his finger. One of your hands flies down to grip hid horn and he snarls, the vibration making you shake.

Another finger slips in alongside the first. You jolt—it’s covered in something slippery and wet, but the realization melts like flimsy sea foam as he moans again.

The stretch of your walls doesn’t feel like much of a stretch, but the slow pace is agonizing. You suppose you should have expected this, especially after the haughty way he’d presented himself. Such a lascivious creature probably couldn’t resist the temptation to tease and torture you. You want to tell him to go faster, harder, but you’re inevitably enraptured by the flutter of his eyelashes and the sheen of his sweaty bangs pressed against his forehead. His expression is set into something fascinated and so thoroughly concentrated that it makes you feel like a specimen under a microscope, like an insect under the heel of a god,

He keeps the fingering slow as you start to whine, thighs tensing, legs trying to wrap around his head. The sweet mist swells around you and sticks to your skin, another sensation to add to the pile.

“Mollymauk!” You hug his horn again, try to wrench him away, but he stayed affixed to you, fingers tilting at a new angle that makes your shoulders slam back against the mattress, pleasure dancing up your spine and jumbling the words off your tongue.

And then you cum against his face, voice pitching into something pathetic and akin to a sob, a loud noise that sounds alien to even yourself. He groans in unison, tongue continuing to lave over your cunt until your thighs go limp. Finally, he lets them collapse onto the mattress. Your body feels like fucking jello.

Your sweat-slicked chest heaves up and down. Your unfocused gaze jostles down to him as he gets back to his feet, lean abdomen sleek with sweat or moisture from the air. The smirk he levels you with brings you back to your initial meeting.

“Good?” The bed creaks under his weight, knee dipping onto the covers. He drops onto his side next to you, elbow pressing against one of the many puffed pillows, cheek idly resting against his hand. His other hand reaches over and combs through your hair and fuck it, this feels so fucking nice. Your eyes shut and your head lolls against the pillow. “Mhm.” You’re too tired to pretend it wasn’t absolutely phenomenal, not when you feel so nice and sated. It’;s been ages since you’ve had such a great dream, but your consciousness begins to yawn and lull.

“Go to sleep.” His voice purrs in your ear. “We can play again, later.” Sure we can, you think sarcastically. As though your brain will ever let you have something this nice ever again. It’s going to suck to wake up. The memory of your plummet into the mirror almost makes you stir, but the afterglow sedates your mind and body, sending you into inky, black unconsciousness.

---

You don’t know how long you sleep, but when you wake up, you first notice the gross taste of sleep in your mouth and a plush bed against your back. Your eyes open and a vaguely familiar ceiling greets you, the lighting dim and purple—but wait—

You shoot into an upright position, urgently blinking the sleep from your eyes. Alarm shoots through you as you behold the same library from your dream.

No, no, no! Numb horror assaults you as you roll out of the warm bed. The ground is cool against the bottoms of your feet.

This is still a dream. It has to be—shit, shit, shit, it’s not. It’s really not, huh? But where are you? Were you kidnapped by that purple bastard?

Your frantic gaze snaps at the sound of heels clicking against the polished wood and air constricts in your lungs as he rounds the corner. He blinks briefly, looking surprised at the sight of you, before he gives you a grin, warmer than it is smug.

“I told you it wasn’t a dream.”

#mollymauk #mollymauk tealeaf #critical role #cr #imagine critical role

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beautifulwhensarcastic · 6 years ago

Text

Not sure what exactly can I blame for writing this, but I guess my deeply buried need for twisted AUs occasionally takes over. There are only few people who might take interest in it and that’s okay. I’m mostly considering it to be @sevensneakyfoxes jam, but also maybe @indiefic.

It’s short. It’s Bucky/Sharon, but not established in any way. Mentioned background Peggy/Steve. Enemies to, well, technically still enemies at this point.

Oh, and it’s a cliché omegaverse...

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

„Leave.” His command comes out soft, but it sends all of the bloodthirsty spectators scrambling away in a hurry.

Sharon's first instinct is to back away. It's rooted deep within her, that pull which responds to the hierarchy bestowed on them by genetics. But she spent enough time hardening her control to fight the urge.

Fists clenching at her sides, she stands her ground. Even as he moves towards and his scent abrades her senses.

For a beta Barnes' power is beyond astonishing. Strong, fast and deadly, possibly more than any enforcer among Northern packs. He commands respect and fear. The fact he's also ruggedly handsome has got him a wide pool of devotees eager to present and bare their throats in submission. Sharon's sure he enjoys the fuck, but from what she knows he hasn't claimed anyone.

„Got yourelf in quite a predicament, sweetheart.” He drawls out, circling her. His scent is the freshest wave she has smelled for the past few days – a sharp, cold shiver thrusting her out of pit of dulled, sweaty human odor she's been hiding in.

„You were too hasty. Have we taught you nothing?” With a tut, Bucky stops in front of her.

Sharon sneers, all semblance of previously shown vulnerability wiped away. „Considering I killed two of yours I'd say the lessons paid off.”

Surprisingly, he grins. It's a flash of charm she witnessed many times, back when she was still safe in Pierce's territory, but there's something dangerous to it. Has it always been with a hint of a threat, Sharon doesn't know; she's never been on the receiving end of it. But it sends a thrill down her spine.

It spreads in a hot wave through her belly and down to her thighs.

She clenches them and pricks her skin with fingernails to cut through that pleasant haze.

„You were good. Not enough, though.” Smile disappears from his face and suddenly he seems much taller, and broader. More scary up close than Sharon remembers. But she's mastered the stoic indifference for half of her life, putting that mask on is a flick of a switch. She doubts it will fool Barnes into believing she's not scared of him for long, but it's all she has for now. Until she gets a moment to think of the best way out of here.

She's not naive to think she can make it out all alone. However, if she manages to break outside at least the rescue party could meet her halfway.

That there will be someone coming for her she's certain of.

Bucky expects it too, she thinks.

He wouldn't hold her in his own quarters otherwise. She'd be either locked up in one of the cells, or dragged straight in front of Pierce. Keeping her as bait right where he can watch her himself, Barnes makes an obvious statement he's out for those who come to her aid. Then again, it seems too predictable. Very unlike him.

„You shouldn't have been out there on your own.” Bucky frowns at her. It reminds Sharon of Steve's disapproving glare. His words, however, sound more like Peggy's. She wouldn't be mad Sharon was scouting, only that she went without backup.

„Because an omega needs protection from the big, bad world?” Sharon snorts.

He advances so fast Sharon has no time to brace herself. Instead she backs away. Step for step Barnes follows until her back hits the wall and he has her trapped. She swings at him. With the cutest, feral sound he's ever heard.

Bucky catches her hand with ease, wrapping his fingers tightly around her wrist. He leans forward, holding himself back from fully pressing into her body. Sharon barely refrains from turning her head to the side when he puts his free hand on the wall beside it.

„Your designation has little to do with it.” Bucky nuzzles the hollow beneath her ear. „Though you do smell tempting,” he adds with a purr.

He pulls back enough to catch her gaze. „You're a Carter.”

The bounty for Sharon's head is impressive, but it's merely a chunk of what's offered for Peggy. Or for Rogers. Though she's sure Pierce wants to hold onto any omega of a Carter's royal bloodline, having her is a means to get his paws on the one who truly undermined his power.

„Then you know we rarely do what we're told!” With a snarl, she knees him in the groin then decks him with a solid right hook that has Barnes stumbling back two steps.

There's blood on his bottom lip. Slowly, he wipes it with the tips of his fingers. He doesn't lunge after her, much to his inner wolf's dismay. Everything inside him strains, screams to fight and chase.

Sharon's smart enough not to run. If she made a move for it, Bucky wouldn't be able to control the wolf. The outcome could literally bite them.

Taught to use opponent's distraction, Sharon attacks again. She's no match for him in an even fight, but with a few dirty tricks up her sleeve she can damage his pretty face and disable him for a moment long enough to give herself a head start.

But she's never even sparred with Bucky. He's nearly as fast as Steve. And more of a boulder than the alpha – most of her punches bounce off of him. Sharon manages to scratch his pretty face, a minor gash that will heal within minutes.

When she throws a kick at him, however, he catches her knee over his elbow. With a swing of his leg he knocks her off balance and brings her down on the floor.

Barnes wraps a hand around Sharon's throat, clenching it enough to make her freeze.

She's reasonable, Sharon tells herself. It has to be the threat of death that has her yielding, not the surge of heat the weight of Barnes' body on top of her suddenly causes.

A Carter's mind is a sharp weapon, but her body is still ruled by the wolf. And the bitch is fucking delighted with the press of a dominant wolf between her splayed thighs.

Sharon wonders if this is what Peggy meant when she said she was unable to not respond to Steve despite being the most resilient omega. As the firstborn and an omega of the Carter clan, Peggy's future was decided. She'd mate with the pack's alpha (and possibly murder him after at some point, because everyone knew how much Peggy hated Pierce's son and future alpha, Jack). No one expected a very pragmatic, dutiful Peggy to fall for an orphaned, low in hierarchy beta.

Maybe it wouldn't happen if Steve remained a weakling beta the pack took him for. But the scrawny boy started filling out more than just in muscles, his power grew rapidly. Sharon never paid much attention to his scent back then, but the fact Peggy couldn't stay away from him was enough indication of his alpha potential. Then Peggy's heat came and everything got fucked.

Sharon's heat isn't due for another month or two, yet her body warms up beneath Bucky. Only her face remains hardened, grey eyes flashing anger.

„Easy now,” Bucky says softly. He's inches above her, tips of his hair tickle Sharon's cheek.

„Let go of me!” She hisses, trying to twist away.

To Sharon's surprise, Barnes moves off of her. Swiftly, he picks her up and stands her on her feet. He grabs a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back enough to bare her throat. „Behave,” he growls. „If you cause ruckus the word of your capture will reach Pierce sooner than I'd like.”

He lets go of her and steps away. Sharon eyes him warily as he moves across the room. Barnes is Pierce's enforcer, a beast on a leash. Keeping secrets from his alpha, especially secrets of this calibre, is more than suspicious. It's also hard to do within a pack. She assumes Barnes' poeple who brought her here won't peep a word about her whereabouts without his explicit permission, scared of him more then of their alpha.

She realizes Barnes finds her useful. Giving her to Pierce would serve nothing but to placate the alpha, pointless if looked at from a wider perspective.

„I won't tell you where they are.” Sharon crosses her arms over her chest.

„I know.” Bucky nods, sliding behind a desk. He sits down in a chair and opens a sleek, black laptop. „I have no need for it. A true alpha doesn't leave his pack members behind.”

He's sure they will come for her. Sharon considers arguing, but Barnes is too smart to believe any of the lies she tells him about Steve Rogers. He also knows Steve too well to doubt he'll come for Sharon.

Not only is she his mate's sister, but – like Barnes said – she's Rogers' pack now. Steve's too protective to fight down the urge to save his people. Too true of an alpha. Something Pierce and his kin had killed inside of them long ago. Sharon's not sure Pierce would risk his life for anyone, even his own son.

„A pack member is ready to lay their life for the alpha.” Bucky slowly looks up at Sharon's words. Her promise isn't fervent. It's a vow which he can respect.

„Until that moment arrives, no harm will come your way.” He replies. It strokes a string inside her, a pleasant hum spreading to the very tips of Sharon's fingers.

She hopes Steve kills Barnes, for she fears what could become of her otherwise.

#wrote a short cliche thing (don't know if I'll post it on ao3)#omegaverse at its worst edition lol #i'm not even creative enough to make bucky the omega #Bucky x Sharon #Bucky x Sharon fic #my fic #minor Peggy/Steve #steggy is only mentioned so if you're not interested in Bucky/Sharon dynamic i'm not sure you'd find much interest in it #but at least so far no one dies!

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momestuck · 6 years ago

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Epilogues: Meat ch 18-27 [Epilogue 4]

So that happened.

In this chapter: a struggle over narration itself.

Dirk Strider has assumed control of the narration. Not unprecedented - Homestuck loves to put its narration in-voice for various characters - but in this case he’s making out that it was him all along, which has like, consequences I guess?

chapter 18

Dirk is narrating, and John actually notices sometimes - when Dirk uses words like ‘functional necessity’. But because Dirk has control over his internal monologue, the plot presses on.

It seems that just about the entire Furthest Ring has gone into the black hole, except for John maybe? Dirk narrates that John starts to blame himself for all this, and thereby decides not to go back to Earth C. He then directs John to find his dad’s wallet, floating in the void.

Despite what Dirk has said, he certainly has a different narrative voice to the preceding narration.

It’s notable that John seems to have some independence from Dirk’s narration. He can directly respond in dialogue to Dirk’s declarations, including to challenge them. Dirk’s power as narrator seems to be limited, not equivalent to the full powers of the ‘author’.

chapter 19

Dirk continues to narrate Jade giving an economic presentation to Roxy and Callie, on the subject of how Jane wants to basically recreate capitalist hierarchy, but on the new world, and that’s a pretty dreadful idea. She actually says the words “capitalist hierarchy”, and declares “none of that stuff works”... Homestuck’s politics seem to have changed, at least somewhat. (Perhaps due to Cephied’s influence..?)

Roxy is reluctant to get involved in politics, and concerned for Jane... and Dirk says something which I think will be important.

In the spirit of full disclosure, Roxy’s the only one left I haven’t been able to crack. Her mind remains a total enigma to me, just like it always has. If I had to guess, it’s her Void powers that make her invisible, even to increasingly omniscient parties such as myself. For all intents and purposes, it’s like her thoughts don’t exist. She’s the same person, as far as I can tell. She still wears her heart on her sleeve. But the bottom line remains: Roxy Lalonde is still utterly fucking inscrutable.

Anyway, then something else significant happens... Callie says they’re nonbinary.

CALLIOPE: yoU are absolUtely not an asshole!

CALLIOPE: i didn’t mind being called a girl. i still don’t really mind, it’s jUst not exactly... accUrate.

CALLIOPE: bUt i did take comfort in “being a girl” for a very long time. this is something i’ve only recently decided.

Roxy likewise says they’re enby too... this causes Dirk to have a bit of a meltdown.

I never would have guessed. Not that I’ve spent much time contemplating issues related to gender. I’m pretty secure in my expression of masculinity, and...

You know what? Fuck this. I don’t owe anyone an explanation of any sort on this topic. I’m confident with who I am, what I am, my gender, as well as my understanding of the concept. You want my honest opinion? It’s fucking fantastic. Good for them. Both of them, I mean, but also, both of them in a singular fashion, since each one can now individually be referred to by the conventionally plural word “them.” I’m ecstatic for this personal development they’ve embraced, for the people they are, the lack of gender they identify with, and the pronouns they prefer. I’ve got no problem with it whatsoever, and frankly, it’s fucking insulting anyone would ever imagine otherwise.

So yeah, I’m gonna allow it.

‘secure in his expression of masculinity’ was not the impression I had of Dirk personally, but I guess we’re going with this characterisation here.

For the rest of this chapter, Dirk keeps misgendering Roxy and Callie in narration - seemingly not deliberately, he swears and corrects himself shortly after.

There’s another interesting conversation where Calliope talks about how ideas of gender were, ‘circuitously’, transmitted to Calliope/Caliborn from watching Earth, and how these shaped Alternia (ok this one’s a little confusing because they didn’t make Alternia? though of course Doc Scratch did affect Alternia). So the system of gendered social relations is literally a “copy without an original” - Baudrillard was more right than he knew!

Anyway Dirk interrupts this discussion to narrate that Jade has a sudden vision of the black hole, and passes out...

chapter 20

Jade ‘wakes up’ in the furthest ring - was there a Dream Jade out here? i thought all the dream selves died but I don’t really remember anymore. Over here, she’s injured - she’s got a big piece of ‘the absence of a future’ skewering her.

Dirk narrates how she’s drawn towards the black hole - ‘the dead cherub is making her move’. At one point, his orange narration is interrupted by red text - the word ‘come’.

Of course, we now know that this dead Jade will fall into the Candy universe, where it will be inhabited by alt-Calliope. I am rather confused about how this came about though. Who’s this almost-dead Jade floating in the Furthest Ring? Why did Jade’s consciousness get shunted into her body?

chapter 21

Dave and Karkat are witnessing the first brood from the Mother Grub. Dave figures it’s kind of gross... and Karkat agrees after ribbing Dave a bit for being insensitive.

Anyway they’re here to try and win over Rose and Kanaya to the election campaign, only, they’re being predictably very Dave and Karkat about it, which is fun. Dirk’s narration is almost taking a backseat here... though occasionally stepping in to point to a trait of characterisation as why he’s going to win.

It’s nice to have Kanaya give some proper dialogue! She talks a bit about troll reproduction, the latent potential for fascism in both Jane and... Feferi. Which, fair.

Anyway Kanaya is rightly pissed about Jane’s plans for troll eugenics.

Dirk occasionally editorialises. Morality, he declares, is a cultural construct (complicatedly true so far as it goes) - it’s “pure ego” for them to think their morality will guide them to the “most effective” laws (that’s also a cultural construct you fucking idiot!)

Dave, continuing in his capacity to make everything as maximally awkward as possible, starts speculating about ectobiological ‘Rosemary babies’ (Kanaya has apparently not considered the term ‘Rosemary’ before, and declares that she hates it).

Kanaya gets concerned and calls Rose - and Dirk reminds us that she’s unconscious on his floor, and answers for her, but explains nothing. Because “John’s doing something important to the plot again” - and Dirk has to be there to narrate, I guess.

chapter 22

Keen to complete his full assumption of the role of ‘anime villain’, Dirk’s narration starts talking about breaking down the boundaries between people to become gods - to become ‘one god’.

Anyway, in this chapter, John bumps into Meenah’s ghost. She steals the Ring of Life that he previously took from Aranea while performing his current spate of retcons, and jumps into a ‘server’. (What did the servers do again? I don’t remember... ok apparently they’re just there in the Furthest Ring, as places people can store such things as wizard fiction and ~ATH programs on them...)

anyway it seems that Meenah can go through the door in the server somehow. presumably ending up in the Candy universe? idk. The wiki didn’t say a lot about what these servers do.

chapter 23

Not much narration, just dialogue. Kanaya arguing with Dirk, specifically. She’s not impressed by Dirk’s excuses (Dirk briefly interrupts to declare that she doesn’t really ‘understand’ Rose, even though she loves her) and sets out to retrieve Rose. Dirk keeps this a secret from Rose...

chapter 24

Minimum editorialising from Dirk this time. John floats around endlessly, and runs into... Terezi! Sure am glad to have her back :D

chapter 25

Dirk and Rose have an argument about... intimacy, identity, and other such philosophical things. Kirkegaard is name-dropped, and it comes out that Dirk (like me lol) gets most of his knowledge from Wikipedia, because obviously he grew up in a post-apocalyptic world...

ROSE: Who exactly were the academic cognoscenti of your era to determine which sources were deemed respectable?

DIRK: That would be me, obviously.

ROSE: Ok.

DIRK: I suppose you’re going to tell me you haven’t read enough Wikipedia articles on loads of scholarly shit to fancy yourself an elite academic by 25th century standards as well?

ROSE: No, I guess I have.

ROSE: I’d be one of the top intellectuals by that measure.

ROSE: A measure set by, I guess, literally one solitary self-absorbed teen boy for the express purpose of making himself feel clever.

DIRK: Absolutely correct.

They agree to have an ‘amateur philosophical debate’, which comes around to whether ‘free will’ exists. Oh boy. Dirk gets Rose to try to stand up, but then doesn’t ‘narratively allow’ it.

Dirk lectures her on the origin of her condition: the disappearance of boundaries in the ‘ultimate self’ amounts to an ‘unbundling’ of experiences (subjectivity, I guess) and the physical processes connecting to it. Dirk, supposedly, is strong enough to withstand this - so he offers to support Rose as she opens her ‘other eyes’, seeing what Dirk sees - presumably the ‘entire story’ that they’re in?

In this state, Rose is also able to see across into the Candy story. She describes both branches as a kind of ‘gross conceptual clumping’, comparing it to congealed sugar in a drink.

Dirk invites her to ascend - that she won’t be ‘her’ anymore, but ‘better’. This is described as an intimate process of perfect knowledge of the other person... and leads Dirk to start speaking possessively of Rose, his daughter in every respect, including ‘soul’.

Oh no Rose... this isn’t ideal :/

it’s funny, I have written before about such a ‘coming together’ of people, of ‘ascension’ in a similar sense, in my story ‘hacker’. but that wasn’t about assuming an ‘ultimate’, godlike form - the gestalt was a different person with different concerns, but not a ‘perfect’ person. here it’s a much more negative thing - a way for Dirk to take control over the ‘ultimate’ Rose.

chapter 26

Dirk’s narration seems to be perceptible, at least in some sense of inner monologue, to Jade. He’s trying to persuade her not to descend into the Black Hole (which, we now know to mean, the Candy universe) through his ‘metatexual’ messaging.

But he’s not succeeding. Alt-Calliope once again interrupts the narration at one point - and Dirk previously did not seem to recognise that it’s her doing it, but now he does.

In Dirk’s eyes, what he’s trying to prevent is a suicide. We know that going into the black hole is not suicide, but going to the Candy universe.

Notably when Dirk has the narration outright declare that something happens, that does not mean it takes effect in the way he describes. He is literally an unreliable narrator.

chapter 27

At this point, alt-Calliope and Dirk are outright fighting to contradict each other in the narration. (i’m gonna keep using ‘she’ pronouns for alt-Calliope, since to my understanding she’s a different person than Calliope)

alt-Calliope’s descriptions are adorably alien - referring to the ‘layers of flesh over her skull’ that maker her ‘expressive’, for example.

Apparently it’s not Jade occupying Jade’s body back on Earth C - the Meat!Earth C that is - but alt-Calliope. Alt-Calliope starts lecturing Dirk in the narration of the corrosive effect of his ‘megalomaniacal’ intentions. Somehow, she pretty much entirely shunts Dirk out of the narrator role. Dirk’s text - complaining rather than narrating - shrinks, and ultimately disappears.

There’s a fucking amazing moment when alt-Calliope gets Dirk going on a whole rant about katanas and how she’s supposedly metaphorically using them wrong.

But ultimately, what she’s going to do is just... ignore him. Or rather, talk about him like he isn’t in the room; use his metaphors, but do not allow him the dignity of response.

experiences such as the sensation of presiding over a vast, empty ocean. his ocean, which terminates with his horizon. it is a barrier, not real, but psychological, symbolic. no matter how much power he achieves as a man, he knows there are horizons he perceived as a boy which he may never cross. and yet i have crossed mine, with the express purpose of perpetually and eternally reminding him of his limits, and of enforcing them. limits, which like his vast, empty ocean, serve to remind him that he is phenomenologically, if not literally, alone. that he has experienced loneliness intimately and absolutely, just like i have. but unlike me, he is terrified by it. and i, unlike him, understand all too well that the children left alone are those who most despair at being ignored.

Epilogue 4, in summary

Damn. I can see why they call this the ‘meat’ route.

So.

Dirk has found some way to assert control of the narrative voice. In this capacity, he’s run roughshod over the various events trying to mechanically arrange them to achieve... some kind of end. But his carelessness in attending to the specific characterisations, instead of relating everything back to himself, somehow left him vulnerable to be excluded from the narration by alt-Calliope.

Whatever Dirk’s plan is, it seems to require... Jane and him to assume rulership of Earth C, and... what else? Well he wanted Jade to go into the Furthest Ring, but not to enter the black hole (because ultimately that allowed alt-Calliope to enter the narrative). He wanted John to do various ‘plot relevant’ things, like... presumably hand over the ring to Meenah, acquire the wallet, and meet Terezi.

Where’s all this going? Fuck knows lol!

We can try and talk about all the issues of identity, ‘free will’ and so forth towards the end, and the interesting attempt to connect that to gendered subjectivity, once we’ve taken in the story as a whole.

#momestuck

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cloveroselily · 6 years ago

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Captive on the Carousel of Time

*This is going to be something like an essay of a random burst of thoughts I had concerning humanity's relationship with time, clocks, and watches*

Warning: this can feel very disorganized and choppy but what can I say? Mercury in 1st is actually quite scatterbrained and a flibbertigibbet (I love that word) and don't even get me started on the mind of an aquarius moon. Please don't be offended by this - I have nothing against Capricorns, businesspeople, or people who love watches.

So my parents bought me a watch for my birthday because being 22 now, and without a part-time job since I lost mine last year due to conflicting work and school schedules, they firmly believe that wearing a watch will improve employers' impression of me during interviews because apparently wearing a watch gives the impression that one manages time well and values time "like an adult".

They went to such lengths not only due to my age, but because I have an extreme baby face that can still pass off as a 13-14 year old. My study of astrology tells me that I, having mercury in 1st, is gifted with the blessing of eternal youth a.k.a. having a face that stays youthful.

Very honestly, though, I dislike watches. I mean I'll appreciate the design if it's pretty enough but I dislike wearing watches. It feels restraining, like it's constricting my movements even though it actually doesn't.

In terms of astrology, I actually have a pretty young chart in the sense that most of my planets are in the younger signs. I have sun/mercury in leo, venus in gemini, and saturn in aries. Aries, gemini and leo are the eternal children of the zodiac. In addition, having mercury in 1st as previously mentioned adds to the childlike feeling and I honestly enjoy being and consider myself young at heart. I also have moon in aquarius which is more goofy and silly than serious most of the time, and I have the baby mars in cancer. Overall, I find myself to be happy-go-lucky and I utterly despise social hierarchies and the rules of the adult world. Is anyone starting to see where I'm heading with the concept of time and adulthood?

I'll first explain the parts of my chart prior to my thoughts on time.

Beginning with gemini, according to my favourite astrology blog, astrolocherry, gemini is considered to be young mercury, mercury as a child while virgo is adult mercury. Gemini is also often associated with Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up, immune to the effects of time (i.e. aging), and is compared to a fairy, another symbol of eternal youth.

Saturn, who is Cronus in Greek, rules the sign Capricorn. Capricorn is associated with the stern father and businessman archetypes in astrology, and sometimes even the Devil. Cronus is the god of time in Greek mythology, and the father of time is often portrayed as an old man holding either a clock or an hourglass. Saturn falls in the sign of aries, the baby of the zodiac, and I think this is because saturn is about the hard lessons we learn so we grow up disciplined (capricorns are often stereotyped to be stern, stiff, disciplined businessmen) but aries, the baby, is like a newborn just trying to experience everything and learns more from experiences gained from immediate actions than rules.

I relate to Peter Pan and Alice from Alice in Wonderland because fuck growing up, honestly.

I remember when I was a child, I once read a book that described the relationship amongst humans, fairies, and time, and how humans came to age and lose their youths. The story described that humans used to play with fairies all day, while time was a small, insignificant thing that humans didn't play with, and humans had eternal youth. Then one day, humans began playing with time, and time grew larger, more significant, and humans soon began experiencing the effects of time, growing up and forgetting the fairies, eventually aging and losing the eternal youth they shared with fairies.

I used to think, no wonder according to Disney's take on Peter Pan and fairies, a fairy died every time a child stopped believing in fairies, a sign of growing up.

In Alice Through the Looking Glass, Alice considered time a thief at the beginning, stealing everything away she loved from her. Though her perspective changed at the end, I personally think that time can be a thief.

My mom used to listen to a song called "The Circle Game" by Joni Mitchell and there were a few lines from this song that really struck me since I was first heard it when I was a child. "We're captive on the carousel of time" and "We can't return we can only look behind from where we came". To me, that is exactly how humanity's relationship with time is like.

Clocks and watches, they are humanity's way to capture and manage time. An hourglass does similarly and I often think of how Jafar trapped Jasmine in an hourglass in Aladdin, how she would've died when all the sand fell to the bottom of the hourglass, how it'd have been time's up for her like how every human is given a designated time on earth in Alice Through the Looking Glass, and how these are perfect representations of how humans are held captive by time - we're captive on the carousel of time because even if we try, we can't get off this carousel nor can we stop it from moving like how we can't stop time from passing.

We try to capture, manage, and control time, to bend time to our will, but in doing so, we willingly enslave ourselves to time itself. You know those people who are always checking their watches, their schedules packed as though in doing so they made the best use of their time? My dad, a Virgo with North Node in Capricorn is like that and he always needs to eat at/by certain times, getting anxious, fussy, and moody when he doesn't. I feel sorry for these kinds of people because they are slaves to time.

Ever notice how we determine when to sleep by the time rather than whether we feel tired? How we wake up not when we feel rested but at a time we are told to wake up by alarms from our clocks (or cell phones) so we are "on time" for other activities that are also controlled by time? Businesspeople often say "time is money", and the best businesspeople are always on time, making the most money in the least amount of time, racing against others and against time, choosing the right time for every business decision. They believe they have perfect control over time, but really, they're the ones controlled by time. Do they even know the bliss of not having to live worrying about whether you have spent too much time on one thing and not having enough time for another? It's like the bliss of getting to sleep without setting an alarm, like staying up late talking to someone endlessly into the night till you see the sun rise.

The most successful businesspeople in society's eyes are rarely the most moral individuals. They're slaves to time, money, and the Devil, money being an offering from the Devil himself. So it's no wonder Capricorn, ruled by Saturn who is Cronus the god of time, is associated with the Devil. In fact, psychological research has found some evidence that some of the cruelest/coldest criminal offenders and some of the most successful businesspeople are similar/the same types of people, the difference is the way they choose to manage/manipulate people with their intelligence. Not to scare anyone, but really, both types are quite talented at understanding people and thus how to influence them, giving them the power to manage or manipulate people. No ability is inherently good or bad though - it's what you choose to do with it.

We believe we have a good grasp of time, but even our forms of capturing time aren't perfectly successful. Clocks and watches lose several seconds over time (no pun intended) and we need to readjust our watches and clocks every once and a while to be "on time" again. Thus I think, then why bother anyway? The best days are when you aren't due anywhere and your schedule is basically doing whatever you want whenever you want. Though we can never be immune from the effects of time, we don't need to further enslave ourselves to time. I feel like freeing ourselves from the restraints of time will allow us to truly live well. The best way to use our time is not to attempt to capture, control, or manage time, but to live and let time live without binding time to us or ourselves to time.

That is why I dislike watches. It is a measurement of time concealed and bound onto your wrist like a handcuff, which is why I said it feels like it restricts my movements. I don't like the feeling of being enslaved to time, to measure everything I do against time, to have to act in accordance to time. It may seem childish, but I much rather prefer to live without attempts to track time. I feel like that's the right way to live if we're going to lose it eventually anyway - why waste time checking how much time you have left?

~🍀

#astrology #time #clocks #watches

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orbemnews · 4 years ago

Link

What Should Museums Do With the Bones of the Enslaved? The Morton Cranial Collection, assembled by the 19th-century physician and anatomist Samuel George Morton, is one of the more complicated holdings of the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. Consisting of some 1,300 skulls gathered around the world, it provided the foundation for Morton’s influential racist theories of differences in intelligence among races, which helped establish the now-discredited “race science” that contributed to 20th century eugenics. In recent years, part of the collection was prominently displayed in a museum classroom, a ghoulish object lesson in an infamous chapter of scientific history. Last summer, after student activists highlighted the fact that some 50 skulls had come from enslaved Africans in Cuba, the museum moved the displayed skulls into storage with the rest of the collection. And last week, shortly after the release of outside research indicating roughly 14 other skulls had come from Black Philadelphians taken from pauper’s graves, the museum announced that the entire collection would be opened up for potential “repatriation or reburial of ancestors,” as a step toward “atonement and repair” for past racist and colonialist practices. The announcement was the latest development in a highly charged conversation about African-American remains in museum collections, especially those of the enslaved. In January, the president of Harvard University issued a letter to alumni and affiliates acknowledging that the 22,000 human remains in its collections included 15 from people of African descent who may have been enslaved in the United States, and pledging to review its policies of “ethical stewardship.” And now, that conversation may be set to explode. In recent weeks, the Smithsonian Institution, whose National Museum of Natural History houses the nation’s largest collection of human remains, has been debating a proposed statement on its own African-American remains. Those discussions, according to portions of an internal summary obtained by The New York Times, have involved people who have long prioritized repatriation efforts as well as those who take a more traditional view of the museum’s mission to collect, preserve and study artifacts, and who view repatriations as potential losses to science. In an interview last week, Lonnie G. Bunch III, the secretary of the Smithsonian, declined to characterize the deliberations but confirmed the museum was developing new guidance, which he said would be undergirded by a clear imperative: “to honor and remember.” “Slavery is in many ways the last great unmentionable in American discourse,” he said. “Anything we can do to both help the public understand the impact of slavery, and find ways to honor the enslaved, is at the top of my list.” Any new policy, Dr. Bunch said, would build on existing programs for Native American remains. It could involve not just the return of remains to direct descendants, but possibly to communities, or even reburial in a national African-American burial ground. And the museum, he said, would also strive to tell fuller stories of individuals whose remains stay in the collection. “It used to be that scholarship trumped community,” he said. “Now, it’s about finding the right tension between community and scholarship.” The quantity of enslaved and other African-American remains in museums may be modest compared with the estimated 500,000 Native American remains in U.S. collections, which were scooped up from burial grounds and 19th-century battlefields on what Samuel J. Redman, an associate professor of history at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, termed “an industrial scale.” But Dr. Redman, the author of “Bone Rooms,” a history of remains collecting by museums, said the moves by Harvard, Penn and especially the Smithsonian could represent a “historical tipping point.” “It puts into shocking relief our need to address the problem of the historical exploitation of people of color in the collecting of their objects, their stories and their bodies,” he said. The complexities around African-American remains — who might claim them? how do you determine enslaved status? — are enormous. Even just counting them is a challenge. According to an internal Smithsonian survey that has not previously been made public, the 33,000 remains in its storerooms include those from roughly 1,700 African-Americans, including an estimated several hundred who were born before 1865, and so may have been enslaved. Some remains come from archaeological excavations. But the majority are from individuals who died in state-funded institutions for the poor, whose unclaimed bodies ended up in anatomical collections that were later acquired by the Smithsonian. In addition to the 1990 Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, which requires museums to return remains to tribes or lineal descendants that request them, the Smithsonian allows remains from named individuals of any race to be claimed by descendants. While many African-American individuals in the anatomical collections are named, none have ever been reclaimed, according to the natural history museum. Kirk Johnson, the museum’s director, said that the anatomical collections, while disproportionately gathered from the poor and marginalized, included a cross-section of society in terms of age, sex, race, ethnicity and cause of death, which had made them extremely useful for forensic anthropologists and other researchers. But when it comes to African-American remains, a broader approach to repatriation — including a more expansive notion of “ancestor” and “descendant” — may be justified. “We’ve all had a season of becoming more enlightened about structural racism and anti-Black racism,” he said. “At the end of the day,” he added, “it’s a matter of respect.” Dr. Bunch, the Smithsonian’s first Black secretary, said he hoped its actions would provide a model for institutions across the country. Some who have studied the history of the trade in Black bodies say such guidance is sorely needed. “It would be wonderful to have an African-American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act,” said Daina Ramey Berry, a professor of history at the University of Texas and author of “The Price for Their Pound of Flesh,” a study of the commodification of enslaved bodies from birth to death. “We’re finding evidence of enslaved bodies used at medical schools throughout the nation,” she said. “Some are still on display at universities. They need to be returned.” Penn’s Morton collection vividly embodies both the sordid side of the enterprise, and the way the meanings of collections change. Morton, a successful doctor who was an active member of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, has sometimes been called the founder of American physical anthropology. He was a proponent of the theory of polygenesis, which held that some races were separate species, with separate origins. In books like the lavishly illustrated “Crania Americana,” from 1839, he drew on skull measurements to outline a proposed hierarchy of human intelligence, with Europeans on top and Africans in the United States at the bottom. Morton’s skull collection was said to be the first scholarly anatomical collection in the United States and, at the time, the largest. But after his death in 1851, it fell into obscurity, even as his racist ideas about differences in intelligence remained influential. In 1966, the collection was relocated to the Penn Museum, from the Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia. And it quickly became a useful tool for all sorts of scientific research — including studies aimed at debunking the racist ideas it had helped create. In a famous 1978 paper (later adapted for his book “The Mismeasure of Man”), the paleontologist Stephen Jay Gould argued that Morton’s racist assumptions had led him to make incorrect measurements — thus turning Morton into a symbol not just of racist ideas, but of how bias can affect the seemingly objective procedures of science. Gould’s analysis of Morton’s measurements has itself been hotly disputed. But in recent years, the appropriateness of possessing the skulls at all has been sharply questioned by campus and local activists, particularly after student researchers connected with the Penn & Slavery Project drew attention to the remains of the enslaved Cubans. Christopher Woods, who became the museum’s director earlier this month, said the new repatriation policy (which was recommended by a committee) would not change the collection’s status as an active research source. Although there has been no access to the actual skulls since last summer, legitimate researchers can examine 3-D scans of the entire collection, including those of 126 Native Americans that have already been repatriated. “The collection was put together for nefarious purpose in the 19th century, to reinforce white supremacist racial views, but there’s still been good research done on that collection,” Dr. Woods said. When it comes to repatriation, he said, the moral imperative is clear, even if the specific course of action may not be. For the skulls of Black Philadelphians taken from pauper’s graves (a major source for cadavers of all races at the time), he said the hope is they can be reburied in a local African-American cemetery. The enslaved remains from Cuba, however, would require future research and possibly testing, as well as a search for an appropriate repatriation site, possibly in Cuba or West Africa, where most of the individuals were likely born. The Black remains may have become a particularly urgent issue, he said. But repatriation requests for any skulls would be considered. “This is an ethical question,” he said. “We need to consider the wishes of the communities from whence these people came.” Source link Orbem News #Bones #enslaved #Museums

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digressfromreality · 7 years ago

Text

The Days The Tables Turned

Synopsis: This was PERSONAL. That much was obvious. What does one clown do when a mobster doesn’t learn his place in Gotham’s new criminal hierarchy? Of course, kidnap their life blood, the one that literally means more than the filthy air they breathe. First he isolates her, second manipulates her, third the mutual companionship was completely unexpected. Revenge at its finest.

Original Inspiration: Heath Ledger’s Joker Part 1 of 6

Warning: SMUT, DEATH, my terrible grammar lol

THE ENCOUNTER

Rose could feel him, a firm grasp of the back of her head. His long fingers twisted different ways through her snarled locks. Both their breathing was heavy, just heated pants escaping their lips. As much as she internally screamed, no one could hear her cries. As much as she wanted to tell herself that she was afraid, there was a part of her that she deep down knew…that she was not. Another groan passed her lips as his grip tensed even more.

He was enjoying her response, her arousal. She loathed herself, her damned weak will as she succumbed to the pleasure. Her head was bowed away from him, her back firmly pressed against his torso. He wasn’t going to allow her to look at him just yet, no…no, first she had to realize, realize what she meant to him, and him to her. She only had been too stubborn to admit it, but now, maybe she would. Not even a woman like her, could resist his charms. Whether it be fear or chivalry, eventually everyone gave in, just as she was so close to doing. Just a little more handy work, and ah, he could feel her body slip.

“Oh my god.” Her legs weakened, giving him full control of her weight. He removed his hand from her jeans, quickly turning her around in the process. Her eyes gleamed with lust and a hint of fear. The fear widened her gaze as she stumbled back on her unsure legs.

He chuckled, “Far from god.” He examined his fingers in the sparse light, they were slick with her excitement. Not what he had been expecting at all, not at all. No, no this was better than what he wanted. A wicked grin broke out on his face, making her tremble. What was his next move? She winced when she heard the crunch of the metal can she had kicked unknowingly.

He yanked her back towards him with the scarf around her neck, sufficiently cutting her oxygen off. “Did I say you could leave? Mhm?” He popped his wet fingers in her mouth, “Don't bite.” He could feel her gently sucking on his fingers, tasting her shame. “Tastes good doesn't it?” He took his hand away from her, taking in her reaction. Her cheeks flushed, and averted her gaze to the right of him. He leaned in close to her, whispering something only she would hear, “I can’t wait to taste you for myself.” Her heart was pounding, she willed herself to push him from her. Not today, she wasn’t ready for this, nothing could prevent this…

“Ohhh.” She bit her bottom lip in an effort to stop her moaning. He had one hand back where it had previously been a minute ago and his mouth tugging at her exposed nipple.

“I had wondered whether the fight had gone, but there is still a fire within you yet. And I admire that.” He continued with her body, pain flickered across her face for a second. She needed to stop, she needed to fight him. But she was tired, tired of the fighting.

“Ow.” She breathed in sharply. The pain had come as a surprise, she had been so wrapped in her thoughts, her sickening pleasure that she hadn’t felt him remove her pants, or loosened his own.

“So tight. Almost virgin like.” He huffed in ecstasy, he was more excited they had gotten to this stage of their relationship. Never had his body felt the shrill calling to claim another. To make someone, her, writhed beneath him in a way that wasn’t connected to his knife. He kept his pace giving her no chance to counter his agile moves. He listened to her throes of pleasure. They were hitting her like waves, over and over again. He ran his fingers across her flushed body, absentmindedly rubbing her scars. Some were hers, some were ones he had given her. Like the three quick cuts on her shoulder blade, her penance for her three-day silence. It had taken him all his self-control not to slice it into her face.

But no, he couldn’t do that to such a pretty face. An expressive face. Or the long one running parallel to her spine, he hadn’t like her attempted escape. Especially not into the arms of his enemies. She let out a shriek from the sudden harden pushes into her. They were almost desperate, pleading for her body, for her muscles to clench around his.

She watched him out of the corner of her half lidden eyes, he was concentrated on the scars above her chest. She could feel him caress the raised skin. Her punishment for screwing up a job, she had gotten stabbed. She knew she had messed up when she felt the white-hot pain from the knife. Her father had been furious with her failure and for the scum bag that dared to cut her.

“Please, please.” Her pleas and incredible hold on his shoulders had brought him away from his thoughts. She was panting hard, each labored breath bringing her closer and closer to her end. He could feel her ready to peak. He slammed his scarred lips down on her mouth with such voracity that it had sent her over the edge. He swallowed her screams, making him no longer able to contain himself. With one more thrust he had spilled into her. His release and her tightening muscles had been oddly satisfying.

Never had the timing worked out so perfectly that both participants could get off at the same time. It had to be the sign that they were meant for each other. They could challenge each other, to match each other’s excitement. And wasn’t a stranger to each other’s misery it was too perfect.

He felt her body be limp once again in his arms, he hadn’t noticed before that he had held her the entire encounter. He wiped some of the red paint smudged across her face. Usually he hadn’t cared that he had left his own personal mark, but he wanted, no needed, to see her trembling lips. Her flesh shouldn’t be covered, no…no he liked the nakedness. It was revealing in its simplest form, her desire, her pleasure, and her pain.

She lazily wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her across the dark floor, the only light guiding them was the shivers of the moon shining through the uneven boarded up windows. He had lowered her gently onto the mattress and flopped down beside her. He watched her interested it her next move, she had removed what was left of her torn shirt, she was completely nude.

He had to repress a throaty growl as she laid back down with her eyes closed, oblivious to her actions. She wanted to lay down comfortable and he bit back an urge to take her all over again. His bare fingers danced up her naked flesh, goosebumps raising right where he traced. There were no blankets in the room, he hadn’t prepared for his arrival, let alone their arrival. The thought of him taking in a companion, was laughable, almost contiguously laughable. He grinned at the idea.

Her presence had been a surprise indeed. He had taken her originally as punishment for Maroni betraying their little deal. He told him he would take something more precious than his wealth, and he had been a man of his word. She had done all to a tee what every hostage before her did, begged, cried, and tried to bribe him for a safe passage out. And of course, he had given her the same, repeated threats, the same repeated, manic cackles. Then something had changed, she became comfortable. Almost relaxed in his presence. Then his perception, his interest had changed.

He watched her, he studied her habits. She would wrinkle her nose when something disgusted her, or when she was breathing heavy during her sleep, the harsh air would almost whistle between the space in her teeth. How she gingerly tended to his wounds he had received from the Bat-man. Or that slight extra around her middle would stick a little over her jeans, especially when she bent down to sit or pick something off the floor. She was average, but not average. She was bigger, but not biggest. She almost had the curvature of a black or Latino woman, but instead of a warm hue, she was ghastly pale. Her complexion could almost mirror his chalk his white paint. Maroni had thought she was safe, no one had found about her before, but he had underestimated the Joker.

Before Maroni had made it, before he had taken over the control of his family, the Italian mob, he had a plump girlfriend. Particularly, this girlfriend had been plus size, and blind. A double whammy. He did things to her that she couldn’t see, the good and the bad, and in return she did everything she could for him. They had lived together in relative secrecy. When it was his turn to rise, he knew he wouldn’t be able to take her with. There was no way to defend her, from the danger, from the ridicule. No one would take him seriously for a mobster if he had proudly stepped out with a defective other half. He had been ashamed that he had fallen in love with someone with such weak qualities.

The kicker was, she had understood this too! She had wished him no harm, no ill will, she had harbored no disgust for the man who was to leave her. She had only requested that he need not to contact her, it would only make it hurt worse. He had respected her wishes, until a year later when he received a letter in all brail. He had sent her more money that she could think to do with, and a promise, to keep their daughter, the only shred of evidence of their relationship, safe.

Now how did the Joker find all of this, mhmm…he had recently acquired the keys to a storage unit that the woman next to him had kept all this time. She had hundreds of her dead mother’s stuff packed tightly into the snug unit. Moth ridden and slowly decaying in ignorance.

He looked back over at his hand tracing up her side, she was shaking from the coolness of the room. He removed his purple jacket, laying it across the middle of her body, she instinctively curled her cold legs under the material. He observed her taking in a deep breath of his sleeve, of his scent. Even in her sleep she was comforted by his presence, regardless if she knew it or not.

Oh, oh, the thought had almost escaped him, he had things to attend to. One glance back one last time before locking the door. He walked over to the area of her forgotten jeans, he had to appreciate his skilled work, he had worked her clothes off her before she could grasp the seriousness, of the, situation. He turned towards the crate next to him, his hand reaching for what was concealed.

Where was the damned…ah yes, there it was. He pulled the recording camcorder to him. He had been documenting all his moves tonight not sure of the audience in mind at the time, but now, now he had a whole list in mind, himself included. Yes, yes, he needed copies, for more than just himself.

The clowns jumped at his sudden appearance. He cackled.

“Boss?” He threw the camcorder into one of the clown’s hands, grinning madly.

“Who would like to make a trip to Salvatore Maroni tonight? Mhm?” He stared at his goons, unenthused with their lack of enthusiasm. “Okay then, how about YOU!” He threw his knife in between the eyes of the nearest clown, “Hold my knife, and YOU, get to editing this masterpie-cah. Capiche?” Suddenly the whole room was animated, trying not to send the Joker into a blind rage. Joker licked his lips as he watched their forms enter the dark warehouse, they had a lot of work to do, a lot of work.

#joker fanfiction #joker imagine #joker imagines #joker smut #heath ledger joker

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thunderheadfred · 7 years ago

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Red Streak [5.1]

Chapter 05: Surefire [Part 1 of 4. Revised August 2017]

Read the complete fic on AO3

Jane Kithoi Ward, Citadel Summer Shitstorm ’77

Less than a week had passed since that joke of an award ceremony at Alliance HQ, but according to Shepard's gut-tight internal clock, linear time was a bygone irrelevancy. Whenever the words Star of Terra entered her mind, several millennia would blur past all at once, reducing her memory to static.

Five days previously at a hasty press conference on Arcturus Station, a visibly uncomfortable Amul Shastri had pinned the Alliance’s most prestigious military decoration onto a woman raised by an extraterrestrial war criminal. Just like that, at the pleasure of two-dozen swarming tabloid reporters, Second Lieutenant Jane Shepard's comfortable anonymity had been shot straight to hell.

After a funerary receiving line of stiff, bruising handshakes, Shepard had been evacuated to the relative neutrality of the Citadel by her oldest mentor and only remaining friend in the Alliance: Captain David Anderson. Hidden away in the Captain’s private apartment, she was to spend an entire month’s mandatory leave keeping her head down, goddammit. Anderson had immediately returned to Arcturus HQ, where he was currently going far beyond the call of duty on Shepard’s behalf, kissing enough asses and pulling enough strings to prove that the Lieutenant was not - and never had been - acting on behalf of alien interests.

Now at the bleeding end of her first night of compulsory leave, Shepard was already blind drunk. Hazy and lethargic amid the neon-painted shadows of Anderson’s glamorous abandoned apartment, she drifted with smoke-gray apathy, finally crashing knee first into a desk. With the yelp of a woman shot, she succumbed to her wounds and fell on the spot, taking the Captain’s personal console down with her. After it landed dangerously close to Shepard's head, the console flickered weakly and then went dark. Another man down.

Best to stay right here, she thought. Best to die honorably beside a fallen comrade, a pitiful chance to absolve herself of Torfan.

Thus relieved, Shepard spent her first night on the Silversun Strip sleeping face down on a polished cement floor. It was the best night of sleep she'd had in months.

The next morning, after she’d vomited enough alcohol out of her blood to see straight, Shepard did what she could to straighten up the mess she'd made. Luckily, Anderson’s console had survived the fall unharmed. Less luckily, when she managed to boot the system again, it was only to receive a patronizing lecture.

Hey Kid,

Don’t slack off. I can squeak you into ICT, but after that, it's up to you. Do whatever you want at night, just don’t break my furniture. During the day, your ass already belongs to those instructors in Rio de Janeiro. Use this time to prepare. Proving your worth at Vila Militar is going to hurt like nothing else [...]

The message continued, in no uncertain terms, to spell out exactly how much pain she was promised. Doom and gloom included, it was still good news. If she spent a month quietly avoiding any further media spectacle and forcing herself into the best shape of her life, Shepard might be allowed to exchange the very last shreds of her military reputation for the opportunity to be eaten alive at Vila Militar. All she could do now was ready herself for digestion.

Every day cycle, she ground away dutifully, slowly but surely losing herself in a numbing cycle of PT. Hours spent running on Anderson's treadmill were matched by repetitive weight circuits in his cold, echoing living room. To keep herself sane in the middle of the third… fourth… fifth round of burning reps, she surfed through alien television and tried to avoid catching sight of her own face.

The turians obstinately refused to talk about it. Hierarchy-affiliated channels aired nothing more titillating than the occasional bottom-line crawl: human sources claim excommunicated traitor Albacus Regidonis lived among their own and attempted to raise a human child before dying in exile.

Occasionally a turian military analyst would drop Shepard's name along with a grudging acknowledgment of the Star of Terra, but for the most part, Shepard endured little more than endless, droning isolation. Watching TV and lifting weights, she gained five pounds of muscle and learned more than she ever cared to know about Palaven's water crisis.

She lasted half a month cooped up in solitary confinement before she cracked.

She started small, sneaking out to a declining aquatic recreation center a few blocks from Anderson's. The place was well-maintained but otherwise unfashionable, patronized by rheumy-eyed salarians and one or two ancient, wrinkled hanar. Given a wide berth in this mostly-empty pool, Shepard brought a pair of combat fins and swam daily, going as long as she could take it. Back and forth, back and forth, until her ankles threatened to crack.

Just as the retirement home was losing its appeal, the keepers went belly-up and all hell broke loose in Kithoi. Overnight, the ambient temperature rose by twenty degrees, and by the end of the next day cycle, every pool complex on the ward was packed to capacity, including the unfashionable ones.

To keep off the radar, Shepard drifted ten blocks further from Anderson's apartment. There she found a hole-in-the-wall volus arcade that offered zero-g free-fall and untethered target practice. Good exercise with no background checks and minimal safety restrictions. Fun, for a minute or two. But it wasn't long before the constant drug hand-offs in the lobby started to get on Shepard's nerves. Time to move on.

Her last week brought her as far afield as she dared. Armax Arena was thick with trigger-happy turians and not a few Alliance meatheads. All of them, including her, were looking for a fight. She kept her helmet on and spoke to no one, but the first time she got a funny look, her stomach lining curdled.

Fresh meat, that glance had said. Nothing more.

She chose Eska as her pseudonym on the public scoreboards, and remained undiscovered. Gradually, so as not to draw attention, she blasted through enough combat sims to earn two honorable mentions on the board - and brought home nearly five thousand credits.

Three days away from Vila Militar, Shepard won her first major score at the Arena. No use bragging about it. As usual, she collected her winnings in silence, then rushed into her favorite low-traffic alleyway, the only place she might remove her armor unobserved.

She had just finished clumsily shoving her practice armor into a duffle bag when she saw him.

Standing in the middle of her getaway route was one of the Arena’s regular spectators, a retired turian general named Oraka. Something of an eccentric local celebrity, he was in the habit of shaking hands with promising newbies and doling out bits of archaic battle strategy to anyone who would stand still long enough to listen. Always courteous, even to humans, but always a little bit drunk.

Today, he was sober.

“Excellent shooting,” he called, clear-eyed and deliberate. He stepped closer, keeping his empty hands raised, turning his neck just enough to show he was no threat. “Very sharp with a rifle, aren't you? But the pistol... that's where you truly shine.”

"What do you want?"

Slowly, his eyes drifted to her clenched fingers, to the red lacquer on her thumb, obvious as a bullseye. Staring at her, he adopted a look of baffled recognition and opened his mouth to speak. Several times he tried and failed, biting back every comment but the last.

"There are few things I love more than being right," he choked.

She stood her ground, but felt her hand trembling on strap of her duffle.

Using a thin, tremulous sub-vocal that held more meaning than she could parse, he softly added, “I always told Alba he would make a fine patrem.”

That night, on the arm of a general, Jane Shepard visited her first turian dive bar.

Considering her chaperone, the choice of ambience was pleasantly unpretentious. The general himself made for thrilling company for the first half hour, answering every question Shepard asked. But before long he grew maudlin and weepy - and very, very drunk.

The next night she returned to the bar, alone. Despite being the lone human in a heavily populated dextro dive, Shepard was permitted to sit at a small grungy table and drink herself numb, completely unmolested. The turian patrons were preoccupied with rubbing up on each other; they had little interest in a rubbernecking culture tourist. Aside from a few bored once-overs, she was invisible.

Finally, her last night arrived, sudden and rude. The slim, waning hours of precious anonymity before Camp Militar came for her blood. After tonight, it was perfection or death.

Knowing that, Shepard bought a short, cheap skirt and returned to the bar.

As before, nearly all of the locals ignored her. The only trouble came in the form of a persistent, flirtatious drug runner who kept insisting that a monkey in a skirt was adorable, and that everything would look a lot brighter if you took one of these and danced with me, mellia.

Three hours later, everything was tangled up in blue.

#this has been completely rewritten #I mean every single word #all 1500 of them #with the exception of bits of Anderson's note #yiiiiiikes #Red Streak #Fred Writes #RS chp

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survivor-kuwait · 5 years ago

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Episode 8 - “These bitches really do be getting on my nerves” - Chloe

rip stevie :( in the aftermath of that tribal that legit just felt like one massive personal attack i decided to go do some homework bc something felt off to me!! madison was out there whining about OMG BEING IN THE WARZONE THE WHOLE TIME BOOOOOOHOOOOOOOO and yet lmao she's either been "excused" or gotten a strike for deadass just not doing the challenges. the jig is uP! i think it's fairly obvious people are just using the warzone as a way to build relationships and i mean who can blame them, but her whole pity party at these tribals needs to stop. my mood towards her has definitely soured in the last hour lol i'm over it fam. also i've been talking to ian since the tribal to get some tea since tommy is legitimately useless. i'll like ask him what happened at tribal and he literally just goes "oh i just heard his name from everyone" shrug emoi LIKE!! WOULD IT KILL YOU TO FIND SOME MORE TEA OUT... anyways i find out from ian that cullan apparently brought up that they should target timmy for challenge prowess, to which ian said he shot down due to that being a slippery slope which soon leads to him. if that's true i'm v glad that that got shot down bc that's, in my mind, a shot fired at me. GIRRRRRL, like just leave me alone i shouldn't be fucking persecuted bc half of you guys are throwing challenges and i've actually been doing them. that doesn't mean shit.

youtube

I was able to get 217 seconds on the slide puzzle. Would I get any better? 🤷‍♂️ I dont think so. I have my graduation today so hopefully this score is enough.

not gonna lie I compleeeeetely COMPLETELY forgot about the chall until this morning when I was walking to class and my dumbass is at class and work and class again until 10 pm today so I don’t rlly have a MOUSE on me..... cut to me desperately and embarrassingly texting my classmates asking them to bring a mouse to class for me nnnn this is not gonna go well. maybe it’ll be good for me to go to war zone anyways I guess

Hi sisters! Last vote was super easy. It was like “Stevie k?” “K.” But also even though I feel like I’m a big part of the decision making process for every vote, I never get less nervous that everyone is lying to me! Strategic playing, or crippling trust issues? You decide.

These bitches really do be getting on my nerves

Its almost graduation time and im sooo nervous and excited. It would be nice to not be in warzone tonight. Please survivor gods help me.

Well this is a crucial immunity. After being out of the war zone for 2 in a row I feel at this point I am a little outside the people who have been there so many times. I think I have some strong bonds with some players but I do not that a couple have it out for me. Namely Madison and Jacob, which at this point I fed they should be over the whole Renee vote but that’s their prerogative.

Sooooo Final 15 baby! Honestly Im so proud of this time around on my TS journey cause Im actually liking the individual competition portion of this game. Its like the merge part of any Survivor game but with a "tribal competition" aspect. Meaning that I only have to worry about me, myself, and I and I love that. I just need to show that Im the bad bitch that is in control and take this game by the fucking reins and show it who's boss. Aint no way Im gonna get 15th, 14th or 12th again madam. No way.

Reinke

---

I survived, yeet. Kait survived, yeet. Ian went in, f*ck. Maynor went in, f*ck. Chloe went in, f*ck. Adrian went in...yeet.

Hello! I am safe again, 2nd time in a row? Idk. I do like Kait but I don't entirely trust her. I think I can use her for a bit as she'll believe she's using me. If I have the chance to get her out before or early merge, I will. Thomas is the most boring person in this game. I have yet to meet Timmy but I doubt anyone can beat Thomas in this feat. Talking to him is like talking to a wall. A white wall too. Also, he has no manners, demands favours and doesn't say please or thank you... The second I have the chance, he's gone. Nehe should've stayed, not him. Otherwise, Ian and I are working on some kind of power together for battleship. I really do like Ian. I hope we can make it far together, he's my number 2 after Owen. Together, we have the Topaz Idol and a potential save vote and a potential new power. Maynor and I have been socializing and friendly, I want him gone sooner than later but he's not a priority. He isn't great in comps generally. Still love Trace and I do trust him to an extent. I dislike Stephen, would like to see him leave relatively soon. I don't trust him at all. On the other side, Matt is going to tribal and him and I have built quite a bit of trust previously, I hope he makes it. I'm happy Cullan and Owen and Adrian are safe as I trust all 3 to certain extents. I would like Timmy to go due to his comp prowess and due to the fact we have yet to interact, but he's immune, again. I hope Chloe makes it out okay. I also hope Devon makes it out alive. I love that guy. I think Devon, Chloe, Trace and Ian can work together though! Matt could join with them as him and Devon were big parts of the Renee vote. Madison and Maynor, who were both left out of that vote, could see their way out which is A-okay by me. Jacob was also left out of this vote but I think Ian won't target him, just my two cents. I see Jacob as a better ally for me down the road compared to Madison or Maynor. That being said, I like many people in this game. I think my social game is strong. I do need to be careful with my words as some may catch on. And I may find myself at tribal with 7 ppl I like. I have my hierarchy of allies in my mind and I know who's at the bottom of my totem poll, I just hope I can get those who aren't even on it out first. I'm also a comp threat. Usually, I can lurk in the shadows more easily but with the dynamic and my low level of comfort with risk, competition prowess combined with my social game, though flashy, is what I'm betting on to keep myself safe. Owen and Kait and Timmy's competition prowess outshines mine and people peg Madison as the socialite who throws/does not complete comps to be in warzone. As long as there are some who play flashier than me, I'll be okay. Until next time!

I found a Rock Saver with the help of Corey, chill but I'm more than happy to send that over to him the second I'm back from warzone. That is such a situational power and there aren't really alliances yet to risk rocks for, but when there are it will be within Corey and I's power to use. Again, I'll play the idol to survive if I need to, but I'll do everything I can to prevent having to play it at f16, the jury doesn't care about what happens in the premerge portion of the game.

---

It's going to be Jacob or Madison this round. Idol or bust, Cancer will take a hit, because fuck cancer. I'm done with the waiting for someone to take out players who have been just chilling in the Warzone, I'm done with the throwing challenges, I'm done with the deceit. The Warzone is not redemption island, you can't feed me a fish and send me on my way to build your jury presence. Madison is sans her warzone buddies, she's vulnerable besides Jacob. Let's go!

I may be in the war zone rn but Ian is here and I have fuckin missed that boi so yanno pros and cons

I so so so do not want to be here at Warzone again. This vote is probably the most complicated thus far because at this point I need a lot of things to go a very specific way in order for people to not realize I’m in the middle. Devon trusts me and wants to go with Ian’s plan to vote our Madison or Jacob and Madison and Maynor want to vote Ian which I would also like. However at this point I need to make everyone happy and the odds of doing that are so slim. I just have to convince Maynor wnd Madison to vote Jacob or Devon to vote Ian and neither one is the path of least resistance. I’m on the path of MOST resistance and by path I mean 1 inch wide tightrope suspended over hungry sharks.

I was not that surprised when I got voted out. I did not expect it because voting out Stephen did in fact seem like a plausible option and i felt that between him and myself it was kinda similar. It was believable that he would be voted off, but I totally understand why I was voted off. The interesting part about it to me is I think I was the least connected person in the game and I can see how that can get dangerous in merge because those people can flip a lot, but right now I thought it might've been a good opportunity to gain me as a number. I think this tribal was my first interaction with Trace and Ian. I did like them and I liked talking to them and I think I had potential to work with them if the plan of voting me out wasn't already in place. There were a few people I did not talk to that round because i didn't think I should've had to reach out to EVERYONE in order to talk to them. I just think there are alliances that have formed that i am not a part of because the decision-making for these votes is kinda weird and I don't always understand the motives. So to me an alliance i am not a part of makes the most sense. I was very excited about the lagoon though. I am hoping I get a chance to come back because that would be lit. I just need to stick it out through these votes and I am hoping Renee is connected to at least one of the other three so we can stay. Kinda glad Nehe is gone. I think he was bad for my game

Devon has been a godsend so far today, I talked to him last night about wanting Jacob or Madison out and he has up and ran with it. Devon being the face on this vote? Yes please, I don't want to blow back on me if it flips.

I actually have people working with me and talking to me this round? 😮😮😮 crazy that maybe these people have finally stopped trying to get me fucking out

Trying to talk to cullan rn and I can’t decide if it’s more or less difficult than talking to Thomas. He’s sent like three one word answers now.... Me: you doing anything exciting this weekend!? Cullan: Graduating. Ummmm ok hoe sounds real exciting hskshdjd like elaborate? Oh well I’m not answering. I tried to reach out bc my social game is ass rn but I’m not putting myself thru that today!!!! I miss Kait :( and I want to talk to corey :(((( grrrr they the real ones. And matt. Have yet to have a stimulating conversation with literally anyone else in this game. Wait ok actually I do like Timmy and madison SJSU’s je but madison busy too and Timmy sends LONG messages. Why can’t I have an in BETWEEN!!

I'm definitely going to see at least one vote tonight, I'm nervous about it because if people flip on me instead of voting Jacob I'll be dead to rights because I will not play my idol unless another idol is played. My thought process is that if I need my idol to save myself from a majority vote tonight then I wasn't bound to go far in this game anyway. I'll take my ball(advantages) and go home. 5 people told me they are voting Jacob, Matt told me Jacob is voting for me, if I'm being fed bullshit by everyone then that's just how the cookie crumbles.

Today has been quiet but people have brought up that Jacob and Madison are a strong duo. Matt was able to put the target on Jacob. It could be a 4-4 tie but Matt Madison n I might just go with majority and vote Jacob.

As per usual, I have no idea if I made a confessional about this or not. I can’t believe I won immunity, like I didn’t even have computer access. And i got 3rd so i had some margin to be safe (granted Adrian got 4th with one second more than me but still). That was the first time I did the puzzle because my other times were worse. If I was doing it on a computer my time would’ve been so much better so idk what happened with everyone else. And today Owen messaged me saying he feels kind of fucked because he hasn’t been to tribal in ages, which might be true but also he can probably win a lot of immunities come merge and people like him. I’m happy to work with him right now because we both have a lot of challenge wins but honestly I want him to go earlier on in merge because he is good at getting quick social connections.

oof mama, what a round this is panning out to be. First of all, I felt personally victimized by that challenge. The Ard tribe is full of some SERIOUS competitors, and that's the reason that I will most likely continue to show up at these stupid war zones until we merge. Fucking Kait has made it this far without going to the war zone at all, which is putting SUCH A LARGE target on her back. bUt whatever, it's just frustrating being on a tribe of people that probably do online puzzles for fun. So this round is interesting. After last round's unanimous vote, I feel a lot more comfortable working with certain people in the game. Ian has kind of solidified his spot as my number one in this game (more to come about that too). He came to me and was like we NEED to make a move against Madison/Jacob. He said he knows that Madison is a challenge threat, but is purposely trying to lose the challenges so that she can make connections with people in the war zone. Though he had made some points, I really don't think Madison is that smart to figure out how to do that. I really just think she is busy/not prioritizing and keeps showing up here. She seems pretty innocuous. That being said, she has become a bit of a social threat, slipping by all of these rounds without having to really do much. BUT, I do trust her and don't want her to be sent packing quite yet. Jacob, her star sign partner, on the other hand, can go. He doesn't talk at all, and when he doesn't they're boring one word answers. So I had pretty much set my heart on Jacob even though he is on our tribe, making my chances higher of showing up here if we keep doing the war zone format. To make matters more interesting, I talked a bit more to Matt this round and he told me that Madison and Jacob were gunning for Ian this round. Madison claims she is good with voting for Jacob, but everyone else says they seem to be a strong pair. I went straight to Ian with this and then he TOLD ME HE HAD AN IDOL. Honestly I am so happy to know he has it and not someone against me, because that's going to be some great information to have later on down the road. I think he is really paranoid, but at this point I just really cannot tell who is lying and telling the truth. I am hoping that people are being truthful and going to actually vote for Jacob, but I am trying to figure out who exactly has been saying Ian's name. It's ultimately going to be up to him whether he wants to play the idol this round but oof, if I were him, I'd be sweating. SO we shall see, but lord knows I'm shaking in my loafers!

#survivorstarzone #episodes

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gadgetsrevv · 5 years ago

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Man Utd news LIVE: Solskjaer sack latest, Sancho transfer instruction, Glazers’ plan | Football | Sport

Manchester United news LIVE updates

Saturday, October 12

Manchester United could look to Julian Nagelsmann to replace Ole Gunnar Solskjaer

Jadon Sancho has been told to snub a transfer to the Red Devils

The Glazers have a plan to invest money in refurbishing Old Trafford

Mario Mandzukic continues to be linked with a January move to United

Sir Alex Ferguson and Ed Woodward relationship

Manchester United chief Ed Woodward reportedly barely speaks to Sir Alex Ferguson when they’re sat in the directors box.

Woodward has been vice-executive chairman since 2013 – the same year the Scot walked away from Old Trafford to retire.

Manchester United have endured a difficult few years in the time since Ferguson walked away, winning the FA Cup, EFL Cup and Europa League but failing to challenge for the Premier League title or the Champions League.

And The Athletic say one person at United has claimed that the duo rarely speak at matches.

“They can be ten yards from each other and not shake hands,” the person is quoted as saying.

Another source says differently but the report goes into detail about their relationship.

It is claimed Ferguson and Woodward have been on different wavelengths ever since the summer the Scot retired.

Man Utd news LIVE: Sir Alex Ferguson apparently has a sour relationship with Ed Woodward (Image: GETTY)

Real reason why Jose Mourinho signed Fred

Former Manchester United boss Jose Mourinho only signed Fred because he felt the alternative was no midfielder at all, reports say.

Fred touched down from Shakhtar Donetsk back in the summer of 2018, with the Red Devils beating competition from Manchester City to get a transfer over the line.

However, the Manchester United star has struggled during his time at Old Trafford, most recently toiling in a 1-0 defeat to Newcastle.

And the Athletic claim Mourinho only landed Fred because he felt that, if he didn’t, he wouldn’t get a midfielder at all.

The Red Devils refute this, insisting the Portuguese was the one driving the deal for the midfielder.

Man Utd news LIVE: Fred has been a flop at Old Trafford (Image: GETTY)

Man Utd told to sign Kasper Schmeichel

Manchester United supporters want to see Kasper Schmeichel at Old Trafford on a regular basis.

They urged manager Ole Gunnar Solskjaer to sign the 32-year-old, after he saved Denmark on numerous occasions in their match against Switzerland.

Schmeichel made a terrific diving save to keep out Arsenal’s Grant Xhaka in the first half.

United fans liked what they saw from the Foxes’ goalkeeper, and want the Old Trafford hierarchy to sign Schmeichel this summer.

“Kasper Schmeichel would’ve done well at United,” tweeted one United fan at full-time.

“Great goalkeeper, Schmeichel, from Denmark,” added another supporter.

“He’s got his father’s talent. I’d like to see him defending United too.”

Man Utd news LIVE: Some fans want Kasper Schmeichel signed (Image: GETTY)

Man Utd need a Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang

Manchester United have struggled this season due to their lack of attacking threat.

That’s the view of Tony Cascarino, who believes Ole Gunnar Solskjaer needs a striker like Arsenal ace Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang.

“[Pierre-Emerick] Aubameyang’s goalscoring record is extraordinary,” Cascarino said on talkSPORT.

“It’s one thing I look at United and think they haven’t got a [Sergio] Aguero, a [Harry] Kane, a Aubameyang, a [Alexandre] Lacazette, a [Mohamed] Salah or [Sadio] Mane.

“They haven’t got any of that and that’s why their failing because they don’t have forwards with that quality.

“I’ve always argued that Manchester United as a football club should never employ a coach that plays cautious football because the club is not built on that,.

“From the 60s and onwards, the club was built to entertain at the highest level with players who were good enough technically to wear that shirt.

“I think they’ve gone away from that.”

Man Utd news LIVE: Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang has impressed at Arsenal (Image: GETTY)

Juan Mata and David De Gea knew Jose Mourinho sack wouldn’t solve problems

Manchester United duo David De Gea and Juan Mata supposedly warned friends that Jose Mourinho’s exit would not mark an end to the club’s problems.

Mourinho was axed by the Red Devils last December after overseeing a difficult start to the Premier League season.

Manchester United have since hired Ole Gunnar Solskjaer as the Portuguese’s successor but he, like his predecessors, looks to be in line for the sack.

The Red Devils sit just two points above the relegation zone and pressure is mounting on Solskjaer to turn things around.

And The Athletic say that, after Mourinho was axed, Mata and De Gea issued a warning.

It is claimed they told friends that the departure of the manager would not change things at United and believed the issue ran deeper.

Man Utd news LIVE: Since Jose Mourinho left things haven’t got better (Image: GETTY)

Rio Ferdinand on Ole Gunnar Solskjaer sacking

Rio Ferdinand believes the Manchester United board knew when appointing Ole Gunnar Solskjaer that there would be plenty of ups and downs at the start of the 46-year-old’s tenure.

“There’s no way that the club would have thought that this would have been rosy straight away,” Ferdinand said on talkSPORT.

“They’re not naive enough to think this is going to be a situation that just changes over night.

“This is definitely somewhere where there’s going to be early pain and result won’t go our way, especially with the recruitment and that they’ve started to go with younger players.

“That’s why I don’t see there being a change straight away.

“I’ll be very surprised if I wake up, open a paper or an app and see that he’s gone so quickly.”

Man Utd news LIVE: Rio Ferdinand has spoken on Ole Gunnar Solskjaer (Image: GETTY)

Paul Pogba to miss Liverpool match

Manchester United star Paul Pogba looks certain to miss his side’s clash with Liverpool next weekend through injury, according to reports.

Pogba still has his foot in a protective cast after suffering an injury earlier this season.

On Friday, the Frenchman posted “Almost there”, alongside a picture of himself working out in Dubai where he’s undergoing rehabilitation.

But according to the Daily Mail, Pogba won’t make it back in time for the Liverpool game at Old Trafford next week.

He’s due to return to Carrington in the next few days where club doctors will determine the severity of his injury and how much more recovery time he will need.

Man Utd news LIVE: Paul Pogba will miss the match against Liverpool (Image: GETTY)

Mario Mandzukic to Man Utd backed

Mario Mandzukic’s move to Manchester United is “pretty much signed and sealed”, according to Liverpool legend Steve Nicol.

Mandzukic has emerged as a serious transfer target for United in the upcoming January window.

“I think it happens and I think it’s pretty much signed and sealed as well,” Nicol told ESPN FC. “So yeah I don’t think there’s any question this is a hit.

“It’s something that United need but let’s be honest, it’s going against all the nonsense they gave us at the start of the season about youth – yeah right. Mandzukic, an old campaigner, experienced. He will come in for a short period of time and do a good job.”

Man Utd news LIVE: Mario Mandzukic is wanted by the Red Devils (Image: GETTY)

Kalidou Koulibaly speaks on his future

Kalidou Koulibaly has dismissed recent transfer speculation and remains focused on Napoli amid interest from Manchester United.

The Senegal international said: “I’m used to it. So many [stories] come out each day, which say I’m leaving.

“Right now, my only objective is to win with Napoli. I don’t care about the rest.

“Our objective remains to beat the best teams in Italy and win the title.

“This season is more difficult because all the teams have got stronger and Serie A has become more competitive.

“I haven’t made the best start to the season. Juventus remain the team to beat. For our part, we must work even harder, improving our game to get closer to them.

“Our objective is to qualify for the Champions League knockout stage as soon as possible.”

Man Utd news LIVE: Kalidou Koulibaly has been speaking on his future (Image: GETTY)

Surprise candidate to replace Ole Gunnar Solskjaer

Manchester United may replace Ole Gunnar Solskjaer with RB Leipzig manager Julian Nagelsmann.

Are Manchester United really about to sack Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, just months after they planned for a bright future of success at Old Trafford?

It’s certainly not out of the question. Since getting the job full time in March, on the back of a successful stint as interim boss, Solskjaer has overseen a disastrous run. Now, the club look further away from challenging for major honours than ever before.

Amid their struggles, links to managers have started to emerge. Massimiliano Allegri is available and seemingly the obvious choice to take over.

But, intriguingly, Julian Nagelsmann was tipped to take over during the week.

The RB Leipzig boss has overseen his side’s fine start to the Bundesliga campaign, where they sit just two points behind league leaders Borussia Monchengladbach.

He had previously worked wonders at Hoffenheim, guiding them to a Champions League qualifying spot two years in a row.

Man Utd news LIVE: Ole Gunnar Solskjaer is under pressure at Old Trafford (Image: GETTY)

Jadon Sancho told to snub Man Utd

England winger Jadon Sancho has been urged to say no to Manchester United, if the club tried to sign him from Borussia Dortmund.

“[From Dortmund] to Manchester United? No, he’d be talking a step down,” he said on ESPN FC.

“Let’s be blunt about it, this is a team in the bottom half of the table.

“This is Manchester United, and they’ve still got the gloss and the glamour that sticks to the name, just about.

“Imagine how Manchester City would feel if the guy who was a kid in their academy went down the road to Manchester United?

“I know Manchester United would be interested, but the queue would be halfway around Europe for this youngster.”

Man Utd news LIVE: Julian Nagelsmann is a shock contender to replace Solskjaer (Image: GETTY)

Man Utd news LIVE: Marcus Rashford has been struggling at Old Trafford (Image: GETTY)

The Glazers have Old Trafford plan

Manchester United’s owners, the Glazer Family, are ready to invest in Old Trafford.

The Glazers have come in for criticism regarding their spending on stadium maintenance and upgrades – leaving Old Trafford aged and lagging behind their rivals’ new modern facilities.

The belief has been that the owners has been shocked by spending on transfer fees and player wages in recent years and have scaled back plans to spend on the stadium.

However, Express Sport can reveal the Glazers do intend to pump money into Old Trafford – and have overseen a £20million investment already.

Part of that was down to VAR, with United introducing a production room for the system.

United have an ongoing multi-million pound refurbishment plan. Last summer that squared to £2m and, this summer, to £3.9m.

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#Gossip Man Utd news LIVE: Solskjaer sack latest #Sancho transfer instruction #Glazers’ plan | Footba

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deborahdeshoftim5779 · 8 years ago

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The Marvel of Trelsi (Part IV)

Welcome back, people. I need a Restraining Order against Real Life, which has taken up so much of my time. But let’s get back to Trelsi, because Trelsi is just life.

Just a recap of this series: I’m getting to the bottom of Trelsi (Troy Bolton and Kelsi Nielsen) throughout the movie canon, as well as adding my own headcanon musings and commentary. I want to explore what makes them so compulsively rewatchable as a duo, and the potential of their relationship. So far, I’ve:

1- Introduced the duo

2- Answered my first question, “Who IS Troy Bolton?”

3- Answered my second question, “Who IS Kelsi Nielsen?”

4- Examined the opening scene between Troy and Kelsi during HSM I.

For the last couple of days, I’ve been torn on what post to do next, as several of the next scenes between Troy and Kelsi reiterate much of what I said in Part III. Since the first scene between them is so emblematic of who they are and what they will become, we need to understand why their friendship from this point onwards, just WORKS. During this time, I can incorporate some of the scene analysis from HSM I and II for examples. So this will answer my question from the introduction:

Question: What makes the Trelsi friendship and dynamic so friggin’ special? Why does it make me want to weep and write poetry?

There are two major ironies in the HSM franchise. The first, as I will discuss in later instalments, is that the main couple are supposed to represent an ideal romance (there is no such thing), and instead represent a shipwreck. The second irony, relevant here, is that unbreakable bonds of friendship are ostensibly said to hold the cast of characters together. In Troy’s graduation speech, he says, “East High is making friends that we’ll keep for the rest of our lives.” If one watches the movies uncritically, this may appear to be the case: Sharpay repents at the end of each movie, warming up to Gabriella, Gabriella makes friends with Ryan, Chad and the Wildcats stop deriding Ryan as “Sharpay’s poodle” and make friends with him, Troy and Chad have been friends since play-school and so on. This is what the movies want us to believe.

The reality is that none of the above cited examples come even close to the quality of friendship that Troy and Kelsi share. Not even close*. There are of course exceptions. Taylor is a very good friend to Gabriella, and the only person to whom Gabriella actually shows some genuine affection and loyalty. Troy and Ryan have a strong friendship: Troy didn’t need Ryan to undergo some silly contest to become his friend.** Kelsi is eventually willing, by the beginning of HSM II, to push aside her grudge against Sharpay and become friends with Ryan (”Kelsi’s got some great new ideas to spice up the Talent Show!”): if not for the Royal Sham conjured in HSM III, things would have gone well for these two. However, the vast majority of friendships in the canonical franchise only represent a hollow echo of the word. Yet it is precisely these relationships that receive more airtime and are aggressively touted as commendable, whilst the genuine and wonderful friendship between Troy*** and Kelsi is lucky to even get four scenes out of movies that span almost two hours each. It’s unjust. It’s inexplicable.

In order to DEFEND Troy and Kelsi’s friendship, I need to deal with my main contention: how Troy is treated throughout the series. Kelsi is, for the most part, fortunately spared of dealing with absurd levels of pressure, both professional and social, harsh criticism, staggering levels of hypocrisy, betrayals of trust, mockery and downright cruelty that Troy faces throughout from people alleged to be his friends. It is honestly depressing to see how little Troy gets in return for his own decent and kind acts towards other people, and how the script expects the viewer to ignore or worse, celebrate, this. I’ve done some reading on the Internet to find a comprehensive article explaining what makes a good friend-- in particular, a good friend to Troy, since he suffers more. Using this, I will demonstrate how Trelsi wins and many of Troy’s other friends fall far short of the mark. I will try and keep references to Gabriella’s behaviour to a minimum here, as she will be discussed when I examine the potential of Trelsi romance.

You can find the link source I’m using here: 11 Signs of A True Friendship

1- “They accept everything about you, including your flaws.”

In my post about Troy, I discussed his dorky personality. Prior to Troy’s significant overcoming of social hierarchies and stereotypes in HSM I, it appears certain that dorks and nerds were viewed with disdain by the jocks. So the fact that East High’s Primo Boy and Playmaker is also a King of Dorks is social heresy. This is why Troy was at pains to hide his rooftop hideout from his friends: “Thanks to the Science Club, which means my buddies don’t even know it exists!” In other words, Troy was essentially telling Gabriella that his buddies don’t accept the real him. They’re in love with the image. Playmaker, Hoops, The Basketball Guy. This is what guides and motivates them. It’s only much later in HSM III that Troy tells Chad, “The Gardening Club is ready for you,” but even that is punctuated by 1)- Chad laughing at Troy for potentially getting into Juilliard, 2)- Chad barely attempting to understand any of Troy’s chronic indecision until the very end, 3)- Chad imposing his own view of who Troy should be upon Troy all the time.

Furthermore, the Wildcats have no patience for Troy’s flaws. In HSM II, his weakness for trying to please all the people all the time is treated as a sign of arrogance and selfishness, rather than partially motivated by the insane pressure that THEY (as well as others) place upon his shoulders.**** In HSM III, Troy’s significant flaws for taking his relationship with Gabriella too seriously, of over-investing in it and not expecting anything in return, of taking each setback personally to the point of being unable to function properly, of refusing to see reason or be objective in said relationship or his friendships, are virtually ignored by the Wildcats. In fact, it appears they are irritated by his upset. I base this on Chad’s irritation with Troy for messing up the dance moves and songs in rehearsal.

On the other hand, Kelsi completely accepts Troy as he is. No questions, no judgements, no mockery. As I stated in my analysis of Kelsi Nielsen, the crux of her innate understanding of Troy as a person is communicated in song. BoltonEvans has helpfully pointed to lyrics from “You Are The Music In Me” that demonstrate this, which I will reproduce here: “As I am/And you understand/And that’s more than I’ve ever known”. My personal favourite is from “I Just Wanna Be With You”, which really demonstrates Kelsi’s philosophy on friendship and what it SHOULD be: “A friend like you/Always makes it easy/I KNOW THAT YOU GET ME EVERYTIME” (Capital emphasis my own). Kelsi never requires Troy to change who he is, or to fit some model trope. A significant reason is based upon Kelsi’s personal experience; given that she has been treated as not socially acceptable enough to be considered cool, and knows how this feels, this has given her more incentive to be empathetic and non-judgemental towards others. Furthermore, Troy treated her as a human being and an equal, and thus Kelsi returns the favour, also seeing him in the same way.

As is always the case with Trelsi, this works in the reverse, too. Although many movies that use the Cool Guy and Nerdy Girl pairing often make the Nerdy Girl become “cool” before she can be with the Cool Guy, this trope does not exist when it comes to Troy and Kelsi. She’s still wearing her funky clothes, bandana’s (that bandanna in HSM III is so Jimi Hendrix), cut-offs and converses. She’s still got that sarcastic humour, likes to poke fun of things. She leaves a half-eaten apple on the piano. (This is sacrilegious. My mum always told me, don’t bring food to the piano. And tea! Honestly!) She whistles and sticks her hands in her pockets, and rolls her eyes at Sharpay. She still wanders around with wads of manuscript paper in her bag, and tunes out of her friend’s conversation at lunchtime to finish her songs. She’s between 16-18 and writes songs like an adult. And Troy totally accepts that. He does not change a single thing about who she is to make her socially acceptable for him. After all, he is Jock Supreme. Playmaker. Hoops Man. And he hangs out with a girl who knows NOTHING about sports (”basketball class”-- seriously still not over that one), probably doesn’t talk about “cool things” (I have learned that cool things include who slept with who and who tried E last Friday night) and has zero sense of fashion! :D Okay, that was my own insert. But you get the picture. East High is HIGHLY HIERARCHISED. The significance here is enormous, which begs the question of why we didn’t see MORE of this.

Oh-- also, Kelsi is a girl. Troy’s buddies up til now are all boys and all part of a brotherhood in basketball. (”Buddies” always has the connotation of male friends). And he breaks away from them to make friends with a socially inept girl miles away from him on the social spectrum with NO EXPECTATION of sexual/romantic consequences. Given the tough-guy attitude of the Wildcats players, they seem to see girls as being there to be conquered. Chad in particular does not have a girl who is just his friend until the end of HSM I onwards. Yes, he likes Gabriella, but previously, he had called her a “temptress” because she was interfering with Troy’s “true” calling. (Damn the “female mind”! :D) He likes Gabriella because he approves of Troy’s relationship. And before Chad got on with Kelsi, he made a comment about her looks: “Do you know something about this? Small person?”, not even taking into consideration the fact that Kelsi was upset about the callbacks being re-arranged, too. But Troy just likes Kelsi because he likes Kelsi. He’s not interested in her looks, her relationships, her social status. He just likes her. What she DOES (i.e her mind/her skills) is “really cool”. He takes an interest in her life with NO STRINGS ATTACHED. That’s just SO awesome to me.

2- “They stick with you through both the good and bad times.”

Oh, this one will be a BIGGIE when considering a certain lady, won’t it? :D

During HSM I, Troy gives a completely contrived speech (these seem to be a speciality of his) during which he says, “I thought that you’re my friends! Win together, lose together. Team-mates.” There is a laughable irony in these lines, given that the Wildcats rarely display ANY of these basic requirements for friendship. Yes, they repent after seeing Troy downcast and hurt by Gabriella refusing to speak to him. But during HSM II, they quickly abandon him as a lost cause when the pressures of his job mean less time spent with them. Instead of reaching out, Chad yells at Troy then stops speaking to him. Only through Kelsi’s intervention does he decide to bury the hatchet-- and even then, not before Troy is forced to admit to being a jerk, whilst Chad makes no apology on his part. So no matter how frustrated and isolated Troy feels, he gets no sympathy from The Wildcats. No, he is the problem. He is arrogant and selfish by not devoting 110% of his time to them. (By the way, another website says (point #1) that real friends don’t make you feel like crap for missing social times to attend to work/career concerns. Take note, Wildcats. And a certain lady). During HSM III, they are rarely on hand with positive encouragement when he is 1)- struggling to make career decisions, 2)- struggling with Gabriella’s absence, 3)- struggling to stay motivated in rehearsal. Remember Troy sitting ALONE in the auditorium, staring into the nothingness? All the chairs next to him are empty, because the Wildcats are too engrossed in their own conversations to check on him.

Kelsi is one of the few characters who truly exemplifies the loyal friend. Once she has become friends with Troy, the deal is sealed. Her loyalty is one of her best assets. In HSM II and HSM III, the key moments of encouragement for Troy come when Kelsi either stands by his side, or when she tries to cheer him up.

By far my favourite scene in HSM II comes when Kelsi is the only one not to turn her back on Troy or freeze him out. Think about the significance of this. The Wildcats, upon hearing that Sharpay had banned employee participation, had most likely planned not to speak to Troy. What were their objectives? I think it was either to punish him. If they wanted him to change, they would and should have communicated their displeasure to him. The fact that they didn’t even have the decency to explain their anger shows that their motivations were vindictive. Given that Kelsi was, by this point, considered one of the Wildcats, she would have been expected to follow suit. After all, Troy was betraying the team. He was getting privileges whilst they were washing plates. (Obviously their interpretation, not mine). Can you see why Kelsi’s actions here are not only important, but downright HEROIC? Firstly, Chad glares at Troy and then leaves when Troy comes to sit down, which is insufferably rude. Then Jason makes eye contact with Troy, glares and turns his back on him. The hurt on Troy’s face makes it difficult for me to watch this scene. But look at Kelsi’s reaction: she is shocked and embarrassed by Chad and Jason’s behaviour and doesn’t know how to react. This may make it seem like Kelsi perhaps didn’t know about the Silent Treatment plan, but she was DEFINITELY there when Chad yelled at Troy (I rewinded to make sure), so perhaps she might have expected this. Then we see Troy turn to Kelsi, as though expecting her to just up and leave as well. He is confused. There is a cold silence in the room. What has he done wrong (this time)? Instead of leaving, Kelsi passes him the announcement and watches his reaction. Troy is stunned and shocked by this (because he had NOTHING to do with this!!!) and looks at Kelsi, presumably for an explanation, as he begins to realize why everyone is silent. And it’s the look that Kelsi gives him which clinches this scene as a classic Trelsi moment: it’s a silent “It’s not your fault”, and then that shrug, which seems to imply that she knows why everyone else is angry and doesn’t agree with their actions AND that he shouldn’t worry (perhaps not very helpful) AND that she is trying to downplay her own disappointment at Sharpay’s behaviour. (Although not successfully). But the main point here is that she does not blame Troy. She’s silently demonstrating loyalty to him, not freezing him out, not blaming him, whilst everyone else literally turns their back. It’s a silent act of rebellion that could have cost Kelsi herself, given that she was disobeying the Wildcats unilateral decision to punish Troy. But she still does it, once again demonstrating that she is no wallflower. She can resist. If that’s not true friendship, then I don’t know what is.

I have already discussed the BEAUTIFUL, SQUEE-WORTHY Trelsi hug in HSM III at length here, but I will add that even though Sharpay commands Kelsi to get to the piano, she rebels, and instead goes straight to Troy. He is her first concern. She holds his hand, helps him to stand and then gives him a hug. He smiles back at her, and she smiles too. Once she knows she has lifted his spirits, she makes her way to the piano. Think about this. Kelsi has poured her heart and soul into the musical; the last thing she needs is a miserable and lifeless lead actor pining over his girlfriend. But the fact of her checking on him first sends a powerful message; that friends come first. Songs can wait. That even when Troy is at his lowest, she is RIGHT THERE BESIDES HIM. (”It’s hard to believe that I couldn’t see that you were always right beside me”/ “Through every up, through every DOWN, you know I’ll always be around”). Those lyrics are Troy and Kelsi in a nutshell. And again, there’s no need for dialogue here. There is a great reversal in roles between Troy and Kelsi in this scene, demonstrating that they are equals: in the first movie, Kelsi was down (both literally and emotionally), and Troy picked her up. In the third movie, Troy is down (literally and emotionally), and Kelsi picks him up. It’s “I’ve got your back, you’ve got mine.” 50-50. Partners. Equals.

*squees and weeps* :D

Now if the movies had been more interested in Kelsi’s life outside of music, then I’m sure we would have had some scenes where Troy did the same for her when she was down. For example, a possible scenario could have been when Jason broke up with Kelsi (if that’s what happened) for Martha. (A possible theory proposed by BoltonEvans). I 110% believe that Troy would be there for Kelsi first, and NOT his basketball buddy for all the reasons I have illustrated. That would have been a GREAT scene. You see the enormous disadvantages in limiting Trelsi scenes, but inflicting us with the Bubonic Plague of Wildcat hypocrisy and calling it friendship.

Okay, I have written enough today, but I will be back soon with more!

(*FOOTNOTE-- On Gabriella believing Troy’s performance on the videotape. As a scientist, shouldn’t she have a bit more of an enquiring mind? :D If the direct WiFi streaming wasn’t suspicious enough, she could at least have sought Troy’s side of the story. To be fair, I have less of an issue with Gabriella’s behaviour in this movie as compared to the next two. Although, as I have stated before, if Gabriella could be so swift as to quit the musical in front of Troy, I very much doubt she bothered to tell Kelsi. Why? Because in HSM III, she quits the musical, and we have no choice but to assume that Kelsi was not in the know. These things may not be significant, but they do show how little respect Gabriella actually has for Kelsi’s time and effort. Look at her face in HSM III (top picture), when Troy reminds her that they’re doing a musical together. Like I said in the last instalment, it wasn’t as though she was eager to help Kelsi after her fall in the first place, was it? It’s insane and quite sad, given how much Kelsi (unfortunately) respects Gabriella).

(**FOOTNOTE-- Another reason why Chyan is a nonsensical ship and another example of Wildcat insincerity. Though Chad does genuinely like Ryan by the end of HSM II and HSM III, it’s clear that Chad had to check if Ryan was good enough to be his friend. Once he “approved” Ryan (almost entirely based on sporting ability and not character), then the Wildcats presumably stopped deriding him as “Sharpay’s poodle” behind his back. Eventually, in the third movie, Chad admires Ryan’s choreography. But when Chad laughs at Troy’s potential chance at attending Juilliard, he is demonstrating a lack of respect for Ryan’s passion (the Performing Arts), which makes it implausible that these two would ever work as a pairing).

(***FOOTNOTE-- It’s worth noting that every friendship with Troy in is either 1)- exemplary, or 2)- completely one-sided because the other person doesn’t put in half as much effort as Troy does. This underlines the innate value of Troy as a hero, and demonstrates how seriously he takes the matter of friendships and relationships. There’s no half-stepping with Troy, as I will discuss when examining the potential for Trelsi romance. He’s in 110% or he’s out. The only person with whom he wavers is with Sharpay, but that’s only because Sharpay pursues him to the point of active inconvenience/discomfort/annoyance. Even then, he was willing to put aside his annoyance with her in HSM II out of compassion and a sense of duty. Hence why, in a rare moment of likeability and humanity, Sharpay said, “You’re a good guy, Troy.” )

(****FOOTNOTE-- I have to seriously question how good the East High Wildcats are as a basketball team. Forget the catchy slogan. I’m a sports fan, and like Troy said, it’s a TEAM effort. (Clue is in the name). If they could, according to the ever-helpful Chad, fall apart just by the idea of Troy auditioning for a musical, then what does that say about their game plan? To be quite frank with you, I’m surprised they hadn’t lost more games given the pressure they put JUST on Troy to deliver. Chad’s claim that the Wildcats would “get their sorry butts kicked” if Troy was auditioning seems a declaration of general incompetency. What did they do if Troy is ill or injured, as I’m SURE he must have been in the past? They might as well not show up! There are perfectly brilliant players who perform poorly in a particular team because their team-mates don’t put in as much effort, or aren’t co-ordinated together. I think Mr. Bolton is a capable coach, but even he admits that he puts too much pressure on Troy! “And without you, COMPLETELY focused, we’re not going to win next week.” Why only Troy? From what we can see, Chad is integral to the team as well; Troy relies upon his assists to score. Isn’t this what Troy said in HSM II to Mr. Evans? Jason has the same value. “There’s twelve people on this team, not just me,” said Mr. Perfectly Reasonable. Alas, no one ever listens to him).

#Trelsi #OTP #Playmakers #TroyBolton #KelsiNielsen #LiterallyTroyandKelsiForever #HowCanAnyoneNotLoveTheseTwo #EvenYouOtherShippersLoveThem #TrelsiScenesAreLife #TrueFriendship #IJustWannaBeWithYou #Kelsi'sLyrics

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