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darisu-chan · 4 years

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whatever our souls are made of (his and mine are the same), pt. 2

Hi!

Welcome back to the second one-shot in this collection.

I hope you guys like it!

You can also read it here.

See you guys tomorrow!

to be (the man in your heart)

Prompt: fantasy vs reality

Summary: Everybody sees Ichigo the way they want to see him. But only Rukia sees him whole.

“Today we’re going to talk about the hero’s journey,” the professor drawls out one cloudy August morning, ignorant of the blank stares and yawning coming from his students. He probably thinks he’s being engaging enough, completely unaware that he has already lost his students.

Even Ichigo feels lost before the introduction.

He would probably have paid more attention if he hadn’t felt so drowsy.

Then again, it’s barely eight am on a Friday.

And he doesn’t know precisely why, but lately it has been hard to focus on anything more than a couple of minutes. He hopes this doesn’t get reflected on his grades though. He doesn’t need a repeat of his less than stellar grades the last year and a half of high school.

He can’t help but curse himself for choosing to attend an early morning class.

Although it’s not like it is entirely his fault.

By all means, this class was supposed to be engaging. Or at least Ichigo had been excited to take it when he had enrolled in a course about folktales, particularly Western ones. The purpose of this class is not only to study tales from European cultures, but to analyze them according to different approaches and literary theories. As someone majoring in English Literature, this class had seemed essential and Ichigo had not hesitated to take it. Now he realizes it is less about the folktales and more about the theory of what makes something a story.

Which is not really what he had wanted to study. But… can’t do anything about it now.

There have been only two other classes, as it is the beginning of the semester. They haven’t really done much so far, but today, they are apparently starting with the basics. This means they are studying the monomyth, also known as the hero’s journey, a way to categorize stories featuring heroes. Because in most folktales, heroes are the protagonists of stories, and everyone else is just someone there to help the hero or to oppose them.

(Ichigo hates this idea)

“But before we start, can anybody tell me what a hero is?” The professor asks, interrupting his lecture and startling his sleepy students.

Have we mentioned that Ichigo hates heroes?

It is definitely too early in the morning to think in general, much less about such a contrived term. But yet, here he is. In this class he himself had chosen to take. Past Ichigo had been such an idiot, huh?

Before he can continue down this line, a girl suddenly raises her hand, distracting him from his musings.

“Yes, Yamada-san?” The professor calls her.

“A hero is the person who saves the day in a story.” She obediently recites, as if she had memorized her answer before saying it out loud.

Ichigo can’t help but roll his eyes at her.

But of course the goody-two-shoes of the class would give the most basic of definitions.

Because that is the only thing heroes are good for.

Saving the day, as if that was their purpose, their whole life, who they are.

Saviors.

(Ichigo hates this idea)

“Yes, in very broad terms, you’re correct, Yamada-san.” The professor says in such a dismissing way that stops Yamada from preening any further. “However, what is the essence of a hero? What makes him any different to other characters?” He asks again, prompting his students to elaborate more on their answers.

Another student raises his hand.

“That he’s the protagonist of the tale.”

“Right, Uehara-san. He or she is the protagonist in most stories. But that is just a characteristic within the story. What I am asking is what makes a hero, well, the hero? What is it that makes a person act heroic?”

Ichigo cannot help but snort.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t have, because that makes the teacher focus all his attention on him.

“Ah. Kurosaki-san, do you know the answer to the question?” The professor seems to ask almost mockingly.

Ichigo bits his lip.

Because, try as he might to hide it, he knows what is it the professor is asking, probably better than anyone in the room, even the professor himself.

“Selflessness.” He replies at length. “A willingness to sacrifice everything just to protect someone else.”

The professor excitedly moves his head up and down. “Yes! Thank you, Kurosaki-san. The reason heroes are saviors is because they are selfless!”

And he continues on with his lecture, talking about heroes, villains, monsters and damsels in distress, but Ichigo is no longer paying attention.

Ichigo hates heroes.

Well, not heroes per se, but the idea of them.

Selfless and protective and smart and charismatic and just plain good.

They don’t seem human.

There are human qualities in them, of course, but there is also something entirely unrealistic about them.

Because nobody is perfectly good all the time.

Where are the bad qualities?

Where’s the ugly in heroes?

He cannot find it.

Which is why Ichigo prefers the protagonists of tragedies.

None of Shakespeare’s heroes are ever, well heroic. Not even in comedies.

There is always something beautifully damaged about all of them.

A tragic flaw, it is called.

That singular defect which unleashes the tragedy.

You might say that it is that which ends up biting them in the ass.

For Othello, it was his jealousy.

For Macbeth, his ambition.

For Hamlet, his inaction.

And for Ichigo, it is his own weakness.

Because that is what, in fact, almost destroyed not only his world, but the entire universe as every being knows it.

Nobody blames him, of course, because in his reality, he is the hero of the story. And he hates it. Every part of it. How he can become blameless of everything even when he had caused it or had failed to stop it.

And he doesn’t think of himself as such.

A hero, that is.

Though everyone sees him this way, from his sisters in all of their innocence, to his friends, to the whole Soul Society.

Why do they keep praising him when they had almost died because of him?

Why do they hail him as a hero when the danger is not over, when, if he even dares to be happy, that demon of a man is going to come back to destroy them all?

��Ichigo doesn’t get it.

Heroes don’t really exist in real life.

And the heroes in all stories have to be perfect, or else how are they even good?

It’s a load of shit.

Ichigo is not a hero, as he protects people out of his own selfishness.

Because, deep down, he doesn’t want to feel alone.

Because he wants all of his loved ones to be safe and happy.

And that’s it.

That’s the reason.

But others don’t see it that way.

They see him exactly as all the heroes in tales.

All good and strong and able to overcome anything that gets in his way without giving up.

A prince charming.

A guardian angel.

But he’s just...not any of those things.

And he’s done trying to live up to their expectations.

It was easier when he was fifteen, to go along with whatever they wanted him to be.

So he acted happy when around his sisters and father, even though he was still carrying all the weight of the guilt of his mother’s death.

It seemed easier, back then, to try to appear unaffected by that and all the little things, like the bullying he had suffered due to his hair color.

And at school, he had tried to be just another guy who just happened to have brightly colored hair.

His friends knew this Ichigo. And not to say he was a phony, but he wasn’t all himself either.

He never showed them the scars scattered all around his soul for fear they would leave him behind.

Because who could ever love someone as hideous as he?

(Someone who had caused his own mother’s death)

But t had gotten better for a while.

When he had become a Shinigami and had known the strength of carrying a zanpakutō and all that comes with that power.

However, he had just as quickly learned that such power came with the responsibility of not just protecting his loved ones, but anyone, really.

That he couldn’t just stand still while others needed his help.

He needed to do better.

And so, he had tried really hard to become the kind of person that was deserving of that power.

Ichigo had become so good at it that others had bought it, especially after his first true test.

What had followed had been months and months of trying to prove he was as heroic as others saw him.

Because not only did the Soul Society see him as one, but also his closest friends, who, even though had seen him fall, still thought of him as a savior.

And that weighted on him even more.

He started wondering if, after so many battles fought together, they saw the true Ichigo or the mask he wore.

It was only after the last war, when he had so utterly failed and they had still given him praise, that he had found the answer.

Chad and Inoue and Renji and, hell, even Byakuya, lived in a fantasy where he was always strong and would power through everything. That he truly never failed.

Even Ishida was sometimes guilty of that.

(After Yhwach was defeated, saying he had won, as if it hadn’t been Ishida who had done him in)

They all congratulated him, patted him on the back, and happily resumed their lives because Ichigo had won again. He had defeated yet another villain and thus they could live their lives in peace.

But all he had wanted to do was scream.

He had been defeated over and over by the Quincy King, and the only reason he wasn’t a threat anymore was because Ishida had been there to deliver the final blow. And even then, absolutely no one was sure if he was gone for good.

And the reason why was because Ichigo had been weak.

If he had had true strength, he would have been able to win for sure.

And this doubt wouldn’t be eating him away.

Now every night, before going to bed, even two years after the war had been won, Ichigo still repeats Yhwach’s threat like a broken record.

During his happiest moment, the Quincy King will come back to kill him and destroy everything, according to his plan.

The thought terrifies him.

To think he had failed them all, because at any moment, Yhwach might come back, and it will be it for the universe.

He’s no hero.

No savior.

Because even if the Soul Society hasn’t said so, he knows they are all still in danger, and it all depends on his happiness.

And Ichigo is selfish.

He could have sacrificed that promise of happiness for everybody’s sake. Yet he still holds onto it and is unwilling to let go.

He’s not the person they all expected him to be.

And that weighs on him.

(If only he was as heroic as his mother─)

“Hey, Ichigo! Welcome back!”

It is Rukia who distracts him from his dark thoughts as he opens his bedroom door and finds her already there, having come over for the weekend as she has done for the past few months.

And for the first time in the day, he smiles.

“Hey.” He greets her, letting his bag drop on the floor, and joining her on his bed.

“How was university today? What did you learn?” Rukia asks him excitedly, and he can’t stop his lips from quirking up at how adorable she is, wanting to learn about college through him.

“Kinda boring.” He shrugs, content to just observe her as she raises an eyebrow at him.

“Why? What did you study?”

“We talked about heroes.” He answers her, moving up his head to appreciate the way her skin glows in this lighting.

“Heroes?” She scrunches her nose like a bunny.

“Yeah. Like in tales and stuff.”

“Oh right.”

Then they fall into a comfortable silence as they are wont to do. Ichigo takes his time to delight himself in the image she delivers. And as she is all light and white and pureness, he remembers a piece of memory he keeps close at heart ─the one and only time he has felt like a true hero.

There’s fire and a will and a promise.

And in the midst of all, there’s Rukia and her big doe eyes staring right at him as if he were a miracle.

“Yo!”

I remember now… the reason why I wanted to save you so much.

“Hey, Rukia.” He suddenly calls out to her.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I’m a hero?”

She snorts and flicks his forehead. “Nope.”

“Hey!” He rubs his assaulted head, but is more intrigued by her answer.

“I mean… we could say you are… but you’re more… you know…” She gesticulates towards him.

“Uhu.”

“You’re Ichigo.” Rukia says at last.

He thinks he understands it then.

Because if there is one person in this world that has seen him at his best and worst and has still got him, is Rukia.

She is the only one to have ever seen him whole.

And even when she knows about all his failings, she still has the capability to hold him in high esteem.

Because for her, Ichigo is who he is and so much more.

“Thanks, Rukia.” He says with more emotion than he probably should have, but it is worth it when she beams at him.

“That’s my line.”

Ichigo still hates heroes.

Probably will always do.

But for Rukia, he thinks he might be able to become a little bit more heroic.

To be less selfish.

To be the man he is in her heart.

To be a little more like she is.

#ichiruki #ichirukimonth #ichirukimonth2020 #ichiruki fanfiction #my fanfiction

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annecoulmanross · 5 years

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Bridgens/Peglar Egyptology AU

(for the @theterrorbingo square “modern AU” | word count: 1k fic + 1.5k AU details | rating: T | warnings: mild spooky; talk of mummies; description of a panic attack)

The Terrors are all members of the Classics (Greek & Roman Studies) department. The Erebites are all members of the Egyptology department. These two departments share the beautiful Barrow Hall building on the campus of their university, but they do NOT get along….

….until Henry Peglar, a first-year graduate student in Classics, decides that he wants to learn how to read Egyptian hieroglyphs.

(Drabbles and AU info below the cut!)

It turns out that most students who want to study hieroglyphs have already finished the introductory course, however, because Henry ends up in a tiny winter-term class with only two other students. The three “hieroglyph 101s” all show up a bit early to their first day of class, fumbling into a dimly-lit classroom in the basement of Barrow Hall, across from the archaeological store-rooms.

They exchange quick introductions while waiting for the instructor to arrive. Both of Henry’s classmates are undergraduate Egyptology majors: Tom Hartnell is a bright young freshman with a passion for Egyptian mummies (and, admittedly, a slightly spotty undergraduate record), and Henry Collins is a terribly anxious junior who recently switched majors from Engineering (“Please call me Collins,” he says, after Henry begins to comment that they share a name. “Everyone else already calls me Collins.”)

The moment of revelation for Henry Peglar, though, is when he first sets eyes on their instructor: a senior graduate student named John Bridgens, who walks in just a minute after the hour, with a thermos of what smells like mint tea.

John Bridgens looks almost mournful for a moment, his dark eyes soulful, a thick pea-coat sitting heavy on his shoulders (which he quickly shrugs off; it may be a chilly January outside, but Barrow Hall is toasty and warm). When John looks over to his students, though, he smiles, and his face is transformed: Henry feels like the sun has suddenly come out from behind the blustery clouds.

Henry quickly realizes that learning Egyptian won’t be like learning Greek or Latin, but fortunately John is a very good teacher. Even though John holds office hours at an ungodly hour of the morning, Henry shows up to every office hour with a bright smile and a long list of questions.

What Henry doesn’t yet know is that he’s in for the most exciting semester of his life…

(Featuring such hijinks as: John and his students Henry, Tom, and Collins get locked into the archaeological store-room with the mummies, in the dark! Henry and Tom Hartnell uncover a secret that could overturn the Egyptology department! Henry develops an unfortunate crush on his instructor! What could go wrong!)

“We’re Trapped in Here, Aren’t We?” (Bonus Drabble)

The four of them have now been locked in the basement, in the dark, for over an hour.

Collins is quietly freaking out, sitting on a storage crate in the corner of the main room of the museum storage space. Henry watches Tom Hartnell deftly trying to help Collins regulate his breathing to a pace approaching normal, with some success; Henry decides not to intervene.

“We’re trapped in here, aren’t we?” Collins asks. He doesn’t sound panicked anymore, just stressed; it’s an improvement.

Tom rubs Collins’s shoulder reassuringly, and says, “I don’t know for certain, but I’m not going to let it worry me – we’re going to be okay, alright?” Tom then turns to Henry Peglar and tilts his head, adding: “Eddie Hoar told me that there used to be a secret passage that ran between Barrow Hall and the library, and that the door opened up somewhere here in the storage-rooms. Maybe we can find it?”

Henry nods, flashes a grin that feels fake but must seem genuine in the low light of the storage-rooms’ emergency lighting, because Tom smiles back at him. “I’ll go check on John,” Henry says. “See if he doesn’t know anything about a tunnel.”

Slipping in between the shelves of Greek ceramics, Henry winds his way toward the back workroom where he left John Bridgens, who had been convinced that there must be an extra key somewhere in the workroom desk drawers.

Henry is so caught up in thoughts of tunnels that fails to notice the packing box sitting next to the shelves and he manages to trip right over it. He takes the fall hard, feeling the chilly linoleum under his now-aching arm, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. When he opens his eyes, though, Henry feels a bolt of fear run though him – for a moment he thinks he’s gone blind, because he sees nothing but darkness. A moment later, the ancient emergency lights flicker back on, and that’s worse because Henry is face-to-face with the mummy.

Henry had forgotten that she was stored here, under the shelves of Egyptian faience. He distantly remembers Dr. Blanky pointing out “the Egyptian girl, our princess,” in her lovely painted coffin, on a tour through the storage rooms last year when he had been a prospective student – but the fact that she was down here (trapped with us, his mind whispers) had escaped his mind.

Shuddering, Henry pushes himself up from the cold floor and backs up against the wall as the lights keep flickering. He knows, he knows, that there’s nothing to fear here, but the sight of the girl’s skin, drawn tight against her skin, her eerie grimace, had shaken him.

“Henry?”

Henry jumps about a foot in the air, but it’s just John, peering out from the workroom door.

“Henry, are you okay?” John continues, his brow furrowed with worry.

Henry swallows. “Yup, yeah, just took a tumble.” He straightens up, tries to collect himself. “Did you find an extra key?” he asks John.

But John isn’t so easily dissuaded. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He steps up next to Henry, a hand hovering over the arm that Henry’s cradling to his chest (Henry’s certain it isn’t broken, but he knows it’ll be bruised a bit).

Henry looks up into John’s eyes and exhales softly to see the loving concern written there. John’s so close now, lifting a hand toward Henry’s cheek, and Henry wants this, wants to reach out and embrace; he finally feels his limbs stop shaking now that John’s here, even as his heart races and his face tilts up…

…. and that’s the moment when the emergency lights finally flicker their last, and the corridor goes dark as a tomb.

Some Background on the Humanities Departments of Barrow Hall

The Department of Classics

The Classics program at Barrow Hall is small but powerful. Most of the faculty get along well with each other, professionally, although they don’t socialize much. There aren’t many graduate students in the program, but most of the grad students they do have are quite active on the university campus.

Classics Faculty

Dr. Crozier is the department chair of the Classics program. He teaches early Roman history, with a focus on land surveying, and he takes a very scientific approach to his material.

Dr. Little is an associate professor who teaches Greek military history and gets very excited about ancient weapons. (“Like the shot that killed Leonidas at Thermopylae!”)

Dr. Hodgson is an associate professor who teaches Greek drama; he’s particularly obsessed with the tragedies of Euripides – the more ritualistic violence the better.

Dr. Irving is an assistant professor who teaches later Roman history, and can turn any conversation into a debate about the early history of Christianity. His most recent book was titled “Coming Out Christian in the Roman World: How the Followers of Jesus Made a Place in Caesar's Empire.” * Despite Irving’s own Christian faith and his social justice outreach work with the campus Queer Interfaith club, Irving’s a bit of a chronological traditionalist when it comes to academic research, and tends to dismiss any literature written after Augustine.

Drs. Peddie and MacDonald are actually part of the History Department, but because they teach Medieval Latin, they’re considered honorary members of the classics faculty. (MacDonald teaches a wildly popular undergraduate seminar – cross-listed with Classics and History – called “Witches, Ghosts, and Potions: Medical Mysteries in Medieval Europe.”)

Dr. Blanky is the exception to the “we hate the Egyptologists” rule – Thomas gets along quite well with a certain Dr. Reid, both of whom have a passion for film studies, and together they’ve organized a weekly historical film series for the undergrads. Dr. Reid’s top picks are old-school classics like Cleopatra (1963) and Julius Caesar (1953); Blanky, on the other hand, is partial to Gladiator (2000). He’s also the exception to the “this department doesn’t socialize rule,” being, himself, a long-time best friend of department chair Dr. Crozier.

Classics Grad Students

Thomas Jopson is an older graduate student – he’s just a breath away from receiving his PhD: Dr. Crozier, who has been supervising his thesis on the systems of enslavement in the Roman Republic and the lived experiences of Roman slaves, is extremely proud of Thomas’s sensitive eye for historical evidence. Thomas also works for the campus mental health office, leading a therapy group for adult children of those suffering from addiction.

Billie Gibson, another grad student, is part-way through writing his dissertation on the reception of Greek ideas about homosexuality in the Victorian period, under the supervision of a confused but supportive Dr. Irving. (“Isn’t this more of a History department topic?”)

“Hickey” started the PhD program at the same time as Billie, and he’s begun writing his thesis on cannibalistic imagery in Greek poetry with Dr. Hodgson. Everyone just calls him Hickey, and Henry Peglar hasn’t been able to figure out his full name (or whether “Hickey” is a first name or a last name, or even whether “Hickey” is part of his real name at all) because no one ever updates the Classics department website. Hickey is part of a student organization called the Dionysians, but they’re not listed on the university’s roster of sanctioned clubs, and no one seems to know what it is that they do, exactly.

Henry Peglar is the newest member of the department, a first-year grad student. He’s planning on studying depictions of ancient history in modern fiction, hopefully with Dr. Blanky, who also happens to be his first-year advisor.

The Department of Egyptology

The Egyptology program at Barrow Hall has been having some hiring problems in recent years. Not only did several older professors retire, but the young Dr. Gore decided to move into museum-work full-time and Dr. Fairholme was ‘poached’ by the rival Egyptology program at another university. As a result, the Department of Egyptology has been under-staffed, with too many grad students and too few professors, resulting in two controversial recent faculty hires.

Egyptology Faculty

Dr. John is the department chair of the Egyptology program. He teaches ancient Egyptian literature and has a rather old-fashioned perspective on middle Egyptian grammar.

Dr. Reid teaches courses on the history of archaeological discoveries in Egypt, and the culture of artifact (mis-)handling by European excavators. He’s friendly with Dr. Blanky in the Classics program, and he lovingly crafts discussion questions for the film-showings that he and Blanky run. (He’ll never admit it, but he secretly loves the 1999 Mummy movie.)

Dr. Stanley teaches classes on ancient Egyptian medicine. He’s known for his severe grading policies and for his impressive ability to ruin the fun of topic that involves things like magic spells and fever-demons and having sex with crocodiles.

Dr. Fitzjames is one of the two new faculty members, a dashing archaeologist with an impressive résumé of excavation in Egypt – although, as Dr. Crozier has wryly observed, some of his funding sources for those digs haven’t always been completely above-board.

Dr. Le Vesconte is the other new faculty member, an associate professor with an equally flashy history of excavation and publication. Rumor is that he and Dr. Fitzjames once found a live cheetah in an Egyptian tomb and tried to keep it as the excavation’s mascot.

Egyptology Grad Students

Edmund “Eddie” Hoar is a senior doctoral candidate, working dedicatedly on a massive dissertation about Egyptian stamps and seals. He’s been working with Dr. John because his old advisor recently retired, and with Eddie’s advisor gone, Eddie’s pretty much the only person on campus who knows his way around the dusty archaeological collection in the basement of Barrow Hall.

John Bridgens has been with the program about as long as Eddie, but he’s closer to finishing his thesis, a sprawling dissertation on Egyptian poetry under Dr. John’s supervision.

Charles “Freddie” Des Voeux is part-way through writing a thesis on Napoleon’s excavations in Egypt; his advisor is Dr. Reid. (He’s also roommates with Eddie Hoar, and the two of them are known as “(Fr)eddie” in the grad student group chat.)

Harry Goodsir is a first-year PhD student, who entered the program at the same time Henry Peglar started in Classics; the two of them met at the university-wide graduate student orientation, and Harry encouraged Henry to take hieroglyphs, which Harry had learned himself while he was an undergraduate, while volunteering with his siblings at an Egyptian museum in their hometown. Harry’s interested in Egyptian archaeology, hoping to study with Dr. Fitzjames and Dr. Le Vesconte, but there was a paperwork mix-up that placed Dr. Stanley as Harry’s first-year advisor (Harry is unhappy about it; Dr. Stanley is even more unhappy about it).

Members of Associated Departments in Nearby Ross Hall (& Their Drama)

Dr. James C. Ross is the co-chair of the anthropology program and a dear friend of Dr. Crozier in classics. Though he does have a complicated legacy with the university – being a descendent of the famous (if problematic) explorer, Sir John Ross, for whom Ross Hall is named – Dr. James is well-liked by his students and forward-thinking about his discipline.

Ross’s co-chair, Dr. Silna Kamookak, thinks Ross could stand to apply his anthropology to real-world problems a bit more intensively. Dr. Kamookak is a rising star in applied archaeology and she publishes on issues of museum collection ethics and heritage management; the graduate seminar she teaches on Inuit oral history documentation is known to be one of the best courses in the department.

Dr. Jane Franklin is the chair of English Literature; her research interests revolve around the writings of Charles Dickens. All the students in Barrow Hall call her “Dr. Jane,” and call her husband “Dr. John,” because neither would agree to let the other be called “Dr. Franklin.” A memo was circulated. It was messy.

Dr. Sophia Cracroft is an assistant professor in the History of Science department, and a frequent collaborator with Dr. Crozier in an ongoing interdisciplinary project about ancient cartography; although Dr. Cracroft has often tried to get Dr. John Franklin to permit a collaboration with the Egyptology department, Dr. John has always refused. Cracroft’s grad students say that it’s because Dr. John heard something “unsavory” about the relationship between Dr. Cracroft and Dr. Crozier. None of the grad students know what this “unsavory” thing is, but gossip ranges from the vanilla (an affair) to the bizarre (a papyrus smuggling ring).

Other Details

Goldner’s is a purveyor of textbooks of dubious quality. For some reason, all of the introductory language classes in both the Classics and Egyptology departments are always assigned Goldner’s textbooks, much to the students’ and instructors’ displeasure.

* “Coming Out Christian in the Roman World: How the Followers of Jesus Made a Place in Caesar's Empire,” is a real book! (It was not, however, written by John Irving.) I had a fantastic time reading it a few years ago – go check it out.

#theterrorbingo #first square!#based on real life accounts #(only partly I swear)#henry peglar #john bridgens #thomas hartnell #henry collins #the terror #the terror amc #terrorposting #mummies cw

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ot4-official · 5 years

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Teenage Neighbors AU

In which Jessamine and Oliver are childhood best friends ~

They'd been friends since Jessamine was adopted by the family next door when she was six. She'd been too afraid to leave the car, but then saw Oliver playing basketball next door and left to go talk to him. She'd been blunt and cruel, but he supposed that's what she had been taught thus far from the orphanages she lived in. Shortly after meeting him, she schooled him in basketball before her new parents found her. After that introduction, they were inseparable. Their parents thought once high school hit, they'd grow apart, but they were still close as ever through the turmoils of high school.

Jessamine was sprawled out on Oliver's bed in the square of sun that beamed through his windows. He had better lighting in his room, so she spent most sunny days at his house. She had a bigger room in general, but Oliver's was always clean--she couldn't say the same for hers. He was at his desk studying, but he couldn't help sneaking glances at the girl on his bed.

Despite the fact that they had grown up like siblings, he couldn't help the massive crush he had on his best friend. Of course he couldn't do anything about it because she didn't feel the same, and he didn't want to lose his best friend because he'd fucked it up with feelings. Jessamine didn't date kids like him; she preferred bad boys whose hearts she enjoyed breaking. So technically, he probably shouldn't have wanted to date her, but he still did. Sprawled out in the sun like that made her look like an angel, albeit a fallen one. But an angel nonetheless. Her dark hair was spread around her head, and she was wearing a black Rolling Stones T-shirt. Her black shorts were far too short, but she didn't care. It didn't look like he was about to get any studying done at the moment.

"Can we go get ice cream or something? I'm bored." He rolled his eyes; she was always bored.

"You could be studying or doing your homework." But he knew the answer to that; Jessamine didn't study. She had perfect marks in all of her classes, she just didn't need to study for them. She rolled over onto her stomach to look at him, her shirt falling up her back and exposing the dimples of her back. Oliver looked down to his books before his cheeks turned red.

"You don't need to study for that. It's not for two days. C'monnnn." He sighed before grabbing his car keys. Jessamine bounced up from the bed and clapped.

"You're the best." She clapped him on the back before running downstairs before him. He shook his head and chuckled-he was so screwed.

She wondered if he was ever going to act on his feelings. They weren't as secret as he might think, especially when he spent most of his study time staring at her. He'd become hot over the years, his gangly limbs turning muscular. Jessamine didn't know if she wanted him or not. Physically, yes, she'd love to fuck him. But emotionally? She wasn't ready for that. Besides, she planned on leaving after high school, and she didn't want to drag Oliver into the mess that she was going to be as she tried to sort out what to do with her life. But she didn't want to stay in this small town where no one ever left. She loved her parents, she did, but she wanted to go and be free. Life without Oliver was going to crush her, but she could get used to it. He'd leave her at some point anyways, so it was selfish, but maybe her leaving him first would hurt less (at least that's what she told herself). But for now, she couldn't avoid the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention.

She'd love to be friends with benefits, but she didn't think he'd go for that. Maybe she could make him snap. She was a master of the art of manipulation and seduction. Their bedroom windows faced each other and had provided them entertainment ever since she first moved in to the house next door. She felt like Taylor Swift in the "You Belong With Me" music video. It was late at night, and she knew Oliver's desk was centered under his window. His light was on, and there was no doubt he was studying for their history test tomorrow. Jessamine had just gotten home from her dance practice. She pulled out a pair of shorts and a sports bra to sleep in, and then she began to change. If she happened to forget to close her blinds, well, what a tragedy. He saw her lights flicker on and looked up to see Jessamine returning home from her practice. In the darkness, he could only see her outline for the most part, but then she pulled out clothes and began to change. It wouldn't have been the first time she forgot to clothes the blinds, but it hadn't happened in a few years. Not since Oliver had begun to love her as more than a friend. As she peeled off her shirt, her back was to him, but his cheeks heated and he could feel his blood rush south. He shouldn't be watching his best friend change; he was disgusting. But as she peeled her shorts down her legs, he could see her black lace underwear and felt himself grow completely hard. She began to turn around, and he quickly threw his curtains across his window before locking his bedroom door and laying on the bed, pulling his shorts down to release his hard-on. He felt dirty and disgusting as he pictured his best friend's lips around his cock and began to masturbate. It wouldn't have been the first time he got himself off while thinking about Jessamine, but that just made him feel worse. By the time she changed and turned around, his curtains were closed. She couldn't help the predatory grin across her face. Plan A was going according to plan splendidly. She closed her curtains and began to do some of the homework she'd been procrastinating. ~ The next morning, she walked over to his house at 7:15 as always and walked into his house. She hadn't knocked on his door since she was six years old. His mom was in the kitchen making breakfast for herself before going to work. Oliver didn't seem to be downstairs yet.

"Morning, dear! How was your weekend?" Mrs. Jones was her second mother. The woman considered Jessamine her child just as much as Oliver.

"It was pretty good, I had a rehearsal for this weekend's competition. Things went smooth." Jessamine was the best dancer in her age group at the dance company she had been with since her youth.

"I can't wait to watch! Would you like any toast?" As if on cue, the toaster popped.

"I'm alright, thanks though. Why is Oliver taking so long? Aren't men supposed to get ready fast?" She spun around on the bar stools at the counter.

"He must've been up late studying for that test today. You should probably go make sure he's even awake." Mrs. Jones buttered her toast before sitting down to eat it. Jessamine chuckled before hopping off the stool. She ran up the stairs and swung Oliver's door open to a sight that she was not expecting.

Oliver stood in only his T-shirt facing his mirror. At the sound of his door opening, his eyes flew to the mirror to see Jessamine immediately throw a hand over her eyes.

"Sorry, shit I thought you were still asleep. Should've knocked. Sorry. Sorry." Then she slammed the door shut. His mouth fell open as his cheeks heated yet again. Karma was a bitch, it seemed. An ass for an ass. He finished getting dressed quickly and ran downstairs. His mom was in the kitchen watching the news, but Jessamine was nowhere to be seen.

"She went out to the car with cheeks redder than this ketchup. When I told her to see if you were awake, I did expect her to knock, my bad." And then she took a sip of her tea, knowingly. Oliver didn't say anything as he grabbed his backpack and an apple.

"Love you!" And then he ran out the door. Jessamine was in the car on her phone as he threw his backpack in the back seat and climbed into the driver's seat. For a few minutes the car was quiet in a way that it never had been. "Sorry I was running late, I didn't get much sleep last night." He couldn't get her out of his head.

"That's fine, we're not going to be late." She fiddled with the radio, "Sorry I didn't think to knock." His cheeks instantly reddened, but Jessamine laughed. "I don't mean to laugh, it's just a funny situation to me. For what it's worth, you've got a nice ass." She raised an eyebrow and grinned at him, but he just chuckled and shook his head. Jessamine was in no way a virgin, so for her an ass was an ass. ~ He knew this was a hard day for her, but yet she still went to school. It was the anniversary of her mom's death, who had died in a house fire that left Jessamine with burn scars down her back and thighs. Whereas her will was usually an iron fist, today she didn't have any fight in her. Oliver wished he could be with her for the whole day, but she had a few different classes than him. He was texting her during passing time to walk with her like usual, but she wasn't replying. He figured she could be in the bathroom, so he waited outside until a group of the blonde bimbos walked out of the bathroom laughing.

"What a whore. She always has been, and she always will be." The leader of them seemed to single in on Oliver at that moment, and with a predatory smile she walked over to him. He rolled his eyes and braced himself for what was about to come.

"Ollie! It's too bad we don't have more classes together this semester. You know, I know you're best friends with her and all, but I don't think Jessamine's a good influence on you." She put a pouty face on and put her hand on Oliver's shoulder before he shoved it off and stepped away.

"Too bad you're not the one who gets to decide who I'm friends with. Shouldn't you go off to class now?" He could see the moment her thoughts turned hostile as a scowl came across her face.

"You two will regret messing with me, well, Jessamine does already hopefully. Try and save her now loverboy. You don't want a whore like her, Ollie." Then she stomped away leaving Oliver wondering where the hell Jessamine was and what they did to her. He checked his phone again to see if she replied before he heard a loud bang from the women's bathroom. His mind clicked to what Shelby had said before he ran into the bathroom, not caring that it was the women's. Crouching to the ground, he saw that all the stalls were empty except for the handicapped, where he could see Jessamine's telling black combat boots.

"Jessamine??" He heard her whimper and ran over to the stall door. He had to crawl under because it was locked, but Jessamine's hands were tied behind her and there was fabric wrapped around her mouth. There were no tears down her face, but her eyes had never looked so empty.

"Oh my god, I'm going to kill them." He dropped to his knees to untie her hands and take the gag from her mouth. When he finished, he pulled her into a tight hug. They couldn't do that to the girl he loved and get away with it. He knew they bullied her, but Jessamine always said she could handle it, and she always ignored them. He didn't realize how bad the situation really was.

"Thanks, OJ." But none of her usual playfulness was behind the words. The bell rang just as he was helping her off the floor.

"Do you want go home? I'll take you." The last hour of the day was one they shared, unfortunately Shelby and her band of plastics also had the class. There was no way Jessamine was going to let her win.

"I'm fine." And with that, she walked out of the bathroom on her way to fifth hour. Luckily the teacher was one of the coolest they had, so he wouldn't give them crap about being late. They walked into class together quietly, and the moment the door opened he could see Jessamine's demeanor do a 180 degree flip as she put on the usual swaggering attitude she wore. The teacher hadn't even started class yet, but was out in the hall talking to another teacher. Shelby sat in the front row, while Jessamine and Oliver sat towards the back. Shelby's face looked outraged at Jessamine's carefree attitude, despite the fact that Oliver knew it was fake. As she passed Shelby, she leaned down and whispered something in her ear which made Shelby's jaw clench. He'd never seen someone look so deadly. He just grinned at her as he passed after Jessamine and they sat down. Shelby didn't dare look back at the two of them.

"What'd you say to her?" Now that she was sitting down in the back, she was back to having an aura of self-loathing, and he wished he could do anything to combat that.

"I asked her how she knew that I liked being tied up. Once a whore, always a whore." She used the word so loosely, but Oliver cringed when it came from her mouth. He didn't care how many people she'd slept with, he was still hopelessly in love with her. ~ The car ride home was silent as Jessamine looked out the window the entire time.

"Listen, you're not a whore, Jessamine. I don't care how many people you've... slept with, but you're not a whore. Don't let them get in your head." She let out a self-deprecating laugh after he finished, much to his confusion. He didn't dare ask her why, but she spoke up a minute later.

"I thought you'd know better, Oliver." That was oddly cryptic and he didn't like that at all, but she quickly explained herself, "You probably won't believe me, but I'm still a virgin. I've never slept with anyone, Ollie." It felt like he'd been hit by a ton of bricks. He ran through everything that led him to believe she wasn't--rumors of her fucking everyone on the soccer team and blowing members of the football team on a regular basis. Rumors. It was his best friend, and because he was so jealous, he'd believed every single one and never heard Jessamine's side of it.

"Wow, I'm... I'm an ass. I'm sorry, I can't believe that I fell for all the rumors." He ran a hand through his hair and pulled into his driveway. They sat in silence for a moment before Jessamine got out of the car and walked to her house. If he just ruined their entire relationship, he would never forgive himself. ~ Jae: You want to go to a party with me? When he heard the tone from his phone, he practically ran to it. He had a specific one set for Jessamine, and it'd been radio silence all night. But... a party? That was one of the reasons he'd been led to believe that Jessamine wasn't a virgin. Jae: You don't have to do anything crazy. He really wanted to, but he'd never been to a party before. That was one aspect of their lives that was very different from each other. Jessamine was willing to go anywhere and try anything, something that worried him to no end. But he wanted to go with her, if only to keep her from destroying herself. Oliver: Sure. What time should I pick you up? He wondered if she was surprised that he said yes, but it didn't matter. He needed to get out and live a little, it was his senior year. He didn't have to do anything wild at the party, but at least he can say he went to one. Jae: 8:00. He had two hours to stress and figure out what to wear. At that thought he chuckled, that must be what it feels like to be a girl everyday. But he didn't know what the dress code was. He debated asking Jessamine and wondered what was worse, showing up in something stupid or having to ask Jessamine. Oliver: If I ask you something, will you not give me shit about it? Jae: Wear your black tight jeans, your checkered Vans, and that grey shirt we got at Pacsun. That'll be fine. I'm assuming that answers your question. ;) nerd At least she was back to joking again. It didn't seem as if he'd ruined their relationship by assuming she was whoring herself around, but he still felt bad about it. He needed to fix what he'd broken, because even if she pretended it was okay, it probably wasn't okay. Not in his books anyways. Oliver: Yes, yes it does. See you soon. :* He threw his phone on his bed and figured he should do some of his homework that he had so he didn't have to end up doing it all on Sunday. Jessamine's dance recital was on Sunday anyways, so he wouldn't have time. He was excited to go to that, dancing was one of her biggest hobbies, and from what he'd seen, she was amazing at it. By 7:50, his hands were sweating profusely and he kept trying to fix his hair in the mirror. He didn't know if he should go for a messy look or a reserved look. He figured that he was going to end up running his hands through it so much that night anyways that it'd end up messy one way or another. His phone chimed with a text from Jessamine, letting him know she was outside. Oliver wondered why she didn't just go inside, but when he ran downstairs and said bye to his parents, going through the front door, he realized why she didn't go in. He immediately cleared his throat and looked anywhere but at Jessamine.

She was wearing her leather jacket with a red lacey bralette underneath, and that was all. She had on black high waisted shorts, and the rest of her legs were covered with fishnet tights. And her combat boots, of course, were adorned by her feet. She smirked when she saw him.

"So you went with messy, huh? I had a bet with myself." She climbed into the car then, him shortly after. He took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself before getting in. It should be illegal to look that sexy.

"What, my hair? I mean- it's, I, it'd be messy by the end of the night anyways." He cleared his throat and started the car, "So where is it at?"

"It's at Markus's house." Markus Smith. He was one of the boys that Jessamine was rumored to have fucked. He was rich, attractive, and a douche bag. Not to mention a druggie. He didn't know all the connections that Jessamine had, but he was surprised that she'd go to his house if he had started that rumor about her. Actually, she didn't seem to do much protesting of the rumors anyways. Did she want to be known as a whore?

"Do you know where that is?" She had taken his silence as confusion.

"Yeah, yeah. I do." It was in one of the nicest parts of town. Jessamine and him lived in a nice part, but they were in old money. Markus was in the new money sector with all the douchebags and their BMW's that they trashed for fun.

"Anything I need to know for my first party?" There was no way she didn't realize how nervous he was. God, he was a nerd. He just needed to let loose.

"Don't take anything offered to you that's already been opened. Though I don't suspect men have as much of an issue with that as women. Careful of bodily fluids if you have to use the bathroom. Markus throws some wild parties." They pulled up to the house which was already lit up with bright lights and loud from music.

"You ready?" She gave him a genuine smile, and it made him love her more if that was possible. Despite her mood and her experience, she still cared about his feelings.

"As ready as I'll ever be." They got out of the car and walked into the house. Immediately Oliver was hit with the stench of cheap alcohol and weed. He'd barely ever had a sip of alcohol let alone get trashed. Jessamine grabbed his hand so she didn't lose him and pulled him to the kitchen. He watched every guy's (and a few girls) eyes turn towards Jessamine as she walked through the mass of people. It was disgusting, but he didn't blame them. She opened the fridge, and he couldn't help how his eyes widened at the amount of alcohol in it. She grabbed a wine cooler and offered it to him with a grin. He declined, unsurprisingly. She, however, took it and knicked it on the counter, popping the cap off. He didn't want to stop and think about how good she was at that.

"Jessamineeee!" A drunk girl stumbled over to where Jessamine stood and began to giggle. She checked Jessamine out, very obviously, before whistling loudly.

"Lookin' like a snack, as always. Ohhh, is this that kid you're always talking about?? He is hot. Goddamn.”

#joliver #smol #neighbors

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asusirwritesalot-blog · 7 years

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Sweeney Todd appreciation post

In the latter parts of my last semester, I signed up for my high school’s annual summer production. I’ve done a good bit of theatre in the past few years of my life, and it’s become a pretty important part of who I am. I’m by no means a good actor or a good singer (although I’d say I’m probably better at singing), but I manage to get pretty good roles most of the time. I’ve gotten attached to some of the roles I’ve had over the past couple years, particularly to George Banks of Mary Poppins. Other times, I’ve gotten attached to shows in general, such as The Secret Garden. From the moment I finished that show, I repeatedly claimed it as my favorite musical. It still is very dear to me, and I think that the music is almost as beautiful now as the first time I heard it. I’ll probably write at some point about why “Lily’s Eyes” and “A Bit of Earth” are some of my favorite songs not only in musicals, but of all time.

To my surprise, this summer, The Secret Garden finally got beaten. I had originally signed up to be a part of Titanic: The Musical. However, after auditions happened, the folks in charge found out that we were short on males. They ended up deciding to change the show to Sweeney Todd, and thank god they did.

I believe the biggest reason I like The Secret Garden so much can be summed up in one word: melodrama. The powerful brass, the rises and falls in the music, the dreary plot that is almost too real. What kind of person can’t sympathize with a poor orphaned girl and her lonely father figure? Archibald is a truly tragic character: trapped in a mansion with no one but his bitter brother and overbearing servants to grace him from the haunting memories of his dead wife, the one person who ever accepted him regardless of his physical flaws.

What I find amazing about Sweeney Todd in contrast to The Secret Garden is the way it breaks my heart and fills my soul with beautiful music while still incorporating plenty of humor. There are plenty of musicals that do this, for sure, but I wouldn’t say that Mary Poppins is on the same level simply due to it’s overall silliness. It has deep messages and good music, sure, but it isn’t harsh enough. It doesn’t hit you with that sense of relatability. I’ve never had a magical nanny show up at my window and save my family from its deepest conflicts, but I certainly have heard of orphaned children, wrongfully incriminated people, and poverty. All of these are present in Sweeney, but Steven Sondheim managed to create these somber situations all while incorporating Pirelli as comedic relief that actually makes a little bit of sense.

All in all, I just can’t help but feel that Sweeney Todd is extremely effective at everything it does. It still has the most important piece (to me), though: the copious amounts of drama. Not only do we have an almost Shakespearean tragedy as our plot, but the music itself is powerful throughout. I’m going to write a paragraph about a couple of my favorite songs from the show. My favorites are probably also the most popular, but whatever.

Firstly, let’s talk about “My Friends”. It’s definitely one of the most popular songs in the show, especially given that it leads into the famous “Lift your razor” segment. The song begins when Mrs. Lovett remembers that she hid Benjamin Barker’s razors, rather than selling them when he was deported. Although she humorously tries to justify this by saying that she simply didn’t sell them in case Barker showed up again one day, it’s an obvious clue-in to the fact that Mrs. Lovett is obsessed with Sweeney Todd. I’m not sure whether to call it love per se, but if the audience doesn’t realize that Mrs. Lovett has feelings for Sweeney after this introduction, the song itself will soon make it clear. Sweeney sees the razors, a symbol of his past life, of his happiness, and almost romances them as the music begins to play. He calls the razors his “friends” and caresses them as he sings. Soon, Mrs. Lovett joins in, but she isn’t quite on the same page as him. Throughout the song, Sweeney dominates with his powerful, reminiscent, yet dark and brooding tone, while Mrs. Lovett stands to the side and interjects her feelings of friendship, hopefulness, and beauty. It’s a very stark contrast, especially once the audience figures out that Sweeney is only pondering how his razors will help him to murder the Judge and the Beadle. My personal favorite quotes from this song are “You’ve been locked out of sight all these years. Like me, my friend. Well, I’ve come home.” and, of course, “You shall drip rubies”. The cryptic sound of Sweeney’s voice is truly disturbing. But, it’s cool disturbing, you know? As a side note, there’s a really neat video on Youtube somewhere of Steven Sondheim directing two theatre students (Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett) at performing this song. It’s definitely worth a watch.

“Green Finch and Linnet Bird” is another really cool one. I don’t have nearly as much to say about this one. My main thought is that the comparison between Johanna and the caged birds is very cool. I especially like how Johanna’s vocal style even mimics bird songs.

“Kiss Me (Part 2)” also piques my interest. No one ever expects the Beadle to come out with a grand falsetto at the end, but it’s somehow not overly comical. The quartet is great, and shows a strong contrast between young and old. The funniest part about this quartet is how the Beadle is unknowingly leading the Judge to his death, and he’s so enthusiastic about it. Good stuff.

“Pretty Women” is the song that comes directly after, and, although I may be biased in liking it so much (I was the Judge), I might argue for it as my favorite song in the show. The song begins with a funny little impersonation of the Beadle’s apologetic advice from the previous song. Turpin sings in a commanding tone, giving him the upper hand. Sweeney is still in shock, surprised that the Judge who he wants to kill more than anything, randomly appeared at his shop. After the Judge’s instructions, Sweeney gets himself together and wittily affirms that the shave will be the closest he ever gave. Turpin, still with the advantage in the mental tug-of-war that the two will have throughout the song, begins to contently “bub dum” a tune. Todd, entering the battle, thinks “I can play your game, Judge”, and whistles alongside him. Todd has gained the upper hand, showing that he can keep up with Turpin. After some back and forth “banter” singing between the two, Todd asks “What more can man require than love sir?” But, it is a rhetorical question. Still with the upper hand, he answers himself and reveals the answer to be “women. pretty women”. The Judge, in agreement and still in the dark about Sweeney’s true identity as the father of the young girl he’s creepily forcing into marriage, continues his song. He gains ground here, but not long after the power is transitioned to Sweeney once more as we hear a short reprise of “My Friends”. However, the Judge interrupts him at the height of his song, telling Sweeney to stop goofing around and start working. Sweeney loses power as he replies “my lord”, and then he finds out that the Judge is planning on marrying his daughter. As if he didn’t already have enough motivation to murder Turpin! Todd, potentially out of spite, almost reveals himself when he asks if Johanna is as “pretty as her mother”. After this, which is really only the introduction to the song, Sweeney once again gains power as he begins shaving the Judge. The audience is supposed to believe that he will slit the Judge’s throat right then and there, but Todd instead decides to toy with Turpin and enjoy his moment of revenge. The remainder of the song is a straightforward yet beautiful duet, wherein Todd and the Judge sing passionately about pretty women. In this case, Todd is probably thinking of his wife, Lucy, while Turpin is singing about Johanna, Todd’s daughter. The music is truly beautiful, and we believe that Todd has gained complete control. Not only is he the only one who fully understands the song, but his razor is at the Judge’s throat, waiting for the perfect moment to exact his revenge. The song reaches it’s height, Sweeney’s razor is raised, and the tension is unimaginable. And then Anthony comes into the shop, giddily singing about his upcoming marriage to Johanna. Sweeney’s moment is ruined, and the Judge furiously storms out.

And those songs, ladies and gentlemen, are only the best from Act 1. Act 2 has plenty of powerful moments, such as the hugely disturbing “God, That’s Good”, the eerie “City on Fire”, the humorous “By the Sea”, and, of course, the heart-wrenching “Not While I’m Around”.

If I was given the chance to be a part of Sweeney Todd again, I’d like to give Judge Turpin a second try, or perhaps take on the role of the Beadle. I personally couldn’t do Sweeney justice, but I do hope to one day revisit this show. For now, I will continue to praise it as my favorite musical.

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