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iruinn · 1 year ago

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baby, you're the sweetest thing ❀ nanami kento

chapter 3

cw : none that apply (please let me know if u think there's anything that needs to be tagged!)

wc : 2060

masterpost

If someone had asked you 2 years ago where you thought you would be right now, you wouldn’t have even blinked before answering. Married to your boyfriend. Living with him in his family home. Visiting your own maybe once a week. Maybe you might have even had a kid with him. You certainly wouldn’t be working in a small publishing office as an editor, living alone in a tiny apartment in a city hundreds of miles away from your family. Unwilling to visit the very house you grew up in. But you had learned quickly that life rarely goes the way you plan it. You’re certainly feeling it right now, watching your ex-boyfriend stand next to your own sister, the both of them watching you in trepidation.

The awkward silence is broken by your mother. “You’re here, then. Despite ignoring my calls. Good that you remembered you had a family.” Your head pivoted to meet hers, and you cross your arms. “I’m sure you got my messages. Can’t have the family wondering why the bride’s own sister didn’t show up to the wedding, right?”

The matriarch of the Morita family shoulders past you into the house. She’s as put together as you remember, her hair pulled into a bun perfectly, her clothes without a speck of dirt or wrinkle on them. Your sister follows her, stopping before you. She hasn’t said a word to you yet, and you simply raise an eyebrow at her. “Cat got your tongue, Seiko? You certainly weren’t this subdued the last time I saw you.” She reels back, but regains her composure quickly. “I’m happy you’re visiting, (name). I would have hated for you to miss my wedding.” “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” You glance at Naoya, who’s been watching you closely. “Hey, (name). Looks like Tokyo’s been good to you.” He pulls Seiko into him, and you bite your cheek. You certainly have no more lingering feelings for him, you think. But looking at them together still stings you quite a bit.

You hear your mother scoff. “I can’t imagine your job is doing much for you. When are you going to give up on it and move back home? You’d be so much more comfortable here.” “We’re really getting into this now? It hasn’t even been an hour since I arrived, and you’re lecturing me about my life choices?” You whirl on her, your voice raising, and she meets you in kind. “You’re just being dramatic, (name). You know I’ve always wanted nothing but the best for you. Surely you know it’s a disgrace for a Morita to be working a desk job.” All you can do is stare at her in disbelief. You flush red in anger and embarrassment, noticing your father and grandmother were here too, probably hearing your raised voices. Of all the places to have it out with your mother, in front of your family as well as your ex was definitely the worst place for it. “Mom..I just-“ “No, (name). We put up with your tantrums and the silent treatment for an entire year. You’re a bit past the age for being this childish now.” Your throat tightens, your nails cutting into your palm. You should have known it was a mistake to come back. It was the exact same a year ago.

“That’s quite enough, I think.” A comforting presence surrounds you, a thick arm enveloping your waist and pulling you in. You look up, watching him come stand by you. Nanami’s face is expressionless, but his eyes are cold as he looms protectively. His hair is slightly damp, like he had just stepped out of the shower, his body warm against yours.

He noticed your gaze and smiles, bending down and kissing your forehead. Your mouth falls open as he renders everyone speechless. “(name), who is this?” Of all the people to speak up, its Naoya, cutting through the tension. The feeling of being cornered is gone, replaced by growing confidence. It’s hard to panic when you have a 6 foot tall brick wall of a man backing you up. “Ah, right. My boyfriend, Nanami Kento. I did tell you I’d be bringing someone along..” “My apologies for the interruption.” His fingers press into your waist, and you can feel how solid he is against your own body, feel his deep voice rumbling. It’s like he was engineered to tick off every single switch in your brain that made you melt into a pile of mush. You watch him as he turns to your sister and Naoya, and holds out a hand. “Congratulations on the marriage. I’ve been waiting for (name) to introduce me to her family.” He doesn’t sound very congratulatory, and you think everyone in the room realizes it. He finally turns to your mother, tilting his head towards her. “Thank you for having me. Your home is lovely.” She nods at him. Her face is mildly pale, spots of colour high in her cheeks. “Yes, well. Make yourself comfortable.” She examines him, her eyes lingering on the secure grip he has on you. “Go freshen up, (name). I’m sure you’ve missed your grandmother’s cooking.” She sighs, her fingers rubbing her forehead. Your grandmother claps, her voice cheerful. “Yes, yes, that’s quite enough. The hallway is no place for this conversation, is it?” She beckons your mother, sister and her fiancée into the kitchen, waving you and Nanami away. Your dad glances at you apologetically, before following them. They leave behind silence, and you groan, letting Nanami steer you upstairs. You notice Yuuji peeking from above the staircase, and he looks very anxious. “Thanks, Yuuji.” You peek at Nanami in confusion, wondering why he was thanking Yuuji. The boy brightens, shooting a thumbs up at him. “No problem, Nanamin!” ‘

He leads you into your room, and closes the door behind him. You collapse on your bed face down, turning your head to meet Nanami’s eyes. He sits down next to you, his fingers stroking your hair. “Nanamin?” You snort, and he shrugs. “He’s a good kid. He asked me to go downstairs when he saw what was happening.” You relax at the comforting feeling of his hand through your hair. “I’m sorry about…everything you just saw. We’re kind of a mess.” He’s silent, his hand moving downwards from your hair to your cheek. The calluses tickle your cheek and you giggle. “I know I haven’t known you for long, but you didn’t deserve to hear that.”

“You’re right. I didn’t.” You love your job in Tokyo. You love your apartment too, the creaky windows and the tap u sometimes have to jiggle to get to leak water, your collection of plants you forget to water every now and then. You love your friends too. (You especially love Gojo and Shoko right now, for sending your way god’s gift to humanity. You know you would have had a much harder time without Nanami’s support.) “But it’s okay. Just a week to get through, and I’ll be back home, and hopefully I won’t have to drag you into more family blow ups.” You sit up on the bed, dislodging his hand from your face, missing its warmth immediately. “Thank you, though, seriously. You didn’t have to do any of this.” “I’m not the selfless person you think I am.” He gets up off the bed, walking to your desk and picking up a photo of you from when you were in university. “But I’m glad I’m being helpful.” He tilts his head at you. “Feel free to use me as your shield for anything this week. That’s what I’m here for.”

You glance at his back, his muscles rippling through his shirt. A shield is certainly an apt descriptor for him. It’s weird seeing a man in your childhood bedroom. You don’t think you’ve even brought back a boy here. He looks out of place amongst the furniture, too large for life. You hope there’s nothing embarrassing left out by mistake, and you glance about your room, but its pretty safe. No weird childhood posters or unfortunate teenage photos hanging around. Something occurs to you, and you glance at Nanami, wondering how to bring it up. “Uh, Nanami..” “Kento.” “Whuh?” He turns to you, his expression stern. “Call me Kento. You’re my girlfriend for the week, aren’t you?” Your cheeks may be permanently flushed by the end of this. “Right..Kento. Would you be okay with us sleeping in the same bed? I can get you a spare otherwise..” It’d be weird to explain why you needed a spare bed when he was your boyfriend, but you’re sure you can come up with some excuse. He raises an eyebrow. “I’m comfortable with it if you are. It might be a cosy fit, though.” You’re almost thankful for the series of events that led up to this. You just shoot him a thumbs up, trying to appear unbothered. “I’m honor bound to warn you that I am a serial cuddler. Shoko has had to pry me off her too way many times whenever I’ve crashed at her place.” He bends down, placing his arms on either side of you on the bed, leaning over to whisper in your ear. “I look forward to it, sweetheart.” He pulls away so quickly you almost wonder if you imagined it. Walking towards the entrance of your room, calling out behind him. “Go shower and join us for dinner below, (name).” The door shuts behind him, and you fall back onto your bed, grabbing a pillow and mushing your face into it, muffling your screams with the fabric.

Dinner is a considerably more cheerful affair than before. Seiko and Naoya had thankfully read the room and bowed out early. You knew there was an enormous can of worms to open up there, but you decided to let sleeping dogs lie for today. Nanami is surprisingly carrying on a long conversation with your mother and father, and you’re extremely curious about what they were talking about. Knowing your mother, she’s probably grilling him about his entire history. You spend the rest of dinner joking around with Yuuji and your grandmother, shooting a glance at Nanami every now and then, which he meets with a reassuring smile. You’re happy he seems to be enjoying dinner, at least.

Night quickly arrives, and with it, the bed situation. You spend way too long deciding on a pair of pajamas, and settle on a comfortable t-shirt and shorts of respectable length. Nanami seems to have already changed, and made himself comfy, and you feel a flutter in your stomach at the way he’s sprawled on his side of the bed, his hair falling over his eyes instead of being swept up as it usually is. He’s grabbed a book off your nightstand and is perusing it, the light from your nightlamp illuminating him softly. You spend a few beats admiring the man, before joining him.

“Hi…” You whisper, slipping into the covers next to him, keeping some space between you both. He places the book down, turning his full attention onto you. He smiles at you, his brown eyes warm. “You good?” He settles in under the covers too. “I am. You’re looking tired, (name).” “It’s been a long day…” He leans over you to turn off the light, and you catch a whiff of his aftershave. He smells very good, and you feel mildly like a pervert. Your mind keeps wandering to how tall and wide he is in comparison to you. “Sorry if I steal the covers from you. My limbs take a mind of their own when I sleep.” You hear him laugh in the darkness. “I’ll be fine, sweetheart. Go to sleep.” Easier said and done. You close your eyes, thinking you’ll probably be awake for most of the night making sure you don’t accidentally cuddle Kento in your sleep. You're not making contact with him, but even with your eyes closed, you feel the warmth emanating off him. You open your eyes a millimeter, trying to catch a glimpse of him. You think he's staring at you back, but it's hard to say in the dark. Eventually the day catches up with you quickly, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep and dead to the world.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jjk #wow bed sharing trope ruin ur so innovative...#the self in self indulgent is REAL!#sorry if ive made a goof this shit is unbeta read #im using this fic as practise to get a lot of words in daily as like. pre nanowrimo warmup

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astoundingbeyondbelief · 1 year ago

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Kaiju Week in Review (September 3-9, 2023)

I was a bit nervous about GAMERA -Rebirth-; the animation looked dodgy and Netflix has a shaky track record with kaiju shows. I'm pleased to report this is the best entry in the genre that they've put their name on. Good characters, great action (brutal as always), and actual episodic storytelling that effortlessly weaves in elements from the Showa films beyond all the returning kaiju. Watch it immediately.

Tie-ins abound for GAMERA -Rebirth-: a two-part novelization, a manga adaptation, and a prequel manga that sheds some light on [UNBELIEVABLY MASSIVE SPOILERS]. That prequel manga (GAMERA -Rebirth- code thyrsos) is being published online for free in both Japanese and English. You can read the first chapter here.

In unofficial translation news, English subtitles for GAMERA.1999 (1999) and yokaipedia (2022) are now available. The former is Hideaki Anno's making-of documentary for Gamera 3: Revenge of Iris; the latter is a fun, child-friendly fantasy from Godzilla Minus One director Takashi Yamazaki with a big ol' centipede-dragon at the end. (It's also maybe the first Japanese kaiju film I've ever seen with a major Black character.) I haven't gotten to GAMERA.1999 yet, though from scrubbing through it, it seems like a lot of dialogue was just ignored by the translator. Shame, as that's one I've wanted for a long time.

youtube

We have a teaser for Monarch: Legacy of Monsters, as well as a premiere date for the first two (out of ten) episodes: November 17. (I am being showered with Media for my 30th birthday.) The big news from this trailer is that John Goodman is reprising his role as Bill Randa from Kong: Skull Island. I assume that's going to be through flashbacks and old recordings only, since he was eaten by a Skullcrawler in that one. We also catch glimpses of two new creatures, a dragon and a crab from what I can tell. The latter looks to be fighting a Mother Longlegs.

Fandango and AMC have added mostly-empty listings for Godzilla 2000 on November 1. Fathom Events screened Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla on November 3 last year; despite randomly showing Tokyo SOS back in March, I gather they're making a tradition out of Godzilla Day. Note that the listed runtime is longer than the film itself. Predictions for the program: another message from Keiji Ota, the 2022 Godzilla vs. Gigan short, and the Japanese version of G2K. Interesting that they're running the last Toho Godzilla film to receive a wide release in the U.S. exactly a month before Godzilla Minus One has a wide release of its own here.

Gamera isn't a meta-defining Godzilla Battle Line unit... but he's Gamera in a Godzilla game, so I've been using him in every match since I unlocked him. He's gearing towards demolishing flying units, with fireballs that deal more damage against them and knock them back. A pity that he's arriving well after those units were at their most dominant.

Godzilla: Here There Be Dragons #3 still isn't giving me much to write home about, but the kaiju cult creeping to the forefront intrigues. Also cool to see Ebirah in a starring role.

youtube

Marubeni, one of Japan's biggest general trading companies, put out a bizarre commercial featuring samurai, zombies, a meteor, and a refurbished GMK King Ghidorah. The ad now has English subtitles, and you can watch a Ghidorah-centric behind-the-scenes video here.

I cannot believe I have more Cleopatra Entertainment fuckery to report on with regards to their Shin Ultraman releases, but they're truly trying to take the "Worst Film Company of 2023" title from the members of the AMPTP. Their third attempt at a barebones disc is starting to reach customers... but the ones who already received the initial replacement disc are being told no more will be sent. @starestream is trying to figure out if they'll be selling the third edition on their site, since it seems buying it anywhere else is a gamble. (Physically, the third edition looks almost the same as the first two, set apart only by the "SUBTITLED" text on the disc.) Either way, it's another blow to a movie that truly doesn't deserve this.

#kaiju week in review #gamera #gamera rebirth #godzilla #kaiju #yokaipedia #Youtube

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buggiebite · 8 months ago

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The Life of a Victor

First chapter is published!

I am relatively new to writing and publishing fanfic on AO3. I’m still learning the ropes and making adjustments. But, I really have high hopes for this fanfic!

Summary: Katniss Everdeen learns to navigate her life as a Victor while living under the Capitol’s demand. A mentor, wife, and soon to be mother, she must weigh her choices to pursue the happiest life manageable and protect those she loves.

I’ll add a snippet to preview here:

As if the train were a bassinet, I long to feel it sway back and forth to lull me asleep. Only, it never does. It stays insistent in its fashion. Moving so fast I cannot feel it at all. The light fixture above me does not falter or attempt to. The decorative picture frames stay put. Glinting in the moonlight as we twist and turn through the countryside. It makes me sick, queasy to be exact. This stiffening feeling of being on a train for the rest of my life. Caught in a loop that I wish I was never a part of. The life of a Victor.

I close my eyes and focus on the events of the last day. An aged black car making tire tracks at the gates of Victor’s Village. Hugging Prim and Mother farewell, promising to see them soon. Joining Peeta and Haymitch in the cramped backseat and meandering our way to the train station. Setting off to a week of parties in the Capitol, all dedicated to the Victor of the 79th Hunger Games. Today was not eventful in the slightest. Other than the meal that is better than anyone in District 12 could concoct. I sigh deeply before opening my eyes again to find a pair another staring back at me.

Out of defiance of his concern, I would close my eyes again, but I don’t. He knows I cannot sleep. Not on this train. Not in our bed. Not even in his arms, at least not for too long. Something I greatly appreciate about Peeta is his ability to read me without speaking. He does not say a word as he reaches a short distance to move the stray hairs from my face. Then goes to pet my bare arm softly. I watch his hand as he shoulders this and eventually drifts back to the blue of his eyes.

“What can I do for you?” He asks quietly, a deep rasp in his throat that indicates he was sleeping moments ago.

What couldn’t he do for me? I could list a million things he could do, but I won’t name them. I shake my head and scoot closer to his center. Where his beating heart massages my temple. Each time we board this train and inevitably spend our time in the Capitol, I worry Peeta will lose his scent. The sweet cinnamon and dill aroma that has become a comfort in times of chaos. He never does. It sticks to his hair no matter how much it is washed and styled. He’s constantly followed by these sentiments of home that keep me steady.

I acutely inhale and copy the movement of his fingers that are now at my hips. I trail soft fingertips over his freckled arms, I cannot see these freckles in the darkness of the train car, but I know they’re there. Hundreds of multicolored dots litter his skin like wildflowers in the wilderness.

“You can turn this train around.” I joke pitifully. Removing my hand to adjust his own to massage where I am sore. He chuckles a little and lightly kisses my forehead. We’ve been married for nearly three years. It was arranged, yes, but sometimes I cannot help but feel like it’s all real. That I married him for love and not to quell an uprising. Then, I get those paralyzing thoughts of the girl I used to be. Afraid of marriage, of any sort of domestic life, because it could be ripped away from her in a second.

Now, I am without choice in the matters of anything. I live my life how President Snow wants me to. Putting away my bow and arrows and replacing them with a shiny diamond ring and a title I can never deny. Mother.

Six months roughly. That’s how far along I am. Prim reminds me all of the time. Updating me on sizes and little facts I wonder where she learned. Surely not in school. Maybe from our mother, but, I doubt it. She had been very despondent to the idea of being a grandmother. I don’t blame her. Prim gloats over it quite often. Asking all sorts of questions about the life growing inside of me.

This was never my intention, yet I knew it was coming. Somehow I made myself believe I would never have children in the position I am in. A Victor. That within a few years Peeta and I would slowly be forgotten and we could forget. I kick myself for being so naive. All it took was threats to our families and we agreed. Taking a few months to conceive but eventually became successful. I cried for a month. I still cry. Not because of the hormones, but for the guilt I feel over the little person who wriggles inside of me. A death sentence has already been written. Peeta tells me not to think of it that way. Or think of it at all. I can tell that he’s pained by it just as much as I am, but in brief, fleeting moments I can see the joy of fatherhood radiating off him.

I normally don’t like anyone touching my protruding stomach, even I fein from it. I, however, let Prim, and in the heat of the moment, let Peeta. Reaching for his hand again I place it on my swell. His touch calms me, rubbing soothing circles and smiling when there’s a kick in response.

We don’t speak for the rest of the night. I plant a few kisses on his collarbone and he to my head. I try to bury my thoughts deep within the covers. Tossing them out the cracked train window. Disposing of them so I can get some

semblance of sleep. With time, I do, just to be awoken a few mere hours later by nightmares of screaming infants being ripped from my arms.

Breakfast comes quicker than anticipated. Morning sun stretching and bending in the windows of the compartments. Tall pines caked in snow leaving streaks of blues and whites ablur outside. When I enter the dining car, Haymitch is wide awake and reading a magazine. Feet crossed and propped in an adjacent chair. Making use of Effie’s absence, as she would have lost her wig if she ever saw him doing this.

“Morning, sunshine.” Haymitch nods, his eyes peering up at me from his reading glasses. Mother says that’s an effect of alcohol: poor vision. Seeing him like this makes me want to snicker, and say something rude about my mentor being old. But I know better than that. It is too early for our childish arguments and I am not in the sunniest mood his nickname implied I was.

Instead of replying, I shove a few strawberries into my mouth. Then I sit two chairs away from where his bare feet ruin the fine velvet chair. I hear Peeta’s footsteps before his greeting. A sleepy but alert ‘good morning’. Inferring he slept similarly to how I did, I send him a little smile that he can hopefully read as my apology. Sleep has never been an easy concept for us. Every minute of it, that is not of nightmares and tortuous memories, is precious.

It is Haymitch that chimes in first. “Busy night?” He asks. I cannot remember the last time he cared, and why should he? I look over to Peeta who has stopped chewing his eggs and looks suspiciously at our mentor. I notice the little, lavender-grey bags that hang from Peeta’s eyes. I have not looked in a mirror but I would guess I look more disheveled than my husband.

“Walls are thin. That’s all I’m saying.” Haymitch adds. Looking up at us again. Waiting for a response, but all I can think of is my screaming. Which is nothing new to him, or out of the ordinary.

“We’re married, Haymitch,” Peeta states defensively. I look around questioningly and dig my fork into the roasted potatoes splayed across my plate. “And our compartments are nowhere near each other. Which means you were eavesdropping. Just when I thought you couldn’t get more disgusting.”

With an eye roll from the drunkard, he moans, “Just keep it in your pants when I’m in the vicinity. The least you could do.” I see him point at me from my peripheral. Blood rising to the apples of my cheeks and peaks of my ears. “And maybe don’t beg so loud, Sweetheart. The whole train thought Peeta was dying.”

Reminiscing last night caused my blush to deepen. Steamy kisses that tasted of hot chocolate. Peeta and I’s clothes were haphazardly thrown across the bathroom. Somehow we managed to fit in the tiny shower together. That is where the first part of the night began. The rest on the plush sheets of the bed.

Peeta managed to get a book about pregnancy. A detailed manual about what to expect from the expecting mother and soon-to-be infant. Foods to eat and not to. What parts of the body may ache and how to combat it. The activities the baby does in the womb: kick, open its eyes, gain the ability to hear. My husband informed me of the side effects too. Increased libido is one. I did not believe him—or should I say the book—but I was wrong. From the brush of his hands against the small of my back to the chaste kisses we share often. I feel that swirl of hunger in my gut that beckons me for more.

Snapping my eyes over at Haymitch, not giving the benefit of my reaction. I chew harder on my breakfast and shoot Peeta an aggravated look. Last night was not the first time we have had sex during our travels. Thinking about it, we may have done it every time we have been on this train for the last couple of years.

“Can you keep your nose out of our relationship? Go to the bar or something.” I tell our mentor, to which he obliges.

Peeta reaches for my hand across the table and gently rubs his thumb over my knuckles. He does not have to say the words, I feel them in his touch. Apologizing for Haymitch’s behavior. Peeta has been frequent with apologies lately. Saying ‘sorry’ for the looks I get and questions I’m asked regarding the baby. I tell him each time it’s not his fault. There’s no need for him to ask forgiveness, but he does anyway.

Before long, we arrive in the Capitol. The glistening reflections of windows bouncing off the surrounding skyline. Looking improved by renovation from our last visit six months ago. Remaking the Capitol so often, it is hardly the city I saw for the first time years ago. Sheets of snow pile on the ground. Falling from the mountains and sprinkling the decorative coats of the paparazzi and crowd. Five years since the 74th Games and still, it is like we won yesterday. The way the people flock to us and try to capture bits of our presence. Peeta brushes them away with a smile. I try to ignore them when they reach for my stomach.

My pregnancy was announced during the Hunger Games six months ago. Mentors congregate in a rooftop plaza, they share drinks and talk like friends once their tributes die. At the time, our oldest tribute was still alive. Eighteen and a boy from the Seam: Abriel Sampson was bitten by a rattlesnake in the desert arena and was going to die without medicine. If it weren’t for being instructed to announce the coming of our baby, Peeta and I would have done it anyway for sponsors.

Caesar Flickerman stopped us—we left Haymitch to watch our remaining tribute—and interviewed us for updates on our married life.

“I help my family at the bakery still, Katniss does too,” Peeta told him when he asked what we were up to. Half a lie.

“I’m not the best baker.” My reply prompts a laugh from the crowd of sponsors and reporters. Peeta always wraps a sturdy arm around me when we make a sort of appearance. His hand fell to the crease of my waist in a protectively reassuring way. It was Peeta who told them. He knew I could not let the words escape my mouth, not without shutting down and running away as fast as I could.

“We actually have a surprise,” Peeta says, a hint of his voice happy. I watched as every pair of eyes opened wider, Caesar's lipstick turning into a grin. “Well tell us! Don’t keep us waiting. Panem wants to know!”

Panem wants to know. I imagined my mother and sister, my in-laws, my once best friend, and his family, watching the screen. Seeing Peeta and I as a united front and about to announce what would change the course of our lives forever.

Peeta looked down at me and I up at him. I pretended to be happy at that moment. With a plastered smile and nudge to my husband. “Katniss and I are going to have a baby.”

Abriel lasted a few more days with the medicine we got for him. But, like always, it was never enough.

We stay in the Tribute Center. On the twelfth floor in our same penthouse. The showers are the same, spacious chamber of suds and smells. The furniture has been rearranged and replaced. Switching colors to match the season like every year. Peeta and I’s schedule is lenient until the evenings. When we have been ordered to eat dinner with high-ranking Capitolites. Haymitch does not come to those outings or any outings. The only reason he is here is to attend the grand party at the President’s Mansion in a few days.

Effie makes her appearance before our first dinner. Arriving in an elaborate, frilly blue coat accustomed to the chilling winds outside. One look at me and she is sent into a blubbering fit.

“Oh, my Victor! You’re radiant, dear.” Effie dabs away tears to save her powdery makeup. She hugs me tenderly and makes a shocked gasp. “Why Katniss you are huge! Must be those broad shoulders, eh Peeta? If I’d known better, I would think you are about to pop!” Effie giggles and taps an already-dressed Peeta on the shoulder in reference.

“She’s only six months, Effie.” My husband tells her.

“Ah, ah, 31 weeks.” The escort corrects. Blindsiding me a little. I know that babies are (hopefully) born at nine months, but putting it in weeks makes me feel a little breathless. If I am 31 weeks like Effie has said, I only have nine to go. If everything goes smoothly.

My hair and makeup have already been done, which makes Effie’s job a lot simpler: ensuring I am dressed properly. Cinna and Portia have been exceedingly busy, she tells me. The two have been working on our outfits for the party. Cinna sent an assistant of his to get my measurements earlier. I’m sure this pregnancy has made his job twenty times as difficult. Everything about my body has changed. My waist has expanded along with my hips. My thighs have grown to labor this baby. Breasts doubled and filled with milk to eventually feed the little child.

Effie clothes me in a velvet, red, trench coat. Lined in pink accents and tied with a bow over my stomach. Like a wrapped present. I harrumph in annoyance when she shows me in the mirror. It is beautiful and fancy, and I am almost positive Cinna made it. Which makes me feel even worse for criticizing it negatively.

A pink dress that is the same color as the coat’s lining is what I wear under the jacket. Long enough to touch my ankles, but not enough to hide my feet. I am put in heels that pinch at my toes and do nothing for my swollen feet. I should know better when it comes to the Capitol. I’m quite used to not getting what I want. However, it makes me choked up at how unbelievably uncomfortable I am. Looking in the mirror and not seeing a sliver of the girl who volunteered for her sister.

Living with Peeta for so long has taught me something special. He never outright says it but I have seen it in how he acts. Peeta always searches for the rays of sunshine in the bitterly horrible world. So I think of what is a positive to avoid tears.

This time of year in the Capitol is better than the rest. No active games are occurring or twenty-three unlucky returning home in a pine box. I don’t have to sit and watch as my tributes die like I have done every year since I have mentored. Winter means partying. Good food and reacquainting with friends. But, it also means starvation in the districts. It also means prying questions about my baby. It also means I’m further away from home and closer to the evil clutches of President Snow.

“Chin up, Katniss.” Effie scolds me as if I’m still the sixteen-year-old who was sentenced to death.

#I’m really excited and also hoping to stick to this. it will take me a while fs bc of school and life but I’m going to try real hard #buggiebite #the hunger games #everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #thg #district 12 #fanfic #primrose everdeen #Mrs Everdeen #gale hawthorne #Willow Mellark #everlark married #Katniss Mellark #toastbaby

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thana-topsy · 1 year ago

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Liminal Bridges [Excerpt]

I've made some changes to Liminal Bridges while writing new content/gearing up to start posting again! I've always been the type of fic writer that flat-out refuses to go back and change/edit/re-write things I've already published. HOWEVER. The way the plot is progressing, there were a few things I wanted to tweak in earlier chapters. Namely.... I wanted to add J'zargo into the story. Here's what a couple of scenes from Chapter 7 now look like, featuring my favorite pyromaniac:

The classroom was surprisingly full when Neloth pushed through the door and walked to the head of the room. The soft murmur of conversation died immediately as all eyes tracked him with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation.

“Whatever you think you know about the school of Mysticism, I want you to forget it.” He let the book in his arm fall heavily against the desk. “With the blessed collapse of the Mages Guild, the study of Mysticism has become more and more scant, very rarely leaving the halls of the Psijics on the isle of Artaeum. However, the Telvanni have known and utilized the practices of Mysticism for millennia.”

He opened the book. There was a soft, collective noise of scrolls being unfurled and ink pot lids being flipped open.

“First, the thing you must understand above all else is that to study Mysticism is to open your mind to the inherent paradox of reality. It is not for the faint of heart, nor for the weak willed. My intent is not to lead any of you into madness, though it is always a possibility. Now…” Neloth heard someone in the front row of the class audibly swallow. “What types of spells and rituals fall under the category of Mysticism?” He looked out at the class expectantly.

Silence followed.

“Sometimes, I ask questions that aren’t meant to be answered, but this one is. So speak up and don’t waste my time.”

“Absorption spells.” The answer came from a Khajiit who sat in the center of the room. He was familiar—the one who had gone toe-to-toe with Neloth in his first lecture on Destruction magic over a year ago.

“Correct. What else?”

“Teleportation,” the Khajiit answered again.

“Correct, again. Are you the speaker for the class?” He shrugged and leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “J’zargo seems to be the only one to have answers.”

“Very observant. What else?” Neloth asked him directly this time.

“Soul trapping.”

“What else?”

J’zargo opened his mouth, then paused, faltering. He looked to one of his classmates beside him, then back to Neloth. “Divination?”

“Correct.” A slow smile spread across Neloth’s face. “But why?”

“Eh…” The Khajiit’s cool demeanor was gone, replaced with nervous doubt. “This one… does not know.”

“Then this is where we shall start for today. I do hope the rest of you were writing all this down while your classmate carried your dead weight.” There was a flurry of movement as quills frantically scratched across parchment.

“We’ll begin with the principles of Mysticism.”

—

“Master Neloth, I had a question regarding the assignment.”

The first week of classes had come and gone with relative ease. Neloth had only held two lecture-heavy classes and sent all of his students off to do a significant amount of reading before the next session. It was really quite simple. There was nothing to question.

“What might that be?” he asked, only half paying attention as he copied his most recent research into his journal.

“Will we need to know all of Sotha Sil’s lessons on Artaeum for the exam, or are there like… certain terms to memorize?”

Neloth paused in his writing, slowly looking up from his journal. The student, a shaggy-looking Breton boy, took a nervous step backwards.

”I’m sorry. Were you expecting me to compose a vocabulary list?”

The student shook his head, dark brown hair falling into his eyes. “No, sir, I just meant—”

“You just meant ‘are there any shortcuts I can take’? Is that right?”

“No, I—”

“For the exam, you and you alone, will be required to transcribe from memory the entirety of 3rd of Sun's Dawn, 2920. Any future inane questions will result in more assignments.” Neloth pointed at the door with the tip of his quill. “Out.”

The boy opened his mouth, sucked in a breath, held it, then quickly ducked his head and strode towards the exit. Neloth went back to copying. It took him a long moment to realize there was someone else still standing in the room. He set his quill down with a loud sigh. “Yes? What else?”

“This one also has a question, but not about the assignment.” It was the know-it-all Khajiit from class. He had a muscular build beneath his mage’s robes, the fur around his muzzle carefully coiffed into a ridiculous little mustache that framed his mouth. “J’zargo can wait until class, if you’d prefer.”

“You’re already here and you’re already bothering me. So you might as well waste my time now as opposed to later.”

The Khajiit smirked, shuffling through his scrolls. “J’zargo simply wanted clarification. You said that Mysticism and The Old Way were used interchangeably by the Psijics. But while ‘The Old Way’ can refer to Mysticism, Mysticism does not necessarily refer to The Old Way, yes?”

“Correct. Because one is a religious philosophy, while the other is a theoretical school of magic.”

“This one is simply confused by what separates the two.”

“Did you read Tetronius Lor’s treatise on Mysticism?”

“Yes, which is why J’zargo is confused.”

Neloth rubbed at his temples with a sigh, but the question was intelligent enough. Worthy of answering, at least. “The Old Way refers specifically to the practices of the Psijics on Artaeum. They use meditation, thought exercises, and riddles to better connect with what they believe to be the purest form of magicka. The study of Mysticism is far less spiritual, at least as far as House Telvanni is concerned. It’s more of a science than a religion— identifying patterns and working with cause and effect, direct action and reaction. It is something that can be mapped and traced. Experiments can be performed and repeated with reliable results.”

The Khajiit nodded, looking thoughtful. “Forgive, but are these not the same thing?”

“Hardly,” Neloth scoffed then paused. “But explain your reasoning.”

“Well, meditation and riddles… This is just another way of identifying patterns, yes? Thought exercises are psychological. Scientific, as you said. So it feels, to this one at least, like it is just splitting whiskers based on pomp and circumstance— one group refusing to be associated with the other.” He tilted his head curiously. “J’zargo thinks it counterproductive to say they are two different things instead of considering them as a whole.”

Neloth pursed his lips. “J’zargo, was it?”

“That is this one’s name, yes.”

“Well, J’zargo.” Neloth smiled thinly. “In addition to your reading assignment, I’d like you to write a short essay on the similarities and differences concerning the religious and secular practices of Mysticism.”

J’zargo’s eyes glittered mischievously. “Are you punishing this one for asking questions?”

“Do you feel punished?” Neloth asked as he leaned back in his chair. J’zargo shook his head. Neloth nodded. “Good. The Arcanaeum should have a copy of Concerning the Psijic Order as well as Origin of the Mages Guild. Those are the main resources you need.”

“Thank you, Master Neloth.”

Neloth pointed to the door with the feather end of his quill. “Out.”

#topsy writes #neloth #master neloth #j'zargo #college of winterhold #professor neloth #skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #elder scrolls #writeblr #fanfiction #I just think he's neat okay #and I want him to play a bigger role later on in the story

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dyrewrites · 8 months ago

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WiP Questionnaire

Tagged by @winglesswriter (hello new fren!) here

I am taggin @rowanmgrey-author and YOU

--Big Post Coming Through--

Answering for "Before Deluca"

What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

->This<- which became the introduction/beginning of the first chapter. Most of it was wildly altered...but it's why I have a 130k words of novel now.

If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

It's not much for a theme song, but for some reason my brain says this one;

What are your favorite characters that you made? Why?

Lucient is the favorite of this WiP, it should be Ludovico/Deluca (who is telling the story) but it's not. I love him too but Lucient's just so much fun to write and more complex than he initially seems. Also he's bratty but loving and earnest and just...he just wants this man, ok. Forever, only him. And I love it.

What other pieces of media do you think your fan base would share?

Honestly, no idea. My brain cannot wrap around the idea of a fan base for anything I've done. Just does not compute.

What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

Getting the two main characters to stop making me write sex scenes. I kid (it's a problem I don't really mind) but the biggest struggle has been the real world setting and how much of it I want to replace with the magic I've injected into it. Historical fantasy is one thing, but it's more Alternate Earth at this point and my brain gets angry when it has to conform to rules it didn't create.

Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

Unfortunately not. They wouldn't be safe around the main cast. There are vampire who behave like animals, and by that I mean they wholeheartedly believe they are dogs due to abuse and mind-control and it isn't pretty. So...no animals, I am sorry. At least not yet, there may be a cat at some point (I tend to put them in everything).

How do your characters get around? (Ex. Trains, horses, cars, dragons, etc.)

A great big ol' sailing ship that begins with the name La Lune Royale but gets another one later. She is very beeg and covered in magic. When landbound, they use carriages, coaches, a train here soon, and eventually a car (maybe, I dunno if either of them should be trusted with such a thing).

What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

The time-skip that takes them through the rest of their first century together and into their second (and final). So...halfway point? You will recall the 130k I mentioned at the top, yes? Help me.

What aspects (tropes, maybe) of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

The vampires probably, and the romance, and maybe the magic? I dunno. It gets weird and doesn't seem to follow some of the tropes expected of this genre...I write weird vampires.

What are your hopes for your WIP?

To have it done by the end of the year would be neat, like done done, published and all.

->blank questions under cut<-

What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

What are your favorite characters that you made? Why?

What other pieces of media do you think your fan base would share?

What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

How do your characters get around? (Ex. Trains, horses, cars, dragons, etc.)

What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

What aspects (tropes, maybe) of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

What are your hopes for your WIP?

#writeblr #writing rambles #tag games #wip questionnaire #before deluca #seriously i am halfway #this is going to be hell to revise #Spotify

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elm-writes-stories · 1 year ago

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Sing(My Version) Rewrite Chapter 1:

*Hey guys, I'm back with the first chapter of my rewrite of my version of Sing! Yay! This is published on December 18, 2023. If you guys like this first chapter, don't forget to reblog, heart it, and comment! That would be greatly appreciated. I wrote my own songs for this new chapter, so I'm sorry in advance if the song-writing sucks. If I practice more, I'll get better at it. For now, I hope you guys enjoy it!*

The stage was lit up by purple and blue colors.

Today was the day the world will look upon the greatest show in the history of animal kind.

“Here is where it all started,” a voice boomed from the stage. The koala in a tight blue suit emerged from the curtains with a headset attached to the side of his face and a microphone in front of his lips. The curtain parted, revealing a black sheep on stage dressed in sparkly lavender dress standing on top of a cut-out of a hill. She was a statue singing to the moon.

The koala continued, “Here is where an ordinary little guy fell in love with the theater.”

The curtain closed after he said that.

“Everything about it. From the sounds—”

The little saxophone played a couple of notes in the background.

“—the lighting—”

The stage lit up in all different colors.

“—to even the smell of lavender—”

The stage curtains parted and the purple dust flowed out from the darkness. The lights came on with silhouettes of a young koala peering over the edge of the balcony with the adult koala holding him.

“He was only six years old at the time and his dream to become the first marsupial in space were…replaced,” the koala replied.

The light flickered to show the next slide of the silhouettes of the koala, now an adult, standing in front of the red ribbon with his father beside him and a cheering crowd in front of them.

“Some folks may have said that he grew up to become the greatest showman.”

The silhouettes changed with a flicker of the light with the audience praising the koala while holding awards.

“Some folks called him a visionary.”

The silhouettes changed again under the flicker of the light and revealed the audience screaming at the koala angrily, throwing tomatoes at him.

“Some called him insane.”

The koala became more centered on stage, taking the attention away from the silhouettes. “But I believe wonder and magic don’t come easy. And, oh, there will never be a doubt where the name Buster Moon will go down in entertainment history. I should know because I’m Buster Moon!”

The imaginary cheering from the audience was replaced by the creaking noises of the theater. The colorful lights were only imaginary lights replaced by the pale sunlight shining through the ceiling drafts.

The red curtains that were on stage never moved an inch and Buster Moon, the koala in the tight blue suit, stood in front of the empty stage and faced the empty red seats all throughout the rows and the balconies.

Buster realized that he didn't have the headset and the microphone on and he was giving an imaginary performance in front of the invisible audience members. He sighed deeply. “Great exercise for the day, Moon.”

“Are you talking to your invisible audience again, Mr. Moon?” A sweet voice rang from the side.

Buster turned his head and noticed the antelope assistant secretary approaching him named Mizuki. She had a blue notepad in her hooves with the pen.

“Ah, Mizuki, you’re here early,” Buster replied with a bright smile.

“Bright and early,” Mizuki claimed eagerly.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he responded with a grin and hurried over by her side. “Alright, fill me in. What’s on the agenda today?”

They started to walk to the stage and up the steps towards his office.

“Well, you have an appointment with the bank at three o’clock this afternoon,” she responded.

He nodded his head with a ‘Mhm’.

“And you have the stage crew from your last show wanting their paychecks since the ones you gave them bounced,” she added.

He clenched his teeth. “Ooh, yeah. I really need to find the money to pay them. It’s not fair to hold them out for this long—”

They heard banging noises as they entered the hallway to get to Buster’s office. Their eyes widened when they noticed that there was a crowd of animals noticing them with angry looks on their faces.

“I mean to tell you that they’re already here,” Mizuki whispered to Buster.

Buster awkwardly wave at them with a nervous smile. “Hey guys…”

He immediately took Mizuki by the hoof and led her back downstairs and towards the backstage.

“GET BACK HERE, MOON!!!”

“How long have they been here?” Buster whispered to Mizuki harshly. “Please don’t tell me that they’ve come in while I was talking to myself.”

“Uh…no. They got here before you did,” she whispered back.

“Oh geez…Did you think they heard me?”

“Uh…they would’ve already been on stage to strangle you if they had.”

“Good point.”

“MOON, GIVE US OUR PAYCHECKS!!!”

“Uh! There’s some technical difficulties! I’ll fix it later!” Buster looked back to see the angry stage crew chasing after them.

“Pay us now!” the chimp demanded angrily.

“Again! Technical difficulties! What part of technical difficulties did you not hear?!” Buster shouted at the stage crew.

Buster and Mizuki approached the half crescent moon cut-out and the koala pulled the lever. He hopped on it while pulling Mizuki up on it with him. The moon raised them up away from the angry crew.

“THIS ISN’T OVER MOON!”

Buster sighed in relief while Mizuki was holding onto the moon cut-out for dear life. They hopped off of the cut-out and balanced themselves across the planks, careful to not fall.

“Anything else I need to know before going into my office?” Buster asked in a peppy voice.

“Ms. Crawly is getting your coffee.”

“Ah, that’s one good news,” he said with a calmer tone. They approached the wall that had a hole in it in front of the other wall. Only except, it wasn’t the other wall. Buster removed it so easily and squeezed through the hole to approach his office.

“I didn’t know you have a secret passageway to your office,” Mizuki gasped in shock while crawling through.

Buster held the framed poster up and waited till Mizuki was all the way through to align it right. “Yeah. You never know when you’re going to need it.”

Mizuki sat on the couch with small giggle. “Oh! I almost forgot you also have lunch with Eddie Noodleman at Les Calamars around noon.”

He froze and twitched his ears. “Uh…I didn’t schedule that—”

“Really? Ms. Crawly put it down on the notes,” Mizuki said while looking at the notes.

Buster sighed. “That crazy lizard.”

On cue, Ms. Crawly, the iguana with her glass eye out of place, entered the office with a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Moon.”

“Ah, speak of the devil. Good morning to you too, Ms. Crawly. What a lovely morning, isn’t it?” Buster responded while running up to his office chair.

Ms. Crawly placed the white coffee cup on his wooden desk. “It is. It is. I brought you some coffee.”

Buster noticed it empty. “Really?” he showed the empty coffee cup with confusion in his face. “Where is it?”

“Oh dear, I must have drank it on the way up those stairs,” Ms. Crawly uttered. Before she could walk away, Buster sat on the edge of the desk while holding the empty coffee cup.

“You scheduled me with Eddie today?” Buster questioned.

“Oh yes, Eddie called you several times throughout the week. Eddie called me and asked if he could talk to you. Well, you weren’t available at the moment yesterday since…you were doing something else on stage, so I told him that I can put you down to spend some time with him,” Ms. Crawly responded with a smile.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Buster responded, faking a smile. “Wait, how much does it cost? I would—”

“Oh, don’t worry, Eddie covered it,” Ms. Crawly responded.

“Oh, he shouldn’t have to do that—”

“He insisted, Mr. Moon. Strongly insisted.”

Buster sighed. “Of course.”

“I suggest you go out to eat with him. He can help out with the theater situation.”

“No, this is something I oughta do on my own…if I involve him…well, I don’t know. It might be too much of a burden for him to help me out.”

“Oh, Mr. Moon, you can’t assume that. You and Eddie have been friends since college.”

“Eddie Noodleman…as in…wait, is he the grandson of Nana Noodleman?” Mizuki asked Ms. Crawly.

Ms. Crawly nodded her head. “Why yes. They’re the richest family in Bell City.”

Mizuki brightly smiled. “That is a great opportunity to ask for help!”

Buster shook his head. “I’ve already wasted the bank’s loans by making mediocre productions. I wouldn’t have the appointment with the bank if I hadn’t. If we make another mediocre production, I would’ve ended up wasting the funds from Eddie’s family.”

Mizuki frowned at Buster’s words.

“Fine, I’ll go out and have lunch with him, but I’ll strongly decline his help with the payments,” Buster responded with a positive smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out. I always do.”

“You better hurry. It’s almost noon,” Ms. Crawly alerted Buster of the time.

“Already?!” Buster shrieked. “Great, my day has only just started.”

Buster got up from his seat and placed his coffee cup down on the desk. “Welp, ladies, I’m taking off!” He hurried towards the poster before forgetting something. He went back and grabbed two metal lunch boxes. “Just in case.”

Buster moved the framed poster out of the way and entered through the hole in the wall.

Ms. Crawly and Mizuki watched the poster swing close as Mizuki straightened it.

“I don’t think the restaurant will let Mr. Moon take the lunch boxes in,” Ms. Crawly whispered to Mizuki.

“Should we tell him?”

Ms. Crawly shrugged. “I think he knows. Want to help me with filing?”

“Sure!” Mizuki responded excitedly and both of the ladies went over to Ms. Crawly’s desk next to Buster’s office.

~.~

Buster brought his red bike out of the theater and scrolled through his phone to find out that he did miss a lot of calls from Eddie. The koala let out a sigh and scrolled through his music app called Songify. He took out his earbuds from his pocket and untangled the wire as quickly as he could. He plugged the wire into his phone and placed the earplugs into his round ears. Turning up the music, he got onto his bike and pedaled down the streets of Bell City.

The music begin to play, but it seems to be a record scratching at first until the choir sang majestically like angels from the Heavens and echoed into the koala’s eardrums. The buildings turned into cardboard settings in Buster’s mind with the lights lit up from the voices of the choir. The world itself became a stage and Buster was part of it.

“Heey!!”

The music stopped and a deep tenor voice croon.

“Ladies and Gentlemen

Welcome to the show.”

The choir sang with all of their hearts, appearing on the sidewalks Buster was riding by.

“Heey!!”

The koala stepped out into the scene on the curb of the intersection with the white top-hat and suit, with a small stick that had the crystal under his paw.

“Sit back and relax.

This is only the beginning.”

The choir appeared behind the koala, with different animals wearing white robes. The citizens around them ignored the singing choir and koala, their focus on their phones.

“Heey!!”

The koala sang beautifully while the music started to pick up in the middle of his verse.

“Watch and be dazzled

Ignore the misery you carried.

Let it take your breath away.

Trap you in a fantasy land.

Leave behind the burdens of reality!”

The koala started to lead to a dance, letting the choir behind him dance with him. The animal citizens shifted their attention away from their phones to find them dancing. They all started to follow Buster, dancing behind him without him being aware.

“Don’t resist it, you know you want it.

Fly your colors in the sky.

Who cares what comes next?

The crowd cheers for you.

Can’t you hear it coming closer?

Don’t resist it, let it take over.”

The pig with gold sparkling jacket and sweatpants drummed on the trashcans Buster was pedaling by. The notes of the music had gotten intense with the koala’s voice going higher.

“Your heart burns in your chest.

Let your big dreams lead you.

March to the beat of the drums.

Break through your walls,

Holding you back from your potential.

Tell me, don’t you want to take a leap of faith?”

The beat dropped while the animals, including the citizens, dance to the unnamed choreography together. The sky lit up from the sun glowing brighter. The music intensified when the chorus hit.

“Where we are covered in gold,

Where gangs become family,

Big dreams come true!

Anything is possible!

Oh, let your heart sing!”

Buster took a turn to the right into another street and entered a huge park full of green grass and trees, being followed by the dancing citizens.

“Lift your voices, don’t let it drown!

And the world can’t stop you!

Make these come true!

Anything is possible!

Oh, let your heart sing!”

The choir sang angelically as Buster rode down the stairs in the middle of the city park.

“Heey!!”

The koala kept singing his heart out while dancing on the stairs.

“The new age will rise.

The new generation is born.”

The choir danced on the steps with the koala.

“Heey!!”

The koala reached to the bottom of the steps with a little hop.

“Where the outcasts become performers

And we give them a round of applause.”

The choir sang louder and the music had gotten more intense.

The koala brightly smiled and followed Buster onto another street, ushering more animals to dance with him.

“Don’t resist it, you know you want it.

Let it shine through the streets.

Fly your colors in the sky.

Who cares what comes next?

Break through your walls

Holding you back from your potential.

Take the leap of faith.”

The beat dropped while every animal dance in the street behind Buster without Buster being aware of them dancing.

“Where we are covered in gold,

Where gangs become family,

Big dreams come true!

Anything is possible!

Oh, let your heart sing!

Lift your voices, don’t let it drown!

And the world can’t stop you!

Make these come true!

Anything is possible!

Oh, let your heart sing!”

They reached to the end of the song while the lead koala singer and the choir gave it their all. The lights flickered up in the sky and the fireworks exploded behind them.

“Oh, let your heart sing!

Oh, let your heart sing!

Oh, let your heart sing!”

The number ended with Buster taking out his earplugs as soon as he arrived at the fancy restaurant called Les Calamars. He looked at the time on his watch to realize that it was broken. He looked at the time on his phone to realize that he was a few minutes late.

Buster turned around to find that there were no dancing animals or singers behind him. He sighed and secured his bike on the railing.

~.~

Buster opened the doors to Les Calamars and looked through the animals dining.

He spotted a sheep with white wool on top of his head like an afro on his phone with a red rubber jacket and a yellow and white striped shirt underneath. He laid back against the chair with the orange shorts pulled up to his lower back. The sheep wore a red bead necklace Buster gave him when they met in high school. That was how Buster could tell it was Eddie.

Eddie noticed Buster from the corner of his eyes and turned his head to look at the koala. The sheep smiled and waved his hoof.

Buster grinned sheepishly and blushed. He walked across the restaurant and hopped up on the chair across from Eddie.

“Look who shows up. I almost thought that you might cancel on me again,” Eddie said with a teasing smile.

“Sorry about last time. I, uh, got busy…”

Eddie tilted his head. “Did another show flop again?”

Buster faked a smile. “What?! No, no—”

Eddie arched a brow, not convinced by Buster’s lie.

The koala sighed heavily. “Sort of.”

“How much do you have to pay back in loans? I can get my parents to help you pay it back so that you can keep the theater.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll handle it.”

“How are you going to get more money? Rob a bank?”

Buster scratched his chin. “Hmm.”

“Don’t you even think about it, Buster.”

“You’re the one who put the idea in.”

Eddie rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m telling you, my parents are loaded. It’ll be a one time thing if you’re more comfortable with that.”

“Eddie, please, I know you’re trying to help me, but you don’t need to.”

“Come on, man. The bank is going to try to repossess the theater. How are you going to have money magically appear in your pocket to pay back the loans you’ve borrowed?”

Buster frowned and looked away.

Eddie laid back with a sigh. “All I’m saying is, I want to help you in any way I can. If you won’t allow me to…I’ll accept that. But know that I’m here when you need me, okay? I always got your back no matter what.”

The koala smiled softly. “Of course.”

The pig waitress came by their table. “Hello, my name is Rosita and I’ll be taking your orders. Would you like to order anything?”

“Oh, um, uh…I won’t get anything—”

“Don’t worry, I got it covered,” Eddie reassured Buster.

“Eddie—”

“You’re not starving on my watch.” Eddie shifted his attention to the pig waitress. “Could I get a shrimp salad with ranch please? And whatever he has.”

Rosita, the pig waitress, wrote down the order and waited for Buster to order something.

Buster blinked in shock and looked at the menu. “Um…could I get, um…uh…tuna sandwiches with eucalypt tea on the side?”

She nodded her head with a small friendly smile. “Of course, I’ll get those right away. Let me take these menus.” She picked the menus up from the boys. She hurried away with the menus in her hooves.

Eddie smiled at his friend.

“You sure you got it covered? Maybe I should take back my order—”

“Hey, it’s fine. I got you,” Eddie responded.

Buster sighed and rested his head on his paw.

Eddie frowned and changed the subject. “Soo, how is the new secretary assistant? I heard she’s helping Ms. Crawly with things.”

“Yeah, Ms. Crawly was getting too old to keep track of things. Mizuki was willing to help, so I hired her.”

“Oh, so that’s her name.”

“Yep,” Buster answered with a little blush.

“Um…are you having a—?”

“No, she has a boyfriend.”

Eddie blinked and smirked. “How do you know I was going to ask that?”

“Because I know you, Eddie.”

Eddie rolled his eyes playfully with a humorless chuckle. “Har Har. Come on, you were a looker in college.”

Buster’s shoulders tensed up a bit.

“I see you get girls and guys crushing on you. And you don’t even notice them.”

“I was studying during college.”

“I know.”

Buster rolled his eyes. “I don’t have a crush on Mizuki. It’s unprofessional to even pursue that anyway.”

“Oh, I understand that completely,” Eddie responded. “Just saying though. You blushed when you mentioned her.”

The koala shook his head. “Let’s just skip the subject.”

“Alright. Alright. Um, what’s your next big idea? Whatever you got, you gotta bring the house down…or should I say bring it up from financial debt?”

“I—I don’t know, Eddie. Nobody wants to see any of the musicals and I haven’t done the best. I couldn’t even pay my last stage crew. I gotta think of something big and eye-catching. Something that will wow the world.”

They heard humming noises and looked to see the waitress, Rosita, coming in with their orders while singing soothingly,

“Oh, my darling, my darling, my darling sunshine.

You shine brighter than the sun and the moon combine.

Can’t you, can’t you, can’t you, can’t you see?

I’m blinded by the way you smile at me.”

Buster seemed captivated by her voice, tilting his head to listen more. Rosita put their orders on the table while singing quietly,

“Oh, I want to...

Dance with you, dance with you, dance with you, oh-oh.

Twirl you into my arms and sweep you off of your feet.

I want you to dance with me, dance with me, dance with me, yeah.

Don’t ever let me go, my sunshine.”

“You have a pretty voice,” Buster blurted out the compliment.

Rosita immediately stopped singing and blushed in embarrassment. “Oh, um, thanks. Sorry about that. If you guys need anything else, let me know.”

“You got it,” Eddie responded.

When Rosita walked away, Eddie noticed Buster picking at his food. “Uh-oh.”

“What?”

“I see the gears in your head turning,” Eddie pointed out.

“Eh, it’s nothing,” Buster said, taking a bite of his tuna sandwich. “Wow, I forgot how much I miss sandwiches.”

“Have you been eating?”

Buster swallowed and giggled nervously. “Of course I have. Three times a day.”

Eddie noticed Buster had been lightweight and sighed in discouragement. “Buster…”

“Okay, not as much as I should, but hey, I’m eating now. It counts for something.”

Eddie smirked a bit. “I should just take you out for lunch every day, huh?”

“No need for that. I don’t want to drain your money.”

“Dude, you’re not draining anything. I’d be happy to help you if you need it,” Eddie responded with a small smile. “You’re my friend. I want to help you in anyway I can. But you do need to take better care of yourself.”

“Don’t worry, Eddie. I’ll be just fine,” Buster responded with a smile, eating his sandwich.

“Suit yourself,” Eddie said with a sigh.

“So, what’s new with you?” Buster asked with a bright smile.

“Uh…well, I got myself a fitness partner,” Eddie responded.

“Wow, that’s great!”

“Well…not really when he wakes you up early in the morning playing Cascada on his phone,” Eddie replied with a sheepish smile.

Buster giggled nervously. “Well, I’m sure he’s a fun fellow to work out with.”

“Fun and energetic.”

“See? Exactly what you need.”

Eddie rolled his eyes playfully again. “Whatever, man.”

Buster chuckled as their lunch continued on and their conversations got more relaxed.

~.~

The lunch went better than expected.

Buster was full from all the sandwiches and sleepy from the tea while he walked out of the restaurant with Eddie. “You know, I should be getting back to the theater. Who knows what needs to be done?”

“Alright, alright. Just don’t overwork yourself,” Eddie responded.

“I’ll be fine. Absolutely fine. Have fun with your new fitness partner,” Buster teased the sheep.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Buster chuckled while walking down the sidewalk, untying his bike, and rode off with it while Eddie was watching him.

Eddie heard his phone ringing and picked it up to talk into it. “Hello…oh, hey, Gunter….Yeah, I just got out of lunch with a friend….Yeah, yeah, I’ll make it to the gym. Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

Buster overheard the conversation as he was leaving his friend and chuckled. He turned back to ride his bike through the city, taking his phone out with his headphones. He searched through his Songify playlist until he heard an angelic male voice.

“Hey-ey-ey.

Ooh, ooh, ooh.

Hey-ey-ey.

Ooh, ooh, ooh.”

Buster twitched his ears and squeezed the brakes of his bike to jerk to a stop to hear the angelic voice. Part of him wondered if he was dead or what. He pedaled his bike to follow the hums from a stranger, cutting through alleyways until he finally got into the alleyway where the voice was coming from. The voice was coming from the young adult gorilla in a black leather jacket, leaning against the building. His black fur spiked up like his hairstyle, his thumbs in his pockets.

Buster arched a brow and stopped closer to the gorilla to hear more of his voice.

“Don’t know what to say.

I’m keeping in tabs.

Might get caught in the act.

Don’t worry about me.”

Buster got off of his bike and leaned it against the wall to move around the gorilla, who was not paying attention to his surroundings.

“I give anything to make you proud.

But I’m such a mess.

I give anything to make you smile.

But I’m such a mess.”

“Wow—”

The gorilla gasped and whirled around. “Bloody Mary.”

“Sorry to give ya a scare,” Buster responded. “But can I say that you have a beautiful voice?”

The mountain gorilla smiled a bit nervously. “Uh, thanks.” He looked around with his shoulders tensed.

Buster realized of how he approached the young gorilla. “Oh, uh, sorry. That’s a weird way to approach someone.”

“No, no, you’re fine. But, um, I’m in a bit…uh, well—in a busy situation.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about it, kid. Oh, I heard that there’s a talent show downtown if you ever want to take a shot at singing,” Buster replied. As soon as Buster said that, he stopped himself. “Wait…wait! This just gave me an idea!”

“What—?”

“Thank you so much! What’s your name?”

“Uh…Johnny?”

“Thanks for the inspiration, Johnny!” Buster shouted with a bright smile on his face before running off to get his bike and riding off away from the gorilla.

Johnny blinked in question. “…What?” The gorilla heard a crackle and noticed two cops, one rhino and one tiger, walking down the sidewalk. He hid against the wall, watching the cops walking by without paying attention. He waited until they’re an earshot away and got out his walkie-talkie.

“Guys, the cops are right nearby. Stay where you are—,” Johnny whispered to the walkie-talkie.

Interrupting Johnny’s instruction, the glass broke above Johnny and the three gorillas with small bunny masks that only cover the top part of their faces landed on the ground with the larger gorilla carrying the safe full of money.

The cops that just walked by hurried back to the alleyway.

“Hey!” The tiger cop growled while putting his gun up.

The larger gorilla huffed and nodded to his pack to get the truck.

One of the large gorilla rushed to the black pick-up truck parked on the other side of the alleyway and drove through the alleyway. The leader and the other gorilla hopped onto the pick-up while the cops fired the bullets until the truck reached to them. They jumped out of the way as Johnny grabbed the leader’s hand and was pulled into the pick-up.

“Johnny, you were supposed to be on look-out!” the leader shouted.

“I-I’m sorry, Dad,” Johnny stuttered.

“And where’s your mask?!” his father shouted.

Johnny pulled down bunny mask to cover the top half of his face.

His father looked to the get-away driver. “Faster, Barry!”

Barry, the get-away driver, stepped on the gas, unaware they were speeding past Buster before he could cross the street to get to his theater.

Buster saw the black truck and the police cars driving through the crosswalk in a flash, causing him to gasp and jerked his bike to a sudden stop. He breathed heavily as a sudden flash of someone getting hit by a semi-truck flashed in his mind. For a moment, he was breathing heavily from almost being hit until the sounds of sirens faded. He snapped out of the sudden memory, trying to think of the inspiring idea he got from this fellow named Johnny.

He looked both ways before crossing the street and made it back to the theater.

~.~

Mizuki was getting filing done with Ms. Crawly until her ears twitched to hear footsteps approaching closer to her. Before she could turn around, she saw hooves covering her eyes.

“Guess who?” A familiar deep male voice asked.

Mizuki sighed playfully. “Hmm, if I were to have to guess, um, it’s Justin Fiber.”

“Ha, you wish.”

The hooves uncovered her eyes as Mizuki turned around to see her antelope boyfriend, Babeesh.

“Babe!” Mizuki chirped and stood up, kissing his lips.

“How’s my little secretary doin’ in this depressing piece of crap?” Babeesh questioned, wrapping his arm around her waist possessively.

Ms. Crawly ignored Babeesh while getting some more filing done.

“We just got filing done,” Mizuki replied to her boyfriend. “And it’s not a piece of crap, babe. It just needs some renovating and we should be solid.”

“If your boss can focus on getting the money instead of hitting on you,” Babeesh grumbled.

“Mr. Moon is not hitting on me. He has never expressed interest in me,” Mizuki responded with her arms crossed.

On cue, Buster swung open the door to the secretary office. “Mizuki, Ms. Crawly, I got an idea that might be able to revive the theater!” Buster noticed Babeesh. “Oh, hey, Babeesh. How are you?”

Babeesh glared at Buster.

“I’ll take that as you’re doing good,” Buster replied and shifted his glance at Mizuki and Ms. Crawly. “Anyway! I have an idea that can revolutionize the theater! It’s going to be spectacular! Fantastic! And may I say breath-taking!”

“That’s what you say on all of your past shows before they flop,” Babeesh growled at the koala.

“Right. But this one is different than any musical I’ve put out before. If we’re lucky, we can make big bucks from this—”

“Again, you’ve said that last time with all of your shows—”

“Babeesh,” Mizuki scolded her boyfriend.

“What’s your idea, Mr. Moon?” Ms. Crawly asked.

Buster ran towards Ms. Crawly’s desk and hopped on it, turning to face Mizuki and Babeesh with a positive smile. “Drum roll please!”

Ms. Crawly did the drum roll on her desk while Buster did it by tapping his feet on the wood.

“A talent show!” Buster announced.

Babeesh quirked a brow. “A talent show?”

Buster nodded his head. “Yes. I’ve passed by two animals who have amazing singing talents and let me tell ya, they are amazing. We don’t have that many talent shows except from clubs. Why not take advantage of it and make it bigger?! People can join in and use whatever talents they have! Most of it might be singing though so…what do you think?!”

“Oh, Mr. Moon, that’s a wonderful idea,” Ms. Crawly responded.

“It sounds like a good idea…but how are we going to do it without the money? Like they have to be motivated to show up to the auditions?” Mizuki asked.

“We’ll figure that out later!” Buster determined.

“How about you figure out now before your precious show flops again?” Babeesh growled, irritated by Buster’s optimism.

“Babeesh,” Mizuki uttered.

Babeesh rolled his eyes. “Have fun in your crappy work environment.” With that said, he walked away from her.

She sighed sadly.

Buster watched Babeesh exiting the secretary office and looked at Mizuki. “Why is he always this grumpy?”

“It’s nothing to be concerned with,” Mizuki reassured Buster.

“Oh, okay, anyway, once the talent show struck gold, I might be able to pay back the loans to the bank. I just have to tell the bank about it,” Buster responded. “Hopefully, we’ll figure something out.”

Mizuki smiled a bit. “Yeah, hopefully.”

~.~

The police had been searching for the black pick-up truck for hours. They searched around the Bell City for the gorilla gang. Unbeknownst to them, the gang had been hiding in the garage called Dexter’s Shop. The garage was up against the tree so that the gorillas could climb on it and sleep in.

Johnny closed the garage in the early evening, hiding the black pick-up truck from the eyes of civilians and cops alike. With a sigh, he took off his bunny mask and tossed it aside.

“Great job, everybody! Let’s keep this up and we might get this shop back and running!” the lead gorilla, Johnny’s father, announced. “Oi, Johnny, a word.”

His father wrapped his arms around Johnny’s broad shoulders.

“Yeah?” Johnny asked as he was being guided to the hallway out of earshot from the other gorillas.

“Look, Johnny. I know you got of a lot things on your mind,” his father replied. “But…I need you to take part of this gang, son. Someday, all of this, the shop, the heists, the gang, will all be yours. You need to know how to lead the gang. Think of this as if you’re going to be a king someday. All of this is going to be yours. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. I’m not going to be here someday.”

“I know. I know,” Johnny replied with a frown.

“Well, sometimes I can’t tell if you know that or not,” his father replied.

There was a brief pause.

His father patted on Johnny’s shoulder. “Keep your chin up, son. Your old man ain’t gonna be gone that soon. I still got some fight left within me. But I want you to know that you need to think about your future sooner than later. Just sleep on it, okay?”

Johnny nodded his head in understanding.

“Good. Get some sleep. Tomorrow is gonna be a new day,” his father replied positively while going to the other gorillas to talk with them.

Johnny climbed up his tree further away from the gorillas, entering his own room. He had posters of a yak with red hair covering his face known as Elton Jock, singing his heart out. He also had news clippings of his mother singing at a karaoke club. His clothes were scattered across the room. Johnny shut the door and took off his leather jacket, revealing a green shirt with a yellow lightning bolt in the middle. He collapsed on the bed with a tired sigh.

“What a day,” Johnny said to himself.

The gorilla stared up at the ceiling, getting out his phone and put on headphones. He listened to the soft melody that reminded him of a song he used to listen to when he was little.

He hummed a little and tapped his fingers on the round bed. Johnny closed his eyes to fall asleep to the music. The memories of his mother played in his head like an old tape-recorder. He could remember her smile as she was watching him walk to her for the first time as a toddler. Perched on her back, he remembered being carried around by his mother and watched her cook in front of him and his father. Where did it all go wrong?

Johnny opened his eyes with a sigh. He sat up from the bed and turned off his music, pulling his headphones out of his ears. Johnny turned over to the drawer next to his bed and pulled it out to reveal the VHS tape he had kept for a while. He took the VHS tape and inserted into the VHS player.

He turned the television on and watched to see the video of himself of when he’s a toddler, burying his father on the sand of the coast of Bell City except for his head and his hands.

“Oh no! Marcus, can you get out of the sand?” a woman’s voice asked in concern, assuming to be Johnny’s mother holding the camera.

“Ha! Watch me!” Marcus, Johnny’s father, replied playfully. He played dead, fooling little Johnny to approach his father. Marcus suddenly rose out of the sand and grabbed little Johnny, causing him to scream and laugh.

Johnny chuckled at the video playing, getting teary-eyed.

“Oh, he got you, Johnny!” his mother shouted from the video.

“Ma! Ma! Come join us!” little Johnny replied with a smile.

“Yeah, come join us,” Marcus responded.

“I don’t want to drop the camera,” Johnny’s mother responded.

“Here, I’ll hold the camera. Spend some time with Johnny,” Marcus offered, coming forward and taking the camera.

The footage revealed to be a female gorilla, carrying around an oxygen tank. She was losing most of her hair and her weight thanks to cancer many years ago. Little Johnny and his mother went up to the ocean, greeted by the waves. Whenever the waves crashed on the shore, they would run back.

Marcus would laugh at their antics. “Uh-oh, the ocean’s in a mood today.”

Johnny’s mother into the camera. “Oh no, I look so ugly.”

“No, you don’t. You’re bloody gorgeous,” Marcus replied while coming towards her with the camera.

“You’re not ugly, Mama,” Little Johnny responded.

“See? Take your son’s word for it,” Marcus said with a tease.

“Alright, alright, I guess I’ll believe both of you,” she teased back.

“Yay!” Little Johnny said while climbing on his mother’s back.

“Oi, boy, don’t climb on your mother’s back,” Marcus reminded the little gorilla.

“Oh, sorry,” little Johnny said and climbed down from his mother.

She smiled warmly at him. “It’s alright, dear. It’s alright.”

Johnny paused the video and stared at his mother for a while, looking at the pictures of when she was young without having cancer. He sighed and looked at his mother in the video.

“I still think you’re gorgeous, Mum,” Johnny said sadly. “Dad and I…We miss you a lot. I wish you were still here.”

Johnny frowned at the thought of his mother. He turned to look at the pictures of her singing at a karaoke club in the news clipping, playing the keys of the piano. Maybe he should try singing.

“Oh, I heard that there’s a talent show downtown if you ever want to take a shot at singing.”

Johnny thought about what that strange koala said. Was this a sign to start looking for talent shows that will consider taking his voice? Only time could tell.

To Be Continued...

#sing 2016 #sing johnny #buster moon #sing rosita #sing mizuki #ms. crawly #eddie noodleman #sing gunter #sing(my version) rewrite

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pfffsfic · 8 days ago

Text

Post-Fall Falls False Starts- Chapter 19: The Confrontation Part 1: Out of the Frying Pan Sunny-Side Up

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[NOTE: This is not a new release, just a port of the chapter that was already published on Ao3.]

...You go up to your friend, you tell him, "Did you know you're an amnesiac?" and then when he says, "No I'm not," you say, "Tell me the name of your arch-nemesis," and he says, "What arch nemesis?" What do you do then? But he might not say that. It might be more in-character of him to say, "I don't remember. Wait a minute, why can't I remember?" at which point you're better off than with the "What arch nemesis?" answer but you still have that question to answer. And you don't have an answer. Come to think of it, he isn't very in-character right now...

These thoughts and more swarmed Sarah like flies to honey as she made her way back to Rob.

It was as if he had been replaced with an entirely new person and, with Sarah's usual improvisation limited by her anxious emotional state, her second-best method of conversation wrangling- meticulous planning- seemed both entirely necessary and entirely out of reach. Rob wasn't unpredictable, but right now Rob wasn't Rob.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" she asked herself. A good opener. Maybe a different tone would be better. "Heyy," she said, picturing finger guns, "how ya feelin'?" More energetic? "Hey! How are you feeling?!" No, too energetic. "Hey... how are you feeling, babe?" NO WAY. She practiced a dozen alternative deliveries, all woefully insufficient. "Heyhowdoyoufeel?" "Hey? How are you, like, feeling?" "Hey hey. How how do do you-"

"I'm doing fine," came Rob's voice from just ahead as he stepped out from behind a tree.

"AH! You heard..."

"Was I not supposed to? Weren't you talking to me?"

"I was. Well, I was practicing talking to you. Because I have something very important to talk to you about, actually."

"Important?" He cocked his head. "Is this about the humanizer machine? You can use my suit if you'd like. I feel kind of bad for snubbing you. Makes me feel a little evil." He held his stomach and Sarah tried to pretend that was the worst thing she had ever seen him do.

"Nooo, um, not that."

"Let's head back to camp and you can tell me about it, then!"

Rob yanked something off the tree and displayed several clusters of those edible white mushrooms to Sarah, who nodded politely despite not being at all hungry. That was another oddity: Rob had to be coerced into eating those mushrooms every single time, even after eating them dozens of times without issue. Here he was smiling about picking them. Wasn't that better? Better than the needless anxiety over eating something safe? Wasn't this-

Rob wasn't Rob. Rob wasn't Rob. It didn't matter what was better or worse. Getting him back to normal was her moral obligation. Unless her moral obligation was actually to keep Rob from becoming a worse (read: more 'him') version of himself, in which case maybe it would be better just make up a lie... darn it, he was looking at the tapes!

"What are those? Is that a treasure chest?" His eyes shimmered as he darted up and looked it over. Sarah gave a nervous little laugh in response.

"It's-"

"Did you dig it up? This could be something plot-relevant, as weird as that sounds. Any markings? Do you have a fingerprinting kit? No, sorry, dumb question."

"I-"

"Am I interrupting? So sorry, continue."

She let out a long laugh devoid of any humor, curling her mouth into a grotesque grimace as if she was about to start crying. "Have you noticed you're an amnesiac?" she asked. There was no shock. There was no follow-up question. Rob put a hand to his chin, closed his eyes- the left one closed first- and then opened them up again- the right one opened first. "I guess I am. Huh," he said. "what does that have to do with the tapes?" Sarah's jaw dropped. The last vestiges of her smile hung on for a second after it happened. "They're supposed to be the cure. The van guy was all cryptic- I know he usually is, but he was extra cryptic this time- and he said-"

"Wait, wait, wait," replied Rob. "give me a second to think about all of this. You realize how sudden you're being, right?"

"I think that's justified-"

"I'm not asking for long. Say, half an hour? An hour? An hour. Give me an hour to think about it. Sarah, please."

The sad look on his face stirred up an internal conflict, the 'give an impassioned speech' side and the 'nod your head and choke out a one-word reply, then sulk away' side jabbing each other left and right in the boxing ring of Sarah's heart. The latter knocked the former to the ground. 10, 9, went the referee in her vision, who, like the combatants, resembled Sarah but with a black-and-white striped hat. 8, 7, 6- the time to change your decision before you look like an idiot standing there and staring is running out- 5, 4, 3, 2, 1! "Okay," she choked out with a tiny nod. Then, without even waiting for Rob's reaction, she turned and did what was supposed to be a sulk but ended up as more of a heartbroken speedwalk. If Rob was watching her leave, she didn't want to know it. Her emotions brought her back to the art clearing and the stick sketches that had been, at this point, almost entirely wiped out by the elements. She didn't quite have it in her to make some more, especially once she noticed a trail of deer hoofprints cutting through one of them, followed by a larger trail of footprints that probably belonged to a bear... or, no, they weren't the right shape for a bear, more like some sort of giant reptile. It wasn't a comforting thing to have in her field of vision. She turned to the possibilities she could see for the future at the moment. Maybe Rob would get his memories back and then Sarah would lose hers and then he'd have to save her, and it could be a moment of emotional bonding? If that happened, she could totally call it now, but that'd be an awkward conversation Rob would have to have with her amnesiac future self. Then again, there were things she didn't want to forget. Maybe she shouldn't fantasize about a situation like that, if this was even fantasizing and not just playing with ideas like a nervous wreck. Thinking about the future was doing her no favors, so she tried the present. The present was full of anxiety and an invisible countdown timer ticking towards the awkward conclusion to an even more awkward conversation. That was no good either. She tried the past. Rob had been Rob up until he wasn't. When was the cutoff point? He had been out of it for days, but at some point he had gone from that to an amnesiac. That wasn't a normal thing that could just happen. Right? It wasn't like it could've just cropped up for no reason, so what could have been the inciting incident? One major thing stood out that she found herself rapidly being forced to acknowledge- she had goaded her sleep-deprived friend into harboring a psychotic demon in his head for the sake of asking said demon some questions, which, looking back on it, was really not an easy thing to justify. None this felt real. None of it had ever felt real, not since day one, not even since the apocalypse back in Elmore. There were never any consequences for her until now. She had been treating this like yet another story that could be deconstructed, predicted, and resolved like a work of fiction, but it wasn't fiction, was it? She wasn't fiction, even if this place was. And now she was gonna have to cross her fingers and use this miracle solution and hope it would work out perfectly. Things always seemed to work out simply, but eventually that kind of luck had to run out- if this was real life. And even if not now, she was stranded, and eventually something just had to come along that would leave her and Rob hopeless.

Wow, she thought, None of that sounded like me.

She went over the facts. Name? Sarah G. Lato. The G stood for... well, she never asked her parents when they were around, but maybe that was for the best since it imbued every day with a sense of mystery. Age? 12, ish. Her role? The insanely obsessive one. It had been foisted upon her, but, if she was being real, she enjoyed the privileges that kind of thing endowed her, and it was nice to know she was guaranteed a place in the lives of her long-term crush(es)... well, that guarantee had run its course, what with being stuck in another dimension and all. Did they even still remember her? She really hoped so, but thinking logically about it made her nervous because it cut into that hope.

So she definitely wasn't an amnesiac. That was good.

Silly Sarah could wait. Serious Sarah was here now, and Serious Sarah would, first, get Rob's memories back, and then she would get a watch because waiting for an hour was hard when you didn't have a good internal clock, and then she and Rob would make a game plan, and then she could let her guard down again.

With that, she got up and headed back to camp, tapes in tow. The clearing was quiet. The fire had been out for a while now and the coals were cold. She looked over at the TV... and the DVD player, with the disc still in it. Wait a minute. How the heck was she supposed to play VHS tapes with a DVD player?

"Bad news, Rob. We might have to go steal a..." The clearing was quiet, the coals were cold. Rob was nowhere to be found. Sarah kept her cool all the way to the waterfall, where pink mushrooms had erupted all over the ground and sprouted from the rocks, but he wasn't here, either. She called his name a couple of times, and, for good measure, called out a few other one-syllable names that also began with "R". No answer. A wolf howled somewhere far away. The wind chill spiked, or maybe it was just her spine. As she stepped back into the desolate camp, her eyes fell on a set of footprints she hadn't noticed earlier. They were new and they bore the sneaker prints of the human suit's built-in shoes rather than the rectangular prints Rob normally left behind. Part of Sarah's mind told her that if she followed them she'd find a cave with a very full bear in it, but she nonetheless had to know for sure, and so she followed the prints, first to the edge of the woods and then past the edge of the woods, unknowingly retracing a path Rob had taken once before- albeit when he wasn't solid enough to have left any trace behind. Rob had walked with purpose and precision for a good while along the border between the forest and the town and had then turned straight out into the open at a right angle. She was so engrossed in following the trail at her feet that she didn't know where she was until she looked up, at which point her eyes widened and a million new questions and worries assaulted her.

This was it, the turning point. She had him cornered. But why had he come here, of all places? What had he been thinking about, and in what world would coming here help him think about it? Moreover, how was she gonna get him back without exposing herself? There was nowhere to hide for several yards. She'd have to make a mad dash for it. Then again, she could just wait for him to come out, then again, there was that time limit that would make the suit permanent, then again, if Rob didn't remember his past, would it really matter to him if he looked like a human forever? Then again, some deep part of her heart reminded her, Rob wasn't Rob. With a burst of courage that only a situation like the potential ego death of her friend slash frenemy slash possible found family could provide, she left her position behind one of the evergreen and hightailed it for the front door of the Mystery Shack.

#the amazing world of gumball #sarah g lato #tawog #gravity falls #crossover #fanfic #fanfiction #postfallfallsfalsestarts #postfallofit

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mothboypoison · 8 months ago

Note

For the ask game: "drhdr blood and ink" or "drhdr car"😏♥

Sure!

drhdr blood and ink is gonna be my longfic, which probably won't see the light of day for months and months because I want to make sure I write a lot of chapters before I start publishing anything.

It's basically gonna be Dokuga's quest to fix everything post-canon. I have a really cool (if I do say so myself) villain who's gonna give him a bad time. And Tetsujo will save the day of course!! Here's an excerpt:

Dokuga scuffs the heel of his shoe against the dirt and thinks of the bones buried beneath. The people of Hole set up this cemetery after the battle, to remember the people who were killed. The gravestones are laid out in neat lines and chiselled with names, but there’s no way to know who’s really buried here. That swirling black sludge had trickled through to the world of magic users and seeped out of this pit, but as he looks down at the ground he wonders if there’s any of that hate still lingering in the earth here. A thousand years. More than that. Since the beginning of humanity, hate has been pooling here. Coagulating. Forming itself into a curse. Can it really be banished so easily?

'drhdr car' is a 5+1 things fic... where Dokuga and Tetsujo have sex in cars a bunch of times. It's fully abandoned now (I wrote like, 1.5 of the things) and I ended up using bits of what I did write for 'The Cross-Eyes' Guide to Committing Crimes'. Here's an excerpt (kinda NSFW):

“Let me drive, Dokuga.” Tetsujo grabs his hand and twines their fingers together. “I’ll go just as fast as you do.” “Okay,” Dokuga says slowly. “You can drive. And if you go fast, maybe I’ll reward you.” Tetsujo grins and Dokuga steps aside to let him into the driver’s seat, crossing over and seating himself in the passenger’s side, in Tetsujo’s blind spot. Tetsujo turns to smile at him before he starts the car. It comes to life with a sputter of black exhaust smoke and Tetsujo accelerates off with the wheels screeching. They leave the hideout behind and Tetsujo floors it around the winding corners of the forest road, the back of the car swinging as he takes them too fast. This is how Dokuga likes to drive, which is why Tetsujo’s doing it. The headlights are dim and the windshield is dirty. Tetsujo shifts up a gear and Dokuga reaches over to put his hand on his thigh. It’s a small car, and they’re up against each other with only the gearstick and the handbrake between them. “This is what you meant by a reward?” Tetsujo asks, turning his head to look at him and then quickly back to the road. “Yes.” Dokuga slides his hand up towards his crotch. Tetsujo touches the brakes gently to take a steep corner and slows down. The beams of the headlights swing over the trees and the car slows. Dokuga pulls his hand away. “Go faster,” he says. “It’s dark!” Protests Tetsujo. “There’s so many corners.” All the same he puts his foot to the accelerator again and Dokuga replaces his hand on his thigh.

I abandoned it because I could NOT think of six DIFFERENT ways to have car sex. I do remember that the last one was gonna be them crashing a car and having sex at the side of the road lmao

#ask game #tag game #ask

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yutaspierced · 7 months ago

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old chanbig draft for the WIP meme!

Ahhhhhh my sweet sweet chanbig fic that I will one day return to. I actually wrote and published about four chapters of my chanbig fic before I realized I hated it and deleted them off ao3. I published one chapter of the rewrite before I fell off and one day I will go back.

Here's a few snippets from the old version

There are two pairs of supple leather cuffs Chan keeps in his spacious walk-in closet for this purpose, among others. He leaves Big slumped obediently against the footboard of the bed, sweaty and pinched with the aftershocks of pain through his leg, to retrieve one of them and a steel, spiked cock cage from their drawer.

Chan walks back into the bedroom. Big’s eyes don’t lift from the hardwood. The cuffs and cock cage are left on the mattress just above Big’s head and Chan squats down to start stripping Big carefully out of his clothes.

Big doesn’t fight him, but also doesn’t help, a rag doll under his hands. His eyes stay trained on one square inch of the floor as his cheeks flush darker and darker pink. He knows what’s coming. It’s seventy-five percent punishment, but there’s that unavoidable twenty-five percent pleasure, because there always will be when Chan is the one causing Big pain.

When Big is finally completely bare, Chan rubs his thumb into Big’s wrist and kisses the delicate skin above his thudding pulse just to remind himself again that it’s there, however fleeting. Maybe he should be embarrassed that he has to reassure himself of this basic, obvious fact so often (Big is sitting right in front of him, very much alive), but he’s never been able to. He cuffs him tight enough to the rungs that the expensive leather will dig in and leave subtle bruises.

When he touches Big’s cock, his eyelids flutter and his breath catches on the inhale, but his eyes still don’t move. Big licks his lips, sinks his teeth into the plush give of them. It’s only because Chan is intently listening that he hears the half-whispered. “Kiss. Please.” He shouldn’t. Big is being punished.

Chan kisses him like he’s precious while locking the cock cage in place and tucking the key in the the left pocket of his slacks. He’s never once lost it. Big thunks his head back against the footboard and Chan’s mouth drops to his neck, his collar bones, his pretty nipples already standing at attention, waiting, yearning. Chan knows exactly how to send shivers of arousal down Big’s spine until the cock cage turns them into agony.

Chan does make Big sleep in his own quarters that night. He isn't completely spineless yet.

---

“Um,” Big glances around, eyes wild and uncertain. “Someone has to stand post on Mr. Kinn’s door at all times.”

“Says who?” Chan’s mouth quirks.

Big rolls his eyes and levels his now cold gaze at the wall ahead. “You do.”

“You think I can’t make exceptions to my own rules?” Chan pulls on Big’s shoulder until he fumbles out of the doorway. “Come with me. Now.”

They almost make it back to Chan’s suite. They’re barely six feet from the door when Chan shoves Big against a wall and takes his mouth, growls into it in between biting kisses, “Mine.”

Big makes a strangled, inquisitive noise and clutches at Chan’s lapels, his shoes slipping on the slick marble floor.

Chan grabs Big by his tie and pulls him off the wall only to slam him against it again. “My cock not good enough? You still need his?”

“Cha-” The backhand comes before Big can even get his name out. Big’s head hits the wall and Chan grabs his chin to force his eyes forward again. Real fear tumbles through Big’s irises and his whole body trembles in Chan’s grip.

“I’m right here. I’m the one fucking you. I’m the one who keeps you alive. I’m right here. Look at me.” Chan hates the barest blot of desperation that bleeds into his anger. He kisses Big again, softer. “Mine.”

Big’s cheeks are wet again when he pulls away. The fear is gone, replaced by a storm of emotions Chan can’t quite place. Big opens his mouth, hesitates, closes it again.

“You can talk.”

“Since when do you want me? For anything other than an easy fuck?” Big’s brows furrow and he shoves at Chan’s chest. It doesn’t budge him, but Chan steps back anyway. Big’s breath comes in shuddering heaves. “Since when do you want me? You’ve never-” Big shoves him again and fresh tears fall. His voice is strangled by what would be sobs if Big wasn’t too stubborn to let them out. “You’ve never treated me like anything but a hole to fuck and now you want me to be loyal? To love you? To be yours?”

Chan’s expression shutters and he steps forward until he can loom over BIg. For the first time, Big holds his ground. His head doesn’t fall. His eyes burn into Chan’s. “You have no idea what I do for you.”

Big’s spine has gone liquid and his soft moans have turned into breathy pleas. “Chan. C’mon, please. Ch- Sir, please.” He’s too tired and needs this too much to keep up the combative facade.

Chan curls his fingers, grinds his knuckles over Big’s prostate and squeezes Big’s cock hard enough to hurt. He watches Big’s eyes flutter shut. His own dick throbs when his moans pitch up. He could make Big come just like this: with rough fingers inside him and a little pain. He could fuck him when he’s loose and oversensitive. He could make a mess of this cocky, bratty young man with too much ego and nowhere to put his self-loathing or misplaced anger.

The sun peeking over the horizon reminds him that he doesn’t have time for breaking Big this morning.

“Just-” Big grits his teeth and pulls Chan down to kiss him and beg directly into his mouth. “Just fuck me. Fuck me. I wanna feel you.” Big clutches his shoulders and cants his hips up to push Chan’s fingers deeper.

Chan bites Big’s wrist and shoves his legs higher to fold him in half. Big’s hands fall to curl white-knuckled in the sheets. “You will.”

He makes good on his word. He pushes Big’s cheek into the pillow so it’s hard to breathe and impossible to feel anything but owned. It makes everything feel sharper when Chan pushes in and buries himself balls deep without an ounce of hesitation for the sharp stretch that burns up Big’s spine. He fucks him hard and leaves him wrecked when he reports to work.

#tag game #chanbig #Austen writes #le-trash-prince

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blairsanne · 4 months ago

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Do you have a scene you really liked but weren't able to fit it in a fic? Would you care to share? Do you have a most recent favorite line or scene? What is it?

*Asks are sent for fun, no pressure to answer.

Thanks for the ask!

I don't keep a lot of full written scenes that are cut content... usually they get edited and the original is lost.

Most of the cut content I do have is actually for a project I've yet to publish anywhere and would be spoilery for the final story so I can't share it.

That said, I had originally planned to end Lofn in chapter 4, so I have an unfinished version of that chapter from before it was completely replaced with the much longer story that has unfolded so far (and that currently has many half-finished chapters unpublished).

You stepped toward the JPR building a bundle of nerves. You’d sat in the parking lot for five minutes talking yourself into and out of actually going inside until finally settling on doing it after all. You were still pretty sure that this was going to make you seem clingy and weird to Bragi, but not reaching out to him properly was driving you mental. One of the main reasons you’d settled on moving to Auckland was for the opportunity to find him, and now that you had, it seemed like a waste not to at least introduce yourself properly. Oh my god, I am such a fucking stalker.

After he’d comforted you last time, you’d decided a lot of things; to quit your job, to ask his name - but he hadn’t summoned you since then, and you were starting to think he never would. The longer you left it, the weirder it was for you to show up, right? At least that’s what you told yourself as you pushed open the door.

The lobby looked smaller in the daylight, you thought, glancing at the fridge you’d fetched him a beer from before a blonde stood from her desk on your right. “Can I help you?” Dawn asked, smiling at you. “Hi.” You took a deep breath. “I was… hoping to speak with the owner here?” “Anders? Oh, I’m sorry, he’s out running errands at the moment. Can I ask what it’s about?”

You could read a sort of pity in her face, and you realized that it probably looked exactly like what it was; a fling of his trying to get hold of him at work because they couldn’t otherwise.

“Or I could take your contact info, have him ring you back?” she offered. You nodded. “Sure.” You gave your name and phone number, watching as she carefully wrote it on a message pad. “He won’t know who I am from that,” you hedged. “But if you tell him I’m from Lofn, he should know what it’s about.” She raised a brow, but nodded slowly. “Alright. And how do you spell that?” --- Anders marched into JPR with every intention of shutting himself in his office to rage-work through his frustration with his kin until he could punch out and find a blonde girl to use up the rest of his energy. Instead, he nearly bowled you over before looking up. Dawn “Anders this is-”

“Lofn.” The name fell as a surprised murmur from his lips as Anders came to an abrupt stop, already in spitting distance. Upon the sight of you, his entire system seemed to stall, the chaotic, angry energy from his frustration that morning dissipating completely.

You turned with a hopeful smile. “I don’t think we were ever properly introduced.” You stated your real name and extended your hand. Anders let out a small snort, smiling as he shook your hand. He’d forgotten your name wasn’t actually Lofn. “Anders Johnson.”

It was odd, really, to be introduced suddenly to someone who had been a secret comfort, a secret lover nearly a dozen times. Hadn’t he already complained to you at length about his unappreciative kin? Hadn’t he already memorized your body and come undone inside you over and over, only to have you suddenly disappear? How many nights had he thought about you, wondering if you were just a figment of his overworked mind? Now here you were, in his office in broad daylight and interacting with Dawn.

“Are you here for me?” he asked, his deeper meaning understood by you and not his employee. He’d certainly had a shit day so far, so it seemed plausible. “Yes and no. I was in Auckland, so I was hoping to find you here, but I know you might be busy.”

You had come to find him? Then it wasn’t that he’d somehow summoned you to him. Still, he could use the distraction. Anders turned to Dawn. “Do we have any appointments this afternoon?”

Dawn’s brow was ever so slightly raised as she’d been watching the interaction between the two of you. Anders did seem to know who you were, if not your name. Knowing how he was, she was suddenly concerned that he might leave the office with you and not return.

“We have a meeting with the florists in an hour.” “Alright.” He nodded and turned his attention back to you, gesturing to his office behind you. “We have a bit of time. Let’s go over what you need.”

Dawn picked up a notebook from her desk. “Shall I come take notes?” Anders didn’t look back at her as he led you toward his office. “I’ve got it covered, Dawn. But if you could prepare some bullet points for our next meeting?” He shut the door before she could reply, locking it with a flick of a latch.

You stood awkwardly just inside his office. “It’s really okay if you’re busy with work, I just-” “You didn’t come to comfort me?” His hands naturally found your waist, gaze searching your face and flitting between your mouth and eyes. “Do… you need comforting?” You certainly wouldn’t deny him if he did.

Concern etched your features as he appreciated your subtle makeup and the simple, elegant dress you were wearing. He was trying to decide if he liked you better dressed up or in your pajamas when he realized you’d asked him a question. “It’s been quite a day,” he admitted. “I’m sorry to hear that,” you said honestly, your hand reaching up to caress the side of his handsome face instinctively.

He closed his eyes and let your soothing aura wash over him even more, the adrenaline that had propelled him into the building now a distant memory.

“As fun as randomly teleporting to you without warning has been, I thought… Maybe if you wanted to see me when you’re not in crisis…” you trailed off and shrugged, unable to look at him. This was definitely stupid of you. “Lofn on speed dial.” Anders smirked, passing you his phone. “Keen.”

#lofn original ending #lofn #unedited #unfinished #not canon

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psalm22-6 · 2 years ago

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The Gamin of Paris, an early example of a Les Miserables fix-it fic

I came across Gavroche: The Gamin of Paris by reading a review from 1872 (the year it was published), a review which made me say what the hell?? On the Wikipedia page for Les Miserables Adaptations, Gavroche is listed first among the literary adaptations, with no indication of how wild the review lead me to believe it would be. So I bought a copy off Ebay and read it, which brought me immense amusement and equal parts terror. Now I know we are all used to adaptations of Les Miserables which diverge from the original but I think it's fair to say that this goes beyond adaptation so please enjoy my summary (and below the cut I will put some notes about the author, the publisher, etc.) The story begins with Gavroche hiding in the bushes at the house of an unnamed old man and his companion Mere Plutarque Mary Anne. From his vantage point, Gavroche sees Montparnasse attempt to rob an old passerby. Yes, Montparnasse has a rose in his mouth and yes he is dressed to the nines. The man gives Montparnasse his purse and a sermon: Hugo’s original rant was 1,118 words, but while this lecture is considerably paired down, the impact…well, as you will see the impact is far greater. When Gavroche later encounters Montparnasse, the young man says of the experience: “Such a sermon – my faith! It has nearly spoiled my taste for business ever since. If you’ll believe me Gavroche, I have some thoughts of turning honest man.” When Gavroche steals the purse from Montparnasse to give to Mary Anne, the author remarks: “He was rewarded not not [sic] an hour after, by a sixpence given him by a gentleman, whose hat he rescued from a gutter.” We learn that Gavroche’s mother, Mother Jondrette, has sold her two youngest sons to a woman named Magnon Manon. This Manon (besides being a criminal) is a nurse who bought the boys to replace two boys who died in her care. She then loses the two adopted boys. One day, while Gavroche is contemplating theft (“we regret to say”), he encounters the two lost children and decides to care for them. Gavroche asks them their names.

“My name is Adolphe, sir,” said the elder boy; “his,” pointing to his brother, “is Gustav.” “What fine names!” said Gavroche with a shrug, “fit for a crown prince! Well, I shall call you Dolph and Gus.”

Time passes and Gavroche cares for the boys. Things began to look up for him.

Gavroche, with the cares of a family on his hands, found, as it happened – or rather as Providence so ordered – that his condition was no worse but better than before. The scanty food, picked up by chance, as the crumbs and berries of sparrows are, proved more nearly enough for three than it had been for one. Perhaps this was because his new sense of responsibility awoke in him a desire for employment which he had never felt before. All he knew was, that errands fell in his way in a marvelous manner.

Now, by some narrative maneuvering owing to the fact that Gavroche is the main character of this story, events are a bit out of the familiar order and the Gorbeau House ambush arrives 30 chapters later than it would have in the original table of contents. On the night of the ambush (and not after) Gavroche goes to see his parents, whereupon he overhears Montparnasse and Brujon speaking:

“How soon will the crib be ready?” asked Montparnasse. “Not for an hour yet,” answered the other, a thickset man with a harsh, croaking voice. “It is only to pluck a pigeon?” “We may have to pinch it a little to make it sing,” answered the other; sinister words which Gavroche well understood. Montparnasse moved uneasily. “Do you need me, Brujon?” he asked. “Not if you are so flush of jobs as not to want a finger in this one,” answered the other, laughing. “There will be enough to share without you.” “I will be your watch,” said Montparnasse. “You’ll need one.” “Eponine is on the watch,” said Brujon. “You can keep her company instead of blacking your pretty face.”

It appears Montparnasse can no longer stomach violent crime. Surmising that his family is involved in what is about to take place, Gavroche sneaks into the house and hides in the neighbor’s room. The neighbor is a “poor student” who is not important and not at home. Looking through a hole in the wall, Gavorche recognizes that the man his father is targetting is the same man who delivered the sermon to Montparnasse. The man, named Jean Valjean, knows Jondrette as “Fabantou” “Faber” and Valjean himself is living under the alias “Leblanc” (I guess “Fauchelevent” was too much for the young American reader.) Jondrette offers to sell Leblanc a painting, “on which were painted some coarse figures, no doubt a sign-board from some tavern,” but that is not important to the plot. Jondrette reveals that he knows Leblanc is Valjean:

“You remember me now, I see, the man whom you robbed of the child who was a fortune to him – the boy for whose keep I received a sum which sufficed to maintain my family. You are the rogue who sneaked and spied upon me, who complained of me in the courts for ill-treatment of the child, offering to take charge of him yourself till the return of his parents, and getting me three months in prison which were the beginning of my downfall!”

You may be wondering who is this boy? He is also not important to the plot. Gavroche wants to help Valjean but does not want to go to the police or betray his family. (In some sentences the name “Marius” is here just replaced with “Gavorche.”) Jondrette demands money from Valjean and proposes to dictate a letter to him:

“What shall I write?” asked the prisoner. “You have a steward?” asked Jondrette. “Yes.” “What is his name?” “Simon.”

Simon is not important either, I just thought I would mention him. Valjean jumps up and seizes a red-hot chisel from the fire, saying:

“The money you demand I could not give you, and if I could, what is held in trust for the unfortunate should not be wasted on the wicked to save my life. It is in your hands. Then take it.”

Valjean throws the chisel out an open window. (There is no Azelma so the window was not broken.) Gavroche has the idea to write a note saying “the beaks are coming” and throws it into the room, causing the assailants to flee through the window. Jondrette says invokes the rule of ladies first and they do NOT fight over who gets out first. Gavroche frees Valjean (“This is one of Brujon’s knots but whatever he can tie I can untie”) and introduces himself as “Little Gavroche.” Valjean tells Gavroche to come home with him but Gavroche says he must get back to Adolphe and Gustav. The Jondrette parents are soon arrested and Eponine is taken to “the House of Refuge” but “the police not being omniscient, they could hardly have known of the attempted robbery in the Jondrette garret, as no information was furnished them by the old man who had so nearly been its victim.” Their arrest is due to some unrelated, unmentioned crime. Gavroche encounters Montparnasse again and Montparnasse enlists him to help break Jondrette out of prison and, as in the original, the father does not even recognize his son. Meanwhile, the boys are still around, getting up to quirky adventures such as this one recounted by Adolphe:

“We went down to the wharves, but they shoved us about so that I was afraid Gustav would get hurt, and was just going to take him away, when only think, a great Englishman who was there stumbled against us, and almost knocked Gustav into the water, so that I cried out quite loud, and then he boxed my ears for bringing Gustav there, and then he gave me a sixpence.”

Now it is time for an insurrection. Why? The author declines to state. It is noted that “no matter how quiet and prosperous the times may appear to be,” revolution may spark at any time and that, besides those with good intentions, there are also “the desperate, the discontented, the criminal, ignoble souls who hope for disorders which offer a chance to plunder.” The author asserts that the majority of people “denounce all disturbances equally, whether their cause be a just or an unjust one. To them all insurrection is the revolt of the dog against the master, worthy to be punished with the whip and the chain: but when the revolutionary effort is successful, when the dog shows itself a lion, they throw up their caps and shout 'Long live the people.' ” (It can be hard to figure out which lines are the author’s own invention and which come from Hugo. This bit about dismissing revolutionaries as dogs was originally applied to the bourgeoisie, not “the great body of citizens.”)

Insurrectionists build a barricade in the Rue St. Denis, before the tavern of Mother Houcheloup Hourdeloup. The insurrectionists are led by a man named Marius (this Marius bears no resemblance whatsoever to Marius Marius and I have to believe that “Enjolras” was simply deemed too hard to pronounce). Marius has two lieutenants, Joly and Combeferre Comberre. Gavroche decides to join them. He has lost his way since he became separated from Adolphe and Gustave some time ago. He had tried to distract himself “with such amusements as he could find, but often, even in the best contested game of hop-scotch or pitch-and-toss, he would stop and mutter gloomily, ‘But where the deuce can my two children be?’ ” Gavroche asks Marius for a gun since he had one “thirty years ago” in the “last revolution.” He also requisitions a cart for the French Rebuplic and runs into the National Guard (this is just happening a bit out of order but that is to be expected). Meanwhile, in the Luxembourg gardens, “Dolphy” and Gustav are eating soggy cake when suddenly an old man appears and offers them a whole non-soggy cake. The man is, of course, Jean Valjean, and, through speaking to the boys, they realize that they are all looking for Gavroche. “Surely, in meeting them, Providence gives me a sign that I shall find the lad I sought for in vain thus far, and pay the debt I owe him,” thinks Valjean. He takes the boys to his home and sits outside, wondering what to do. “A republican himself in his convictions, he had no thought of joining in this revolt, which he believed to be ill-timed and absolutely in vain.” Then, who should walk by breaking lamps for the Republic but Gavroche? Valjean attempts to convince Gavroche not to return to the barricades, but when that fails, he puts on his National Guard uniform and goes after him. The insurrectionists know that no one is coming to join them and have resolved to die for their cause. When Valjean arrives, Gavroche vouches for him. Then, during the first attack, Gavroche threatens to blow up the barricade with a powder keg! Again Valjean tries to convince Gavroche to leave, this time telling him that Adolphe and Gustav are at the house, but Gavroche again declines. He goes out to collect cartridges singing:

I am merry, I am free, That’s because my money’s spent; All my clothes in rags you see, That’s the fault of the Government. Not a penny can I give, That’s because my money’s spent; Like a little bird I live, That’s the fault of the Government. I am done for, I suppose, That’s because my money’s spent; In the gutter goes my nose, That’s the fault of the –

He collapses, unable to finish the last verse after having been shot. “Unheeding the rain of bullets that fell about him,” Valjean retrieves his body while Comberre gets the cartridges. However, the barricade is quickly attacked again and Marius, Joly, and Comberre are all killed. Valjean escapes with Gavroche. In the sewers, Valjean is “guided by chance, or rather, as he himself felt, led by the providence of God” and strengthened by the “miraculous gift [of] God.” He encounters a group of policemen. The police are not there searching for insurgents. They are “making their half-yearly inspection of the sewers; for in spite of the insurrection, the wheels of government still ran on in the old grooves.” Valjean goes unnoticed. Finally, Valjean reaches a locked grate and encounters a man who offers to let him out for a price:

He saw standing beside him a man dressed in a style more suited for the streets of Paris than for this den of the sewers. . . At sight of that dandified well-fitting black coat, and the youthful handsome face of its wearer, the old man had not a moment’s hesitation in recognizing him. It was Montparnasse. . .He looked at the young man with strange feelings. He felt that [Montparnasse] was as truly sent by Providence to his aid, and to save the life of Little Gavroche, as if he had been a shining angel instead of a bandit, who had taken refuge in the sewer; and that he too was sent to Montparnasse to save him from something worse than death itself.

Montparnasse does not recognize Valjean or Gavroche but, pressuring that the old man has killed the young one in order to rob him, Montparnasse proposes to split the profits. Valjean agrees, on the condition that Montparnasse will receive his share when they arrive “at a better place where we can look over the papers together.” Montparnasse agrees. Montparnasse is slightly surprised to see that Valjean’s victim is a child but it doesn’t bother him much. He even offers to help Valjean sink the body in the Seine but the old man explains that they need the body in order to obtain their reward. At Valjean’s house on the rue St. Antoine, Montparnasse is terrified when he realizes that the child is Gavroche and confused when he recognizes Valjean. Valjean explains that he is an escaped galley-slave, an inventor, and a manufacturer.

“And why, Monsieur Galley-slave, have you murdered this helpless child? Not for booty, assuredly, for the poor little gamin never owned a penny but to share it. Even wolves would not tear wolves’ cubs for sport.” “Young man. . .I have not murdered but saved this child. I did not give him wounds, but bound them. Once long ago my hand was reddened with blood shed by an angry blow. That was my crime, bitterly repented and expiated through long years. . . Help me, my son, to draw this boy from the edge of the pit into which he is sliding. Here is your share of the riches I promised you should be gained by this night’s work.”

Gavroche wakes up weeks later, and finds that noxious Paris has been replaced with “a quiet seaside village on the northern coast, called Clairvue.” Upon seeing Valjean, Gavroche believes that the old man has also died and that they are both in heaven, but he is confused to see Adolphe and Gustav there too. Slowly, as he is nursed back to health by a woman named old Jeannette, he realizes that he is not dead. The boys tell Gavroche that when he is better, he can play with them by “the great water.”

“What do you mean by the great water?” said Gavroche. “Is it the river Seine?” “O, no, it is the real ocean!” cried Adolphe.

“Mother Street” has been replaced by “Mother Ocean.” Valjean sends the boys away before they can say more. Only when Gavroche has had more time to recover does Valjean allow Gavroche another visitor:

A handsome jaunty young sailor appeared at the door, and, approaching, disclosed the face and form of Montparnasse. . . “My faith! You look like a fancy picture of a sailor lad!” “Don’t you like it, Gavroche? Isn’t it becoming?” asked Montparnasse with a well-satisfied smile, turning himself round for inspection like a young girl with her first ball-dress. “I think so,” answered Gavroche emphatically. “The blue shirt beats the black swallowtail to nothing. The girls will look at you and make you more conceited than ever, Montparnasse.” Gavroche was right. Nothing was ever so becoming to the handsome face and slim alert figure of Montparnasse, as the blue shirt, opening to show his round young throat, the knotted silk neckerchief, the wide white trousers, and the Panama hat with its broad ribbon, which replaced the tight-fitting black suit in which the dandy of the bandits had rejoiced.

It is revealed that Valjean, knowing that Montparnasse’s “weakness,” “vanity,” and “love of admiration” had been the driving causes of his criminality, purchased for him a sailor’s uniform and, knowing that Montparnasse would be “followed with glances of sincere and open admiration from the pretty fisher-girls of Clairvue,” had decided to make Montparnasse into a sailor. Valjean “smoothed away all difficulties” for Montparnasse by purchasing a ship and instating Montparnasse as overseer, rather than as a common sailor. Also, Valjean legally adopted Montparnasse and the other sailors, “receiving Montparnasse as the son of the liberal owner of their vessel, were careful to make the first trials of his new profession as pleasant and as little arduous as possible.” Away from the “evil associates of his Parisian life” the “gentleness and goodness in Montparnasse’s heart were awakened.” He even took on a new name: Victor Leblanc. Valjean, of course, considered himself to be the father of all four boys, remarking “I shall have four brave sons now, in place of my lonely old age. God is very good to us, my children.” In Valjean, Gavroche “found father, mother, kindred, all in one.”

All was well, until one day Victor encounters a ghost from his past: Manon, who was in Clairvue, en-route to England, in the guise of a lady’s maid. Manon attempts to lead Victor back into a life of crime but Victor refuses. However, he does learn a few things from her.

“Your sister Eponine is dead, Gavroche. She died of consumption in the Hospital of Saint Sadelon.” “Poor Eponine,” said Gavroche seriously, but not deeply grieved for the sister he had scarcely known. “She was always sickly. The hospital was at least a better place to die than the street.”

Victor also realizes through his conversation with Manon that Adolphe and Gustav – originally named “Jean” and “George” and lost to her while she was “satisfying the police” – are the children of Jondrette and the biological brothers of Gavroche.

[Valjean] bowed his head. Prayerfully he felt that Providence had committed to his care the sons of his deadly enemy, that he might be a father to the worse than fatherless. . . “My own brothers!” [said Gavroche.] And then, after a pause – “But, father, they were my brothers a truly before, since we are all your children.”

Together the family walks off to look at the sunset, which was “as clear and calm as that which was closing the storm and struggle of Jean Valjean’s life.” The End.

This post is already so long that adding a read more seems ridiculous but whatever. Note about the author: Gavroche: The Gamin of Paris was “translated and adapted by” M.C. Pyle aka Margaret Churchman Pyle. Margaret was the mother of the famous children’s book illustrator Howard Pyle and of the prolific but lesser know children’s book writer, Katherine Pyle. The Pyle family was one of Wilmington Pennsylvania’s old Quaker families (side note: although Howard didn’t ever illustrate a scene from Les Miserables as far as I am aware, he was a great influence on Mead Schaeffer who did).

Note about the publisher: Porter & Coates, located in Philadelphia, published over 100 children’s books. Their popular Alta Edition series (to which most copies of "Gavroche" for sale today belong) consisted of reprints and was published between the 1880s and 1890s. (Whereas the original Gavroche was printed in 1872 but I’ve only seen one photograph online of what I believe to be a first edition.) Pyle's other book, published around the same time and through Porter & Coates, was called Minna in Wonderland and could generously be called an "alternative" to Alice in Wonderland. The same is true of Gavroche. Note on Margaret's translation: I did not compare Pyle's story line by line to the original text but for the most part (for the parts which were actually from the text) her translation seemed fairly true, though obviously heavily abridged and simplified for her readers. I liked her choice of English slang equivalents, which I compared to those used in the Wilbour translation (the translation I assume she would have had at her disposal). Wilbour mostly left the argot untranslated, whereas I thought Pyle's word choice was readable and fun. I also liked Pyle's choices for Gavroche's songs. At least one song is a traditional English language folk song, while others seem to be Pyle's invention, rather than attempted translation. Here they are:

[After his parents are arrested] I’m a jolly stroller boy, Bold and free, bold and free. Now an orphan I must roam, Since my folks are all from home. I can bear it till they come Back to me, back to me. [On his way to join the insurrection] Louis Philippe will lose his sheep, And never again shall find them; The people of France will make an advance, And leave their King behind them. [While scouting out the National Guard and stealing a cart, #236 in the Roud Folk Songs index] Let’s go to the woods, said Robin to Bobbin; What will we do there? Said Bobbin to Robin; We’ll shoot at a wren, said Robin to Bobbin, ‘Tis the best of all four-footed game. [Sung to let the insurrectionists know he is near] Morning is coming, The day dawns clear; Open the door Till my story you hear, In blue uniform And bearskin chapeau The soldiers are coming; Co-co-rico!

#les miserables #gavroche #lm in america #lm inspired #gavroche: the gamin of paris

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