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mochegato · 7 months

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Sending Sexy Back

“This should be it,” Adrien pronounced, looking between his phone and the bar sign a few times.

“Are you sure?” Marinette snickered.

He checked the name of the bar and his phone again, swiping to another screen to verify the address before answering. “Yes.”

Marinette let out a snort that turned into full blown laughter. “You’re ridiculous,” she chortled as she held the door open for him.

“I just want to make sure we don’t miss this. It’s the first time he’s the headliner for a poetry reading and we’re the only ones here for him,” he reminded her.

She rolled her eyes but bobbed her head in agreement. There were other friends who were going to come, but of the people he deeply cared about, she and Adrien were the only ones coming. Nobody from his family was going to attend. Supposedly, all of them were far too busy to make it, which was ridiculous considering there were like twenty-five of them and somehow not one of them could free up a few hours.

It was one of the reasons she had dropped everything to make sure she was there for him, not that she wouldn’t have anyway, but it added extra pressure to the night. He deserved to have a strong showing of support and she and Adrien were going to make sure he had it. “I wasn’t criticizing the sentiment, just the delivery.”

When they got into the bar, she was pleasantly surprised at the turn out. It wasn’t too crowded to move, but it was very well attended. They had to wind their way through the crowd to get to the bar. The only downside was they weren’t able to easily spot Duke to hype him up before he went on.

“Just text him,” Marinette urged. “He could be backstage… if they have one, and we wouldn’t ever see him.”

Adrien nodded absently. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He pulled out his phone again and typed quickly before looking up and motioning toward the bar. “Come on, let’s get a drink while we wait.” His phone dinged just as they made it to the bar and Marinette could tell by the slow smile that spread on his lips exactly who the text was from.

“He’s running late,” Adrien snorted. “Of course.” He turned the phone for her to see the message, shooting her a mock glare for her scoff, which he knew without even asking was because of the kissy face emoji at the end of the message, but he still tucked his phone in his pocket and raised an eyebrow. “What? Dark and Stormy, please,” he added for the bartender.

“Boulevardier, please,” Marinette ordered with a bright smile for the bartender before she dropped it as soon as she turned back to Adrien. “You guys just saw each other on Wednesday.”

“And now it’s Friday,” he responded as though it were the clearest thing in the world, and she was the most obtuse person in the world to not understand. “That’s two whole days.”

Marinette scrunched her nose at Adrien. “Disgusting.”

“Disgusting?” he demanded in mock affront. “It’s disgusting to be so utterly in love with your partner that being apart hurts your very soul?”

“Mon Dieu,” she muttered quietly to the bar. “Unbelievable.”

Adrien nodded to the bartender before taking a small sip of his drink and turning back to Marinette. “Your view of the world is just utterly devoid of any romance,” he smirked.

Mari took her drink with a smile for the bartender. “Can’t argue with that,” she chuckled mirthlessly and lifted the glass toward Adrien before took a testing sip of her drink, letting out a sigh as it hit her throat.

Adrien’s face dropped and he had started reaching for her before he registered the movement. “Mari, I…”

“Maybe I can help with that,” a smooth, deep voice drawled from behind her. It flowed around her like silk, caressing her skin as it moved. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Mari turned toward him slowly, utterly surprised by his brazen advance, but even more so when she finally faced him. She had to stop herself from dropping her drink. He was easily the sexiest man she’d ever seen. Calling him an Adonis would be an insult to the man. He wasn’t traditionally sexy. He wasn’t ruggedly sexy. He wasn’t model sexy. He was just sexy. Full stop. With his messy dark hair pushed back in an effortless style that would take hairstylists hours to accomplish and his crystal-clear blue eyes that focused on nothing but her, little crinkles forming along their edges as his brilliant, boyish smile widened at her attention. And he was looking at her like she was the most captivating thing he’d seen in ages.

That reaction jolted her focus back to the situation as a whole rather than on his chiseled muscles straining against the tee shirt he was wearing. She narrowed her eyes and held her drink up for him to see before taking a long, slow drink. “I have one already.”

Unfortunately… or maybe fortunately, she honestly wasn’t sure, his grin somehow became even more roguish at her cheeky tone. “The next one then,” he offered. His eyes finally left hers, the first time since she’d turned around to glance at her drink and immediately back to her eyes. She vaguely noted he had yet to give her a once over like she’d given him. No, he’d been entirely respectful. The confusing, stunning bastard. “Or maybe a snack.”

She smiled sweetly back at him, humming as she leaned in slightly. “That does sound appealing.” He mirrored her movement leaning in ever so slightly toward her as if unaware he was doing it. “No, thank you.”

He froze instantly and leaned away. “Wait. No?”

“Yes. No,” she repeated leaning away and resting her elbow on the bar. “Too sexy. Not dealing with all the…” she motioned toward all of him, “… that goes with it. But I appreciate the offer for a front row seat for the show.”

He stared at her for a full five seconds before he opened his mouth to speak but snapped it shut again immediately with a confused grunt. He had to take another breath before he started again. “You aren’t interested because… I’m too sexy?” he clarified slowly like each word made the sentence increasingly foreign to him. “Seriously?”

“Dead ass. There’s a whole,” she motioned wildly to the heavens and back to him, “that you people either have or just pervades you like smog. I need a break from…” she motioned toward him again. “I need a normal guy, with normal guy issues. Not drama. Good luck tonight though,” she offered cheerily and turned away from him, back towards Adrien.

She could feel him continue to stare at the back of her head well after she’d turned. She almost turned back around at the small chuckle he let out, picturing him accompanying it with an amused shake of his head, but Adrien jumped in before she could make that mistake. “Hey!” he exclaimed. “You dated me! I was sexy!”

His lips pulled down in an exaggerated pout, but it served its purpose as she scoffed at him, her own lips ticking up. “You were cute,” she corrected, “not sexy.”

“What does that even mean?” he demanded, affronted at the very insinuation. He was sexy damn it. He was a model… or he had been when they dated. He still could be. And he knew he’d affected her to her core back then. “You couldn’t speak when I was around.”

She waved him off as she took another sip of her drink. “Yeah, no. There’s a big difference. I wanted kids with you but never at any point thought about sex with you to produce them… or sex not to produce them with you. He,” she motioned vaguely over her shoulder, “makes me want to do debauched things that would make booktok girls blush, and all he’s done is say hi and smile.”

Marinette missed the way the man’s eyebrow raised at her words and his lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk, but Adrien was in perfect position to see it. He’d opened his mouth to speak but Adrien cut in first, gasping loudly so there was no easy entry back into their conversation. “I’m hurt. This hurts. I feel…” he furrowed his brow in faux serious consideration as he patted different areas of his chest like he was trying to find something, finally settling his hands above his heart, “betrayal. I’ve been betrayed.”

Marinette scoffed and rolled her eyes. She took a much longer drink this time. “I’m sure Duke will make it all better,” she consoled and congratulated herself at keeping the condescension from her voice.

Adrien grinned before he could stop himself but quickly schooled his expression into a heavy scowl. “Maybe, but…” he motioned toward her, “…first love didn’t find me utterly sexy. My ego might never recover.”

“See,” she threw her hand up in a vague motion toward the heavens. “You’re sexy now and this is what you’ve become. This,” she motioned harshly toward him, “is exactly what I want to avoid. Sexy destroys the personality.”

He met her gaze and kept pointed, intense eye contact. “So, you admit that I'm sexy now,” he clarified carefully.

She groaned and threw her hands up in frustration. “Of course, you are, you mangy cat.”

He nodded and took a drink, satisfied with the response… for the most part. He set his drink down and eyed her suspiciously. “How sexy?”

She stared at him with the flattest, deadest look and let out the longest, most exasperated sigh she could manage. “So sexy you’ve lost all personality, and I could never date you,” she stated. If Adrien hadn’t known her better, he would have believed the bored delivery. “Better?”

“Much,” he nodded solemnly, ignoring her amused snort. “Now let's get a good spot to watch Duke. He’s up next and I want to be close enough he can see me if he gets nervous,” he grinned, all evidence of levity gone from his eyes, quickly replaced with a genuine, sappy excitement.

“You go. I’ll get refills and food and be right there,” she interjected motioning toward the bartender. Adrien nodded but, he was already scouting out a place for them to sit. It was so sweet, so devoted, Marinette couldn’t help but chuckle. She only looked back when the bartender made a noise behind her. “Two of the sa…”

“Refills,” the bartender announced, setting down two new drinks in front of her. “And fries.”

“You’re a mind reader,” Marinette gushed as she reached for the glasses. “Thank you so much!”

The bartender scoffed as he grabbed their old glasses to wash. “Not me. Him.” He jutted his chin to her side. “And paid for them.”

Marinette froze and looked between him and the drinks. “For both of them?” Her eyebrows shot to her hairline at the bartender’s nod but they then quickly fell over narrowed eyes. She turned slowly; her lips pursed in contemplation as she gazed at him.

Had he just bought hers, she’d know what it meant, how to respond, what his intentions were. But he’d bought drinks for her and her friend and hadn’t made a big deal of it. He hadn’t tried to maneuver the offering into a second introduction. And he wasn’t just trying to get her drunk. He’d bought her greasy food that would keep her sober.

He was not playing by the Pretty Boy Playbook, and it was throwing her off. There was certainly another playbook he was going by, she just needed to figure out which one. Nobody who looked like him didn’t. She’d learned that firsthand… and repeatedly. “It appears I owe you a thank you.”

“Nah,” he waved her off but turned back toward her, giving her his full attention again, “it wasn’t about getting a thank you.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and settled further into her chair. “Oh? So, what was it about you getting?”

“A smile, but not for me. Well, kind of for me. I won’t lie, I’d like to see your smile,” he admitted. “Your real one,” he clarified.

She huffed a small bark of a sound, not quite a laugh, but not quite a scoff and picked up her drink, bringing it close to her chest as though she had picked it up to drink rather than something with which to keep her hand busy. A siphon for her anxiety. “You think you haven’t seen it already?”

There was no doubt the noise he made was a scoff. “No. Not tonight. Not in person. No, I think what you offered tonight was a shield, a false front, meant to deflect and protect. I’d like to see a real one.”

“Think you’re owed that, do you?” she clipped.

“No,” he answered instantly. “But I’m trying to earn it.”

Marinette blinked at him; her heart having stopped. Her entire body and mind had glitched. She was utterly unsure how to respond to that. This wasn’t just a different book; this was a different medium entirely.

She finally forced her body back into action with a scoff and a lift of her drink to her lips, but she set it back down undrunk. “I should think earning it is a foreign concept to someone like you,” she accused. Her tone was sharp. She hoped he felt it, but more than that, she hoped he didn’t feel the shakiness in it, the fact that it was less sharp than it could be, than it normally would be.

“Ah yes,” the man nodded sagely, utterly nonplussed by her tone. “Your perception of me.” He took a long sip of his drink, as always keeping his eyes on her. “Based entirely on my looks. Doesn’t seem fair.”

Marinette snorted but very consciously did not smile, at least not a ‘genuine’ one. Instead, she quirked her head to the side and offered a derisive smirk. “Not used to that evaluation going against you?” She pouted excessively.

He ran a tongue over his canine as his eyes sparked devilishly. Marinette barely had time to prepare herself before he went for it. “So, is it your hypothesis that you’re not sexy yourself or are you saying you have no personality?”

Her smirk dropped entirely, and her head snapped up straight. Of all the possible next statements he could have made, it wasn’t the last, but it certainly wasn’t high on the list. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged with an innocence she was positive he hadn’t experienced in at least a decade. “Because from what you said earlier, you seem to think people can only have one or the other, but as far as I can tell you have both in spades.”

Her eyes narrowed and her body leaned forward entirely of their own volition. She had to consciously force herself to lean away and break eye contact to study her glass, twisting the glass to swirl the contents into a golden vortex. “You were eavesdropping,” she accused. She set the glass back on the bar and turned back to him with a wrinkled nose. “Also, what is ‘spades’?”

He blinked at her, trying to reset his brain to comprehend her question. “Spades.” He repeated the word slower, like annunciation was the issue understanding. “You know spades. It’s…” he paused to think about how to finish the definition. “It means… They’re…” he flustered, still at a loss, his hands waving wildly as he grasped for an answer. “It means you have a lot of both.”

He let out a breath to gain his composure back, but still had to take another drink before he could continue. “And, for the record, you weren’t being quiet,” he added levelly, but his voice seemed more forced than it had been before as did the lean toward her, which had seemed natural earlier, but now seemed like a calculated move. “It’s almost like you wanted me to hear and comment.”

Marinette barely restrained her smirk at the difficulty he was having finding his composure. She had to imagine he wasn’t used to getting flustered. Men like him, hell, men far less attractive than him, were used to flustering everyone around them with just a smile, a raise of the eyebrow, a growl to their tone. She was rather enjoying being one of the few who could fluster the pretty boy. “I think you’ve confused me with one of your groupies.”

He quirked his head, almost like a confused lab. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Are you going to try to deny you have groupies,” Marinette laughed incredulously.

His eyes darted around rapidly. He leaned away to give him a better vantage of the area. “I don’t… have you… there aren’t any groupies here. You can’t possibly have seen any.” He froze and turned back to Marinette, all evidence of panic gone from his expression, but in its place was nothing. No expression. Completely neutral. “I mean, what groupies?”

A bark of mirthless laughter burst out of her at his clearly accidental admission that she was absolutely correct in her assessment. “I don’t have to see them to know they exist.” A sad glint shone in her eyes for just a second before she quickly masked it with a mocking smile. “They follow people like you around anywhere you go. Making you feel prioritized. Softening any blows…”

“I do have people who like to watch me, but not because I ask for it or encourage it,” he cut in, a crack in his neutral expression starting to show through. “Hardly qualifies as ‘groupies’.”

She hummed critically. “But that wasn’t the question.”

“Oh? I must have forgotten. What was the question again?” He leaned in closer to her, creating an intimate environment for them even in the midst of a crowded environment.

She let her eyes skirt over his face, taking in one frustratingly perfect detail after the next. “It wasn’t whether you encouraged it, it was whether you think I’m one.”

He let his smile sneak up a bit more. “A fan?” She made a non-committal sound. He quirked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “You’re not?”

She pushed him away with a finger to his chest. “Takes more than a pretty face, though I will admit yours is prettier than most.”

He let his lips quirk up in a devilish smile. “You think my face is pretty?”

“I know your face is pretty,” she affirmed, voice bordering on annoyed. “You know your face is pretty. That’s why you have all the groupies.”

He hummed and took a long slow drink and settling it back on the bar with delicate precision before turning his attention back to her, smiling when he caught her eyes following each move. “And here I thought it was my ass.”

She rolled her eyes as she picked up her drink. “Well, it wasn’t for your humility,” she scoffed.

The self-assured smirk that seemed to have a home on his lips dropped and his whole aura changed. Suddenly the boyish, teasing charm was gone replaced with a serious, almost pleading vulnerability. “So, what does it take?”

She stared mute at him for a few seconds as her head tried to make sense of the complete turnaround in personality. “What?”

“To get your attention,” he elaborated slowly. His voice low and steady. His eyes clear and sincere. “What does it take to get you to give me a chance to show you how you deserve to be treated.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, caution overtaking her. “And how’s that?”

His hand clenched on the bar next to her like he was holding himself back from grazing it along any part of her that she would let him touch. As always, his eyes never left hers, meeting with such intensity, she almost had to lean away from him. “Like you’re the most precious thing in this world or the next. Like your every whim and thought is a precious gem that should be revered and honored. Like your smile and laugh achieve such perfection wars could be fought over them.”

If she hadn’t been so unwillingly, intimately familiarized with the Game, she might have believed his genuine delivery. It seemed so heartfelt, so genuine, because that’s how it was supposed to seem. What was a lie worth if you weren’t going to sell it. But even knowing that. Even knowing that’s all it was, she still had to fight her heart fluttering at the words. “Those are pretty words,” she clipped. It had to be clipped because she didn’t trust her voice not to crack.

“They’re more than words,” he answered calmly, confidently, again so close to genuine, it hurt to hear them. She couldn’t stop the bitter scoff that escaped her, but he didn’t even seem to notice it, or if he did, he ignored it. “You never did answer. What does it take? What can I do? What do you need?”

He leaned a bit closer with each question, but she backed away in equal measure. She blinked at him, trying to process his words. He was still working off a different book than the men she’d had the misfortune of interacting with before. He was off script, and she didn’t know how to respond; what the correct response was that would result in him not vaporizing her heart with no more thought or guilt than destroying an alien in Space Invader.

She narrowed her eyes again, but this time in frustration rather than caution. “I need someone who’s willing to put in the work and the devotion and the respect… and not just expect it only for themselves. Someone who doesn’t think they deserve the world to lay down the red carpet for them because they have dimples. I need someone who isn’t going to espouse pretty words to lure me into bed,” she hissed, no longer retreating, but leaning into his space with each sentence, like she was taking the fight to him instead of waiting for him to bring it to her.

“Words I know are false because you don’t know me.” She shoved an accusatory finger toward his chest but stopped short of touching him. “You have no idea how I deserve to be treated. You certainly couldn’t have developed the sense that I’ve earned such devotion that you would never bestow anyway. You literally just said you’d never seen my smile and yet you wax poetic about how revered it should be. The only reason you would have for proclaiming it is to lull me into submission, to lower my walls so you can slither your way in.”

She braced herself for the anger she was sure was going to come, the lashing out at realizing his flirting hadn’t worked for him for once. It didn’t usually take much provocation and Marinette had just provided plenty. But instead, he watched her, almost contemplatively, a sad look flashing in his eyes moment before returning to the more neutral expression.

“You’re Marinette Dupain Cheng. You’re best friends with Adrien Agreste and a particularly persistent reporter named Alya… something French, honestly, I’ve forgotten but she’s married to a DJ Duke loves. You’re exceptionally creative, not just in designs, which are amazing, by the way, both clothes and art, but in engineering as well.

He chuckled mirthlessly and shook his head but immediately remet her eyes with understanding gaze. “It’s an instinct I understand.”

“You’re fiercely protective of your friends and family,” he continued on, his voice strong and steady. His eyes met hers like a comforting caress. “You take care of everyone around you and take far too much on but still somehow power through. But you never let anyone take care of you. You could be drowning and would still insist you could swim without help. A fact that has been taken advantage of more than a few times and chipped away at your trust so you push people away… no, that’s not right. You don’t push them away. You just never let them in in the first place, which isn’t anything Duke told me by the way, it’s just what I’ve observed.”

Marinette edged out of her seat until she was standing behind it, holding it between them, her eyes darting to where Adrien had already taken his seat and was trying to crane his neck to find Duke. “How… how did you…”

The man raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly but by that time she was watching his every move, every breath intently. “Sorry, I thought you might recognize me. Duke is my brother. He’s talked about you since he first met you the first week of junior year. I’ve heard stories at least weekly since.

She shook her head absently, his words barely sinking in. “Duke said nobody from his family was going to be able to make it…”

“Honestly, with as much as he’s talked about you and your guys’ sometimes legal adventures, I feel like I know you better than any of his friends that I’ve met and hung out with. I…” he ran a hand through his perfectly tousled hair, which somehow made it even more annoyingly perfect. “Earlier, I didn’t say I haven’t seen your smile, only that I haven’t seen it in person. Duke has shown me so many pictures and videos of you, I thought he might have shown you some of me as well.”

Dick chuckled self-deprecatingly. “Nobody was supposed to be able to make it, which was ridiculous because there’s like ten of us and this is a big deal for him. I couldn’t let him do this without at least one of us here to support him. There were some things that could not be moved, but Steph and I were able to clear our schedules so we could be here.”

Marinette’s hard gaze softened but only slightly. She continued to look at him intently, as though she could see through to his very soul. But as she looked at him, she could see it now, the vague resemblance to the man in the pictures Duke had shown her periodically through the years. He hadn’t shown her many, just as she hadn’t shown him many of her family, but just like she had talked about her parents, Duke had talked about him often.

Dick. Duke’s pictures of him did not do him justice. There was something about being in his presence, an aura that pictures didn’t convey. It was an intangible feeling that overcame a person when his magnetic eyes met theirs, or maybe it was just her. The way her heart sped up when he gave her that look made her heart somehow flutter and freeze at the same time.

She kept staring at him, trying to reconcile the man Duke had described with the man in front of her, the one who had been playing games, because that’s what he was doing, right? He’s been playing the Game. He hadn’t meant any of it… unless he had… unless the genuine delivery was because he had been genuine. But that’s not how men like him operated… except for Adrien… and Duke… and Dick Grayson… at least according to Duke.

And this man somehow knew everything about her, even the parts she kept hidden far away from prying eyes, cradled and protected from getting battered any further like the Beast’s rose. Yet he came in like Belle ripping away all of the protections she’d fought so long to preserve and threatening to expose them to the cruel, heartless world with kind eyes and a dimpled smile.

Her mental spiral was interrupted by a voice booming over the speakers. “Next up to the mic, Duke Thomas.”

She took a sharp breath and shook her head. “I need to go,” she mumbled as she turned to join Adrien, but even to her own ears, her voice sounded wooden, hollow.

Duke’s reading was brilliant, or at least Marinette assumed it was based on past experience and the crowd reaction. She couldn’t say for certain herself. The first part of his short performance went by in a blur, she chuckled and clapped whenever Adrien did, but always a few beats behind and with a dampened enthusiasm.

She shook herself out of her daze literally, jerking her head back and forth a few times as Duke continued. The enthusiasm and passion behind every word quickly pulled Marinette out of her thoughts and into his world. By the time he finished, Marinette was fully invested in his reading, the interaction at the bar nearly forgotten, just a soreness lingering around her heart like an echo, and she was able to cheer for him without prompting.

When the applause died down, Duke immediately made his way to Adrien. His smile was brilliant and wide, warming the closer he moved to Adrien until it lit up the room when he reached him, which she was positive matched Adrien’s smile as well. Honestly, a person could go blind hanging around them too often.

She watched with pride as he made the rounds through the crowd, everyone granting him a genuine smile and congratulations. It was only then she realized she’d left their drinks and food at the bar earlier and she would really like one at that moment, again, more to have something to do with her hands than out of a need to drink. Fiddling with a glass was a much more socially acceptable way to keep her hands occupied than ripping a napkin to pieces, which she was moments away from doing.

Duke settled into the seat next to her while she was distracted, not even bothering to hide his devious smirk when she jumped at finally noticing him. “Sooo,” he started slowly. He shot her a pointed look, a prompting look, a clear signal that he was waiting for her to finish the sentence correctly.

Marinette snickered and rolled her eyes. “Sooo,” she repeated in the same tone and knocked her shoulder into his, “your performance was brilliant. Your best yet. You should put that in your portfolio. I’d even consider submitting that to a publisher.”

He looked down and grinned shyly even as his chest puffed out. “Thanks. That means a lot to hear.”

She shook her head and took his drink from his hand, stealing a sip of his Greyhound instantly making a face as it burned her throat. “Never order that again,” she gasped.

“Oh, so sorry for ordering a drink I like,” he chuckled. “Next time I’ll make sure to get one you’ll like on the off chance you want a sip.”

She snorted and took another sip anyway. “Off chance,” she mocked.

Duke barked out a laugh and grabbed his drink back with a shake of his head and a long sip. He looked back up with a smile that put her on edge. To anyone else, the smile would have been comforting in its apparent innocence, but Marinette knew him better. She knew that angelic looking smile meant devilish intensions and braced herself with a defensive smile for whatever trouble was coming next. “But what I meant was, soooo I saw you chatting with Dick earlier.”

His tone was light, teasing, but her smile dropped instantly. Her eyes darted away, focusing on anything but him… him or Dick. “So it would seem,” she acquiesced warily.

He eyed her cautiously, not having expected that response. Dick never got that response. Everyone loved Dick. Even people who didn’t want to date him loved him. He would understand if Marinette didn’t want to date him, but for her to shut down when his name was mentioned, that either meant their chemistry was amazingly good or amazingly bad. “How’d it go?”

“It went,” she granted, her eyes still not meeting his.

He hummed. Dick either did something sexist and conceited, which was not like Dick, sure he could be a stubborn, single-minded jerk sometimes, but not like that. Or, the more likely option, the connection was too good and she was scrambling. “No sparks then?” he asked with a sympathy that almost came across as authentic and would have, to anyone but a best friend.

She finally turned back to meet his gaze with a deadpan look. “Why?” her voice floated over to him saccharine sweet. “Is your love life with Adrien that boring? You’re checking into mine?” She tutted a few times and sighed heavily, settling back in her chair. “Honeymoon periods are so short these days.”

Duke rolled his eyes and shoved her hard enough to shift her in her chair. “Our relationship isn’t boring, it’s committed and supportive and nurturing and comfortable… No! comforting.” He pursed his lips and groaned. “No, you know what, it is comfortable. A healthy relationship should make you feel comfortable, and I feel comfortable with him. Bitch,” he added on at the end, but without any heat. He looked back at her from the side, meeting her gaze for just a moment before they broke down into laughter. It took a few moments before he settled back into his chair, his expression settling into a more contemplative look. “I was just… I thought you two would be good together.”

She shifted uncomfortably, eyes back to scanning the room. “And why is that?”

“I thought you’d be good for him,” he answered softly.

A scoff burst out before she could stop it, not that she would have wanted to. She was already feeling exposed from her interaction earlier and this conversation felt like scratching at her raw nerves. “Because I could keep him in line? Maybe make him want to settle down? Thanks for that,” she grumbled.

Duke scoffed this time. “You know me better, please. I wouldn’t wish that on you.” He leaned forward, not into her direct line of sight, but enough that he made his presence known, looming but unthreatening. “Dick has a tendency to forget to take care of himself. He makes everyone else a priority. I thought… you like to dote on the people you love and he needs that. He’s a good man who loves to treat the people he’s with like they’re the most important people in the world, and you deserve that. Especially after the last few guys you dated and how they behaved, how they treated you after the first few weeks… I thought you deserved someone like him.”

He turned his body toward her. Even if she wasn’t looking at him, he wanted her to know she had his full attention. Him encouraging her to consider Dick wasn’t a spur of the moment decision. He’d thought this through… frequently. “I understand if you’re not ready yet. I just thought you might be good. I’ve been talking you up to him since I met you. He hasn’t had the best luck with relationships either.”

Marinette glared at a spot in front of her, her lips pulling down into a deep pout and her eyes darting to him until she rolled her eyes and huffed loudly. “You are the worst best friend. When you and Adrien get married, I'm standing up for his side.”

He grinned brilliantly and pulled her into a side hug. “I’m telling Adrien you said I was your best friend,” he whispered before jerking away with a loud laugh. He continued chuckling for a few moments and let his vision sweep over the crowd, his eyes warming upon settling on Adrien. He continued to watch Adrien as he laughed, throwing his head back in glee.

His eyes darted over to her in a mirror of her actions from a few moments before but significantly more anxiously, like he was steeling himself for something. “But… hopefully, you won't have to wait long,” he commented carefully.

She quirked her head, bringing her eyes back to him. Her brow furrowed slightly as she contemplated his words and took in his stance. Suddenly, his frame was tense. Instead of slouching into his chair as he had been moments before, he was sitting up straight, spine stiff enough, a rod could have run straight through it. “For what?” she asked cautiously.

He took a breath before answering. “For the chance to follow through on your threat.”

Her expression was frozen for just a second as the words registered and her face broke out into a beaming smile and a squeal burst out loud enough to draw the attention of everyone within twenty feet of them as she launched into his arms. “That’s so exciting! I’m so happy for you! Are you thinking of asking soon? Did you just make the decision? Do you know how you want to ask? Have you made a plan? Are you just going to wing it? Don’t tell me if you’re going to wing it, it will give me anxiety. Lie to me. Do you need help planning the wedding? What can I do?”

She fired off her questions faster than Duke could register them. “Slow down,” he laughed. He squeezed her again before letting her back up into her seat. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but yeah, I decided I wanted to ask him Wednesday after he fell asleep on my shoulder while we were watching the movie.” He looked back at Adrien, giving him a sappy smile when Adrien looked back over and met his eyes for just a moment.

“I knew,” he continued, still watching Adrien like he hung the moon, “I wanted that for the rest of my life. Just like that. Forever.”

A noise rose from Marinette’s chest somewhere between a squeal and a squeak, her elation clear on her face. “That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard! I want to see pictures.” She suddenly sat up straight. “Ooohhh, can we get Max to record it with a drone or hidden camera? Or we can do a live feed.”

Duke chuckled and shook his head. “I think it’s hilarious you think Tim won’t do that regardless of what I say.”

He continued to watch Adrien for a few more moments before turning back to her with a sobered expression. The change concerned her, especially when he took her hand to encourage her to look back at him. “I know I wouldn't be here without you so... thank you. Thank you for introducing us and…” he took a deep breath, “for walking away when you knew it was wrong. For breaking both your hearts so they could be put together stronger. I know it was incredibly hard and yours hasn't been fully yet."

He opened his mouth then closed it to think through what he had to say. His eyes flicked to hers seeming to hesitate for a second before continuing. “That's why... I think Dick can help you with that.”

She blinked at him for a second before bursting out in laughter. “You know, Alya has said the same thing more than once.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes. He dropped her hand, shoving it away in mock disgust. “Okay, I meant he would be gentle with your heart and protect it, which you deserve, but you know what? Dick would have made the same joke, so clearly you two have the same sense of humor. So, I was right and you two are annoyingly perfect for each other.”

She hummed in response and let her eyes wander back to where Adrien was laughing with Dick and a one of her and Duke’s university friends. Dick flicked his eyes over to them for just a second, just long enough to catch her gaze with a small, guilty smile, before returning his focus to Adrien.

Adrien was laughing at something Dick had said hard enough he had bent over to catch his breath. Adrien loved to laugh. His laughter was one of her favorite sounds maybe because it so rare growing up. She was fortunate enough to get to hear it often now. But laughter like that? Marinette hadn’t seen him laugh like that in a long time and the sight warmed her heart. “I'll think about it,” she agreed quietly.

Duke nodded and kissed her head with an understanding smile. “Love you,” he murmured into her hair before he disappeared into the crowd, heading straight toward Adrien. Marinette let herself space out for a few moments until the noise around her became too much. She needed just a bit of space to breathe and think. This night was not at all what she had prepared herself for and she needed a break to ease the weight of it from compressing her mind. She saw a door to the small patio behind the club and darted out to it.

As soon as the door closed behind her, the cacophony of noises muted, and she let herself breathe and think of nothing for a few seconds, but it didn’t take long for her thoughts to drift back to the bar.

Dick had been nothing but polite, and a bit playful, to her and she’d been cold and cutting. And, if she trusted Duke, Dick hadn’t deserved it. Duke had never said anything negative about Dick. Duke complained about all of his family at length, but never Dick. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He did complain about him, but it was always a backhanded insult; a compliment masquerading as an insult.

If she were as brave as she pretended to be, she would go back in there and apologize and ask for a second chance. The very idea terrified her. Not the apology, the stuff that comes after. Because if she truly meant the apology, then she would need to be more open to him. Let him move the protections she’d rooted into the ground and expose her heart. What an absolutely horrific idea.

She shivered at the thought and vaguely realized a bit because of the cold. She hadn’t brought a jacket or sweater, it wouldn’t work with the outfit, and hadn’t expected to be outside for this long. She got up to go back inside but froze when she saw Dick push through the doors.

He froze as well as soon as he saw her. “Hey, I didn't mean to interrupt but you've been out here for a while and it’s been a bit chilly at night lately so I brought you a hoodie.” Even if she hadn’t been able to detect the anxiety in his voice, there was no way to miss it in the way he nervously shuffled as he held out the hoodie for her and the vulnerability in his eyes.

She looked from it to him a few times, but it must have taken her a bit too long to reach for it because he suddenly dropped his hand holding the hoodie while the other flew to the back of his neck. “It’s Duke’s!” he added quickly, the pronouncement coming out much louder than he had intended. “Not… I wouldn’t have given you mine. Not that I have one, but I wouldn’t have given you my jacket. Not because I wouldn’t want… I just figured you wouldn’t…”

He groaned and ran his hand over his face. “What is wrong with me?” he muttered to himself.

“It’s okay,” she assured him.

He took a deep breath and forced it out slowly, finally lifting his eyes to her again before continuing in a much more collected manner. “I know you don’t know me and don’t trust me so it would be really inconsiderate and rude to have brought you mine. That’s all I meant.” He set the hoodie onto the table next to her with a small smile and immediately took a step back. “Well, like I said, didn't mean to interrupt so I'll leave you to your thoughts.”

She watched him take a few steps before calling out to him and taking the hoodie tentatively, like an inadequate peace offering and pulled it over her outfit. “I meant it's okay if you want to join me.”

He immediately stopped and smiled brightly but his bright smile quickly faltered. There was nothing in her expression or posture that suggested she didn’t mean what she had said, in fact they indicated complete honesty and openness. But there was still a hint of something behind her eyes, a tentativeness that he could just barely detect, but once you saw it, you couldn’t unsee it. “Are you sure? I really meant it. I didn't come out here to interrupt. If you’d prefer time to yourself…”

She chuckled and shook her head, looking up toward the sky as though she could somehow see the stars through the light pollution, but he could still see the hint of a smile on her lips. “No, it's fine. Duke says you're a good guy, and I trust Duke so…” Dick nodded and sat next to her, close enough to create an intimate atmosphere, but not so close he was crowding her. “And I may have heard a lot about you over the years too. So… perhaps my initial judgement was a bit hasty and the way I treated you was completely unjustified… perhaps.”

Dick grinned brilliantly but soon schooled his smile into a softer version. He nodded and looked up at the sky as well. “I trust Duke too, so we know we have one thing in common.” Marinette snorted and opened her mouth but quickly snapped it shut and turned away before he could see her blush, but Dick turned to her a bit too quickly, catching it just in time. His eyes twinkled at seeing her cheeks brushed with pink and snickered. “Oh, come on, you can't do that. Now you need to tell me!”

She groaned and somehow, the blush got deeper and spread to her neck so beautifully, Dick had to stop himself from reaching out to brush his fingers over the blush. She groaned and dropped her head, oblivious to his stare. It took a few moments before she looked at him from the corner of her eye. “He says we have the same sense of humor too.”

Dick raised an eyebrow and grinned wickedly. “With a blush like that, I have to assume you said something to do with my name.” When she groaned again and covered her face with her hands, sleeves flopping loosely over her hands, his grin widened, a hearty laugh booming from his chest. “Come on,” he exclaimed, opening his arms wide to her, “let me have it. I've heard them all, I guarantee you. I could even tell you some.”

Marinette shook her head and lowered her hands just enough to look up at him with a bemused smile. She opened her mouth but closed it again quickly and took a breath to fortify herself before she answered. “He just mentioned…” she started hesitantly, “that maybe I could use a little dick in my life. And I may have laughed and told him that's not the first time I've heard that.”

Dick's face scrunched up, his eyes not quite looking at her. Marinette's hands and smile dropped instantly. She knew she shouldn’t have said that. It was so incredibly rude. He said he could take it, but everyone thinks they can take something before they hear it. Damn it! She was supposed to be trying to make up for her previous behavior, not behave worse. “I mean!” she exclaimed anxiously trying to backpedal.

“I have to say, I'm not a huge fan of the descriptor,” Dick mused. “Maybe prefer a different one. Like ‘huge’. That’s a good word.”

A snicker burst out from Marinette and continued as she broke down in laughter. When the laughter finally subsided, she looked over at him, a brilliant smile on her lips, to find him watching her with a lopsided grin. “That's the first time I've made you really smile.”

Marinette looked away and pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “First time?” she asked, hope eking through in her tone. Maybe she hadn’t messed up their second chance. Maybe there was still a shot.

He grinned at her. “And hopefully not the last,” he offered quietly. He looked at her softly for a moment until a look of determination crossed his face. “I want you to know, I am willing to put in the work. I don’t expect you to do it all, just meet me halfway.”

She nodded absently. “I’m willing to try. I’ll try not to let my past experiences affect ours.” She cut off suddenly and looked away. “I… I can’t promise how well I’ll do. But I’ll try.”

Dick ducked down to meet her eyes despite her determination to avoid his gaze, but he stayed in that position, waiting until she was ready. “I’m a patient man. I can wait for you.”

His patience was finally rewarded when her eyes shot over to his. “You’re not real,” she scoffed.

He chuckled but immediately met her eyes again with a soft, non-confrontational gaze and raised his arm in front of her. “Want to pinch me, just to make sure?”

She hummed and ran her fingers down his arm to his hand and threaded her fingers between his instead, not missing the way his smile widened at her boldness. “You should know, I can be stubborn.”

His smile brightened at her olive branch and settled their entwined hands between them. “I can be determined,” he offered in the same tone.

“I can be anxious,” she countered.

“I can be soothing.”

She looked away for a moment and pursed her lips in faux contemplation. “I can be… loyal.”

He chuckled and pulled her hand onto his leg as he scooted just a bit closer. “I can be insecure,” he admitted.

“I can be supportive.”

He nodded and quirked his lips to the side, eyes narrowing. “I can over commit until I’ve stretched myself so thin I let everyone down,” he commented, entirely too casually for the content of his statement.

She snorted and looked away, but she leaned closer to him and her grip on his hand never slackened. “Mood. I guess that’s something we would have to work on.”

He nodded. “At least we’ll know the signs.” He cocked his head and shot her a bright smile. “I like learning about you. You were right before, I may know a lot about you, but I don’t know you. I would like to change that though.”

She nodded. “I think I’d like that too.”

His grin widened. “Yeah?”

She nodded, her smile stretching to match his and God, if his eyes kept sparkling like that, her heart was going to stop beating. “Yes,” she confirmed.

“How about I try again tomorrow night? Is that too soon? We can…”

“Dick!” She waited until he’d stopped and faced her before continuing. She snickered at his rambling. Usually, it was her doing the rambling and everyone else watching on in bemusement. She didn’t get to be the one on this side often… or ever. “I’d love if we could try again and go out tomorrow.”

“Do you want to head back in?” he asked, nodding toward the patio doors. “It looked like you were headed that direction when I came out.”

She looked over her shoulder for a few seconds but met his eye with a hopeful glint. “I was only going in because I was so cold, but as soon as I thought it, there you were with a hoodie and a smile.” She shook her head and let out a huff of air. “I think that can be considered a sign that I’m right where I should be. Unless you’d like to…”

“No!” he cut in. “No,” he continued quieter, “I think Duke will understand if I miss a bit of his party.” He scooted closer to her and tentatively set his arm behind her, relaxing into it when she smiled up at him. “I’m right where I want to be.”

@maribat-calendar-events

#maribat #Dickinette #Dickinette February #Prompt - heart #Meet Too Cute

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ninadove · 3 months

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Recently, I’ve seen many posts (well… ‘many’ as per East of Eden standards, so like, 3 or 4) regretting Steinbeck’s treatment of Cathy/Kate. And I must admit, it puzzles me, because I am absolutely convinced he wanted us to feel sympathy towards her.

Many of her thoughts and alleged crimes are reported by an unreliable narrator who has no way of verifying any of this information. Most importantly, Steinbeck himself admits he is an unreliable narrator and that he is not equipped to understand or judge her:

[Chapter 8] You must not forget that a monster is only a variation, and that to a monster the norm is monstruous.

[Chapter 13] It doesn’t matter that Cathy was what I have called a monster. Perhaps we can’t understand Cathy, but on the other hand we are capable of many things in all directions, of great virtues and great sins. And who in his mind has not probed the black water?

[Chapter 17] When I said Cathy was a monster it seemed to me that it was so. Now I have bent close with a glass over the small print of her and re-read the footnotes, and I wonder if it was true. The trouble is that since we cannot know what she wanted, we will never know whether or not she got it. If rather than running toward something, she ran away from something, we cannot know whether she escaped. Who knows but that she tried to tell someone or everyone what she was like and could not, for lack of a common language. Her life may have been her language, formal, developed, indecipherable. It is easy to say she was bad, but there is little meaning unless we know why.

And, interestingly enough — even this kinder diagnosis is disproven later on.

What supposedly sets Cathy/Kate apart from the rest of humanity is the concept of timshel, the great choice that should ‘give [her] stature with the gods’: something she should be pitied, not demonised, for lacking. But does she actually lack it? Does she?

[Chapter 50] Kate was not thinking. Her mind drifted among impressions the way a bat drifts and swoops in the evening. She saw the face of the blonde and beautiful boy, his eyes mad with shock. She heard his ugly words aimed not so much at her as at himself. And she saw his dark brother leaning against the door and laughing.

Kate had laughed too — the quickest and best self-protection. What would her son do? What had he done after he went quietly away?

She loves Aron because she (erroneously) believes he is the one good thing that came out of her. She is terrified of Cal because she (erroneously) sees him as the incarnation of everything that is wrong with her, and paradoxically of a choice she thinks she does not have herself:

[Chapter 39] Cal said, “I was afraid I had you in me.”

“You have,” said Kate.

“No, I haven’t. I’m my own. I don’t have to be you.”

“How do you know that?” she demanded.

“I just know. It just came to me whole. If I’m mean, it’s my own mean. […] I don’t think the light hurts your eyes. I think you’re afraid.”

“Get out!” she cried. “Go on, get out!”

“I’m going.” He had his hand on the doorknob. “I don’t hate you,” he said. “But I’m glad you’re afraid.”

Were she truly incapable of doing good, she would not care that much. Which makes her a stellar foil to Adam (much like the twins are foils to each other), who is obsessed with the concept of timshel and keeps making all the wrong decisions in the pursuit of a noble ideal that causes more harm than good.

The bottom line is: Steinbeck did an incredible job writing Cathy/Kate and deserves much more credit than he gets.

#There is also something very touching about her death… which is a different yet somewhat related topic.#Also check out the Alt Text there’s a whole other level of analysis going on there #literature #american literature #east of eden #john steinbeck #cathy ames #kate trask #cal trask #caleb trask #aron trask #adam trask #random ramblings

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presidenthades · 9 months

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Once again, I am doing a series of my behind-the-scenes thoughts for The Golds while I do light edits for formatting, typos, and continuity. Here’s Chapter 2!

(Note: I originally planned to put out these commentaries once a day, but I’ve been recruited for an urgent knitting/crochet project IRL so I might be a bit slow.)

For this chapter’s title, I chose the lyrics for the Father in “The Song of the Seven” because Aegon finds out he’s going to be a dad. 😳

Opening line: I wanted the reader to spend a half-second thinking Aegon was in the middle of a sexual activity 😂. Later in the chapter, both Daemon and Alicent briefly think he’s been out at the brothels, so I wanted to foreshadow that here. But it turns out Aegon just really likes pies.

Gyles and Ronnel were throwaway characters in my original plan, but they ended up being very important to the plot 😅. I took a brief line from Aegon’s letter in Chapter 3 of the Handbook, about him eating pies that were almost better than sex, and created Gyles from that. So Aegon’s been patronizing Gyles’s business for several years.

Gyles rents a small storefront on the Street of Flour, which I presume is where most of the bakers in KL live/work. He’s probably part of the local bakers’ guild, and he’s on the poorer end of the street so his customers tend to be laborers who want a quick hot meal. Aegon stumbled across the shop one day as a young teen when he was hangry, and he’s been coming back ever since.

I spent a ridiculous amount of time researching the history of cheese and barely used it for the fic 🥲. But I want everyone to know I thought very carefully about the type of cheese Gyles uses in his pies! It would be similar to appenzeller, which is a cheese of Swiss origin that uses cider/wine during the cheesemaking process, and it supposedly has an herby flavor (I’ve never had it but I want it). It’s a hard cheese (so it travels well) that melts well (good for pie filling), and it’s from an Alpine region (like the Vale where Gyles is from).

Ronnel barely got a glimpse of Jace during her wedding parade, but he would die for her 🥲.

We get our first glimpse of the Tyroshi, which I tried not to draw too much attention to so readers didn’t get suspicious, but I wanted it in there to set up Aegon’s investigation in Chapter 4. In hindsight, Aegon wishes he just stabbed the man that day…but he probably would’ve gotten beat up or killed in turn by the bodyguards.

BTW I am very proud of the sentence where I describe the bodyguards as looking like chickens 🐔. Sorry, just have to pat my back here.

Author’s nitpick about Maegor’s tunnels! My understanding is the secret tunnels are in the Red Keep but NOT in the Holdfast, which only has one super special secret escape route that book!Aegon uses when Rhaenyra takes KL. I have to remember not to let the characters just pop around anywhere they please using the secret tunnels. If everyone used secret tunnels all the time, they wouldn’t be very secret 🤧. I imagine the passage Aegon uses to sneak in and out of the castle is one that a lot of Targaryen royals have used, so it’s not a HUGE secret.

Daemon heard about the pregnancy pretty quickly after Jace got sick during small council. Nobody is sure where Aegon went, only that he sneaked out (pretty normal for him), and of course Daemon’s first suspicion is that Aegon is out whoring 💀. So Daemon went to the tunnels to catch Aegon on his way back and verify if Aegon was at the brothels or not. If Aegon was out whoring while his wife just found out she’s pregnant, Daemon would probably have done…something not nice 😅. But Aegon was just eating pies so it’s fine!

Aegon is no longer scared of Daemon (he was a bit scared in the first part of the Handbook), but he still doesn’t want to be alone with Daemon in a dark tunnel 👀.

Aegon has excellent zingers in the book, so I wanted give him some very sassy lines in this fic. Hence, Aegon implying Daemon is getting fat 😂. If you can’t take it, don’t dish it, Daemon!

Daemon’s line about “a spate of missing persons in the city” is a reference to the Tyroshi’s doings. The Tyroshi has kidnapped enough “good citizens” (tradesmen like Gyles, as opposed to poor prostitutes) that it’s becoming noticeable.

And yes, Daemon did deliberately make Aegon think something bad happened to Jace as revenge for Alyssa and the early wake up calls.

Originally, I was going to do brief POV scenes of all Jace’s sisters reacting to the pregnancy news, but it got very repetitive so I cut out all of them except Luce. But in the deleted bits, there’s a scene where Alicent asks Rhaena to help find Jace’s premarital nightgowns because the only nightwear Jace has right now is sexy lingerie 🤭. Then there’s a kinda sad bit where Rhaena realizes Alicent thinks she’s helping Jace by removing temptation from Aegon, because a pregnant woman should want reprieve from her husband’s attentions, because that was Alicent’s experience: being pregnant meant she didn’t have to sleep with Viserys. So Alicent struggles to realize that on the contrary, Jace might enjoy her husband’s attention.

Alicent and Rhaenyra have a comedic bit where they synchronize as they transform into Overprotective Future Grandmother mode, to showcase that they’re more similar than they admit. It’s self-explanatory why Rhaenyra is fussy, but this is also Alicent’s first grandchild. And she has always liked Jace, who is basically Alicent’s ideal good-daughter. I also think Alicent is a little jealous that Rhaenyra has Jace; Alicent definitely loves Helaena, but we see her struggling to connect with her daughter on the show, whereas Jace has always been polite, dutiful, and overall “easy” to interact with.

Because Alicent likes Jace so much, she is extra offended at the thought that Aegon might be out whoring. In a way, she still thinks of him as the profligate young prince before the Stepstones (at this point in the story, he’s only been back two months), so she assumed the worst. But it’s obvious to her that Aegon is head over heels for Jace, and she realizes he changed while he was away. So she apologizes, which doesn’t erase the hurt of her accusation but Aegon recognizes it as a big deal since she’s never apologized to him before. And she’s embarrassed about her mean reaction, but she’s too proud to do anything else to make amends.

In an earlier draft of the scene where Aegon learns about the pregnancy, I dragged out the misunderstanding where he thinks he made her cry. There was a whole miscommunication sequence that somehow ends with Aegon thinking Jace doesn’t love him anymore (he tries to give her a new ring, she cries because she knows her hands will swell and she’s worried she’ll be hideous and “I won’t be your pretty girl anymore” or something like that), but it was too melodramatic so I cut it down to a brief moment of pregnancy hormones 😅.

Using her sleeve to wipe her face is a bad habit that Aegon taught Jace because he used to do that for her when they were little and she cried 😭. (He still does it sometimes.)

Another theme in the story: when Jace is nervous, scared, or otherwise feeling negative emotions, Aegon uses humor to bring her out of her pit of despair (e.g. wedding night, during the storm at Dragonstone).

A hennin is that tall cone hat you see in medieval paintings. It was a status flex because it’s so impractical, which means only rich non-working women can wear it. Rhaenys’s hairstyle kinda reminds me of it too 😅. I imagine hennins to be very old-fashioned at this point in time, and maybe Rhaenys made Jace wear a few hennins when she was little and that’s why Jace hates them so much lol.

When I was writing the Handbook, I thought might’ve been the one to come up with the elopement idea. But she’s such a naturally cautious person that now I think she needed nudging first, and Aegon is reckless enough to go for an elopement without thinking about consequences too much.

I also have this idea that Otto has always been a big Jacegon shipper in this universe 😂. It’s the perfect match for his Plan A, B, C, X, Y, and Z. I like to imagine that before Rhaenyra took her daughters to Dragonstone, Otto was telling Aegon things like “bring Jace flowers!” and “wash your hair!” to help the romance along. I wouldn’t be surprised if at some point, Otto straight up told Aegon “you need to marry that girl no matter what” (and it’d be hilarious if this planted the seed of the elopement in Aegon’s head).

Tyroshi purple is basically the real-world Tyrian purple, which was made from sea snails and so expensive that only royalty could afford it. I thought it very fitting for Jace, who’s supposed to be the future queen. The color also reminds me of wine, but I worked so hard to make Aegon not an alcoholic that I didn’t want to mention it in the fic 😛.

When Aegon avoids telling Jace his real, dark thoughts, we get a glimpse of how he tries to protect her from bad things in life. This is a point of friction that comes up again in the fic: Aegon thinks it’s best not to tell Jace certain things, and she disagrees.

Jace doesn’t like naps because she thinks they’re a waste of time when she could be doing work 🥲.

When Aegon is in the Tower with Otto, he notices a petition about thugs extorting money from guild members. This is also a reference to the Tyroshi’s doings!

Otto is a neat freak, Aegon knows it, and Aegon takes advantage of it for fleeting moments of malicious glee.

I also have a whole list of old people habits that Otto partakes in. Here, Aegon references Otto’s daily glass of prune juice, but I won’t go into detail about that 🙈. I also imagine Otto taking brisk early morning walks around the Tower, with his elbows pumping in a very old man way, to get his daily cardio in.

I made Otto’s late wife a member of House Mullendore. They’re vassals of the Hightowers, so it’s an acceptable match for a second son. (The Mullendores sided with the Blacks during the Dance, so I’m headcanoning that Otto had a terrible falling-out with them after his wife died.) More importantly, their sigil is a bunch of orange butterflies (see: Helaena’s embroidery that Otto displays in his study). We all know Helaena loves insects, and I feel like this is an extra reason she’s Otto’s favorite: her hobby reminds him of his wife.

Otto is generally happy with how things are going in this verse. Of course he would prefer if Aegon were the heir, but right now he’s guaranteed to have his blood on the throne even if it’s a few generations down the road, and he finds Jace to be reasonable, intelligent, and dutiful. But Otto is still sneaky, because he’s Otto. When he talks about “a royal grandson,” does he mean Rhaenyra’s grandson (baby gets his claim as Jace’s son) or Viserys’s grandson (baby gets his claim as Aegon’s son)? 🧐

Otto supports Jace attending the Small Council because her fate and reputation are closely tied to Aegon’s. If she does well, that reflects well upon her husband. Otto is also aware that if/when Rhaenyra is queen, she’ll want to sack him and send him away from court. But if he maintains a good relationship with Jace, who would be the Princess of Dragonstone at that time, he’ll still be able to retain influence at court not just through Alicent, who would then be dowager queen and less powerful. And if Jace demonstrates herself to be more capable at governance than Rhaenyra (who is less diligent about attending matters of state), Otto isn’t going to say no to that.

Jace knows that Otto has clashed with Rhaenyra in the past and that he has emotionally and physically hurt Aegon, so she doesn’t like Otto as a person. But she appreciates his skill as Hand and respects him professionally. So she’s willing to work with him, but she isn’t leaping at the prospect of spending time with him. And I think that suits Otto just fine. He doesn’t want to be liked, he wants results.

Sorry I couldn’t resist making a “we forgot Daeron existed” joke 🪦.

I really like Aegon and Aemond’s brotherly relationship, and I don’t see nearly enough of it in fics so I had to make my own contribution. Even in the show canon, where Aemond covets the throne and scorns Aegon, he’s still loyal to his brother and they have that brotherly telepathy moment during the last supper. In this verse, they’re much closer but they are still mean to each other in a delightfully sibling fashion. After his relationship with Jace (and eventually Cheeseball), I think Aegon’s relationship with Aemond is his most meaningful relationship in this fic, and I’ll probably keep tugging on it throughout the series.

Aegon won’t admit it but he’s excited to tell his brothers he’s gonna be a dad 🥰.

Daeron spent the last three years in Oldtown, which is the heart of the Faith, so the sex ed he received was very…censored 😅. And since he spent so long thinking that kissing = babies, you can imagine he has a strong reaction when he accidentally kisses Joff later.

Joff has plenty of older sisters (including Baela), and Rhaenyra and Daemon aren’t very quiet at Dragonstone. Thus, Joff figures out how procreation works as a young age 💀.

Aemond does not tell Daeron what a quim is. He tells Daeron to go ask a maester.

As mentioned in Chapter 10, Aegon knows Baela was/is attracted to Jace, and this is a big source of friction between them. But Baela’s never acted on her feelings, and Aegon feels fairly secure in Jace’s affections, so he doesn’t talk about it out loud. But if Baela ever provoked him enough, he would mention it to get back at her (Aegon still has a mean streak, he’s just better at suppressing it).

Helaena’s three egg-shaped beads are a reference to the children she’ll never have in this verse. I’m of the opinion that her prophecies are very vague and mostly vibes (e.g. “he’ll have to close an eye” = she sees Aemond riding a dragon with one eye closed, like an extended wink). So she definitely doesn’t know “ah yes, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera and Maelor, who are all going to die terribly,” but she has a sense of the children she would’ve loved and lost in another life. So she’s a bit sad about not having those children in this life, but part of her is relieved she’ll never have to endure the horrible loss and suffering her children’s deaths caused.

“Sunflowers should not be watered with wine.” Helaena compares Jace to the sun (“to the sun I go”), which makes Aegon a sunflower that’s always turning to face the sun. He isn’t an alcoholic here, so he’s thriving more.

“The egg is crowned with gold, and all the creatures love it so.” The egg is Cheeseball, of course. He’s crowned with gold because he’ll be king one day, and gold is his parents’ color. The creatures = dragons, seahorses, towers, etc., all the houses with competing claims to the throne but who all agree that Cheeseball is the future king.

“Buzz, buzz. Your hive has gathered.” Jace is the queen bee, but she’s also constantly working like a bee.

“A lovely summer egg.” Cheeseball is born toward the end of summer. Also a reference to how his future reign will be peaceful and prosperous.

“A beloved egg free from sorrow.” In contrast to Helaena’s children/eggs 🥲.

Helaena’s freak out about the name Jaehaerys is 100% a reference to Blood and Cheese. Again, she doesn’t know exactly what would’ve happened in this alternate universe, but she’s getting very bad vibes from the name.

Jace despairs at the prospect of being coddled for the entire pregnancy, which is exactly what happens…

Laenor wasn’t a paragon of fatherhood but he was more present in this universe. The girls being his actual daughters does affect his feelings for them, and I think he likes having daughters. He would have to help educate and train a son, but he can just spoil and dote on daughters. (Pretty similar to Aegon’s attitude in the beginning of this fic.) So Laenor makes a lot more visits to the nursery when the kids are little, hence Aegon’s familiarity with him.

I wrote the interlude because we see almost all the other siblings’ reactions to the pregnancy, but not Luce. I just couldn’t bring myself to delete it with the other reaction POVs so I kept it in 😅. I justify it by telling myself that it’s important setup for the Baratheon drama later lol (even though at the time I wrote this chapter, I wasn’t sure Floris and Sara were going to die, so this is the author retconning).

Rhaenyra made Jace wait until her sixteenth nameday, so she’s applying that rule to all her daughters: no marriage until you’re sixteen. That’s why Luce has to wait. And if the Baratheon stuff didn’t happen later, it would 100% have been a smart move. Luce is very impulsive, and she and Aemond were clashing for so long, it’s wiser to wait and make sure they’re in this for the long haul and not just acting on hormones.

Aemond had visited Driftmark four times in the past month, which means he’s there every week for several days 😂.

I like to think Daemon told Caraxes to tell Arrax to make sure Luce and Aemond don’t have too much fun 🤭. And for some reason, I imagine Arrax looking a lot like a light fury from How to Train Your Dragon. Big eyes and shiny scales.

Earlier in the chapter, we get a monologue about how Aegon would starve to keep Jace fed. Here, Aemond is literally stealing Luce’s lunch 🤣🤣🤣.

Jace knows her sister super well! That’s why she tells Luce to sit down before she continues the letter: she knows Luce is going to have a strong reaction.

Jace loves all her sisters but I think she’s closest to Luce. They’re less than two years apart in age, and Joff was born four years after Luce, so a lot of Jace’s earliest memories are just the two of them as sisters. Just like how Aemond is one of Aegon’s most important relationships, Luce is one of Jace’s most important relationships.

Chapter 3 commentary here

#my writing #meta #house of the dragon meta #hotd meta #fanfic meta #aegon ii targaryen #female jacaerys velaryon #the golds

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tyrannosaurusrexdale · 1 year

Text

THE CALAMARI KID

[SUNDAY, 7:12 PM]:

Okay, I know it’s been a while since our last session and that email is an unconventional way to talk to you. Some work changes (beyond my control) resulted in my getting a pay reduction and I took a break from scheduling appointments. But I know it's going to be temporary and it'll be back to normal soon so please we can just roll with this for now?

So, I know we talked about my dad, and his career. He was in a movie that came out in 1980, called “The Calamari Kid”, it was a low budget little thing, he said it was right before he was going to quit acting and get a job selling Lincolns with my Uncle Glen, well, the movie turned out to be a hit. People loved it. It made a whole bunch of money (for who I have no idea). I think I told you some of this. So it’s the 40th anniversary this year and the town in Maine where it supposedly took place is having a big festival about the movie. The director, some of the crew, Susan Wilkes and Gary Dunkel are all gonna be there. My dad can’t make it cause of his heart and everything else so they invited me in his place! It’s been really nuts this week and honestly it’s a little overwhelming. I know your office has been calling me about some unpaid sessions but I would really appreciate an email in return. Whenever you can.

[TUESDAY, 9:35 AM]:

Okay, just wanted to see if you got my last email or if you have but haven’t had a chance to respond to it. I know it’s a complicated situation but I was just curious, I guess. This festival thing is really occupying my thoughts. You won’t believe this. The mayor called me today so say that they’re unveiling a statue of my dad in the town! They want to immortalize the Calamari Kid! It's that part when he dramatically takes off his sunglasses in his first scene, that was the very first time anyone’s ever done that in a movie! It seems strange to me but they verified it with a film historian so that’s pretty cool. I’m having a little anxiety thinking about spending so much time next to the ocean but I’m hoping that once I see it for the first time I’ll feel a bit better. My flight is tomorrow!

[WEDNESDAY, 3:49 PM]:

I just landed in town and checked into my hotel room. This is already turning out to be crazier than I expected. There were at least two people on the flight there in costume from the movie and they kept looking over at me and whispering. I thought it would be flattering but I felt just a little uncomfortable! And then in the airport, one guy was filming me with his phone, as I grabbed my bag and got into a cab, he shouted at me that he still loved my dad, no matter what he’d done on the set of the movie. I didn’t think that that many people knew about that whole thing but maybe they do! But they had a big banner at the airport welcoming fans of the movie and my hotel is pretty nice! American Colonial! They have an omelette station and everything!

[THURSDAY, 2:29 PM]:

Hey so the weekend has gotten off to a pretty good start! This morning I got to go to the mayor's office and meet some local people. A few of the movie people were there, Susan Wilkes, I told you about her! She played the beach lifeguard and was in a few scenes with my dad. Very friendly woman. A little too friendly, honestly. She came right up to me and held my face and told me how much I looked like my dad and kept saying "what could have been, what could have been." I didn't realize Susan was such a fan of my dad! She mentioned she has a daughter around my age that she seems really proud of. I thought the mayor was pretty excited but when he shook my hand he seemed to stare right through me. Did I upset him? Not sure. Feel like this would be an exciting thing for his town! Gary Dunkel wasn't here but I hear he's in town already. I'll probably see him soon! Great start to the weekend so far!

[FRIDAY, 12:14 PM]:

Interesting time this morning. I went to brunch with a local fan group and as I left the restaurant, one of the townspeople definitely threw a rock in my direction and yelled something about my dad. I didn't see who did it but I think some of the costume guys went over there and sorted them out. It was a more violent encounter than I expected, I have to say. A lot of tension in the air in this town, ha ha!

[FRIDAY, 4:06 PM]:

Susan Wilkes keeps trying to get me to have sex with her daughter. She’s really not shy about it at all! I saw her at the breakfast this morning and she kept telling me how the women in her family keep their husband’s stomachs full and balls empty. I don’t think I like that! She said it in front of a waiter! I would try to avoid her the rest of the weekend but we’re sitting together at a panel tonight and the unveiling Sunday so I don't know how that's gonna go, ha ha!

[SATURDAY, 9:40 AM]:

I have to tell you about the opening reception!! I couldn't believe it. They had it at this restaurant that they named after my dad. 'The Calamari King!' Incredible. I even hung out with the owner for a bit and as you can imagine this is a big weekend for him. He gets a lot of business from fans of the movie every year on Memorial Day. He also mentioned that "they", whoever that is, broke his window a few weeks back and that people have been speeding past his place at night and honking their horns. These small towns are so interesting with all their stories.

Susan put some money in my pocket last night (about four hundred dollars) so I might be able to take care of those invoices soon enough. She's an exceptionally generous woman! She mentioned that when they were filming the movie she pitched what she called a “beautiful, intimate scene” with my dad to the director but he turned it down. I thought that was a very forward thing to say but it’s nice to find these little tidbits about the movie. Did you know that it was mostly financed by the South African government? Found that out yesterday! Wow!

Also, I’m thinking about it and I could have sworn I saw Gary Dunkel outside the reception Friday night. He was pacing around and smoking, and looked really angry at someone inside. At least I think it was him! I haven't seen him since I was a kid but he looked really rough! The suit he was wearing looked like he found it in the garbage! Police had to be called because a fight broke out. I didn't think things like that happened at events like these but I guess with these small towns you never really know.

[SATURDAY, 6:11 PM]:

Hey I just got back from the fan fest this afternoon. So cool! I couldn't believe how many Calamari Kids there were! With the lobster shirt and sunglasses. There were a few people dressed as Susan and as Gary and as chubby Principal Rose, and a bunch of guys in vests as the Chowder Boys. Amazing! I was posing for photos and signing autographs too. The Q & A was a little different though. Do you know what an allegory is? I think it's the sort of thing you learn in college but I did business so I had no idea. But a guy in a waistcoat told me that the movie was an 'allegory' for the diminishing cultural power of whites Americans. Does that make any sense? I thought it was just a movie, ha ha!

Also Susan Wilkes had her hand on my knee for most of the session. It might have just been an accident? I don't know. I thought Gary Dunkel would be there but he did his session earlier that morning by himself. Unusual! Whatever he said this morning was pretty controversial, it seemed.

[SUNDAY, 5:30 AM]:

So they just woke us up at the hotel and the fireman told me that someone called in a bomb threat. Not good for my anxiety! I'd feel a lot better if you responded!! I have an enormous bruise on my stomach now and I do not remember the specifics. I drank quite a bit of wine last night and the last thing I remember was the sculptor of the Calamari Kid statue getting right in my face and he was very upset! Please email me back!!

[SUNDAY, 11:51 AM]:

Hey, I'm sorry if I was a little curt this morning. I was on edge with the fire alarm thing, as you can understand. But you won't believe it, after I sent you that email, I ran into some big fans of my dad. They were dressed up and everything! They were very nice to me but they had some unkind things to say about some of the people in this town. Really intense! We even had a few cocktails. One of them they named after my pops! I can't recall what was in it but I gotta say, I'm feeling great this morning. I might just keep this going all afternoon for the statue unveiling. I'm on vacation, right! This is exciting!!

[SUNDAY, 2:27 PM]:

Susan showed me a pair of sexy Calamari Kid themed underwear! She giggled and said she bought them at the merchandise stand but I think she made them herself. She brought them from home!

[SUNDAY, 7:34 PM]:

I definitely had my doubts about Gary Dunkel, I know I did. And guess what? I was correct. 100% correct. We did the statue unveiling earlier. I was super pumped. Really proud of my dad and really excited to see it. Guess what? It looked like absolute dog shit! Just horrendous! I'm looking at this thing and they made my dad look like a big weird sheep! It was leaning to one side and looked like it would fall over. And they didn't even get the sunglasses right! The sculptor came up and took a bow and was whooping it up and I wanted to push him off the stage. I thought I might do it. They took the photo for the newspaper and just as they were doing it, that son of a bitch Gary Dunkel comes up beside me and shoves me into the mayor. Attacking me from behind, like a coward. I wouldn't have fallen over, but I had a few more cocktails at the unveiling, which I'm not going to apologize for and I know you're going to judge me about as you always do, if you're even still reading these emails. A few fans that were there got involved and there was a bit of a fight right there on the stage. I definitely got trampled on a bit and I think I lost my wallet in the fracas. At one point, Gary stood over me and looked at me and said "Memorial Day 1992. Tell your father that I'll never forget." What the fuck does that even mean! Just a second later, a guy in a lobster t-shirt clocked him with a rod and they had it out pretty bad. This weekend is not turning out how I'd expected. I honestly don’t know if Gary survived, he strikes me as a very fragile man. It might be going a little better if you could ANSWER MY EMAILS, PLEASE.

[SUNDAY, 7:41 PM]:

I'm beginning to think that this isn't about the money anymore. I'm beginning to think that it's personal. Is this because I tried to hold your hand? It was a very emotional Easter for me. Hearing a lot of police sirens tonight and the last I saw the mayor he was wearing some kind of tactical vest. He looks tough!

[MONDAY, 12:58 AM]:

If you're going to read any of these emails, please let it be this one which I'm sending from a hardware store on the edge of town, for my own safety. After the incident on the stage, Susan Wilkes took me and some other people to dinner on the pier in what she described as a secure zone, which was lovely. She kept wanting to hold my head next to her body, which was intense at first, but after a while felt comforting. (The waiter was kind of weirded out about it but I guess SOME PEOPLE just aren't into people helping others.) As we were getting the bill, we heard the sound of glass smashing. We turned around to see that the townspeople were going absolutely nuts. Someone threw a brick through the window! We went outside to see a group of guys had cut down the statue and were attempting to throw it into the ocean! They sliced it off at the legs and had carried it all the way to the water! I knew the thing was a cheap piece of shit! What a disgrace to my dad! I was so angry! I went out to get in their faces and get some answers, and who was directing traffic? Gary Dunkel! I was happy to see he wasn’t killed. But he looked bad! Very bruised! I was really ready to say something. I wanted to get in their faces and ask what was going on but before I could, some of the fans showed up in costume and got after them! Jeez, it was really ugly. The fans were greater in number but the guys from the town had tools, and all seemed like really fucked up weird guys. There was a lobster roll stand that was on fire and every window at the restaurant was broken and a guy in a crab t-shirt was really crying. At least one guy was face down in the lagoon. The last thing I saw before Susan led me into the back of a moving truck was Gary getting absolutely pummelled with a tire iron. He couldn’t have survived that one! I wonder what my dad did to make him so angry. I guess I’ll never know.

[THURSDAY, 4:18 PM]:

So much has changed since the last email I sent you and I feel as if I am a completely different person. But I can tell you that I have a new family who love and care about me. Susan has a beautiful plot of land near the Canadian border that she assures no one knows about. I traded my phone for passage and goods so can you let my girlfriend know I won’t be back for a very long time? Also I have begun having sex with Susan’s daughter Euphrates so I feel like the gf and me are not going to make it. She’s a magical woman! A lot like her mother. This could be a new beginning for me. My dad would be very proud.

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stolenatbirth · 2 years

Text

This is my second book, after my author surprisingly got robbed in her own house. I guarantee the Voto family hired someone to break in and steal my book, (ALTHOUGH I can’t prove it.) Who would take everything, especially 3 books and leave needles hanging around! A junkie would be in and out as fast as they

Can! I found an identical twin during covid as this evil family never wanted me near a computer! The odds of finding what I found is 1 and 3 trillion! I went to

a DNA Lab who said, “Sir, we have no time today we are really busy! I said van you do me one favor? The wonderful lady saif sure what is it? She asked? I should have the pictures of me and my “twin”. I said, “Can you look at these?

She said, “who is that boy?” I said, “can you repeat yourself, I’m deaf in my left ear from Hilti guns doing construction. My whole life!” She said again, “who is

that boy? I said, Exactly! The boy on the left in the Buffalo Bills coat is supposedly a cousin I never meet in my life! The boy on the right is me!! She

said “OMG how did you find this? I said God is good isn’t He? She said absolutely. She then said son his birthday! I replied with evidence, August 20, 1969!! She then said your birthday? I said Nov 6, 1969! She then said, OMG

then she said your birth weight? I said, 9 lbs 5 oz.

Then she said, “Son I have owned this lab for 30 years and have never seen anything Like this!! Come in! ” She said. “First thing are these people military?

I said yes, 2 potatoe peelers, and 1 high Air Force Major! She said, “Son, if you went to any other lab in the US, they would have covered this up. I have seen it for years, and specialize in Immigration DNA! This is not your family! That is your

Identical twin brother! They would have taken your swabs that you contaminated in plastic baggies anyway and covered up! She brought me in and guided me on how to properly do the DNA in a newspaper that can hold the DNA 2 weeks if you

don’t put in freezer! “If” you put in freezer within that time it will last for 100 years! She then said, the government already have you tracked since birth. You

need to hire a private genealogist!! Then she said go to a DNA lab of the government for evidence and do the tst for fun, just to verify this evil!! Child trafficking and harvesting is a 500 billion $ industry. She also said you found your

twin! Now you have to find your parents and brothers and sisters if any! Nick Dolan had one sister listed. She said “don’t worry you found him now find the rest!

So, lets start my life story of abuse and the pathological and narcissistic family of lies!! First Lie!! I was told my whole life, I jumped off my 2 story porch on 115 Morrison Ave, Somerville, MA. My phone number was 627-666-9334! I jumped for my sneaker and landed on my head, 2 stories!?! Mary Voto “said” she ran up and down the street holding my head together til her mother arrived! We only had one car at that time! Johnny Voto was a truck driver for Olympia Trucking at the time! They supposedly brought me to the hospital!! This was a lie of a lifetime I would have been dead at 2 years old, if that happened my skull was too

Soft to live through a fall like that! When I confronted John Voto he was Deputy Chief of Police of Tewksbury, MA. My fake brother in 2022 on a phone call brought up the story! He “denied” that happened at that house. He said, which was the first pathological lie from him. This is a loser fake brother that has known

For years I was taken at birth. Such pure evil!

Somerville at the time of my childhood was called slumberville. It was a poor city! Where we used to play sports on the streets and swim in the city pool when I was open and “if”we didn’ make it there! The fire hydrant would do! We used to steal carts from Johnny’s Food Master for go cart wheels so we could have fun! At 6 years of age my cousin (we used to call each other that). Mickey Ma221 and I used to throw rocks at cars! We got caugjt one day as the man from one of the cars chased us o 125 Morrison Ave, my abducted house! We were hiding under the porch when he found us! He asked where we lived. I said, upstairs! Mikey said he lived there too because he didn’t want to get into trouble! But as I have always told the truth to adults I said he lives around the corner! Well that didn’t go well. That’s when the beatings started coming! The abuse from Johnny was horrible! At 7 years old I loved playing with matches. My friend Damien McCaferty who lived 2 houses away actually was flicking matches in his front yard! It was a dry summer so the grass went up and caught fire. By the time it was put out we burnt a 10 by 20 ft section of his yard! Well his dad came over and told Johnny Voto that night what we did! Well, Johnny took my hands and put them over an open flame on the stove to burn. So I would learn my lesson as his wife was screaming out of the top of her lungs! I was concentrating on not to cry

and ignored the pain! This guy wasn’t going to break me. I learned how to block the pain out. That didn’t stop me from playing with matches a couple of weeks later while I stayed home from school. I was in the back porch flickering matches in the trash and it went up in fire. I watched it for a minute and woke Mary and said the porch is on fire! We put it out as the rails to the porch were charred from

the fire! We hid it for a long time! Can’t remember the punishment for that one! Thank God! Around 8ish I was placed in the Montessori School for the gifted kids! I excelled there, and was at Powder House Park! We were not allowed to talk or know each others names! It was crazy! The other kids were chartered in

from other towns across the state! We went in every day and grabbed our totes

with our daily work in them! 1 hour before we left we went over the daily work.

We swapped over answers to the person next to us so we didn’t cheat! If we got 100 on any of the sections and sniffs of different smells of fruit! As I remember Montessori School a lot oit6 was mathematics, strategies, tactics, logics! It was

nothing like regular school and nothing like the say now a days of God. I just

got sick of the quiet and no recess! I remember looking at Somerville High School

kids playing in playground as I was waiting for my bus to go home! Wishing I there! Mary Voto would go for parent teacher every month to that school. Not like regular parent teacher every report card. So I was so sick and depressed of being there I dropped my grades and slept from Feb to June on my desk to get out of there! To get back to my real friends at Lowell School and be normal again. Man the torture in that house continued when John and Mary went out! Stephen

and John used to make me kiss the babysitter! I think that’s where my bad boy an hormones started kicking in. But as we grew older the would be baby sitter would torture me! To the point I would fight back! One time got me so bad! I went after them with a broom as I was 8 years old. I took the broom and railed back to swing at them that I smashed through Johnny’s light show. Basically strobe lights that moved with the music. When he had his friends over he used to do his drugs and used with the lights off! And music and lights going! Well that

night wasn’t a night to remember we all got beatings for talking too much when

we were up in our room at bedtime. I never had my own bed in Somerville. I guess we know why now! I was taken at birth! So I would sleep on the floor!

Of fight with Stephen to move over and let me sleep with him! Most of the time

I just took to the floor. Stephen was the type of child if you won a fight he would

Come at you with a weapon. How do you think out of Somerville to 80 Green Meadow Dr Tewksbury I started excelling in sports as I had long blond hair an

dressed differently than country people. I was in second grade when I moved! I

was outcast and no one wanted to be friends with me because I was different. I hated going to school especially on the bus where a neighbor down the street used to torture me. Her name was Holly Athertin! It took about 6 months to adjust as I

was all alone! My brothers were a couple of years older. I don’t know what they were going through! As I look back I was always separated from those two. When I went to see relatives I was always by myself. Stephen and John went together. I remember the day I fit in like yesterday! 3.

They were playing kick ball and let me join in! I kicked that ball farther than anyone has ever seen! From that moment I was popular! It was like back in Somerville when I played sports with the other boys! I was the MVP of my street hockey team that lost in the finals! As I was 2 to 3 years younger than all of them!

I loved every sport I played; BMX, football, basketball, English horseback riding,

wrestling! The only good thing that evil Mary Voto did for me was sneak me out

in her an, for sports, when her husband hardly let her drive us anywhere! He was an evil controlling man! Never cared about us. But his damn cars and drugs! It wasn’t easy for Steven and John either! But, I wasn’t they’re real brother and I didn’t deserve any of this nightmare! I used to try to stay over my friends house overnight at 11 and 12 and teen years; just so I could get away from that evil house! We used to watch Mary make or buy dinner for us! But we had to wait for that evil man to eat first and we would get and scavenge for whatever scraps were left; and it was awful! I was always hungry and starving at elementary school!!

My stomach was always growling in class before lunch! I was so embarrassed!

All of us growing up in the 70’s and 80’s were not to talk about whats going on in the home we lived in! My great friend Sheila Foster just passed away last year! She was one of my best friends in Tewksbury growing up with my other best friend Brad Homola! Sheila used to come to all my childhood sports games rain or shine. Boy its tough to talk about! I used to always look for her to make sure she was there to watch me! She was like a sister that I never had, and missed everyday! Brad and I used to go to her house a lot! We actually got caught sleeping in her tiny closet. It was so funny when I first met her mother and around 4am. In that closet Brad literally had our legs up on the wall it was that small! She opened the door and said, “I knew there were boys here! Lol! First before Brad and I could say a word was Sheila yelling out “Ma, that’s Jason you would like him. You talked to him on the phone all the time! Lol! This story has been told to

so many laughs over the years! I will always be remembered as so will she! Such a great friend and woman! Looking back on my detailed memory my Godmother call me Jakey Vovo where would you get that name as my name was Jason!!! But

we soon will know the truth! My Tewksbury neighborhood was all great friends. We did everything together till we hit junior high! We all went our separate ways.

I will never say I was a perfect child! I came into my looks early an took full advantage of it with the girls! Lost my virginity to the neighbor at 12 years old! That year is when I fell in love with baseball! I excelled at it! My neighbor Lee

Cowir was like the bad news bears coach. He was always drinking beers on the way to games and way home! He was a good guy! I was talented as you will see,

as my son, now plays in the majors. Later on in the story I will give his name! The abuse started with my gay cousin Mike, Susans’ brother whose father raped half of the family! Jimmy Stewart! Mike did just stupid things like spin the bottle and touching my penis! Jimmy took me to work one day, as I will never forget!

We were delivering peanut butter to Teddy Peanut Butter in Charleston MA! As

we were pulling out he asked to see my penis! I was only 10 years old! He just touched it thank God! But, later in life, I found out he raped my aunt Eileen when she was a teen! That is Jimmy’s wife’s little sister! This man was a pig! Then at

covid Emme Stewart called me and was depressed! I said Emma listen I just found my identical twin brother as that Voto family tried to lock me up with lied! I said, is everything ok? She said sadly yes! She then said Jason remember when my mother died of breast cancer? I was 15 years old! I said yes! She said we were at a family function as you came over to me and said Emma any boys mess with you, you call or come see me! Well, after you walked away I said to my grandmother Pat, a Stewart who was my favorite aunt! Emma. I said, grandma he doesn’t look like them, and he doesn’t act like them!! Pat’s shunned her in silence and said Emma please don’t ever say that again, As we know now years later why she said

that! Back to childhood, I was always separated from those 2 fake brothers of mine when I went to see my Nana or I went to see my grandfather Arthur Dolan on the other side of the family! I went up to Grand Lake Stream Maine for a week

with Arthur. By the way this all came out. My fake mother told her sisters, when Arthur died not to tell anyone of his death! Evil! Mary’s younger sister Barbara

Dolan Storella said! Mary that is impossible!! There is a little thing called the internet and Facebook, not to mention Twitter! This evil woman knew if we drove

way up to Maine for his wake, I would see my own brother and sisters eyes and know they were my family! Pure evil! I remember I loved my grandfather now knowing he was really my uncle! I was 8 years old when he took me to Grand Lake Stream to his acres of land! We called it the Poor Farm. I don’t know why

they just did! He took me for a week as Stephen John and his son David were up

there that summer before me! The cleaned and worked doing landscaping and ripping weeds out of the pond! When I was there I was getting into mischief. I would let the air out of his farming tractor! Try to clime down a 300 ft well. Boy was I a hyper kid! Well we were going home from my grandfather put me on a raft in his little pond! He said just float around while I mow the farm! I was like good luck with that! The tires were very low! He said we are gonna leave at 10am

to go to the dog track in Seabrook! Post time is 12:30pm. We don’t want to be late! Gramps was a big gambler! Back in the day he had his own dogs and kennel! He got them from Ireland and had many champions! 5.

I found out later in life! Well when he finished mowing we were all packed up and ready to go! We got in the car! He said, Jason let me see your penis!! I was in shock! Because this was the first uncomfortable moment in my life! But thinking back now, he just wanted to make sure I was a stallion! He didn’t touch me or anything! We just went on our way! We got to Seabrook on time for the first race. For this is when I learned I had mathematics in me! He showed me in 2 minutes how to read the program book of the dogs! How the break out of the gate and how they go in every quarter of mile of the track! I figured it out quickly! He was letting me pick trifectors for $2.00, which means they have to come in exact order!

I really wanted to win! The first on I picked 2 out of 3 came in! I was so close!

The second one I picked threw a long shot in! I could read the odds on the board outside on the track! I picked 8, 4, 1. It came in! I knew I won a good sum of money! I said gramps, I won! He smiled and said, yes! So I followed him up to the ticket counter. I knew it was $1,$4.00. In these days of mid 70’s it was like

$1800.00 in 20 20’s. The teller handed him the money, and he put in his left pocket as I was not taking my eyes off of him! He said he had to go to the bathroom. I followed him and pretended to pee next to him. When he was done

I was done! He wenet to wash his hands and I said, Gramps am I gonna get that $?

He said ya fella and he reah4d in his left pocket and handed it to me. Looking back now, I knew he was debating to just give me $20. But he gave me it all! I

Was so excited! I bought a BMX as all my friends had one! I started racing BMX for awhile and I excelled at it! All my friends had custom Red1nes GTS Hutch bikes I only had a Murray that was store bought! I was still beating them! It wasn’t about the bike! It was about the strength in your legs! As I started getting into my teens. And in puberty I started dating a lot of girls..a lot! My grandmother had a beach house at Salisbury Beach and I did not like her very much. No, she was a mean evil woman! As during covid my step aunt Ann told me that my grandfather used to say David and Lisa his youngest of 7 were not his kids! We used to go up to her beach house in the summer and Stephen always stayed as I would wiggle my way in! It was my only way to get out of that evil housee! I was meeting girls left and right but, every Saturday I would be depressed as their family vacation would be over! They would leave and I had no way really of seeing them again! I was only 12 - 15 years old during this time! So I had no

license! But that Saturday night I got so used to another one I would find it would wipe that sorrow away! One time there was this girl Gail Mannings I slept with out of many 1,116 women I counted! Yes, 1,116 is correct! We had sex on the side of 495 Park and Ride after the movies! After we were done having sex, she said

you were way better than your brother Stephen! I was horrified! Back to a childhood “trauma”! I was 12 years old coming home from school! I just found

3 baby bunnies! I was trying to save! I came home and to my horrific surprise

The hair was ripped out of them! I asked that evil Mary Voto what happened to my bunnies, I was so upset and angry! She said Mac our dog got to them! So I

went out and hit poor Mac as I was watching these poor innocent bunnies die in

pain! Come to find out Shirley Dolan, Mary’s sister’s daughter plucked those poor bunnies hair out! Yes, another Devil’s sister! Shirley was a mentally ill woman!

She had sex with her own brother Danny Dolan. I found this out through Danny’s wife! Picked up the phone one day as Danny and Shirley were talking on the phone! His wife Karen overheard Danny Saying, “Shirley you were the best sex of my life! Danny just opened a can of worms! His wife went downstairs where Danny hung out on down time! She rubbished through his things! Only to find more evidence as to her surprise, she found pictures of men preforming head to Danny in his military boxes! That he used as storage! This was a sick Dolan family! That evil Mary Voto tried, lying in Lowell courts during covid! Said I was saying her sister was my mother! What a sick woman lying under oath! Shirley Kinsell, a Dolan is my mother, her aunt! The evil this family is! Boy were they

Desperate to medicate me! Back to my childhood detailed memories! As I said

I was a good athlete! I came home one night with Brian Alyward who was a great

Athlete and David French! We walked through the garage! I was happy hanging out with these kids! We opened the finish basement door! Where Johnny and his friend Bobby Bertrand were! Man did he pot smoke blow out! As they were sitting there stoned and coked out of their minds! Dave and Brian called their parents for

a ride home! They knew to leave situations like that in those days! I was never so

embarrassed and ashamed of this piece of shit household I grew up in! These people were not made to have children! Brian and Dave never looked at me the same! I don’t blame them! All my neighbors…we were so close and used to always hang out in our neighborhood! Playing spin the bottle, drinking, stealing weed from Johnny’s stash and whatever was available we found and experimented with! In our teens! But more embarrassment came when they found naked pictures of John and Mary in their night stand! Disgusting! And it was bad for

Stephen and John too! It was always something. Just when we had dinner, Mary

Would feed that evil husband of hers, and we got to scavenge for whatever was left over! There were so many hidden secrets in that house! One of her brothers Eddy Dolan used to smoke weed like cigarettes, and had a pilot’s license as a boy that he got caught smuggling marijuana from Mexico to the States in the 1970’s. He spent

time in Mexican prisons. He used to come up to his mother’s beach house and walk around the beach with a joint in his ear like it was normal! I never got why the State troopers never arrested him as we walked by them! Now back to Danny Dolan the degenerate of the family when I used to stay at their original house in

Salisbury on long school vacations!

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ranboo5 · 2 years

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The world around Leaderboards breathes.

Breathing with it does not hurt.

The Beginner’s Guide, 2015 // Sanctuary + Fellowship Hall, Terrytown // Brian Magnier

My @mcytblraufest gift for @moonblanche !!!!!

So sorry for posting so close to the deadline; I was hit with some unexpected delays ^^” Anyway, I saw that you were one of my five fellow MCSR askers and also that you were partial to Tubbo, so...

Well, then I got a little carried away.

I hope you like it!! I had a TON of fun concepting, drawing for, and assembling this, and I ended up making a lot of art I’m quite proud of. I am saur happy with how my varying runner designs turned out in these I truly am

Continuations for the cut off transcripts of writing and some more (extremely rambling) commentary under the cut!

...with a much steeper time than what’s pictured.

...doesn’t come from fear. It can’t come from fear.

So the premise of this AU if it isn’t obvious is that Tubbo is isekai’d into the distributed society of the basically-monk-order of speedrunners loosely organized around Leaderboards, the closest thing there is to an authority, and over the course of his Wacky Adventures, Tubbo learns that meaningful striving for improvement and being part of something larger than yourself doesn’t have to hurt. After meeting Pres. Poundcake, who carries the title (a title Tubbo obviously associates a lot of baggage with) like it’s nothing – because, of course, in the world around Leaderboards it basically is – and learning that neither that title nor the man’s visions can help him orient himself, Tubbo goes to investigate this supposed central hub, only to find that it’s supposedly slow and outdated. Tubbo drifts around trying to decipher how these Verifiers deal with this backlog until he ends up hanging out with Feinberg, undisputed king of AA, who appears at first glance to be doing something Tubbo is familiar with the concept of – securing his supremacy with ever-escalating shows of domination. But one way or the other it turns out the drive isn’t fear. Tubbo has an answer about the meaning of Leaderboards’ apparent hierarchy, buzzing in his hands like a crumbling trident full of lightning.

He doesn’t know what to make of it.

Couriway helps, though. Back from a short-lived excursion into a survival world and one thousand runs that would never make the top of Leaderboards’ towers like his runs once did. Achievement is a strange thing. To make and to improve is a strange thing. To be part of something stranger yet. The brutality of it that Tubbo has known is not the default. There is something more to it, and it is in that that one can at once not be alone and not be consumed.

And, well, the world around Leaderboards breathes, and breathing with it does not hurt.

Drawing these was an Experience Ever. I might upload the timelapse later or something because Jesus Christ I spent 30 years on some of these...

I actually drew them in reverse order from how they appear! I had a lot of trouble getting a clear image for the first one with Pres. Poundcake, and the last one was conversely extremely vivid for me, so I just went ham. It was a pretty simple concept, and I wanted to capture a Feeling, so I decided to go crazy go stupid on painting it, which took easily longer than both the other two put together but ended up alright! Rendering all those trees was worth it lmao

It also helped me figure out what I wanted to do with the others – I tried to compose these so that Tubbo and the runner he’s drawn with would have, like, a diagonal progression down the page. I don’t know how well it comes across but I did it which I’m counting as a win

The second one I easily spent the least time on the environment of but I got to have one of my favorite designs be the star of the show. It was also very much the most fun to light and I’m quite happy with how it ended up! This one had to be dynamically lined in contrast to the Couriway one’s painting, which was mostly a lovely time except for the lightning... worth it however. This is the best my Fein design has ever looked I must say; I hope everyone understands now when I say FEINBERG MANTIS SHRIMP MECHA AGENDA WILL NEVER DIE

The one with Poundcake I had to do in, basically, crunch time (due to aforesaid delays), so I couldn’t spend 30 years lining and coloring it, and from the start it was always planned to be the least ambitious image anyway, but nevertheless I wanted to make it look nice/special and interesting to look at. I’ve come to quite like Pres. Poundcake as a streamer in the past little while and I wanted to have the drawing with his fictionalized avatar be fun, yk? So to compromise this out I decided to experiment a little and go with this picture-book vibe. I had some fun with the brushes, and since Pres. Poundcake is Tubbo’s introduction to the world, I paid the most attention to actually drawing an interesting environment for this one, too, or trying to lmao

I have talked for much too long but you must understand I tryharded this ridiculously hard so I have a lot to say dhsfdhjfjsdfh

#MCYTblr AU fest #god idk what to tag this . I would tag MC$R bc it's kind of the star of the show but also no one wants 2 see D$MP xover art abt it...#this was not the best move for clout I must say.#I am happy with what I made though so that will count #pencilmarks

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jasontoddiefor · 3 years

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Tyki Mikk is a Clone and I can (almost) prove it

Tyki Mikk is undoubtedly a fan favorite and yet we don’t really know a lot about him. For a character that was created with the purpose of being handsome (cf. D.Gray-Man Manga Volume 5, page 150), he carries a lot of baggage and has a rather unclear past. A theory that has haunted me since I read chapter 198 and has only grown in strength with the most recent arc is that Tyki is in fact a clone of Nea. As far fetched as this seems at start, there is quite a bit of evidence supporting this theory.

1) Tyki’s visible similarity to Nea (and Mana)

One of the first things Wisely remarks on when he meets Tyki is his similarity to “a certain man” (Chapter 187).

This similarity is picked up twice more in the manga. When Allen meets Nea for the first time (cf. chapter 198), he mistakes him for Tyki at first.

And it is brought up a third time by Nea himself in chapter 225 when he says:

To which Tyki, or rather Joyd, has this wonderful reaction:

But more on that guy specifically later. Point being right here is that three different characters, or four if you want to count Road and Wisely separately, acknowledge that Tyki resembles Nea a lot, down to the man himself. How does that saying go again? Once An Accident, Twice A Coincidence, Three Times A Pattern? This is something that repeatedly gets brought up again. And this is without going into detail on how much Tyki resembles not only Nea, but said man’s identical twin as well. Just look at that dashing long hair!

And take this from chapter 158 as well

Pretty long haired boy Mana is nothing new as of chapter 218 and 219:

Another interesting point here is that Tyki is the exact same height as the Earl in human form! They’re both 188cm tall. Nea, on the other hand, is listed at being 177cm. This could just be that Nea unfortunately ended up as the shorter twin, or, we take into consideration what Mana tells Allen/Red in chapter 238:

He remembers being seventeen, which means that he and Nea probably weren’t done growing yet when the “Earl” corrupted Mana. (It also kind of makes everything about Nea more hilarious if you realize he’s just seventeen.) Tyki, however, is 26 when we first meet him and should be around 27 now. He is an actual adult and not bound to hit another growth spurt.

But to summarize the first argument: Tyki looks uncannily similar to Nea and Mana and the manga keeps pointing it out so we can assume this resemblance is important.

2) Cloning is possible in canon

Now the second point is just here to point out that we know cloning to be possible. Funnily, Tyki’s resemblance to Nea gets pointed out just before the Alma Arc, which very much deals with the concept of reincarnation – only there we have the brains of deceased Exorcists transplanted into youthful bodies.

However, it’s not as if something like DNA hasn’t been mentioned before. Specifically, it has been called “Helix of life” by no other than maybe-former-Bookman but definitely First-Nea-host Past!Allen in chapter 221:

So let’s assume that, in the aftermath of Nea’s “death”, PastA didn’t just wait around for Nea to wake again, but tried to find a vessel for him. Messing around with this helix, and whatever other dubious science and magic this world had to offer, and created a new body to host Nea. Except he failed, and the result is Tyki.

But if that is so, shouldn’t Tyki remember anything about that? Good question. Time for some more shady weird stuff about Tyki.

3) The Missing Years

In chapter 202, while the Earl is resting, Tyki talks to Road. I don’t speak Japanese, so I can’t verify which translation is more accurate, but I’ve found these two:

Now the official German one also goes with a similar translation as the second one here, implying that Tyki has been with the Earl for ten years. In any case, the fact that this decade at all gets mentioned is quite odd because it doesn’t match up with what we know of Mana travelling with Allen. Cross calls Allen a “ten-year-old brat” (chapter 208) when he looks after him. So between Mana travelling with Allen and current canon, only 6 years have passed – what are up with the other 4 that are supposedly within this decade? We don’t have a definite age for how old Allen was when he met Mana, but I’d say around 7 or older. That’s still not enough to fill out the decade they speak about here.

Now, presuming that it does in fact refer to Tyki staying with the Earl for that time, we’re either left with assuming that the Earl acted as a separate entity as we see in 218, or that Tyki’s memories are just flat out wrong.

4) Tyki Mikk’s Canon-Typical Ignorance AKA The Baby of The Family

The more often Tyki appears, the more we see how much he actually doesn’t know about the going-ons of the war, or even himself. This goes back as far as the Ark Arc in chapter 130 with the Earl pointing out that:

So this form is apparently something that all Noah of Pleasure can take on, a sort of second stage of awakening. Still, it feels significant that Tyki separates his life so much into “black” and “white”, “Noah” and “human”, going as far as suppressing a part of his Noah. It puts him in direct opposition to Skinn, who was more or less entirely consumed by his Noah memories. Though, perhaps this is also just a narrative ploy because a character with the ability to chose is, frankly speaking, fuck off overpowered and the only reason why Tyki isn’t constantly leveling battlefields is probably that he just doesn’t know how to apply himself.

Regardless, Tyki’s ignorance also becomes visible in chapter 187 again when he wonders about his Noah name:

Nobody else reacts like he does, even though the other Noah haven’t been awake as long as he has and also should have retained the same memory damage as Joyd after Nea’s murder spree. Yet Tyki feels a little like the baby of the family, still learning and growing while everyone else is already in the know, which can’t be too far from the truth if we look at chapter 225:

Wisely and Road definitely know that something went down and kept it from Tyki for so long for reasons. So besides Allen learning the truth sometime in the future, Tyki is also heading towards some kind of realization – and honestly, what better than the fact that the man who enjoys his freedom and roam so much, was artificially created?

Road could have manipulated his subconsciousness, his memories. It’s a miracle really that the Earl hadn’t had a breakdown around Tyki already given how much he looks like Nea. And if Tyki really awoke as a Noa a decade ago, then eh would have been right the age Nea was when he died. The Earl should have reacted in one way or another.

Other small details that don’t add up is a) the claim that Tyki and Sheril are actual brothers. They have different last names, which would imply that they are perhaps rather half siblings, sharing one parent, or maybe they just aren’t related at all in the first place. The other thing is that Nea recognizing Tyki’s face immediately after confronting Mana about his changed appearance just adds even more suspicion.

5) TLDR

Tyki is either a clone or something else messy went down because there’s no way that there’s a natural Nea and Mana copy running around who also just so happens to be a Noah. No way.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk I’m never writing meta again this was a nightmare to post.

#tyki mikk #dgm #d gray man #allen walker #nea d campbell #mana d campbell #mana waker #road kamelot #dgm meta #long post

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eldritch-muppetshow · 2 years

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i wanna investigate the rumor that digit supposedly appears in muppetvision 3d. yes i’ve already examined everything that digit appears in and i’m pretty sure no one’s asking about this, but i am looking at this minuscule, potential shred of content like a dog being offered a very small morsel of cheese.

from what i can tell, this rumor originated on the muppet central forum in 2003, in an otherwise fairly down-to-earth post providing some plausible reasons as to why the jim henson company stopped using this character. i will not be linking the user’s profile or showing their username, and i don’t want anyone bothering them over a nearly decade-old post. this rumor has been brought up at least one other time, but overall it doesn’t seem to have caught on.

unfortunately, i can only rely on other people’s recordings of the ride, i don’t have the means to visit muppetvision 3d in person to truly verify/debunk this in person. what doesn’t help is that the 3d effects make things really hard to see when they’re recorded by a camera. but i will say this; after carefully watching a recording of muppetvision 3d and paying close attention to the scene taking place in muppet labs, i can’t see any sign of digit. that’s not to say that i couldn’t have missed something on my viewing, but this (in combination with the fact that i can’t find any mention of this rumor outside of two posts on muppet central) leads me to believe that op was either mistaken, trolling, or just writing some wish-fulfillment.

i do want to take a moment to speculate where this rumor came from in terms of the logic behind it, though. bean bunny and waldo, two other characters from the jim henson hour, are featured prominently in the ride’s story, so i can definitely see the connection there. digit has never (canonically) had any connection to muppet labs, but it does seem like a logical place to put him when muppet central (the location, not the forum) is unavailable. and i admit, being immortalized in a beloved ride the same way as waldo and bean would be a very nice way for digit to go out. but as is? i’m almost certain this isn’t true. and even though i went into this with that mindset, it does kinda make me sad.

#tldr: it’s probably not true #shitpost

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yogrl335 · 3 years

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My advice for CCers:

1. Read twice before you post. Flowers is interpreting “captioned a Thursday, February 10, Instagram slideshow with the Effin Media cofounder” as meaning Mia is a cofounder with her husband. This is clearly not what it means. I could mention Darren spoke with Ben, cofounder of Ben and Jerry’s…” and no one would think I meant Darren had anything to do with the ice cream company. Is English not her native language? 2. Stop posting a scene in the backdrop of a Trevor Project as Darren shaking hands with a woman he barely knew. As I’ve noted before, no handshake is seen, he puts out his left hand (pretty much everybody shakes with the right hand, duh), there are photos of them together on the beach with a mop-topped Darren, obviously taken pre Glee. Also, who gets introduced to a “beard” at the event they are attending together? Nobody, that’s who. 3. The “photoshop” comments are nonsensical. It’s very well known that Darren is not tall. He has, in the past, referred to himself as hobbity. Anyone who meets him in public or at an audition immediately sees this. What is the benefit of making him look taller or shorter than his wife? How does that help or hinder his career? What other possible reason would there be? 3a. I have to add that the coven should be able to cobble together enough money to pay an expert to verify photoshopping. 4. Similarly, if you believe that Mia is not pregnant and that the bump looks fake (as one b wrote), then why don’t you get a pro to verify your observations? 5. This also applies to the party Darren was at years ago in which he supposedly says “I’m gay”. If sound engineers can isolate a voice from a song with several instruments, one could surely isolate this ephemeral voice and identify it. 6. It’s not a good look, or a compelling argument to zoom in on a blurry Mr. Hudson seeming to look in the general direction of Mia and Darren and decide it shows his love for her, all the while cutting out of the picture Darren smiling at his wife pretty much throughout the clip. This destroys your credibility. 7. Stating your wishes as FACTS, I.e. Darren and Chris were in love at first sight, they lived together, Chris went to Darren’s Broadway shows (probably disguised as Cassie), the baby isn’t Darren’s, or doesn’t exist, these make you all look foolish. I’m sure that the top lawyer Abby has told you all that accusations should be backed up by evidence. Or is Abby more of a Sydney Powell? 8. Finally, why have you all been so out of the loop in discerning actors who are LGBTQ before they came out? Did you sense Kevin McHale was gay? Or Colton Haynes? Or Zachery Quinto? What about Matt Bomer? His acknowledgment of his husband wasn’t a surprise to many gays as there were photos of Matt and boyfriends while he was in college. In fact, I can’t remember any of you announcing that Elliot Page was lesbian or later, transgender. Instead, you claim that 2 Jonas brothers, Benedict Cumberbatch, Darren, and others are gay, without the bother of proof or any of them coming out. It’s almost as if you are talking out of your collective asses. The problem here is that you are indistinguishable from trumpers, anti-vaxxers, and flat Earthers. No-nothings convinced of their delusions, unable to accept reality, and nasty as hell.

#darren criss #miarren #crisscolfer #tin haters #tinhaters #ccers are crazy

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stusbunker · 4 years

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AGA: Spit It Out

A Supernatural Denny AU

Featuring: Dean Winchester/ Benny Lafitte

Other Characters: John and Mary, Jody, Garth, Anna, Castiel, Sam, (mentioned) Benny, Jo, Jack

Word Count: 4222

Summary: Dean has the toughest conversation of his life. Cas asks questions. Sam is a little shit.

Warnings: Homophobic language, internalized biphobia, coming out

Series Masterlist

Shout out to the amazing @cracksinthewalls for all her help on this series.

Dean hadn’t realized how terrified he was of facing his father until he broke down at Jo’s. It hadn’t felt like something he would ever have to do until then. Now, it felt as inevitable as a death sentence.

John had always been a huge force in Dean’s life, but since he had gotten hurt to the point of disability, he was less of a presence and more of an imprint. Letting down his folks was the ultimate sin, one Dean had fought his whole life to resist. He knew they loved him, but would it be enough for them to see beyond the idea of Dean they had in their heads. Could they love a pansy?

His mother would be easier to bring on board; he was her favorite whether she’d admit it or not. On the other hand, John was a Marine, he was a mechanic; he didn’t deal with feelings or things he thought were reckless, selfish choices. Dean had never been selfish a day in his life, but this was something that seemed worth it. Benny was worth it. Dean couldn’t give up on family, and he needed them in his corner if it was going to work at all.

First, Dean just needed to get the words out.

The wind whipped through the neighborhood he grew up in like a child unleashed upon the playground. Direction and speed split its focus until it stilled long enough to move on to the next distraction. Dean parked on the street, letting the familiar siding and newer front door center him as he approached, trying to ignore the uneasiness that was unfurling in his gut. Sam was having lunch with some guys from high school who were in town early for Thanksgiving, granting Dean this window of privacy.

Not that Dean told Sam anything. He had done enough talking at Jo’s, even Benny didn’t know everything that he’d been processing the last few days. He hadn’t wanted to make any promises. Dean walked into the house, calling out his greeting, never one to knock at home. John was parked in front of the television in the living room while Mary sent her welcome from somewhere in the basement.

“Hey! Talk about timing, lunch is just about done,” John teased. “What brings you ‘round? Sammy’s out for the day.”

“Yeah, Dad, I know. Kinda why I came,” Dean shoved his hands in the pockets of jeans, still standing.

“Jayhawks are playing at two if you wanna stay,” John offered. Dean hummed in uncertainty. John dragged his feet from the ottoman to sit up and face Dean better. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, nothing we can’t talk about over lunch. I’m gonna go see if Mom needs anything,” Dean nodded towards the basement steps and left John to his football.

Dean bowed his head as he reached the bottom of the steps, clearing the duct work to find Mary folding laundry at the long narrow table they used for everything from school projects to writing out Christmas cards.

“I thought that was you,” Mary said pleasantly. “Did your dad tell you lunch was almost ready?”

She dropped the shirt she had finished atop an awkward pile and opened her arms for a hug. Dean scooped her up, probably a little too enthusiastically, but he didn’t care and she didn’t mind. A simple gasp told him she noticed though.

“So--- what’s the occasion?” Mary asked, turning back to the basket.

“Nothing really, just wanted to catch up,” Dean downplayed, grabbing a pair of jeans to help. Neither of them pointed out that they’d see each other the next day for Sunday dinner. Mary welcomed the visit as much as Dean was dreading it.

“Your father had physical therapy yesterday. I don’t think they get paid enough,” Mary conspired with a heavy side eye.

Dean chuckled, “I’m guessing not his at least.”

“And supposedly I’m the stubborn one,” Mary muttered. “If you want to make some sandwiches, I’m almost done down here. I don’t want to spread the soup too thin.”

Dean nodded and handed her the sweater he had folded last. “Sounds good, anything in particular?”

“Just don’t let him trick you into letting him have the salami, his doctor says he needs to watch the fats,” Mary warned.

Dean perched against the edge of the steps, listening. He slapped the banister and headed back upstairs. “On it.”

The kitchen’s layout hadn’t changed in thirty years and Dean quickly set up an assembly line with poultry, condiments, lettuce and tomatoes. He tucked the cheese with the processed deli meat back in the drawer, hiding the temptation from John. But not before stealing a slice for his and Mary’s sandwiches. He set the table, like hundreds of times before. John’s spot was the head of the table, Mary to his left. Dean set his own plate on John’s right, a seat he fought Sam for more often than not.

Dean stirred the pot, which was much more a vat, of chicken noodle soup. John’s approach was announced by the steady clink of his cane on the hardwood floor of the hallway. Dean pulled out John’s chair before settling down to his heaping sandwich and extra large bowl of soup.

John lifted the top tier of his sandwich, judging the contents. “She got to you, didn’t she?”

Dean just chewed purposely and gave John innocent eyes.

“Figures,” John muttered before bellowing through the house. “Mary! Soup’s ready.”

They ate comfortably, fighting the cold outside with the warmth of the familiarity of a shared meal. The grease from the chicken made bubbles in the broth and Dean blew across the surface mixing them back in. Meanwhile Mary made small talk and John teased her about her part time job.

“Well, I need to get out of the house, or we’d kill each other, you know that,” Mary flicked John’s ear as she cleared their bowls.

“How’s that going?” Dean asked, eyes fixed on his mother’s face. Panic clogged his ears at the thought of never seeing her again.

“‘S fine. People are picky, but it isn’t bad for what it is. Better than being behind a desk or answering the phone,” Mary explained of her work at the local sporting goods store. “Friday will be nuts, lots of sales, but it’s not like we would have been doing anything anyway.”

“So, Bobby and Ellen’s on Thursday?” Dean verified.

“Yup, dinner’s at 1. He says you’re on pie duty?” John asked, surprised.

“That I am. Sam’s stuck with sides, so please remind him. I don’t want to show up and only have rolls and turkey,” Dean asked Mary.

“Can do. We’re bringing the---,” Mary started.

“Cranberry sauce,” Dean and John said in unison.

“And the wine!” Mary said in dismay at their laughter. “Jerks.”

John and Dean grinned as Mary rolled her eyes.

“So, was that everything? It seemed like you had something to hash out with us,” John asked Dean, picking up the last of his sandwich.

“Yeah, mostly. I gotta check with Ellen first, but I might be bringing somebody along,” Dean rushed out. He tipped his bowl back, finishing the final dregs.

“A special someone?” Mary asked delicately, looking at John in hope.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Dean grunted, standing to grab another sandwich.

“Well, is it somebody we know?” Mary prodded, not trying to be too pushy, but obviously curious. “Dean, why are we just now hearing about this?”

Mary’s tone had shifted to apprehension, Dean felt their silent conversation behind his back as he slapped the ingredients together. He shrugged in response, unable to find a proper jumping off point.

He tried to remain casual, but the dred had clawed back up. Without enough wherewithal to speak, Dean sat back down and ate, drawing out his confession to the point of confusion.

John chuckled at Mary’s suspicion. “He’s nervous. Let the boy get it out.”

Dean rolled his eyes at the phrase. “I’m thirty six, Dad,” he said through a mouthful.

“Is that right? Coulda fooled me.” John tisked his tongue. Mary ignored his teasing tone.

“Dean, what’s the matter? What’s this girl’s problem that’s making you act so--- cagey all the sudden?” Mary asked anxiously. John slipped Mary’s hand into his, silently soothing her as they waited for Dean’s answer.

“Uh, yeah, about that,” Dean started, sitting back, and shooting for blase. “Turns out I actually like guys, too. So, uh, there’s no problem with a girl. I just wanted to bring, um, this guy I’ve been seeing, Benny, to Bobby and Ellen’s.”

Mary inhaled and clenched John’s hand. John stopped stroking Mary’s arm and twisted in his seat. Dean exhaled slowly, like a pin prick in a deflating balloon, he couldn’t take any of it back. Dean took a chance and looked out through his lashes, face tilted towards his plate. First to Mary’s blue worry and then a flicker to John’s almost black disbelief.

John swallowed and ducked low enough to force Dean’s eyes onto his. "You tellin' me you take it up the ass, is that what you're sayin?"

"Jesus. John!" Mary reproached. But neither man's glare faltered. The dark challenge in John's eyes caused Dean's lips to turn up in a silent snarl.

Dean finally broke the silence. "You really want me to answer that?"

"I think I have a right to know exactly the kind of man my son is," John countered.

Mary stood abruptly. “He's your son! What's the matter with you?! You asking Sam his jerkin' habits now that he's single, while you're at it?!" She went to the sink, bowing over it as if it would cleanse the images the conversation had conjured.

“Oh, hell, that’s not the point,” John muttered.

Dean had been arrested in high school for drag racing. The whole ride home from the police station he was worried what his dad was gonna do to him once they got home, it was the same quiet rage that had terrified Dean as a child. But it was Mary’s disappointment when they walked in the door that tore into Dean to the point of scarring. He could live with his father’s anger, Sam had taught Dean how to slowly stand up to John over the years.

But Dean didn’t know if he could live in the shadow of Mary’s disappointment. He needed somebody to see him as himself, not just a screw up or a queer.

Dean sighed. "I am your son. But if you can't handle this, Dad. I don't think you have any right to know me anymore." He looked from Mary to John as the last sentence left his mouth. Maybe he was asking too much after all.

Everyone in the room froze. But not even an ultimatum like that could stop John Winchester from digging himself deeper. "Christ, son, Jo really did a number on you, didn't she? Made you turn tail to the other team all together."

"Leave Jo out of this,” Dean spit out as he stood up. “This is about me and who I'm with now." He stalked the long way around the table, shoving chairs in as he went. He approached Mary alone, carefully, one terrified animal to another. "You'd love him, Mom. He cooks, runs his own business, even got an old Harley in the garage."

Mary couldn't hide her tears, but she tried to smile through them for Dean's sake. "Sounds like a catch, sweetie. But what matters is if you love him. You don't need our say so."

"Don't I?" Dean replied sadly before glancing over Mary’s shoulder to John. "You know Jo told me to give you the finger if you couldn’t see how happy I am. How important Benny is to me. And maybe she's right. But I wanted this to work. I wanted to keep the family together. That's why I'm here. The rest is up to you, Old Man."

Dean kissed his mother on the cheek, between murmured reassurances and left without another word to John. He teetered on the brink, somewhere between busting his knuckles against the cold glass of the impala’s window and losing his lunch on the frostbitten ground. Somehow, Dean made it into the solitude of the driver’s seat before he broke down and sobbed. The only saving grace he got was when his mother's voice roared from inside the house.

Dean dragged the salt and snot from his face with a heavy palm and started the engine. He couldn't stay there, but he didn't know where to go either. He just drove.

Dean pulled into the parking lot at The Pearly Gates on autopilot. He’d spent the afternoon equally suppressing and dissecting his conversation with his parents as he kept it even between the lines of two lane country roads. Now, Dean was ready to be somebody else, to make drinks and flirt and just forget everything that had happened.

The college football crowd was winding down, which allowed Dean some time to catch up with the day shift bartenders Garth and Jody. Back before Cas got blindsided with the responsibility of business ownership, Cas, Dean, Ash and Artie would claim a booth near the pool tables and blow their grocery money every weekend. When Sam moved back after law school he and Mick joined the crowd that were regularly praised for paying for Jody’s son’s braces.

Garth had been the first dragged from the friend pool to fill the schedule when Cas’s brother dropped off the face of the earth. Though Garth volunteered, Dean knew it was just out of the goodness of his heart, not a need for extra cash.

“Here he is!” Garth announced Dean’s arrival. Luckily for Dean, Garth was pouring a beer otherwise he would have been wrapped in one of Garth’s spider monkey-like hugs. A few regulars in the corner raised their glasses to Dean in greeting as he passed by with his company smile. Jody whipped by him, fresh out of the stock room with her arms full of their dollar bags of chips they sold to keep from having to run a full kitchen.

“Look who’s early,” Jody exclaimed before dropping the load onto the back counter. “You trying to cut into my time there, Winchester?”

“You know if you ever want more hours, you just gotta ask,” Dean offered suggestively, strolling behind the bar.

Jody sputtered dramatically, “And work nights? No, thank you.”

“It was worth a shot,” Dean replied, shrugging at Garth who knew better.

Jody sighed and cocked her head. “You’re cute, but you’re not that cute.”

Dean ducked his head against the compliment as she patted his arm apologetically.

“Want me to split your tips before you go?” Dean asked, bending out of his jacket.

“That’d be lovely,” Jody answered, sorting the chips by kind. “Garth get’s an extra twenty because Bess and Donna were ‘round.”

“Look at you, Mr. Slick,” Dean teased as he grabbed the old milk bottle filled with mostly singles. Garth blushed.

“You know what they say Dean-o, flattery is everything,” Garth explained. Dean, who routinely had the most tips out of any of the staff, including Bela, just nodded at the quirky dude. Dean doled out their shares and washed up before officially punching in.

Jody was gone as soon as Anna arrived, but Garth waited for Jack to show before leaving her and Dean on their own. It was seven o’clock before Cas arrived instead of his unreliable nephew.

“Everything alright?” Dean asked knowingly as Cas hung his trench coat on a broken notch on the rail beside the server’s station.

“Jack is under the weather,” Cas explained blandly. Dean eyed the windows, taking in the light flurries that danced in the streetlight. “I guess I’ll have to do tonight.”

It was a surprisingly unremarkable shift, the weather kept traffic bearable even after Anna’s shift ended at midnight. Dean walked her out the back to her car, like he always did as the plow eased out of the parking lot.

“You gonna be alright with him for the rest of the night?” Anna whispered before they breached the cold. Her big brown eyes held more mischief than worry.

“Goodnight, Anna,” Dean drew out as he held the door sternly.

“Night, Dean,” Anna chuckled. Dean watched her tiptoe around the icy patches and make it to her old Tahoe. He made sure it started before heading back behind the bar, and three more hours with Castiel.

The speakers were set lower than usual to balance their minimal customers. On his shifts, Dean had always insisted on having control over the musical selection. So when he walked into a pop singer’s version of mopey folk he did a double take before bee lining for the stereo.

“Please, don’t,” Cas’s simply requested from somewhere to Dean’s right. “I kind of like this song, but more importantly one of the customer’s requested a change of station.”

Dean eyed the patrons like suspects in a line up, uncertain who would blaspheme in such a way. No one seemed particularly guilty and he had to let it go. Between drinks, Dean washed glasses in the small sink behind the bar until Cas was finally able to start his nightly paperwork. The last couple paid their tab just after 1:30, leaving them holding their breaths in hope as they started to put up the chairs.

“Is it often this quiet?” Cas wondered aloud, “I don’t recall Saturday’s business to dwindle so.”

Dean smiled to himself; leave it to Cas to look a gift horse of a slow night in the mouth. “No, man, this is not the usual. But, it worked out. And thanks for filling in for the kid, I know you don’t like getting your hands dirty.”

Cas quietly beamed at Dean’s gratitude before pausing at the not so subtle jab at the end. They went through the remaining end of day routine in silence. Dean turned off the faux neon signs in the windows to signal the early close as Cas handled the money. Dean would usually even out the till and split tips with Jack, leaving the deposit for Cas to handle the next day. Instead he was left with cleaning detail as the boss man did the accounting.

Before long Dean was rolling the dirty mop bucket back to the office/store room/ kitchen/ employee area. Exhaustion had eaten at Dean’s internal walls, leaving him on the slippery edge between slap-happy and zombie. He hummed to keep his eyes open, waiting on Cas to finally call it a night and let Dean clock out.

“We don’t talk anymore,” Cas said abruptly, without looking up from the cash machine. Dean’s head shot up, concern furrowing his features. “In fact, I’m prone to think you don’t like me at all, Dean.”

“What do you mean, we’re talking right now,” Dean downplayed defensively. Cas glanced up over his desk, mild surprise evident. Cas always seemed such a mystery to Dean, from his social awkwardness to his blunt observations. Dean had come to envy Cas’s almost innocent lack of need to perform for others, to be anyone but himself. He had forgotten that Cas would read into his demeanor in the uncanniest of ways.

“True, we are. But are we?” Cas typed the code into the safe and waited for the time delayed entry. “We used to hang out, watch football, play pool, or cards even.”

“We’ve got bowling every week, man,” Dean wrung out the mophead and latched it onto the rack on the wall. He was trying to remember the last time he and Cas had fun, just the two of them and couldn’t recall a single occurrence over the past year.

“I miss you. I miss my friend,” Cas replied sadly. “And I don’t know what I did to ruin it, but I want you to know that I didn’t mean to.”

Dean closed his eyes and grimaced. “Hey, no, it’s not like that,” Dean started. He walked over and leaned against the edge of the desk, assertive reassurance written all over his face. “Look, I’m tired. Working all week and then coming here is kicking my ass. So I don’t have a lot of free time or brain capacity to hang out like we used to. But I’m doing my best, man.”

Cas looked like a confused puppy, eyes drooping and head tilted. “That isn’t it. There’s something else, something you’re not telling me?”

Dean huffed and shook his head, hands raised in exasperation. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I like you, okay? We’re still--- you know--- buddies.”

“Buddies,” Cas said it like it was a war crime.

“Yeah, man, friends. Do you need me to pull up a dictionary on my phone?!” Dean was getting anxious. He didn’t know what exactly had set Cas down this path of questioning, but he was certain he needed it to end. So much for a quiet night.

After a few weighted stares, Cas squinted and turned them down a different path. “Did me employing you negatively affect our relationship? Should I not have asked that of you?”

“Wait, that would have stopped you?” Dean asked, surprised by Cas’s sudden, if extremely late, realization.

“I wouldn’t knowingly do anything to hurt our friendship, Dean. Has working here hindered you?” Cas asked apologetically.

Dean’s mouth dropped open and his shoulders slumped. “Yeah, man. Working here--- everyone is great, don’t get me wrong--- but man I need a break. I wanted to help out here or there, but I’ve got no time for a life if I stay on.”

“I see,” Cas sat back, poorly masking his own discomfort with Dean’s confession. “Look, I know I’m not the best at what I do. But I find it very hard to trust new people. Employees, especially, tend to let me down. I guess--- I guess I’ve relied on you for too long, Dean. I’m sorry if I’ve taken advantage.”

Dean chuckled. “To be honest, I wouldn’t have minded if you had.”

Missing the joke, Cas continued, “I am taking this conversation as your verbal resignation. I hope you will stay on for the customary two weeks time?”

“You’re serious?” Dean asked, stunned.

“You’re unhappy. I don’t want to cause you anymore grief,” Cas replied simply.

“It wasn’t that bad, Cas.--- But, you gotta do something about Jack. Man up and light a fire under his ass, or just kick him to the curb until he’s ready to live up to the family business. You need to hire people who want to be here,” Dean offered.

Cas nodded dejectedly. “I know, I just have an awful gauge for people’s reliability from a simple interview. And past employers rarely ‘spill the tea’ as Bela would say.”

Dean giggled, but stopped himself once he saw the worry in Cas’ eyes. “Hey, what if somebody does the interviews for you? I bet Jody would weed out the bad seeds before their asses ever hit the bar stool.”

Cas was surprised by that option. “That could work. She is very intimidating.”

“Right?!” Dean exclaimed, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. “So, we’re really doing this? Two weeks and I’m out?”

“Yes, Dean. You’ve done more than I should have asked of you.” Cas stood and extended his hand.

Dean grabbed it and pulled Cas in for a hug, their bound hands stuck between them. “Thanks, man. But, I’m glad it worked out. It will work out. This is gonna be good.”

“And we’ll---,” Cas asked as they broke apart.

“We’ll still be friends. Hell, if I’m free maybe we can reclaim our old table every once in a while,” Dean offered, patting Cas’s shoulder. A genuine smile crept across Dean’s face for the first time all day.

“I’d like that,” Cas admitted as the safe alerted his time was up.

The next morning, Sam held the door for Dean who was smirking as they walked in. Exhausted and needing the comfort of his favorite diner to fill his empty stomach, Dean agreed to Sunday breakfast with a seemingly none-the-wiser Sam, certain he'd be missing their weekly dinner with his parents for possibly the first time.

"Not that one. Let's see if there's a spot in the back," Sam muttered as Dean tried sitting in the first open booth he saw.

"What? Why?" Dean groaned, but straightened up and followed Sam passed the bustling counter.

Sam lifted his chin and motioned Dean to the second to last spot. Slightly annoyed, Dean threw himself onto the bench seat, only to have Sam slide beside him, caging him in.

"Glad you boys could make it," the all too familiar drawl of their father's voice greeted them from across the table.

Dean looked at Sam and cursed beneath his breath. Sam had the nerve to look guilty, but his puppy dog eyes didn't hold an ounce of potency now.

"Wow, Dad, I had no idea you'd be here. Funny coincidence, hey, Sammy?" Dean snarked.

"Shut up," Sam grumbled.

"I made him drag you here, Dean. So if you wanna be pissed, be pissed at me," John began. "I ordered your usuals, to give us some privacy. It seems we need to talk."

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stitch-n-time · 4 years

Note

Can you explain how the US housing laws work? You have me interested

Short answer: they don’t.

Longer answer (because I have to work tonight and truly don’t have like 8 hours to write the thesis, because you bet your ass I could):

There is actually an internal structure that the low income housing system has been built around that makes it nearly impossible to navigate, difficult to get into, and specifically works against the people that it was supposedly built to help.

I’m actually not quite sure where to start with this, so it’s going to be all over the place and bouncing back and forth, but that’s also kind of on brand for the low income housing system.

The system as we know it is very much a post WWII thing, so the info here will be from after that point. A lot of this will be in kind of broad, sweeping terms. But since the US is like 60 different states in a trenchcoat trying to sneak into an R-rated movie, very little of it actually covers the entirety of the country. There are also state and city levels of bullshit that people have to wade through. Most people don’t make it.

I’m going to use my own experiences as an example. But know that my experiences are NOT typical. When I started down this rabbit hole, I was a 30-ish year old white woman, a part time student, presented as a professional female on a daily basis, had a fairly stable income from a job I had held for years, and a vehicle (though making payments). All of this put together meant I had it pretty easy.

Some of that caused problems, though. The vehicle was a problem. It was a newer model gently used vehicle. According to the dealership, the previous owner had traded it in because it was a manual transmission and they wanted an automatic. When I bought it, it had less than 60k miles on it and was in excellent condition. In the eyes of the people who approve the paperwork and rubber stamp applicants for low income housing, I could get rid of that vehicle, and the moneys spent on the payments and insurance could go toward housing. Which would be reasonable, except most of the US doesn’t have public transportation at all. What public transport does exist is sketchy, rarely runs on schedule, and often does not go into residential areas. I COULD have gotten rid of the car, but that would have meant a 2 mile hike to the nearest bus station, 4 hours on a bus to get to class and 5 hours on the return trip twice a week, then a 2 mile hike home OR a 2 mile hike to the nearest bus station, 4.5 hours on a bus, another 2 mile hike to get to work, and the same on the return. At that point, I would have been spending more time on the bus than either at work or school, and might as well just live on the damned thing, since all I would have time to do at home is shower and MAYBE eat a sandwich?

But that’s also typical. Part of the laws as they are written specifically state that a person or household can not own physical properties that are over a certain value, because those properties could be sold in order to elevate the person/family’s lifestyle. That also makes household absolutely reliant on public transportation, which is simply not available in many poor areas.

Which goes into redlining, and systemic racism, which is a huge part of this, but is a whole ‘nother essay.

The fact that I was a student also worked against me. If a person can afford to go to school, they can afford housing. So why would you want/need help from the government? I’m just thankful that I was a part time student when the need for low income housing arose… If you’re a full time student, you are automatically denied on any application for low income housing. There are different legal designations for “low income housing” and “student housing”. They can not exist in the same housing complex for legal reasons. So if I had been taking one more class that semester, I would have been denied, and would have been homeless.

That in itself doesn’t sound terrible. And there’s reasons for the legal differences. But think about it… What if I had been in the last semester of school and something had happened? What about the people who are both enrolled in school and are working, trying to make ends meet, trying to be able to do something better, and either their lease is up or they get evicted or… I don’t know… their house burns down or a tornado hits or suddenly medical bills? If a person fills out that paperwork while still a student, even if they say “I’m graduating next month and want to move in the month after that” they still count as a full time student and would get denied. Which means leaving school and being spit out into the post graduate world probably without a job, while being denied help with keeping a roof over their head, when it’s absolutely necessary to have a physical address while searching for a job.

Which goes into the anti-homeless way of thinking, which is a huge part of this, but is a whole ‘nother essay.

I’m going to lump the “fairly stable income from a job I had held for years” and “presented as a professional female on a daily basis” into one, because they are directly related. I had worked my way through a trade school, and had been working in the medical field for nearly 4 years. The practice was open 4 days a week. I was there 2 days, the male counterpoint was there the other 2 days. If a client preferred one of us over the other, either they scheduled appropriately, or the doctor asked us to come in for that client’s appointment time. Because a large portion of the clientele were middle aged and older, as well as conservative, the dress code reflected accordingly. Since I actually REALLY liked the job, and the doctor and his family were pretty awesome people, I dressed and styled accordingly, on a daily basis. But because the number of hours on the clock varied with the number of clients scheduled for therapy appointments, there were times when those paychecks got mighty thin. There were absolutely trends of busy seasons and light seasons. Sometimes during that light season there were days when I would go to work for a couple of hours, go home until about 3PM, then go back for 2 or 3 hours. It was hard to pin that down.

Having to explain that I could not pinpoint an amount of annual income with any accuracy while filling out the application worked against me. And just about anybody who works in retail, food service, etc. - all the jobs that people with low incomes tend to have – will tell you that they suffer the same thing. Go into work, put in a couple of hours, and have the manager come tell you to go home because it’s not busy enough to justify having people on the clock. But without having an accurate estimation of annual income (that could be verified by their calling your employer) means that the application is denied. The general consensus is that if you can’t pinpoint your annual income, then you’re lieing on the application, which means you’re untrustworthy, and therefore don’t deserve to get the help you need to keep a roof over your head.

That conservative professional look helped me here, though. I went into the office dressed well, in khakis and a nice blouse, to fill out the application and speak to the people. While I was there, another lady came in to fill out an application. This is somebody who I happened to know personally. She was also a professional, who was arguably in a slightly better place than I was because her income did not fluctuate (though it was low, as she was recovering from a divorce and most of the family income had come from her ex husband), but she was “dressed down” in shorts and a t shirt. We made the same arguments. I ended up in an apartment, and she did not.

Honestly, I was actually lucky to get into an apartment. A lot of people don’t realize it, but even with things being classified as low income housing, it takes a LOT of money to get into places. Just like every other rental in the US, before you move in, you have to pay the first month’s rent. And a deposit. And if you have pets, another deposit. And the cost of having the electricity and water turned on. And depending on the specific details of the contract you have to sign, possibly trash pickup. And if you want internet, either you pay for that and get a modem through the ISP, or you pay extra on signing the lease. And if you want to do your laundry in your home (if there’s even a hookup), there’s an extra rental fee for a washer and dryer, unless you bring your own.

I got lucky. When I applied and was approved, this particular housing development was running a “special” - if you sign a lease, you get one month rent free to use within 12 months of signing. I had to use it immediately. With all the extra fees and everything else, I could either pay for the rent OR the deposit, but not both – so I paid the deposit and laughingly told them I’d like to use that free month on the first month, immediately, right now, please and thank you, now where’s my key? They almost turned me away at that point.

I honestly believe that if it hadn’t been for my professional clothing and the fact that I could point to a couple of scabs on my face, that I would have been denied at that point. (The scabs were from a dog. I had been renting a room from a “friend” who is no longer a friend. Her dog bit my face, and instead of punishing the dog, she decided I needed to move out that weekend. Note: this is literally the ONLY time I’ve had a dog bite me, despite having been around them most of my life, and this particular dog had snapped at multiple people before.)

Which goes into classism, which is a huge part of this, but is a whole ‘nother essay.

Now the thing that has been on my last nerve for a few years now is a good one. The laws state that if your household changes in any way, you have to fill out the application again. Doesn’t matter if you literally got approved the day before: you fill it out again. Because there have been household changes. It doesn’t sound terrible at all, but I know somebody who got evicted from low income housing and ended up homeless because his wife left. Suddenly the household size was smaller, but had the same income, and it was over the limit for the household size. Sorry not sorry you have to go. I know somebody who was evicted for “falsified paperwork” because she had a baby and was in the hospital for 2 weeks, so didn’t get the paperwork in on time. They ended up in a homeless shelter (in this city, homeless shelters are more expensive than a lot of low income housing). Now she’s in debt that she’ll probably never get out of, due to that.

What’s more is that the eligibility requirements to be able to pass those income thresholds change constantly. Out of curiosity, I tracked the changes over the course of a year. Just checking on the first of the month. In a single year, the income requirements changed 10 times. It’s not easy to keep track of, and there’s not much reason to track it unless it’s literally part of your job, in order to keep in compliance with the laws.

My own personal gripe is much less severe than that. I can’t get married. Technically, my fiance can’t live with me. On paper, he lives with his parents, miles away. But he spends most of his time in my apartment, which is under my name only, because I’m disabled (but ineligible for disability) and need his help. We’ve been together for a decade. We’ve been engaged for over 5 years. But if we get married, then the household changes, and we have to fill out the paperwork and get approved again. The thing is: if we put together our incomes into one “household” income, we would never be eligible for low income housing. Which means we would have to move out.

Moving out comes with it’s own difficulties. Because of the paperwork you have to sign to lease low income housing – and depending on where you are because 60 states in a trenchcoat – there are hoops to jump through. The lease in this particular development, you get a choice. If you break the lease you either a) pay the full amount of rent on the apartment through the end of the lease term or b) pay two months’ rent on the apartment after termination of the lease. So not only would we have to find other housing that we could afford (with all of the move in fees, deposits, transfer of service fees for utilities, bla bla bla), we would also have to pay 2 months’ rent on top of everything else. Which means either borrowing literally thousands of dollars from an individual – banks won’t do loans for this – or having to decide which bills get paid and which don’t while surviving off of ramen noodles for months at a time. Which… uh… would not work well with the man-thing’s diabetes.

Which all goes into respectability politics, and deciding whether or not poor people deserve to have stability and emotional fulfillment, which is a huge part of this, but is a whole ‘nother essay.

Now this may sound like a whole lot of personal whining. And it kind of is. But I can’t speak for anybody else. This is my personal interactions with these people and with the laws behind their behavior. But it’s the laws themselves that are written to be exclusive of the people that need help the most.

Homeless people can not apply, because they don’t have a current address.

Unemployed people can not apply, because they don’t have an income.

Full time students can not apply, because of the legal definitions of the different types of housing.

People with “disposable” property (such as cars) are often denied because they could turn those assets into monies.

People who rely on that “disposable” property for work are unable to take advantage of low income housing due to the above.

People of color who have been relegated to specific neighborhoods where public transportation is not available due to the redlining of the last century are unable to take advantage of low income housing due to the above.

People who do not have thousands of dollars readily available are denied because they can not pay both the deposit and rent.

People who face employment discrimination (even though it’s illegal) are denied because they can not provide proof of steady income.

People who have bounced from employer to employer are often denied for the same reason.

People who have successfully gained low income housing are often unable to change anything about their household.

People who have successfully gained low income housing are often unable to get out of it if their situation improves.

All of it is written into the laws surrounding the housing itself.

So…. Yeah. It doesn’t work. But if you want me to actually get into the nitty gritty, I can start actually researching. But somebody’s gotta pay me for it.

#long post is long #hey nonny nonny #what was that?

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worryinglyinnocent · 3 years

Text

Fic: Forged Through Fire (11/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

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Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [AO3]

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Content warning for this chapter: Implied medical abuse and vivisection; mild blood and gore.

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Forged Through Fire

Eleven

“Well, that’s not at all ominous.”

“You can’t deny that it’s the perfect place to house a super-secret alchemy laboratory, though.”

Riza peered out of the car window at the building they had pulled up across the street from. It looked like it was on the verge of collapsing, the very definition of a dead building, surrounded by high fences with ‘CONDEMNED BUILDING IN DANGER OF COLLAPSE, NO ENTRY’ signs plastered all over them.

“How stable is it?” she asked.

“The building itself is more stable than you’d think from looking at it, but the lab’s underground anyway.” Marcoh sighed. “I swore I’d never come back here, you know.”

“We surmised as much,” Roy said. “But we’re very grateful that you’re here nonetheless.”

“For the record, I think that this is the worst idea anyone’s ever had, and I’ll remind you that I used to work directly for the Fuhrer and was there when he dreamed up Project Xerxes.”

“This can’t be as bad as that, surely.”

“It’s up there.” Marcoh looked to Roy on one side of him and Riza on the other; Armstrong was driving with Havoc riding shotgun. “We’d better go before they clock that we’re up to something. Are you ready?”

Riza readjusted her borrowed uniform; it felt strange to be wearing military blues and even stranger to be wearing Roy’s clothes, even if Gracia had altered the spare jacket and pants to fit.

“I think we’re as ready as we’ll ever be. Come on, the longer we spend out here, the longer they keep doing whatever it is that they’re doing to Hohenheim.”

They got out of the car and Armstrong and Havoc drove away to go and enact their part in the plan.

“Don’t you think that someone would have noticed people going in and out of this supposedly dilapidated building all the time?” Riza pointed out as they crossed the street towards the gates. “Especially if the people are obviously government, even more especially if one of them is the Fuhrer, and even more than that if some of the people are being dragged in unconscious with black bags over their heads.”

“It’s not exactly a highly populous area.” Marcoh gestured around at the other blocks around them; most of them were in a similar state of disrepair to the lab’s front even if they weren’t actively condemned, and even though night had fallen, there weren’t any lights burning in any of the windows. “Most of the people who live in this area want to keep a low profile anyway; if they see something strange then they aren’t going to question it. Besides, the prisoners all come in via the vehicle entrance in the next block.” That was the entrance that Armstrong and Havoc were going to infiltrate.

“I mean, ordinarily I would use that one too, but Mustang here wanted to make an entrance,” Marcoh groused.

Roy shrugged. “If you’re going to take refuge in audacity, go the whole hog.”

“The thing working in your favour, obviously, is that this lab is by necessity pretty cut off from the rest of the military network so that as few people as possible know about it.”

“Considering how frantic Central Command was earlier when they couldn’t find Bradley, I can well believe that,” Roy muttered.

Marcoh was examining the padlock on the gates. “Ugh, they changed the combination since I was last here. Never mind.” He pulled some chalk out of his pockets and drew a small transmutation circle on the padlock, pressing his hand over it; the metal sparked bright white and the lock gave out. It seemed simple. Too simple. Riza’s hand went unconsciously under her jacket to the gun belt at the back. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they were walking into a trap.

Nevertheless, this was the only plan that they had and the only plan that might have any chance of working.

They made their way up the rubble-strewn path towards the main door of the building. Now that Riza was closer, she could see that unlike the rest of the structure, this was definitely completely up to scratch – heavy and reinforced and showing no signs of wear and tear, a dead giveaway that this was not at all what it seemed to be.

Marcoh drew another transmutation circle and the door swung open under his touch, leading to a dark corridor that seemed to have no connection to the rest of the building.

“Be careful; there are steps downward about ten feet along,” Marcoh said. “Follow me.”

Riza and Roy inched along in the gloom, although Marcoh seemed assured of where he was going. They were about fifteen steps down when there was a clunk and the stairwell was bathed in a flickering glow of light; Marcoh had flipped a switch somewhere on the wall. Riza glanced over at Roy. His expression was hard to read in the dim light, but he looked focussed, sharp. Riza hoped that her own worry wasn’t etched on her face.

She had volunteered for this part of the mission, knowing that she wouldn’t be recognised by the military where others might be. Roy was willing to take the risk, knowing that they would need more alchemic power than just Marcoh if it came down to a fight, especially since Marcoh’s speciality was medical and Roy’s was combative, and if they needed any current military knowledge then Marcoh and Riza would both be stymied by lack of familiarity.

There was also the fact that Riza didn’t think they’d have been able to keep Roy away if they’d tried. A long and loud argument had ensued after the incident with Kimblee in the ammo cabinet, since it was only a matter of time before Roy’s name came up in connection with that, but Roy had won out, and here they were, about to enter the villains’ lair.

The steps came to an end in front of another door, and Marcoh turned back to them.

“This is it. Once we’re in, there’s no turning back. Are you ready?”

Riza nodded. “We’re ready.”

Another transmutation circle unlocked the door and they stepped into the Fifth Laboratory proper, a long, dingy corridor stretching out to the left and the right. The place wasn’t any more inspiring than the steps down to it had been, and Riza shivered at the inherent creepiness of it all.

Marcoh led the way confidently down the corridor. There was no sense in being furtive if they were to achieve what they’d set out to do, in fact, that was the entire point. As long as they acted like they had every right to be there, then the plan would hopefully go off without a hitch. If they started behaving suspiciously in any way…

“Hey!” A young military officer had come out of a door into the corridor in front of them. “You can’t be down here!”

“Yes I can,” Marcoh said calmly, continuing to walk straight on with calm self-assurance.

“Halt!” The officer pulled out his sidearm and aimed it at Marcoh, who stopped but didn’t raise his hands in surrender.

“Young man, do you have any idea who I am?”

“You’re trespassing.”

“I can hardly trespass in my own laboratory. I can see that you’re young, so I can forgive you for not knowing me. My name is Dr Marcoh, and I am the head of this facility.”

The officer lowered his gun, staring bug-eyed at Marcoh.

“Dr Marcoh? But you’re…”

“Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” Marcoh’s voice was as mild as if he’d been commenting on the weather. “Since the unsuccessful attempt on my life I’ve been lying low to avoid a repeat performance, but on hearing about the chaos going on in Central at the moment I decided that the time was right to come back and see just what kind of havoc has been wreaked in my absence. So, if you could please alert your superior and let them know that I would like to see them, I would be most obliged.”

“Yes, erm, right away, sir.” The young soldier holstered his gun again and waved for them to follow him down the corridor, showing them into a small office. “I’ll, erm, I’ll need to get my CO to verify all this.”

As soon as the younger officer had left the room, locking the door behind him, Roy sprung into action, moving chairs and climbing up towards the ventilation grill on the wall. As Marcoh had explained to them earlier, the main laboratory experiment room where they would be working on Hohenheim could only be accessed through several other rooms if they wanted to go in through the doors, so to save effort and time, it would be easier to go directly there through the air vents, however much of a pain shuffling through them might have been. The grill came away easily enough, and Roy gave Riza a leg up into the shaft.

There was so much dust that Riza had to press a hand over her face to stop her sneezing. There was just enough room to get through on hands and knees, but turning round would be impossible so she hoped that Marcoh’s mental plan of the place still rang true or they might end up lost in the vents forever. She shuffled forward a little to allow Roy to get up into the shaft behind her, slapping at the cobwebs that crisscrossed in front of her before finally giving up and pulling her turtleneck up over her mouth and nose. It wasn’t perfect, but at least it would stop her choking and giving away their position.

“Good luck,” she heard Marcoh hiss as he replaced the grill behind them.

“We’ll need it,” Roy muttered.

They set off, their progress somewhat painstaking with the need not to make any noise and the undeniable fact that ventilation shafts were in their very nature noisy.

“I really hope there aren’t any rats in here,” Roy whispered. Riza stopped and glanced behind her, glaring at him. He dutifully looked sheepish. “Sorry.”

The shaft got darker and darker as they moved away from the room that they had left Marcoh in, and Riza felt along blindly, scared of somehow falling down a long drop. Eventually, after a sharp left turn, another grill came into sight, and she slowed down, inching forward to take a look through it.

It was not the room they wanted, but she still had to hold back a gasp at what she was seeing nonetheless. Below them, Bradley was sitting in what appeared to be a normal doctor’s office, not unlike the makeshift clinic back at the bar. He was hooked up to a couple of drips, but the one that caught Riza’s attention was the blood bag transfusing into his veins.

She felt Roy tap her ankle to get her attention and she glanced back at him, finger to her lips, then pointing at the grill. He nodded his understanding, and Riza continued to watch what was going on for a moment, focussing on the blood. Looking closely, she could see the odd tiny red spark crackle in the dark liquid, and if she hadn’t already been convinced it was Hohenheim’s blood then that sealed the deal.

“How much longer do you think it will take?” Bradley asked presently, and Riza heard the unseen second occupant of the room moving around.

“The process has slowed down. I think we’ve reached capacity in terms of how quickly he can regenerate the lost blood.”

The other figure moved into Riza’s field of vision, evidently a doctor of some sort, checking the drip line into Bradley’s arm.

“How are you feeling?”

“No different to normal.”

“Well, it might take a while to have any effect, and it may take us several attempts to get the refining process right.” Riza craned to see as much of the room as she could, and her heart leapt to her mouth when she saw the containers of blood lined up on the doctor’s desk. How much had they taken from him already?

Roy tapped her ankle again and she shuffled forward so that he could take a look through the grill as well. If nothing else, at least it showed them how close they were to their destination. If Marcoh’s memories were to be believed then the inner lab room would be the next grill on the left.

She froze as she heard the door to the room below burst open, and the person who had opened it be rebuked severely by Bradley and the doctor.

“I’m sorry, Sirs, it’s just that Dr Marcoh’s here!”

“What?”

“Dr Marcoh! He just arrived!”

“That’s impossible!”

“Evidently not.” Bradley’s voice was dry. “Go and see what he wants.”

Roy nudged Riza again and she kept moving as quietly as she could, feeling him shuffling along behind her, and it was only once they had rounded the next corner and could no longer hear Bradley and the doctor talking that she heard Roy swear violently but almost silently. Riza agreed with the sentiment completely. They were getting Hohenheim out by any means necessary.

Riza almost missed the next grill since the room it opened onto wasn’t anywhere near as brightly lit as the office had been, but her shoulder brushed against it and she stopped suddenly, Roy bumping into her. Peering down through the grating, she let her eyes become accustomed to the faint light inside, an eerie red coloured emergency bulb set high in the wall above the door.

Hohenheim was there, strapped down to a table in the middle of the room. He didn’t look conscious, and Riza’s heart was pounding in her ears.

“Riza?” Roy hissed. She glanced behind her and nodded. No time to dwell on the horror; they had to get the grate off from the inside and get down into the room without Bradley in the office next door hearing anything. She moved up to let Roy get at the grate, shuffling on until she found the next junction and awkwardly turning around. By the time she got back, Roy was drawing out a transmutation circle onto the grill. He gave her a look that said ‘pray this works’ and pressed his palm to the chalk.

The metal started to bend and warp under Roy’s touch, and although the process was slow-going to avoid making any noise, eventually the grate was open. Roy stuck his head out of the gap, then one hand, snapping to produce a spark and using the ensuing ball of flame as a torch to look around the room.

“We should be ok, it’s soundproofed,” he whispered. Riza didn’t want to think about why it was soundproofed. She glanced down at Hohenheim again before Roy began to pull himself through the hole, dropping down onto the ground heavily. Both of them froze, but the soundproofing appeared to have done its job and Roy held out his arms to catch Riza as she followed him down.

Hohenheim was cuffed down at all five points and Riza began to undo the stiff buckles holding the metal in place, Roy providing flickering flame light to work by. The short chain lengths attaching the cuffs to the table clinked ominously, and both of them kept looking towards the door for the slightest hint of what might be happening with Bradley and the doctor in the next room.

“Roy, what do we do about that?” Riza pointed to the tubes snaking out of Hohenheim’s chest, draining his blood slowly and directly from his major veins.

“Well, in any other circumstances, just yanking it out would be a bad idea, but this is Hohenheim so if anyone can survive it, he can.”

“You heard the doctor though. He’s running on empty.”

They didn’t really have much choice, and Roy made the decision for her, grabbing the tubes and pulling. Riza was glad he wasn’t awake for it. Immediately, blood started to pour steadily from the opening; Riza pulled off her jacket to use as a compress, realised how filthy it was from the trip through the vents and just used her hands instead. After a couple of agonising seconds, she finally felt the crackle of alchemy below her palms and Roy gave a sigh of relief, putting out the flame he’d sparked to cauterise the wound. Hohenheim was still alive and still immortal, for now at least.

Riza wiped her hands on the jacket.

“Hohenheim? Hohenheim, can you hear us?”

There was no response. She wondered how heavily sedated he was, or if he’d just passed out from the blood loss.

Roy went over to the door, listening closely and peering through the keyhole. They had already known that there was no way they would be getting out the same way that they got in, so now they just had to wait and hope that the rest of the plan went off without a hitch. Although Riza had her pistols with her and Roy was carrying as well after the excursion to the armoury, she really hoped that they wouldn’t have to shoot their way out.

Hohenheim gave a muted groan, and Riza took his arm around her shoulders to pull him up. She hadn’t realised how tall he was until he was a dead-weight.

“R’za?” He squinted at her as she dragged him off the table.

“Sh, we’re here to rescue you.”

Roy rushed back over to help and they made an ungainly way back to the door, listening for the hopefully obvious signs that the other part of the plan had worked.

There was no mistaking the ear-splitting shrill of the fire alarm, and the sounds of panicked confusion beginning in the rest of the building began to echo through the vents. On the other side of the door, Riza could hear raised voices and anger. Together she and Roy pushed Hohenheim further back into the corner - he was still way too groggy to be able to react quickly to anything, if he could react at all. There was the sound of a key in the door lock. Riza grabbed a pistol. Roy was poised ready to spark.

The door was flung open and they pressed themselves back to the wall behind it as the room was flooded with painfully bright light, showing the very empty table and the transmuted grate. “They’re in the vents!”

Whoever had opened the door turned and rushed back out again, and Riza looked at Roy. He nodded, then waited a moment before inching around the door and looking through into the room beyond.

“We’re clear, Bradley’s gone.”

They hoisted Hohenheim up between them and made their way out of the lab room and into the office, hastily abandoned, and Riza went to check that their exit route was clear. She could hear people running around, but this stretch of corridor was clear; presumably even within secret locations there were some parts that were even more secret than others, and she doubted that Bradley would have wanted too many people hanging around and potentially finding out about his immortality treatment going on.

She nodded to Roy.

“Wait.” Roy gestured to the bottles of Hohenheim’s blood stacked up on the desk. “We need to do something about those. Might as well stop them in their tracks whilst we can. God knows no-one needs an immortal Fuhrer Bradley.”

Riza nodded. “What’s your plan?”

“Well, I don’t think that pouring it down the drain would be a good idea; I don’t want to think about mutant immortal crocodiles in the sewers under Amestris.”

“I don’t think that there are any crocodiles in the sewers in a land-locked country, but I get your point.”

Roy held up a hand, poised to snap. “I don’t think that torching the entire room will dramatically lower the market value of this place too much.”

Riza just stared at him. “Are you sure?”

“There’s already a fire alarm going off.” Roy shrugged. “Might as well give them something to be alarmed about.”

They made it out of the room and along the corridor a little way, leaning Hohenheim on the wall. He was getting more and more with it, but he was still weak and it was taking time for his regeneration to get him back to normal. Roy went back to the doorway and snapped. Riza could see the flames licking the doorway, lighting up Roy’s grim face for a while as he watched the blaze begin to consume the room. Satisfied that everything had been destroyed, he came back towards her as smoke began to billow out, and the three of them made their way as quickly as they could through the corridors.

They were almost out of this section of the rabbit warren when they came face to face with the doctor from the office, no doubt hurrying back to check on his precious experiment.

“Where are you going with my Philosopher’s Stone?”

Riza glanced sideways at Hohenheim; despite the fact he probably still had sedatives coursing through his system and was still recovering from his copious blood loss, the stare that he was fixing on the doctor was pure, unadulterated rage. If looks could kill, Hohenheim’s death glare could have buried this gold-toothed bastard three times over.

Riza adjusted her grip on Hohenheim and reached behind her for a pistol with her other hand, but she didn’t need to fire. The wall next to them swelled and reformed with a shriek of brick and plaster under strain, smacking out and sending the doctor flying. He landed limply with a groan, and Riza looked sideways again. Hohenheim hadn’t moved, but she caught the slight quirk of a satisfied smile on his face before he gave a shuddering groan of exertion.

Roy gave an impressed nod. “Yes, that’s certainly one way of doing it.”

They continued on until they reached the corner; Riza darted ahead to peer around and nearly yelled as she came face to face with Havoc in his dark covert ops clothing. He lowered his gun.

“Thank God Marcoh’s got a good mental map, I was beginning to think I’d never find you. You’ve caused so much chaos, by the way. They’ve got people all over the air vents now. This way’s clear back here. Hey Doc,” he added to Hohenheim, going over to where he was leaning against the wall and taking an arm around his shoulders as they moved off in convoy in the direction Havoc had just come from. “Good to see you.”

“Is Trisha ok?”

Roy gave Hohenheim a look. “You’re besotted. You’re only half awake, you can barely stand, you’ve just spent I don’t know how long having your blood siphoned off and your first thought is Trisha.”

Havoc laughed. “Hohenheim’s a lover, not a fighter, Roy. We’ve always known this. She’s fine, Doc; she’s safe at the shop with Hughes and Madam.”

They had only gone around one more corner when they hit a large obstacle.

“Right.” Havoc visibly deflated at the sight of the heavy wall blocking the corridor in front of them. “Will you believe me when I say that wasn’t there before?”

Roy nodded and gave a long sigh. “Yes. It’s a fire barrier, it would have come down when I started throwing actual fire around.”

“I suppose the whole point of it is that there isn’t an alternative exit?” Havoc sighed as Roy shook his head.

“It’s fine.” Hohenheim pulled himself upright against Havoc’s shoulder and reached out towards the barrier. Red sparks crackled around the edges and the entire thing exploded outwards. Havoc just looked at him, and he shrugged.

“Sorry it wasn’t neater. Haven’t got full control back yet.”

Havoc just continued to stare as they stepped through the rubble. “You know, I’m really glad you’re on our side.”

They continued to make their way through the labyrinth of the laboratory, out towards the exit where Havoc and Armstrong had come in with the car. Riza was glad of Havoc being there to guide them; they’d passed where she and Roy had come in with Marcoh and they were into unknown territory now. The smoke from Roy’s earlier fire in the doctor’s office and experiment room continued to follow them, billowing around the ceiling. Their path was starting to cross with other people in the complex now, but no one was paying them any mind, all too concerned with getting out as soon as possible now that it was evident that there was definitely a fire in the building somewhere.

Riza stopped in her tracks when she heard an ominous creak from behind her. It sounded like the entire building was groaning. She remembered the creaking sound that the wall had made when Hohenheim had knocked out the doctor, and the exploding fire door, and the ever-present and ever-increasing smoke.

“I don’t think this building is very structurally sound anymore,” she said, taking to her heels again with the rest of the group. “The ‘in danger of collapse’ sign out front seems more and more accurate.”

The ear-splitting shriek of concrete and metal under pressure was all the warning they had before a massive chunk of ceiling fell down.

“Riza!” Roy practically threw her out of the way, covering her. When the dust cleared, she was glad to see that he was unhurt.

“Roy? Riza?” Havoc yelled from the other side of the debris. “Are you guys ok back there?”

“We’re fine, but we’re not going to get over this in a hurry.” Roy helped Riza back to her feet. “You go ahead and get Hohenheim out of here, that’s what’s important. “

“What about you two?”

“We’ll double back and get out the way we came in with Marcoh.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, now get going before anything else collapses!”

Havoc didn’t need telling twice, and Roy and Riza turned tail, running back in the direction they had just come until they reached the long corridor they’d arrived in before. It was blessedly free from smoke, and the creaking sounds were left behind them.

“Do you think there’s any chance that Bradley’s been crushed under falling masonry?” Riza asked.

“God, I hope so.”

“Is that so, Mustang?”

Riza’s blood ran cold.

#FMA:Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Royai #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #Fic: Forged Through Fire

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