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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

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How about an AU where Jon and Gerry have been dating since Uni and have managed to keep it secret from everyone (including Elias and Gerttrude) by complete accident?

send me an au and i'll give you 5+ headcanons about it! requests closed!

by accident you say? 👀

1. jon and gerry meet somewhere completely ridiculous (yet also completely mundane) where the chance of them running into one another was like.... one in a million. like, maybe jon's class got out early and so he decided to walk a little further from campus to try a new coffee shop that he's never tried before and never will again because he realizes he really hates the drinks and that it's not worth the walk, and gerry is in the area looking into something leitner-related and he looks down at his phone a bit too long and runs smack into jon when he's walking away from the coffee shop with a lukewarm travel cup of hot chocolate because they were out of tea (what kind of coffee shop is out of tea? jon thinks with a scowl).

the hot chocolate spills all over gerry and jon's like 'oh god sorry, do you- do you want me to do something?' and gerry's about to brush past him when he sees the person he was looking for and shit, they're looking this way so without thinking he just... grabs jon and pulls him into the nearest shop. which happens to be selling something weird, idk, little ceramic figurines. and gerry does Not know what to say because like, he can't tell this stranger that he's hiding from maybe-a-fear-avatar! so he's like 'uh. you can make it up to me by.... helping me pick out a figurine? for, er. my mother. yes.'

so they're just walking through this shop, gerry's shirt still wet with hot chocolate, jon Very confused and also Very late for class but somehow nervous to just leave, so they look at figurines together. gerry keeps looking back out the window and nope, maybe-an-avatar is still there, and now they're sitting on the bench and it doesn't look like they're planning on moving anytime soon and gerry really doesn't want to take the chance and gamble that the maybe-avatar won't recognize him or realize what he's looking for. so gerry keeps shooting down every recommendation jon gives him with some progressively-more bullshit reasons--'oh, my mum already has that one' 'that one's too expensive, i can't afford it' 'that's too small' 'i don't like the way that one's looking at me' 'my mom's allergic to dogs, actually'--until jon's finally like 'okay what is going on and can i leave now?'.

and the maybe-avatar is still out there and gerry's certain now that they're watching him and he's suddenly very aware that he's spent a long period of time with this guy whose name he actually didn't quite catch and that it definitely looks like they're working together and ah, fuck, if i let him leave and he gets targeted because of me i'd feel horrible. so gerry sighs and thinks fuck it and is like 'listen i'm gonna level with you. i'm here looking for a book and there is somebody watching me right now and i know how that sounds but it's really not as shady as you think and also really not my fault but it is my fault that you're here too so. yeah. sorry i don't know if it's safe for you to leave.'

and all jon can think to say is 'a book?'.

and gerry's like 'don't worry about that bit, you really wouldn't understand' and jon gets all bristly and says primly, 'well, i'm a lit major and i work at the university library maybe i could help' and gerry can't help but laugh and say, 'really hope there's not a leitner in your uni library, mate'. and then jon gets this wide-eyed expression on his face like he's just seen a ghost and says 'what did you just say?' and before gerry can deflect again jon says, more intensely, but also hesitantly, 'is... is it called a guest for mr. spider?'.

and gerry's like 'um. no, it's not' and jon deflates a bit but now gerry's curious and he's like 'why?' and jon tries to deflect like 'oh clearly i misunderstood' but gerry's not budging and he's like 'no, no--have you read a leitner? gold bookplate, super fucked-up consequences?' and jon just goes pale which is really all the confirmation gerry needs. gerry feels the need to clarify that he hates them too--that he burns them whenever he gets the chance.

weakly, jon says, 'there... there's more than one?'. and then, a bit stronger: 'you- you're looking for another one? here? and you're going to burn it?'

gerry: yes, that's the plan. why--?

jon, without hesitation: i want to help

and maybe gerry is hesitant at first but, well. it seems like jon is already fully in this, so he reluctantly agrees, and they hunt down the leitner together and gerry lets jon burn it and then they're friends (and it really doesn't take long at all for that to transition into partners).

2. gertrude and elias missing that they're dating is a comedy of errors, including a lot of rather dramatic near misses including, but not limited to:

- jon always leaves a room just before one of them enters

- gerry always talks ambiguously about the person helping him hunt down leitners; elias always assumes he means gertrude, gertrude always assumes he means his mother. this is exploited to a comedic level

- getrude thinks 'going on a date' is code for gerry having a new lead on jurgen leitner and leaving to go chase it down

- when jon joins the institute as a researcher and runs into gerry in the building for the first time, he greets him neutrally in a mutually-agreed display of professionalism while working. gertrude and elias both remark at the fact that 'it's so nice that jon/gerry has a friend'

- gertrude, opening the door to the break room and bustling around inside, looking over at gerry where he's standing in front of the counter, jon sat atop it with his legs bracketing gerry's hips (they have very clearly just been kissing): oh hello gerard. jonathan. talking about leitners again?

jon, a bit embarrassed, slipping into Ultra Professionalism to compensate: i was just discussing with mr. keay the details of case number 0031211 regarding ms. cortena's experience with the talking vase--

gertrude, not at all interested, already knows that it's fake: right, right, carry on then

*after she's gotten her tea and left*

gerry, holding in laughter: 'mr. keay'?

jon, blushing: shut up gerry

3. gerry, casually, not actually aware that getrude doesn't know that he and jon are dating: yeah so then i had to leave my date early to go chase down this leitner and jon was not pleased

gertrude, after a hum of acknowledgement: how unfortunate. i'm not sure how jonathan's opinion on the matter is relevant, however. was he disappointed that you didn't ask him to track down the leitner with you?

gerry, Confused™️: he was.... at the date?

gertrude: at the date? whatever for?

gerry, now staring openly: because i was on a date with him? because we're dating? wait, did you not know that?

gertrude, not willing to admit that she missed that for nearly three years: of course i knew that, gerard. don't be foolish.

gerry, now even more confused: but--

gertrude, without missing a beat: i trust the leitner hunt went well, then?

gerry, after a long pause: um. yes?

gertrude, nodding: good.

4. there's an institute party and everyone's allowed to bring a plus-one

elias, noticing that jon's alone at the party: ah hello, jonathan. no plus one for you today?

jon: no, gerry couldn't make it, unfortunately. family business.

elias, somehow Oblivious, and also very Old Fashioned and way too familiar with his employees: quite. though typically, plus ones are of the romantic capacity. it's nice that you would consider gerard an acceptable substitute though, i suppose

jon, Bi confusion and suddenly unsure if his boss is homophobic: um. it.... it would have been in a romantic capacity?

elias, still Not Getting It: ah, i see. perhaps for the best, then--office parties don't make for pleasant first dates, in my experience

jon, unsure of how much of his personal life he wants to share with elias but not really wanting to pretend like he's not been dating gerry for going on three years now: um. it- it wouldn't be our first date. or- or really a date at all, just an- an event, i really don't think gerry would call this a date

elias, Getting it a little bit: ah. unfortunate, then. congratulations, i suppose, are in order. was it a recent engagement?

jon, ??????, biting the bullet: we've been together for three years, elias

5. jon, handing gerry a wrapped package on their fourth anniversary after they started dating: this is, um. this is for you

gerry, opening it and holding up the little ceramic figure of a dog: jon. is this--?

jon, in a rush: it's from that shop. where we, uh. where we met.

gerry, overcome with such love he really can't stand it, throwing all of his proposal plans out the window and digging the little square velvet box out of his pocket: jon can i ask you a question--

(jon is so surprised he just starts crying. it's only the fifth time gerry's ever seen him cry and he's so worried he said something wrong at first but then jon manages to say yes around his tears and jon wraps his arms around gerry tightly and buries his face in gerry's shoulder and whispers i love you and gerry hugs him tightly in return and says i love you, too, jon. i love you too.)

#the magnus archives #tma #jongerry #gerry keay #jonathan sims #ask #rugletthewren #((i'm still working on all of these just at a slower pace than before))#also this one came out very long and way more detailed than i planed ahsdglkglsa #'i'll give you 5+ headcanons' more like i'll write an entire fic in bullet form lmao #my fic

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thebakingqueen5 · 3 years

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KW 2021: Missing Scenes

Day 3 for Kataang Week 2021 hosted by @kataang-week with the prompt Missing Scenes!

This was arguably the most obvious way to go about this prompt but I wanted to write it anyways because if there’s one missing scene that should’ve been included in the series, it’s something to bridge the gap between EIP and Sozin’s Comet.

Links: AO3 | FF.net

Summary: Another year, another summer, another week of prompts celebrating our favorite couple. Kataang Week 2021 Day 3: Missing Scenes. Bridging the gap between the Ember Island Players and Sozin’s Comet Series Finale.

Word Count: 2.8K

It was another cool night on Ember Island. The moon was beginning to rise and was lighting up the corridors and central courtyard while the Gaang got some food to replenish themselves after a long day of training and preparations.

Sozin’s Comet was a mere few days away, and tensions were higher than ever. Earlier that day, the true plans of the Firelord had been revealed: that he was planning to use the comet to wipe out the Earth Kingdom entirely, which meant that Aang had to face him on the doomsday itself at the latest. It was a challenge he felt none too prepared for.

He thought that he was going to get more time to master his earth and firebending, but with this newest revelation, it was pretty clear this was not the case, and the stress was beginning to get to the young airbender.

The practice battle against Toph posing as the Melonlord had Aang’s stomach tied in knots. Before today, the final fight seemed so distant, almost inconceivable, something that he would only have to do when he was absolutely ready for it. But now? It was coming, and it was coming fast, and Aang had no idea how to handle it.

The boy hadn’t really thought about what he would do when he finally faced Ozai. He assumed that by the time he mastered all four elements, the solution would be obvious, but it wasn’t. Everyone else seemed convinced that killing him was the only option, but that went against everything Aang had been taught by the monks. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like him. How was he supposed to do something so drastic when he didn’t even believe in it? There had to be another way, something he was missing, there just had to be!

“I have a surprise for everyone!” Katara called as she walked into the clearing, immediately snapping Aang out of his intense thoughts. He briefly glanced up from the plate of food in front of him as everyone’s eyes turned to the crimson-clad waterbender, a rolled up tan scroll in her hands.

“I knew it!” Toph exclaimed. She grinned devilishly as she looked up from her wooden bowl of rice. “You did have a secret thing with Haru!”

Sokka, Suki, Zuko, and Katara all blinked at her in confusion and gave the blind earthbender a bewildered look, unsure of where her supposed epiphany came from.

“Uh…” the waterbender responded slowly as the others returned to their meals. “No. I was looking for cooking pots in the attic and I found this.”

She unfurled the parchment in her hands, making a slight swish noise.

“Look at baby Zuko,” she cooed. “Isn’t he cute?”

The paper in her hands was in fact a painting showing a happy, bright-eyed cherub of a baby laughing as he played on the beach. He looked to be quite young, having only a tiny topknot on his head and a mere two teeth in his small mouth while a tiny shovel and sandcastle lay on the ground next to him.

Everyone except for Zuko laughed and “aww”d at the adorable picture while the firebender stared at the others gravely.

“Oh, lighten up,” Katara admonished when she noticed his lack of response. “I’m just teasing.”

“That’s not me,” the firebender said, opening his eyes to look at her. “It’s my father.”

The Gaang looked on in shock as Katara rolled the scroll back up. They were all wondering the same thing- how could such a precious baby have become the most cruel man on the planet?

“But he looks so sweet and innocent,” Suki frowned, her voice faltering.

“Well, that sweet little kid grew up to be a monster,” Zuko spat. “And the worst father in the history of fathers.”

“But he’s still a human being.”

Everyone turned to look at the source of the voice. Aang’s back was hunched over his tray of rice and beans a few feet away from them, and a deep frown rested on his normally cheery features.

“You’re going to defend him?” Zuko questioned.

“No,” Aang clarified. “I agree with you.”

“Firelord Ozai is a horrible person, and the world would probably be better off without him,” he said as he stood up and turned around to face them, “but there’s gotta be another way.”

“Like what?” Zuko deadpanned.

“I don’t know,” Aang shrugged. He turned his gaze down and away from the others, eyebrows tilted upwards in concentration, when an idea came to him.

“Maybe we can make some big pots of glue, and then I can use gluebending to stick his arms and legs together so he can’t bend anymore!” he said excitedly.

Zuko smiled sarcastically. “Yeah, then you can show him his baby pictures, and all those happy memories will make him good again.”

“Do you really think that would work?” Aang asked eagerly, oblivious to Sokka and Suki snickering behind the firebender.

“No!”

Aang sighed heavily and hung his head in defeat. He needed to find another solution, think out of the box somehow. He stared at the ground for a few moments in exasperation before hopping down the stone steps to pace under a hanging orange lamp in the courtyard.

“This goes against everything I learned from the monks,” he said, walking back and forth. “I can’t just go around wiping out people I don’t like!”

“Sure you can!” Sokka interjected from the sidelines. “You’re the Avatar! If it’s in the name of keeping balance I’m pretty sure the universe will forgive you.”

Aang’s arms and slumped upper body shook violently with rage.

“This isn’t a joke, Sokka!” he shouted. “None of you understand the position I’m in!”

How could they, after all? They hadn’t been at the Air Temples a century ago. They hadn’t been raised by the Nomads to be peaceful and treat every life as sacred. He was the last of his people, and somehow none of them could see that. To them it was the simplest decision in the world- just get it over with and save the world, but it wasn’t to Aang. It wasn’t as cut and dry as that.

“Aang, we do understand,” the waterbender frowned. “It’s just-”

“Just what, Katara? What?”

“We’re trying to help!” she said angrily, her temper also rising.

“Then, when you figure out a way for me to beat the Fire Lord without taking his life, I'd love to hear it!”

Aang raised his arms in frustration with the last few words and stormed off in the direction of his room, feet stomping loudly against the stone floor.

“Aang, don’t walk away from this,” Katara began as she made a movement to follow him.

Zuko put a hand on her shoulder, and the waterbender faltered, turning towards him.

“Let him go,” he said quietly. “He needs time to sort it out by himself.”

The waterbender huffed in indignation and began walking towards her own room.

“I’m going to turn in early tonight,” she muttered, arms wrapped around her torso. “Good night, guys.”

“Good night,” the rest of them mumbled back, all but Zuko turning their attention back to dinner. The firebender scrutinized her receding figure as Katara turned the corner and went down the left hall to her room. He knew she was likely going to talk with him anyways that night, but the least he could do was make sure she gave the airbender enough space to cool down.

After a few minutes of glaring at the corridor, Zuko turned back to the ragtag team of misfits and their lively voices. Though he had been traveling with Team Avatar for some time now, the way they managed to turn the subject of conversation to the Earth King’s bear Bosco in such a short amount of time would forever be a mystery to him, but nevertheless he listened attentively and heard from them all the latest exploits of what went on beyond Fire Nation borders.

Meanwhile, true to her word, Katara went back to her room and attempted to sleep, but it was an effort in vain. The last few days had been weighing heavily on her- she and Aang had never experienced such a tumultuous period in their friendship before, and between the kiss during the play and the past ten minutes, it was safe to say there was some tension.

She closed her eyes and groaned, tossing and turning to try and find a comfortable position to no avail. She just couldn’t take her mind off it. Katara stared at the ceiling and let out a short huff before sitting back up with a new fire in her eyes. She wasn’t going to sit around, no, she was going to face her problems head on like a rock!

“Toph would be so proud,” Katara chuckled as she wrapped her kimono on over her bindings.

With as much stealth as she could muster, Katara carefully opened the door from her room and crept down the hallway until she was facing the entrance to Aang’s.

She stared at the block of wood intently. It almost seemed like a cruel metaphor- the barrier between her and Aang not only physically, but emotionally as well.

Nevertheless, Katara was here to get things done.

The waterbender didn’t want to knock and alert everyone else of what she was doing, but she also didn’t want to show up unannounced and startle Aang. After a few minutes of careful consideration, Katara concluded that the latter was the lesser of the two evils, and she slowly pushed the handle and entered his room.

In the very back, she saw Aang’s silhouette in the partially open paper divider splitting the balcony from the main room. Katara walked closer to him, and she sat down silently at the opening of the divider when she saw him in deep concentration. He had been meditating with four small candles, some water, and some rice buns on a wooden board in front of him. The dim light of the candles highlighted Aang’s tense features, contorted in frustration.

“I know you’re there, Katara,” the airbender said after a few moments, apparently not as concentrated as she thought. “I could hear your footsteps from a mile away.”

The girl blushed furiously in embarrassment and promptly decided the floor was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Katara apologized. “I just wanted to talk but I get if you’re busy-”

Aang sighed and bowed his head in reverence to the spirits before opening his eyes and turning to look at her with a kind expression.

“It’s alright. Meditating wasn’t really getting me anywhere anyways,” he said sheepishly. “What did you want to talk about?”

Katara twisted a lock of hair around her finger and scooted closer to him.

“I’m not here to lecture you or anything. I’m not here to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do because ultimately it’s up to you and only you. You’re under a lot of stress right now, and I get that. I just don’t want, well, us,” she gestured between them, “to be a part of that stress.”

The airbender laughed nervously and looked at the trees around them to avoid her gaze. He subtly wiped his growingly sweaty hands on his cotton shirt, praying to all the spirits that she wasn’t talking about what he thought she was talking about.

“W-w-what do you mean? You, me, we’re f-friends! Good friends! Th-that’s all there is to it, right?”

“I’m talking about last night at the play,” Katara responded quietly, fingers fidgeting around in her lap. “We should talk about it.”

“Thanks a lot, spirits,” Aang groaned internally. He sighed and tucked his knees into his body.

“I think we both made it pretty clear that we want different things, Katara. It’s alright, really,” he said with a sad smile. “I made a mistake kissing you, especially after you already said you were confused, and I’m sorry. You don’t have to worry about me- I’ll get over it. I just don’t want to lose your friendship. I’d rather we just pretend like it never happened.”

The regret in his eyes was as clear as a full moon against the backdrop of a cloudless night sky, and it killed Katara from within to see it.

“We both said a lot of things that night, Aang,” she frowned. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot the last day, and I didn’t explain myself very well.”

Aang looked at her hesitantly, silently pleading with her to continue. The waterbender tried her hardest not to grin when she saw his unintentional yet extremely endearing puppy dog eyes and instead threw her head back to look at the stars above them.

“I don’t want to lose your friendship either, Aang,” Katara murmured, gazing up at the sky. “You’re the first person I’ve known from outside my tribe, the first other bender I’ve met- you showed me the world. You were my first real friend, and... also my first kiss, first three actually.”

Heat rushed up to their cheeks while Aang became very invested in the wooden flooring, eyes fully concentrated on the patterns of the boards .

“...but more than that,” Katara continued, “you’re the first person I’ve cared for this much, and my brain, my heart, really, doesn’t quite know how to feel about that.”

She tilted her head to the side to look at the boy next to her, who was now also staring at her with newfound hope.

“So yeah,” she exhaled loudly, “I’m confused. But I don’t want to pretend like none of that night ever happened, because if I’m being honest, a part of me wanted all of the… all of our kisses to happen.”

The two sat in silence for a few moments while Aang tried to process her words and formulate his own response.

“So…” Aang trailed off. “Does that mean this, us, still has a chance?”

Katara looked at their intertwined hands and gave him a sad smile.

“Maybe, but that’s just it, Aang. We can’t, not right now.”

The airbender’s cautious smile immediately dropped and was replaced by a frown as he broke eye contact.

“We’re in a war,” she murmured apologetically. “No one, especially not us, can afford to do anything differently. In three days, you’re going to be facing the Firelord, which means in three days, one way or another, this war will be over, and sacrifices will probably be made.”

“Katara, you’re not saying-”

She shook her head. “I’m not saying that, but war means making hard decisions, and in that moment, with that decision, we can’t let emotions cloud our judgement. No matter what sacrifices might be made, we have to end this before it’s too late.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that,” Aang said firmly. “I don’t care what it takes.”

Katara smiled at him and leaned in to gently press a kiss to his cheek.

“I know you won’t. I also know that whatever happens with the Firelord, you’ll do the right thing. Not because you’re the Avatar and you have to, but because you’re Aang. Because you’re my Aang, and my Aang always does the right thing.”

The airbender let out a breath of relief, heart practically glowing at her faith in him, and enveloped her in an embrace.

“Thank you, Katara. For everything. For being here for me the last few months, for getting me out of that iceberg, for coming here tonight telling me what I really needed to hear. It means a lot.”

Katara happily returned the hug and squeezed him tight. “Of course, Aang.”

She furrowed her eyebrows when she noticed the circles under his eyes as they broke apart.

“It’s getting late,” Katara whispered, her fingertips lightly tracing his cheeks.

“I’ll leave you to all this-” she gestured to the candles and food, staring quizzically at the contents of the board. “-Avatar business and whatnot. I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thanks, I’ll try my best,” Aang laughed softly as the girl stood up and began walking back to her room. “Good night, Katara. Sweet dreams.”

“I know you will, Aang. Good night and don’t stay up too late- you’ll need your rest.”

The waterbender quietly exited and Aang released a heavy sigh as the door closed with a soft thud.

The airbender turned back to his spread, closed his eyes once more, and resumed his meditation, hoping that somehow, by some miracle, there was another way waiting for him.

“I sure hope you’re right, Katara. I’ll need that luck.”

#kataang #kataang week 2021 #kataang week #kataangtag #aang x katara #ember island #wrote this way later than I should've

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backofthebookshelf · 4 years

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One of the nice things about the way the TMA fandom has reached full large-fandom levels of toxicity is that I no longer care if people get mad at me for my opinions on characters! So, some Georgie meta.

(Because fandom is and always has been Like That, I do feel the need to clarify here that I love Georgie, she's one of my favorite characters, characters are more interesting because of their flaws, and I have no investment in the idea that women or female characters are inherently better or more emotionally competent than men or male characters. If I talk a lot about her relationship with Jon, it's because Jon is our point of view character and also the person she interacts with the most. Also, this rambles, sorry.)

I've been thinking about the Season 4 Jon Trauma post and how much I liked the way it talked about Georgie, and it's convinced me that if Georgie could feel fear, she's the one who'd be most afraid of Jon out of all of them. She's the one protagonist we have whose only interaction with the powers has been as a direct victim of them. She doesn't know what they feel like from the inside, like Jon and Melanie; she doesn't know what they're like when they're someone you love, like Basira; she doesn't even know what they're like as petty middle management, like Martin and Tim. What she knows is that one time a monster ate her (only) friend and traumatized her so badly she spent a year in a suicidal depression.

And now her ex - and yes, Jon and Georgie have a remarkably comfortable relationship in the beginning of season three, but they're still exes and they broke up for reasons, even if we don't know exactly what they are - has turned up on her doorstep, shaking and possibly bloody, with nowhere else to go and no access to his home. He's clearly lying about what's going on. He repeatedly violates her house rules. And then he tells her that he's turning into one of those same kinds of monsters that traumatized her and ate her friend. It's clearly enough to override any remaining affection she had for him, and by any definition he has now positioned himself as a trigger.

(Through no fault of his own: the only real response he has to Georgie's statement is "I can't believe you didn't tell me." She's the one who assumes that he Knew, somehow, that she also had a statement; she's the one who suggests he had alternatives. Both suggestions are plausible but we don't actually know for certain that either are true.)

But Georgie isn't afraid of Jon because Georgie can't be afraid -at least, according to her. I'm not sure how much I believe this in the grand scheme of things; it seems like an extremely unlikely mechanism for one of the fears to have. It seems much more likely to me that she's just never met anything as terrifying as that encounter was, and her subjective sense of fear has been massively recalibrated. In which case not only meeting but having hosted in your home another monster who self-describes as similar to the one that was so terrifying that literal threats to your life are no longer distressing would...probably ping. But she's conceptualized herself as a person who doesn't feel fear; it's even possible that was part of her recovery, identifying this as a possible benefit of what would otherwise have been a universally terrible, soul-breaking experience. She looked existential terror in the face and survived, and came out of it a person who cannot be afraid of anything left on this earth. That's kind of a superhero origin story, and I can't blame her for it. I think anyone with a mental illness has at least tried to find ways in which their suffering has made them a better, stronger person.

But whether she's suppressing and rationalizing away any fear she feels or she genuinely doesn't feel any of it, she does frequently behave as though her lack of fear gives her a more objective view of the situation than anyone else. I don't believe she actually uses the word "just," but it drips from her every interaction with Jon after Dead Woman Walking. Why doesn't he just stop reading the statements? Why doesn't he just quit? And, in Zombie, I honestly can't interpret her reaction to Jon when he wakes up from his coma as anything other than, Why doesn't he just die? If he hates being this so much, if he really doesn't want to be a monster, why doesn't he just die?

I really would like to think that it goes without saying that this is, at the very least, a massive failure of empathy, but she's so explicit about it and fandom spent so much time basically agreeing with her that apparently it doesn't. Not only is Georgie not afraid of the situation, but (and this is the part that makes me wonder if she's not rationalizing, rather than being supernaturally unable to feel fear) she can't possibly fathom how afraid everyone else is, and she never tries. She persists in treating the whole awful situation, as @findingfeather's post says, like this is a mundane problem with people who are refusing to help themselves, rather than a supernatural trap that has been specifically built to be inescapable.

Now, let me be clear, even if she were talking to, say, a drug addict who nearly killed themselves because they were in denial about how much of a problem they had, her attitude would be unforgivable. But in this case Jon had no choice in whether or not to become addicted to statements; it was done to him in such a way that he didn't notice it was happening until withdrawal was already incapacitating. He also didn't have the option to leave, as Tim's extended vacation made clear. And, on top of all of that, the whole reason he was in a coma in the first place was that he was trying to save the world. (Neither he nor she knows at this point that he was doing nothing of the kind, so that's really not relevant.) And - look, when Jon came to her after the end of season two, he was asking for help. When he rejected the kind of help that she offered it was because he knew it didn't apply to the problems he actually had, but she treats that like it's his problem, which is something like offering a leg splint to a person bleeding out from a gunshot wound and getting offended when they tell you that won't work. He was very clear that what was happening scared him and he didn't know what to do about it, and her only suggestion was "walk away," which he literally could not do, for multiple reasons.

She's lucky Jon has pretty much precisely zero self-worth at this point, because anyone else would have cut her off completely for behaving like a fucking asshole.

I say "she's lucky" because frankly, even though she says that she wants nothing more to do with him, she turns up at least twice in the Institute after that, with the excuse that she's picking up Melanie to take her to therapy. I don't know about you, but I have never once gone to someone's workplace to pick them up and gone snooping around inside, and no matter how fascinatingly weird that workplace is, I definitely can't imagine doing so when I know that workplace also contains a person I have definitely decided I never want to speak to again. She goes into the Archives, for Christ's sake, and she listens outside Jon's office door for long enough to catch a bit of the recording before letting herself in (so it's very clear she knows who's in there).

Now I'm not trying to paint her as a monster here; Georgie would hardly be the first person to have second thoughts about cutting off someone they still care about, or to break that boundary that they set themselves when they realize they do still want to know how that person is doing. But the fact is that she positions herself as having the moral high ground in every single discussion they have and that's just not true. She is not literally a supernatural monster, true, but if season four did anything with the concept of monsters it was breaking down the difference between "supernaturally driven no-longer-human" and "person capable of caring and empathy." (That's a whole different meta, though, one that I will get around to someday.) Not that Jon is any better, in that encounter specifically, at dealing with a complicated and contentious relationship - he deliberately goads her, even if he doesn't use compulsion. But that's the thing, they're both exes who have had a falling out and aren't handling it very well. Neither of them is in the right.

All of which makes me really wonder what her relationship with Melanie is actually like. We don't actually see hardly any of it directly, and of what we do, well, Melanie sounds like she's still high on painkillers, so it's hard to take that as an indication of anything. But given that people (who are not intentionally trying to manipulate those around them) tend to, y'know, be fundamentally the same person in their various relationships, though it may manifest in different ways, we can probably make some guesses.

I have always been bothered by, and I really can't ignore, the fact that they were getting together at the same time that Melanie was doing what Georgie has been demanding of Jon since season three: she did whatever it took to get out. I have to wonder if Georgie knows about the nonconsensual surgery part of Melanie's process of getting out, and if she does, if she understands how vital it was. I certainly wouldn't be surprised, if she does know, that she's managed to compartmentalize it: Jon inflicted this terrible trauma on Melanie, Melanie escaped the entity that took her over. (Subconscious implication: Jon is a monster; Melanie is better than him.) I would be very surprised if Georgie is interested at all in the fine distinctions between entities; she's shown no interest in learning what is actually happening to anyone in this situation beyond "it's bad and they should get out of it." But it's relevant, because by the time Melanie makes the decision to blind herself, she's in a much different position than Jon, enslaved by an entity but not consumed by one. She herself admitted to Jon that she would never have voluntarily escaped from the Slaughter.

And given how difficult Melanie finds it to talk about any of this - you can hear her dragging the words out from behind her teeth in her conversation with Jon in Flesh, truly incredible acting by Lydia Nicholas, my god - if Georgie doesn't want to hear it? I can't imagine Melanie insisting. Yes, Melanie is going to therapy, but let me tell you, I've been going to therapy for twelve years now and I have yet to have several of the important conversations my therapists have insisted I have. That shit is hard. But I can imagine a scenario where, having been told by her therapist (who, remember, doesn't have the first idea what Melanie is actually going through, because Melanie isn't telling her about the supernatural so she has to leave out a lot of really relevant details) that she ought to tell her friend/potential girlfriend/new girlfriend about these things, Melanie attempts to bring it up, Georgie says kind and reassuring things and refuses to let her clarify any of the details, and Melanie gives up in relief, thinking, well, I tried. Super valid all around, but it doesn't mean that Georgie has any clearer picture of what Melanie's traumas actually look like, never mind Jon's. There's no world in which I can imagine Georgie actually internalizing the idea that Melanie loved the Slaughter when it had her, and she would gladly have stayed with it if Jon and Basira hadn't intervened.

In Georgie's eyes, Melanie is being a Good Victim. She was hurt but she was strong; she fought it until she won; now she's going to therapy and setting boundaries and trying to heal. She got away.

(Except, of course, she didn't, because as of The Eye Opens no one has gotten away, because this is the entire world now. We have no idea how this has affected Melanie. Presumably she's out of reach of the Eye, given that Jon can't see her or Georgie (and there's some evidence on the side of Georgie's encounter genuinely having stripped her of fear, if she's also invisible to the Eye), but she spent a long time under the influence of the Slaughter. It had her firmly enough that her attacking Jon was enough to give him his Slaughter scar. If nothing else, Melanie certainly hasn't had her fear removed, and talk about a situation bound to retraumatize someone who had such a visceral revulsion to being trapped that Elias chose it as his mechanism of control over her. Melanie probably doesn't look like a Good Victim any more, and I'd bet her relationship with Georgie is suffering some serious strain because of it.)

We don't know when exactly Melanie and Georgie got together; the last time one of them mentions the other is, I'm pretty sure, when Georgie tells Jon that Melanie is back from India. So we know that Georgie and Melanie were friends; that's good, that's a good foundation for a romantic relationship. At the very least they know each other, they have some idea of what to expect. I'd be surprised if they were dating during that season 3/4 hiatus period, though, or frankly any time before Melanie's surgery, just because Melanie seems much too consumed with rage to have room for any other emotions, and I can't imagine Georgie putting up with that.

What seems way more likely to me is this: Melanie comes back from India, arranges to meet Georgie for drinks. Probably they don't talk about anything serious; possibly they talk about Jon, honestly, since we know Melanie was looking for him and Georgie talked to him about Melanie, but very likely in the same "stuck-up pompous ass" way that Melanie talks about Jon in early seasons. (I bet Melanie's roasts are amazing.) Shortly after that Melanie joins the Magnus Institute and then, very likely, either she never tells Georgie about it and therefore they don't talk much or she does tell Georgie about it and Georgie tells her that place is bad news and she won't have anything to do with it and they don't talk at all, until, whichever way that went, the Unknowing happens and Tim dies and Jon winds up in a coma and everything goes to shit. We know Georgie visits Jon in the hospital; we don't know if Melanie does, but frankly it seems unlikely. If they did cross paths during this time, it was probably very brief and superficial. Then: the surgery, and Melanie's recovery.

I'll be honest, I have a hard time imagining Melanie deciding on her own that she should go to therapy. It's possible Basira suggested it, but it really does sound like a Georgie thing to do. So I picture something like this: from the way Basira talks it sounds like they've all been pretty much living in the Archives for a while, and on top of that everyone in the Archives has just badly violated Melanie's trust, so Melanie pulls up her Facebook DMs and talks to the only other person she has. You were right, she says, this place is terrible, I can't handle it, there's no one here I can trust and I'm so alone. And Georgie, who is generous with help and advice (so long as it's accepted) and (like anyone) weak to being told she was right about something, starts talking to her. We know Georgie's got good boundaries, and we know she doesn't want to hear details about what's going on in the Institute, so I can see her saying, I can talk to you, I would love to talk to you, but not about this. For that you need a therapist.

So Melanie gets a therapist, and the prospect of going out amongst the monsters they know are stalking the Institute without that protective shield of rage (never mind the emotional vulnerability of going to therapy in the first place) makes public transit an unthinkable option, so she asks Georgie to take her, and she does, and she keeps taking her to therapy, which is, as far as we know, the only time Melanie leaves the Archives in season four, until she blinds herself and escapes it completely.

And so they have this relationship that's built up almost entirely around Melanie's trauma - with a foundation of friendship, certainly, so I do think that if they are willing to work through it they could make it a working, healthy relationship, but (and again this isn't stated in canon but is my speculation based on what we know about these characters) it is a romantic relationship that's built around the process of Melanie recovering from multiple traumas. Ones that we know that Georgie a) doesn't know many details about, and b) more importantly, refuses to know any details about. Now, I have no experience with romantic relationships and serious trauma; I might be wildly off base here. But. I know that boundaries are important and I know that trust is also important. And if Georgie is holding similar boundaries with Melanie that she has with Jon (and, as I went into excruciating detail about earlier, she has very solid emotional reasons to protect herself with those boundaries), that's drawing a hard line around what's basically the past two to three years of Melanie's life, and undeniably both the worst and most important things that have ever happened to her. That seems...difficult to manage in the long term.

(This is a bit more of a stretch, more of the germ of a fic idea than an argument I'm prepared to defend, but I also would not be surprised if Georgie told Melanie that she wouldn't date her while she was still working at the Institute. That's a very reasonable boundary, and it's good motivation - and probably healthy motivation, I do like the idea that Melanie had something to reach toward in escaping the Institute, not just the desperate flight from - but it's also something of an ultimatum. Which is not inherently bad, but it is the kind of thing that can fester, given other problems.)

Now it's entirely possible that Georgie isn't that internally consistent. People aren't! (See: Basira's attitude toward Daisy vs her attitude toward Jon in season four.) Maybe she's more flexible about being willing to listen to Melanie, maybe she's starting to understand some of what was happening and how genuinely impossible a situation it really was. But that has to be a struggle for her, too; it's not a perfect, sweet, unconditionally good situation that teaches you that you've been unfair to the point of cruelty to someone you used to care about. And by the time the apocalypse rolls around, Melanie is, if she's lucky, just barely able to say she's healed from the plain physical trauma of blinding, never mind all the other baggage. They've got to be having a rough fucking time of it, at the very least, even if you assume that they're suddenly both the kind of people who will sit still and listen supportively and talk honestly about their own messy and complicated emotions, when neither of them have been that kind of person before.

(Another disclaimer because Fandom Is Like That: This is in no way a condemnation of or argument against fluffy What the Girlfriends fic; fic is for making fluffy things that you want to happen to your faves, or building fluffy content that you desperately need for whatever reason. Gods know there are plenty of unhealthy parts of Jon and Martin's relationship that I ignore in most of my fluffy fic. This is me attempting to work through my thoughts and feelings about the relationship I see in canon in the hopes of actually being able to write some fic about these girls myself someday, because I personally can't write fic until I understand canon, and so much of them happens offscreen because they're not main characters, and they're written with such depth and complexity that you can't just slap a stereotype on them and call it good. Which is awesome! But it means I gotta do the work, and I post it because a) it's work, and this is fandom, and I want validation; and b) I'm hoping other people have insights that might also help me clarify my thinking.)

#the magnus archives #tma #georgie barker #jonathan sims #melanie king #long post #real fuckin' long post #sorry #it's a meta party #cw suicide #cw addiction

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esmeraldablazingsky · 3 years

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I’ve finally hit my limit on the number of bad takes on the Lan parents I can see before I have to lay out all the reasons I disagree, so hello, I’m Blazie, and in this essay I will justify my visceral dislike of the assumption that Qingheng-jun married/imprisoned/had sex with Lan-furen against her will.

Warning for mentions of rape (in context of Interpretations I Really Hate) and a very, VERY long post below the cut.

Before I start going off about the finer points of all this, I want to make sure people are on the same page regarding what we actually know about what went down with Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen. What I say is based off the EXR translation of MDZS, for the sake of clarity, and although I don’t think the exact wording should be too important, feel free to let me know if you think I’ve missed an important bit of nuance or something (the whole story is in Chapter 64.)

The story we get is told by Lan Xichen, and it goes like this: a young Qingheng-jun falls in love at first sight with Lan-furen, who doesn’t return his feelings, and at some point kills one of Qingheng-jun’s teachers over unspecified “grievances.” Although he’s understandably very upset over the murder, Qingheng-jun sneaks Lan-furen back to Cloud Recesses and officially marries her in order to announce to his clan that anyone who wants to hurt her has to go through him.

After that, he locks Lan-furen in one house and himself in another as a form of repentance. Wei Wuxian speculates that this was because “he could neither forgive the one who killed his teacher nor watch the death of the woman who he loved. He could only marry her to protect her life and force himself not to see her.”

A central detail of this story that I think people don’t give the import it deserves is that aside from marrying and protecting her, Qingheng-jun’s other option was to let Lan-furen be executed by his clan. His purpose in marrying her wasn’t just for kicks/out of a possessive sort of love, it was so she wouldn’t straight up die. How she felt about this arrangement isn’t stated, but I’ll get into that in a bit. In addition to that, Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen live separately, which was apparently purposeful on Qingheng-jun’s part, and runs counter to the interpretation that he intended to take sexual advantage of Lan-furen.

Though there aren’t many concrete details in Lan Xichen’s retelling, he does specifically inform Wei Wuxian that his mother never complained about remaining in her house. What exactly this signifies is unclear— whether she was simply putting on a brave face for her sons, or whether she was in fact at all content with the situation— but it at the very least serves to further muddy the waters on how she and Qingheng-jun felt about all this.

Beyond what Lan Xichen and Wei Wuxian are saying out loud, there’s also quite a bit of subtext in this scene, especially in light of later events and revelations, like Lan Xichen’s confession for Lan Wangji at Guanyin Temple.

So what is Lan Xichen trying to convey with all this? There’s a lot of memes about this scene, most of which err too far on the side of Himbo Airhead Lan Xichen for my liking, but one that I do find amusing emphasizes how Lan Xichen draws parallels between Wangxian and the story of his parents (Lan Xichen: [flute solo] please use your one brain cell to connect the dots.) If Wei Wuxian hadn’t completely lost his memory of Lan Wangji defending him against his own clan elders, one would assume that Lan Xichen’s story would have had a much better chance of hitting home.

In hindsight and side by side, the parallels are much clearer— Qingheng-jun, “ignoring the objections from his clan… told everyone in the clan that she would be his wife for the rest of his life, that whoever wanted to harm her would have to pass through him first.” Similarly, according to Lan Xichen in Chapter 99, “for [Wei Wuxian,] not only did WangJi talk back to him, he even met with his sword the cultivators from the GusuLan Sect. He heavily injured all thirty-three of the seniors we asked to come.”

In that context, it makes a lot less sense to interpret Qingheng-jun as an aggressor towards Lan-furen, as in Lan Wangji’s case, the narrative clearly establishes that his actions are to secure Wei Wuxian’s safety. The action of Taking Someone Back To Cloud Recesses is— okay, actually, it’s a little more nuanced than I took into account when I started writing that sentence, so let me go a little deeper into Lan Wangji’s actions and how they relate to his father’s, story-wise.

My intent is not to dive into the terrifying underworld of novel-versus-drama discourse, but simply put, Novel!Lan Wangji as he is written isn’t exactly the poster child for clear consent. (I’m going to entirely leave off the extra chapters for the sake of everyone’s sanity, so I’m just talking about the main body of the novel here.)

He means well, and I’m sure we can agree that he does actually love and want the best for Wei Wuxian, but his lack of communication on this point means that he accidentally gives Wei Wuxian the impression that he wants to imprison and/or punish him in Cloud Recesses at least twice off the top of my head (pre-timeskip, as we know, and post-timeskip immediately after Dafan Mountain when he actually drags Wei Wuxian back to his room.)

That all likely has something to do with MXTX’s narrative kinks and regular kinks and all that, and can absolutely be taken with many grains of salt. However, these events establish how easy it is to misinterpret the action of Taking Someone Back To Gusu as an attempt to imprison rather than protect them (much to Lan Wangji’s chagrin.)

Failing to communicate his purpose to Wei Wuxian doesn’t mean that Lan Wangji actually had any intent of hurting or caging him— that was just a misinterpretation on Wei Wuxian’s part, and we, as the audience, find that out in due time— but as written in the novel, it can be really uncomfortable to read. Because of that, many people choose to accept CQL canon regarding Lan Wangji’s more possessive actions or mix characterization from different adaptations, which, to be clear, I completely understand and respect.

However, Qingheng-jun doesn’t get the benefit of the doubt as often, which I frankly find baffling, because nowhere in the text does it state that Lan-furen objected to being taken back to Cloud Recesses, while even Wei Wuxian clearly objected the first few times. In fact, while we’re on this note, I’ll take it a step farther— I find it baffling that people seem to default to an unsympathetic view of Qingheng-jun, because nowhere in the text does it state that he overruled Lan-furen’s wishes in any way. The text doesn’t clarify a lot of things, actually, and that is part of the point.

The narrators of MDZS are, in many situations, highly unreliable. This is, presumably, very purposeful! MDZS can easily be read as a sharp criticism of reputation and mass judgment and the concept of condemning people without knowing their motives! And I don’t want to sound mean, but guys… did any of us learn anything from that? Here, I’m going to put it in meme format for a second to convey what I mean.

MDZS: It’s easy to condemn someone as a villain if you don’t know their story or the reasons behind their actions

MDZS: Anyway, here’s a character whose story and reasons behind his actions you know nothing about

Some Parts Of This Fandom: Ah, a villain

Memes aside, here’s what I want to point out. It’s entirely possible to assume Qingheng-jun was a bad person who disregarded a woman’s wishes in marrying and confining her when all you have is Lan Xichen’s (actually very neutral, thank you Lan Xichen for being an eminently reasonable and concerned-with-evidence character) account of what happened. It would also be at least that easy to assume Wei Wuxian was just an evil necromancer if he hadn’t un-died and brought his own story to light, or even to believe that Lan Wangji had somehow tamed Wei Wuxian into submission and being a respectable cultivator if you were an average citizen of Fantasy Ancient China with nothing but rumors to operate on.

The thing about Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen’s story, then, is that there is nobody left alive who knows the full tale. Nobody knows what they thought about anything, really. Nobody even knows why Lan-furen killed Qingheng-jun’s teacher. Wei Wuxian asks why, and Lan Xichen can’t tell him, but I think the best answer would be something along the lines of I don’t know, Wei Wuxian, why did you kill people? Your guess on the motivations of your own thinly disguised narrative parallel are as good as anyone’s.

So, while it’s not technically impossible to assign darker motives to Qingheng-jun, the cautionary tale of MDZS seems to warn against that exact assumption.

I’ve refrained from getting too salty on a personal level thus far, but now that I’ve said a lot of the more logical and story-based points of my argument, I will say that at least some of my annoyance with the interpretation of Qingheng-jun as a possessive rapist and Lan-furen as his victim stems from the fact that I just think it’s straight up boring. Where’s the nuance? Aren’t you tired of reducing these characters to the flattest possible versions of themselves? Don’t you just want to add a little flavor?

In a slightly more serious phrasing of that criticism, I find that making Lan-furen a helpless prisoner strips her of whatever agency she might otherwise have. To be fair, she’s more or less a non-character in keeping with the general state of the MDZS universe, but making her a damsel in distress only consigns her more deeply to hapless, milquetoast innocence.

It’s perfectly valid to enjoy ladies who have done nothing wrong, ever, in their lives, but like… Qin Su is right there, if that’s your ball game. There’s also really no need to make Qingheng-jun someone who doesn’t respect women. Isn’t Jin Guangshan enough for at least one universe?

Anyway, ultimately, you do you. I don’t like arguing on the internet, and will just ignore things I don’t agree with (or write an 1800 word vaguepost) like a mature human being. I’m just saying, if it’s a cut and dry tale of imprisonment and assault you’re looking for… you probably don’t want to turn to a woman who committed a murder and a man who loved her enough to forfeit everything to keep her safe.

#mdzs #qingheng jun #madam lan #lan wangji #wei wuxian #(in a narrative parallels context)#blazie .txt #anyway without further ado here is my.... essay?#rape mention

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twilightprince101 · 4 years

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The Train, Purple Lightning and “Fate”: An Infinity Train Theory

NOTE: This contains HEAVY SPOILERS for all of Infinity Train! Putting this under a read more, but tl;dr, I think the train has a way of predicting when things will happen-but not entirely be correct.

I was going back and rewatching Infinity Train Book 1 (Mainly bc I love the show and wanted to relive it) when I noticed something interesting. At the end of episode 9, when Tulip decides to fight and is racing to the Engine, we get a glimpse of the sky and see hints of purple lightning

Which was pretty cool as an effect, but then I remembered something: I’ve seen this lightning before. And if you’ve just watched the Book 3 finale, I’m sure you know what I’m referring to.

But it wasn’t just here either, it was also in another scene with Simon earlier. The one where he shifts from “okay he’s a shit but kinda ok” to “motherfucker unlimited.”

After thinking about it for a little bit, I went to Book 2 to look around, and sure enough, the lightning was there too

I’m going to reiterate: I’m rewatching all of Infinity Train, and the purple lightning throughout the entire series only appears this prominently during these scenes. (May I reiterate: this prominently. I am aware that it can be seen in a brief flash in the very first episode when that random passenger gets sucked into the vortex, but it’s barely as noticeable as these three instances)

At first I thought the lightning was just a cool effect to reiterate the tension and weight of these dramatic scenes, and to be honest it very well could be. However all of these scenes where the lightning appears have something in common.

They all take place during times of great change not just for these characters, but for the entire train and its system as a whole.

Let me break it down and explain it one at a time.

Season 1: The lightning appears as Tulip is taking a stand against Amelia and her reign as Conductor, resolving to overthrow her and save Atticus.

This one is relatively simple, all things considered. Amelia has reigned as Conductor for 33 years (as noted by OneOne in the documentary shorts), and now that Tulip is going to fight back and bring OneOne back to the engine, her reign is soon going to end and things are going to go back to normal

Season 3: Simon, after committing so many atrocities, gets his number up so high that it has nowhere left to go on his body, giving him the highest number in existence.

(I’m doing season 3 before season 2 bc it’s shorter and relatively simpler than its big brother, you’ll understand soon)

As twisted as the train may be, we all know that its base premise is that it helps those it deems as needing help, teleporting them onto the train so they can sort out their problems. But as we’ve seen with Amelia and The Apex, they don’t technically have to. Aside from the threat of being stuck on the train forever, there’s nothing stopping them from fucking about and ignoring their problems.

Throughout Season 3, the Apex assumes that because they are destroying the cars, OneOne is trying to fight against them and put them back on track. However, as Amelia clarifies, he doesn’t even know that they exist.

Despite the fact that their numbers have been climbing in the complete opposite direction, the train hasn’t logged them down as anomalies or glitches in the system, they’re still considered normal passengers. It could be assumed that, like Grace and Amelia, they’ll all eventually come around and get the numbers to zero.

But then of course... Simon happens.

Considering our limited view of the train and its history, we don’t know if the numbers really can go higher or if other passengers have done the same thing in the past. However if he is the first, the fact that Simon’s number literally had nowhere else to go, reaching the highest possible limit, this goes against the train’s whole philosophy of “helping people.” There is now a clear flaw in the system that can no longer be ignored.

(As for the other instance with Simon, we’ll get back to that)

Season 2: Mirror Tulip (AKA M.T. (AKA Lake)) and Alan Dracula are waiting for one of the passenger pods so they can hijack one and get a number to get off the train

From what we’ve seen of the train and how it works, it seems clear that everything is made to revolve around the passengers. The cars are made to help people realize stuff about themselves, the numbers are made to represent their own personal growth and the denizens are made to assist them throughout their journey.

But that’s the thing: These denizens are made by the train. Every car that is created, the denizens are created alongside it. They are literally made to be the NPCs of the whole system and are made to assist passengers. OneOne even says so in the final episode of Book 2.

“Your passenger.” Not “Your friend” or “That one guy,” he specifically says “Your passenger.” Somehow, despite already helping Tulip with her problems, MT was assigned to Jesse.

And we’ve even seen this in other circumstances too! Tulip had Atticus to help her with a bunch of her stuff, and Grace had Hazel to make her realize that “Nulls” were people too. If they weren’t there, they wouldn’t have gone through their whole character arcs and back!

(As for how MT got assigned to Jesse despite already having “served her purpose” for Tulip, we’ll get back on that later).

But back to the point: The Denizens are created for the passengers by the train itself. So its whole deal with helping people grow and giving them an exit? That’s a luxury only reserved for passengers. It doesn’t see the denizens as “real people.”

So Jesse refusing to leave MT behind, returning to the train so he can get his friend back? The train literally cannot fathom this turn of events and literally begins to break down.

It’s only through MT outsmarting the entire system and resolving OneOne’s broken logic loop that she’s able to escape, leaving the train for good.

But the fact that she’s even able to get off is crazy in of itself! We may not know how long the train has been around for, but the fact that the train began to broke down at MT wanting to leave means that this has to have been the first time this happened. And now that it’s shown that it can be possible for one denizen to leave the train, that opens the door for every single other denizen on the train! If they can “get a number,” they can leave the train.

Not to mention, Lake’s presence in the human world now gives people concrete proof that the train exists. If the train has existed for as long as humans have been alive, then that means there has to have been some rumors about it. And now, with a living girl made of chrome walking around (and a girl without a reflection), it is impossible to blow off those rumors anymore. The train is real.

So what does all this mean then?

The purple lightning (bet you already forgot about it now, eh?), throughout the series, has only showed up during these moments. Tulip brought back OneOne, MT proved that denizens can leave the train, Simon proved that some passengers cannot be redeemed. All three of these instances were points of great change in the train’s system, that will drastically alter things to come.

But why does the lightning only show up here? Is it that the train’s world can somehow sense when big things are going to happen? Or is it something deeper, like it can tell the future, and that’s how the passengers get “assigned” denizens? Well... I think it’s kind of a more complex system than that.

It’s painstakingly clear by now that the train is extremely flawed with the way it does things. Nothing is stopping passengers from staying on the train forever, it can whisk away people that are probably no more than 7 who are still developing as people, it’s possible for passengers to never change and make their numbers reach infinity, it doesn’t account for all the trauma that the train itself can leave on the passengers after they leave, it cannot fathom denizens wanting to get off the train and passengers wanting to help those denizens getting off the train and, in the case with Amelia, it’s possible for anyone to overthrow OneOne and take over as Conductor of the train.

However, I think these flaws show something very important. The train itself isn’t some sort of balevolent god that wants to help people become better, nor is it a malevolent one that wants to wreak havoc. It’s a giant machine.

Each car is made from different orbs, programmed by the Conductor (whoever that may be) to be whatever they like. The train’s helpers are all machines. The entire system itself runs on code. Very outdated code.

This is how I think different denizens are “assigned” to the passengers. I don’t think the train itself can see the future, but it can make predictions based on pre-existing data. Whatever passenger gets whisked to the train, they have their entire history and internal angst calculated and carefully analyzed. After running through their problems, the train can figure out exactly what that person needs in order to grow.

In the case of MT being Jesse’s “assigned Denizen,” while also technically being Tulip’s, here’s how I think it went down: After MT left to go her own path, the train kept her in mind as she went about her business, reassigning her to be someone that can help passengers grow. When Jesse got onto the train, it assigned MT to him and sent him in her general direction in his pod.

As for why exactly he didn’t get dropped off in the same car as MT, Jesse needed a bit of time to adjust and had to befriend Alan Dracula while MT wasn’t there. So when MT was asleep, the train moved the car Jesse was in right before the “Family Tree” car and let the rest of its predictions run its course. We do know its possible for the train to move around cars after all, with passengers on it.

But just because the train is good at predictions, it doesn’t mean they’ll always be 100% accurate. Remember: the train runs on very flawed logic. It isn’t always correct with how the passengers will act (Again, see Amelia and the Apex). So bringing this back around to the purple lightning, I think we found our answer.

The purple lightning represents moments when different aspects of the train completely fly off from their “intended course.”

The train likely wasn’t thinking that Tulip could be its savior, especially with Amelia as the conductor. It likely thought that, as soon as her exit appeared she’d leave for good. But instead, she stuck around and went to save her friend. Tulip stuck around longer than predicted.

The train doesn’t see its denizens as actual people, thinking that as soon as passengers resolve their problems they’ll leave without a second thought. So MT going off on her own to get a number, along with Jesse coming back for her, both of them defied what the train thought was possible.

Then Simon. Simon, Simon, Simon. Out of everything the train could have predicted, it couldn’t have predicted him.

The first time he broke from the train’s “intended course” was when he killed Tuba. We already know that Hazel was likely Grace’s denizen, since she was the reason that her whole view on the denizens had changed. But I think Tuba was meant to be Simon’s denizen (at least, his second one since The Cat abandoned him). With how helpful she was in The Colored Clock car, helping him escape and being the key to leaving the car, she was likely going to be Simon’s ticket to learning to trust “nulls” again.

But then... yeah.

The second time he broke was after his fight with Grace. Despite abandoning her, betraying her, trying to kill her several times, Grace still saved him when he was about to fall. The train likely predicted here that Simon would see the err of his ways, pull an Amelia and go on the path of redemption.

But then...... yeah.

The third-and final time-was when he got what he wanted and got the number to end all numbers, likely bigger than the entire train expected. He had gone so far down the rabbit hole that there was nowhere else to go. Every chance he got to become a better person, he rejected. Simon himself is definitive proof that the train’s prediction system is flawed.

Each of these big moments reflects a gigantic flaw in the train’s system. It doesn’t expect these passengers to do the things they do, go off course from their intended destination. Like I said, the system relies on very outdated code. But now, having each of these situations be resolved, it knows how to deal with these issues going forward. A passenger can leave however they want, anyone can leave if they have a number, and most importantly, its prediction system needs fixing if it wants to keep helping passengers.

The train itself is a very, very strange beast. It’s kind and cruel all at once. But at the end of the day, it’s just a big computer doing its purpose. But this computer is old, outdated, extremely touchy. Each time these offshoots happen, it gives the chance for that code to be rewritten. And it’s very likely that it’s going to commit to these changes. For if it doesn’t... well...

Let’s just say a lot more sand is gonna be added to this desert.

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messwriting · 4 years

Text

Dream Girl - Aizawa x Reader - Part II

Summary: “He catches himself begrudgingly thinking about Dream but he tells himself it is about her safety and not the way in which he thinks she looks so much better with her original hair color.” -- Or Aizawa begrudgingly helps in a undercover mission and meets someone he didn’t anticipated. Then, he’s appalled at being interested.

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

Warnings: Reader is a hero involved in intelligence work, with a specific quirk. There’s also mentions of physical characteristics (hair color and boob-size rs) here, that are meant to be different from yours, but may not be the case. If that’s so, that’s no problem to the progression of the story, just thought of warning. Eventual smut.

Note: GUYS I’M AWFUL AT SUMMARIES BUT THIS IS GOOD. Yes, this is a note i’ll left permanently in this. /// I’m so happy you guys are enjoying this!!!! 😍 It got me giggling like crazy seeing the notes and receiving asks and messages! 💘 So, this part is unbetaed because i didn’t want to bother my ofc beta @mixedhell on her weekend out. If there’s any problems, please tell me. <3

When the day comes, Aizawa leaves the dorm right before the sunset.

It’s fairly early for the marked meeting time, but he needs to meet with both Centipeder and Bubble Girl before meeting Dream and discussing the plan of action… again.

The two of them had met again in the middle of the week, as promised when she left him in front of the School. Y/n had done a whole show when Aizawa called her to arrange the meeting and once she found out his phone number, even if it was the hero-business’ one, his messages exploded like never before. It was common occurrence now for Eraser to wake up in the morning with tons of messages ranging from suggestive to flirty or her attempts at being cute, and sometimes just downright rambling, which had doubled the amount of coffee the permanently tired teacher needed in the morning.

Aizawa refused to answer most of the girl's messages even if he happened to be online at the moment he received them. Other times he made a show of leaving her conversation clearly on read. It was a whole different satisfaction to see Y/N answering “really? leaving me on read again?”.

The problem had been when the woman had managed to turn the game around, upping the level of suggestive messages to the verge of inappropriate. He realizes she does it to both get his attention and annoy him, but some of her messages begrudgingly lifts his spirit.

Aizawa is not very good with anything that requires a lot of expression, even with a screen in between, but for once he’s fine with it. Not dignifying her with an answer turns out to be his answer, especially since he knows she’s going around trying to push his buttons. Even so, after most of five days in this routine, he’s in a bit of a mood when the morning comes and he has nothing waiting for him on his phone. Not even a ridiculous emoji.

He wonders if she’s busy while most of the day passes by and he’s already halfway through his meeting with Centipeder.

They agree on the arrest and what is to be done about the drugs once the police are involved – Centipeder being responsible to fill the Chief on it and Eraser assuring him that he’ll get the triggers into custody. When Eraser feels the meeting’s approaching its end, he feels he can finally ask something without sounding too suspect …And he quickly shuts down the internal question of why would it be suspect before he starts overthinking.

“And where’s Dream? She’s not going to show up for this meeting?”

“No. She didn’t tell you? She’s been in character all day already.”

“What?”

“Before missions like these, she normally sets the ground for the cover she’ll impersonate. Since this was a minor job, she spent the week organizing things like renting an apartment, finding a job...” Bubble girl answers without looking at Eraser, writing something away in her notes. Centipeder doesn’t seem surprised by the fact that the pro-hero who’s assisting Dream in the job doesn’t know any of this. Eraser, on the other hand, is annoyed that she’d been texting him stupid things all week when she could be telling him this.

“She doesn’t like to share much about her routines before missions.” Centipeder clarifies to Eraser, a very tired expression on the mutant that says he’s too used to doing so. “I suppose I get where it comes from, but I also understand how that’s unpleasant while working together on a job, even if a minor one.”

Eraser nods, lights up a cigarette and breathes it in before answering. “I’m just surprised.” He says while blowing the smoke out. “But I also understand where it comes from.” He’s enough of a lone wolf while working to understand that much. Identifying patterns of behaviors it’s one of the first things you learn while working intel and something that you only get better at the longer you work. Habits are hard to lose and easy to fall back into. The more she lets people know hers, the easier it is for someone to try and find their way into her routine. While he understands… he doesn’t know why it unsettles him.

“I guess it comes with her job. Intel work is…” Centipeder stops for a second, eyes drifting off while looking for a word, “Different from hero work.”

Aizawa just nods his agreement.

He doesn't recognize her immediately when he sees her.

Eraser's in one of the alleys behind a residential building in a not-so-good area of the city. Dream told him to wait for her there and she’s late, just a few minutes, but late. Aizawa places himself hidden in one of the existing shaded corners, his traditionally dark clothing acting like camouflage. He waits to hear footsteps at the entrance of the alley, but nothing happens; until the sound of a door opening catches his attention.

He almost dispenses paying attention to the woman who opens the door, a beautiful platinum blonde with clear eyes that clearly could not belong to the woman he remembers. But she waits, standing against the door, her eyes searching without being able to see in the shadows of the alley. Aizawa sucks in the air, ponders, and takes a step towards the light.

“So this was what got you busy all day?”

“Why? Did you miss me?” Even her smile is different, her teeth somehow more white in a straight line of perfection. It’s odd and he can tell right away this has nothing to do with her quirk. She seems to notice his attentive eyes noticing the changes and her expression softens, turning closer to the woman he remembers. It makes him question what does she truly looks like.

“The day was pleasantly quiet. So, no.” He tells her and moves inside when she gives him space, closing the door with a loud noise. He eyes her, but she doesn’t seem concerned, walking ahead of him in unhurried steps. Somehow even that seems different, a measured small distance between each step. They’re inside the buildings’ laundry room now, after stepping through an empty dark corridor.

“Should we be meeting here?” Eraser assumes this place is her rented apartment for the current mission and meeting there it’s stupid. Creates a link between him, the pro-hero that’ll make the apprehension, and whoever she’ll be tonight. She eyes him over her shoulder in a way that tells him that’s not where they are – and there’s an undertone of judgment for him even considering it being that has his face turning sour.

She leads him through the laundry and into another corridor. Then a few flights of stairs down and another corridor, then inside something that looks awfully shady with red lights, through a corner, a door, more stairs, and inside a parking garage. Aizawa prides himself on being a man with incredible direction skills but he’s at loss about where they are. She stops in front of a black car with tinted windows and they get inside without talking.

“No cameras in the garage?” He asks, but already knows the answer.

“Nope.” She still shakes her head, driving with enviable ease out of the garage and into the street. He tries to recognize the location and is really surprised to find that he can't identify immediately, only locating himself after she turns a few streets toward the docks. A corner look at the girl tells him that she’s proud to surprise him.

He lights a cigarette out of habit. "Will it take long?"

"No." She turns into another street, heads towards a busy avenue, and drives for a while until she finally enters an open garage, in one of the buildings on the avenue. She goes down to the last garage basement and Aizawa notices the red door two spaces later before anything. There shouldn't be a fire door there.

They head towards it, Aizawa notices the small keyboard on the side where Y/n presses six numbers and when it opens he’s again surprised to find a private elevator. They go upstairs and when the doors open, they’re inside an apartment that he has no way of knowing which floor or where in the building without having to search the surrounding buildings. It's a nice apartment, though. And it seems surprisingly lived in.

“Huh.” It’s all he says. Then he sucks the last breath of his cigarette before throwing it out. “Why go through all the trouble of bringing me here?”

“It’s fairly early. And I need to show you something.” She says somewhat secretive, moving through the living room to a bedroom. Aizawa blinks once he’s inside. There’s a very state of the art computer there, the kind that makes people with electronic quirks proud. On the three screens there are images being shown and he’s quick to realize that one of the people showing up there it’s the guy that’ll make the buying today.

“Fuck.” Slips past his lips, drifting off with the smoke.

“Finally got a reaction out of you!” She celebrates, turning on the lights and showing everything inside. It has a large wardrobe-slash-open-closet on one wall and a large mirror on the side, with lights and a complete dressing table with numerous makeup and hair items. A half-open door shows the large bathroom and all there is in the middle of the room is a divan with a cover and a pillow thrown on it. He puts two and two together and finds out that whatever that apartment means, here is one of her hideouts. Not truly her house, but a place she uses an awful lot. And Eraser is at loss to why she’s showing him it.

“Are you monitoring him?” He asks.

“Yes. I need to make sure what he’s doing and that everything is okay for tonight. It is, he already got the money.”

“And the other places?” He motions with his head to the other two images being shown, which he doubts he could guess where they’re from.

“Oh, this is what I want to show you.” In the light, Aizawa realizes some things he didn’t notice before. Like the fact her breasts are bigger in the black outfit she’s wearing and she looks like she lost weight.

“What exactly do you do to change like this?” The question leaves his lips before he can stop it, and somehow she manages not to be surprised even if he is.

“My appearance? A wig, contact lenses, bigger bra filled with silicon, and a bit of dehydration to lose some weight. I’ll do makeup and dress up too. Normal stuff.” She explains like it’s nothing, sitting on the expensive computer chair and turning back to look at him.

“Why do so if you’re going to use your quirk? And since I’ll deal with the security cams.”

“Do you want me to alter the perception of everyone in that club?” She sounds almost offended. “Also, everyone is going to remember a bright blonde with pretty eyes and big boobs in a very slutty dress. No one’s going to be looking for me.”

Her logic is difficult to argue with. And Aizawa finds himself admiring her hard work and diligence.

“Ok, what do you need to show me?”

“This.” She turns on the big, comfortable computer chair, and walks him through a very didactic explanation of the clubhouse architecture and electric panels. She has a software that looks like it’s right out of a spy movie and once they’re done he’s fairly certain he could walk that path and destroy the night security recording without even looking. Aizawa almost wants to congratulate her, but she’ll probably gloat at the mere hint of compliment.

Though it’s a very good scheme: She planned so that the cameras will continue recording, but nothing will be saved. Anyone could look at it like it’s a simple glitch, a fortuitous problem happening on a bad night – shitty luck.

“You put lots of thought into this.” It’s what Aizawa opts to say instead, though he admits there’s a bit of admiration there. He’s done missions like this with a grand variety of pro-heroes and also intel personnel and she’s by far the one who surprised him the most. He has done little to no effort on his part for today and she has delivered to him a clear plan of action with logical directions and perspicuous counter-measures into making this a clean operation.

“You could say so, yeah. I want this to go smoothly.” Still, she sounds as if she’s pleading the gods for good luck. Aizawa holds his instinctive snort and catches his eyes before they give him away and instead just nods – he doesn’t ask why.

Once they finish the ordeal, she’s washing her face to begin the whole makeup setup and Eraser’s finishing his third smoke. Before he leaves, she tells him directions on how to leave the subsoil garage where the elevator will lead to and he listens attentively while pretending to not find interest in the way she prepares her skin to look different; while pretending to not be trying to guess how she’ll look.

When he’s finally at the street, Eraser can't understand why she went through all the trouble of taking him there to just let him out, but he considers that she’ll probably stop using the place after tonight. It’s already time for him to begin his night patrol though, so Eraser moves quickly. Hours go by idly, his mind shifting to his later plans. He catches himself begrudgingly thinking about Dream but he tells himself it is about her safety and not the way in which he thinks she looks so much better with her original hair color. Eraser’s moving in the direction of the club a few minutes before the agreed time.

The pro-hero manages to cut the image recording so easily that it takes less time than they’d estimated, giving Eraser time to leave the building and watch from above one of the neighboring rooftops when Y/N arrives on the spot in a car. The only reason he knows it’s her it’s because the signal that comes in his phone – a single ping indicating her arrival. She’s looking even more blonde than before, the color of her hair so bright it shines. Her dress is white and he’s fairly certain, with a choked breath, that she’s not wearing much in all that silk.

The thing is surprisingly not as short as he imagined and he’s quick to discover why, a slit opening all the way through her thigh. She stands there like she bears the light inside her muscles because he’s fairly certain the woman is shining. From all the way up where he stands, there’s not much he can get from her face without wearing his goggles, but then she moves inside and the place looks dark again – a dirty street with fewer lighting where before stood some kind of goddess.

Aizawa finds his cigarette out of habit and tries to free his mind of those nonsensical thoughts while he distances himself from the place to wait at his support spot. It’s hours and too many smokes after when another ping sounds on his phone and he's quick enough to catch the sight of Y/N leaving the place hanging off the arm of their target, his other hand firmly locked on a suitcase. They’re talking animatedly and she’s prettily laughing at the man’s words, while his hand slowly molds itself on her waist and pointedly tells Aizawa he may be right about his early assumption. A sports car parks in front of the couple and they get in.

Eraser follows.

- tag list: @therealwalmartjesus [UASHUAHS MY GOD I HAVE A TAG LIST]

#aizawa x reader #eraser head x reader #aizawa sensei #aizawa imagine #eraser head imagine #bnha imagine #dream girl #messwriting

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 105

I’ve managed to get slightly ahead on these, so: A belated thank you to @littleshydragon, @dark-chocolat-cupcake, @overusedblur, and @allegrochicken for all the love I have seen blowing up my notes recently (I’m queuing this on Aug 25, even if it won’t post until Sept 8).

Also, to the 30 new followers who I have somehow acquired: Welcome! Ask box is always open, and I don’t get nearly enough of them. I love to interact with y’all, so don’t be afraid to ask me every little question you think of as you read. Anon is on if you feel you need that.

Other than that, thanks for this chapter goes out to @baelpenrose for beta reading. Also @quantumizedinsanity, @charlylimph-blog, @wildforestferret, @creakingcryptid, for the characters you gave me to play with in chapters like this.

Later that same ‘day’, I was forcefully reminded of Noah’s observation regarding human communication. Things were generally calm, and an impromptu family meal-snack-thing was happening in my quarters. Antoine had been over to visit, as he seemed to be making up for lost time caused by infiltrating Jokul’s accidental cult. Zach and Hannah were over, as well, so when dinner time rolled around, I just threw together some small po-boy sandwiches and banh mi for us to snack on while we kept visiting, rather than making a full meal.

Hey, I was allowed lazy days, too.

As it happened sometimes, conversation turned to things we either did or didn’t miss from Before. Tonight was very firmly in the ‘do not miss’ category.

“Plagues started by dumb experiments,” Maverick pointed out, smirking.

Catching on, Conor swatted him playfully. “I said I was sorry about that! And Else is an alright person, turns out.”

Snorting, Hannah covered her face with one hand. “Tell that to Nixe.”

“Her new tail is gorgeous,” I gushed. “If I got reparations like that, I’d at least consider forgiving someone.”

“For almost killing you?”

“It was an accident,” I brushed the comment off, reminded of explaining that gesture to Noah. “Besides, there are a lot of other things I genuinely don’t miss.”

“Aunt Flo,” Hannah intoned seriously.

“Tyche and I already did that one, so it’s not admissible,” I admonished. “But spoiled food? Do not miss.”

Zach shuddered. “Hell, that’s not even from Before. I don’t miss that at all.”

Antoine lifted his coffee in a mock-toast. “To all the people we lost to antibiotics.” After a few confused looks banded around the room, I laughed and waved at him to clarify. Rolling his eyes dramatically, he sighed. “Bread mold. This is why people died in the After of antibiotic allergies: they didn’t know it was derived from bread mold.”

“Dude, that’s dark,” Zach whispered.

Clearing his throat, Conor soldiered on. “I never lived through one, but wildfires were pretty bad, yeah?”

Nodding seriously, Maverick - who had lived on the western coast of NorthAm - added “Yeah, fuck THOSE things. Australia had it worse, but still.”

Raising her hand and waving it, Hannah started making eager noises to ask for her turn. “Absolutely idiotic job requirements, am I right?” Nods abounded, and she took the opportunity to vent the spleen I hadn’t even guessed her to possess. “The number of jobs I didn’t get because I didn’t have a degree were absurd. I don’t even know why they even required them, for some! I’m sure most of you had that happen.”

I kept my silence, but Conor was right behind her. “A Master’s in Engineering, to be a foreman. You’re babysitting a bunch of knuckleheads pounding rebar and pouring concrete! And they’ve had a decade of learning to do it right, I would’ve just been there to make sure it was compliant. And they wanted a Master’s for that!”

Hannah took a sip of her drink and nodded eagerly. “That’s what I’m talking about! There was a job I qualified for that was basically a glorified secretary… They wanted a four-year degree and paid peanuts. Absurd. But I was unemployed for way more of my life than I should have been, because I didn’t have that piece of paper.”

Idly, Zach stared at his drink. Like me, he had one of said-degrees, so this was something of a conversation we couldn’t really take part in. “I wonder how many Councillors we would have if those kind of requirements were put in place here.” Arching an eyebrow, he glanced up at me and inclined his head knowingly.

“Well,” I exhaled. “It depends. If they asked for a Master’s degree of any kind, I wouldn’t be a Councillor.” A thought struck me. “Hey - “

“No, Sophia, you cannot recommend that as a way to retire from the Council,” Antoine scolded with a laugh. “You would be grandfathered in with everyone else.”

The laughter broke the serious tone that had descended, and led to everyone speculating jovially, starting with Conor. “Well, we know Grey would still be a Councillor in that case - they admitted they had a PhD when Else was still getting sorted, rather than an MD.”

“Pretty sure Eino has a Master’s, at least,” Zach pointed.

Maverick shook his head, firmly disagreeing. “Doctorate in Education. I saw it on his wall. Don’t sell that one short.”

“So that’s two.” Hannah leaned forward eagerly. “Conor, what about Huynh?”

“Masters in Engineering,” he confirmed ruefully. “But he’s no PhD.”

“Pranav,” Zach interjected. “Post grad in robotics. Even worked on some of the Padrugoi mission stuff, early on.”

A respectful murmur filled the room, accompanied by appropriately impressed nods. Maverick had to actually shake the starstruck look out of his eyes before he could speak. “So that’s three PhDs, one Master’s, and a Bachelor’s on the Council. Not bad, honestly.”

Antoine cleared his throat politely. “Grey actually has two doctorates, if I am recalling correctly.”

I shook my head firmly. “Three. Biochemistry, genetics, and molecular chemistry.”

With a low whistle, Conor shook his head. “So, we have a clear leader as far as ‘most degrees on the Council’. Would Eino or Pranav be second, though?”

An argument erupted, and when it looked like Zach was about to say something, I shook my head. I knew the same thing he was about to point out, as a by-blow of fixing some of Derek’s more… enthusiastic shenanigans, but I wanted to see if anyone would figure it out or even question it. A solid half-hour later, Tyche arrived and scooped up a mini-sandwich before she even registered the conversation/argument taking place.

Whirling to face me, she pointed at the rest of the room and glared at me disdainfully. “Seriously? How long has this been going on?”

“Forty five minutes?” I admitted sheepishly. “Maybe an hour if you include the ‘what we don’t miss’ portion of the conversation. But ‘degrees on the Council’ has been at least forty five minutes.”

“And you said fuck all?”

I shrugged. “I know it’s not me who has the most or even second most. I have the least formal education of any Councillor.”

Tyche pinched the bridge of her nose and blew out a long breath. “Okay, everyone. What do you know so far?”

Without hesitation, Maverick rattled it off. “Grey has three doctorates, Eino has one and a Master’s, it turns out. Pranav has one doctorate and a Bachelor’s. Huynh has a Master’s, and Sophia has a Bachelor’s.”

“And the Councillor you have left out?” she interrogated wearily, while Zach and I tried to restrain our laughter.

“Xiomara?” he asked, face scrunched in confusion. “She was career military, but I don’t know if she has any degrees. Maybe a Bachelor’s?”

Tyche shook her head, glaring again when I started gasping for breath. “Wrong. And you know what? Soph knew this, so I’m going to make her tell all of you. Like she should have. From the beginning.”

“Hey!” I cried, still giggling. “I was giving them a whole other 5 minutes before I broke the news. I just wanted to see if they would even question their reasoning.” Antoine’s eyes got wide, sending me into another giggling fit. “None of you even mentioned the idea of Xiomara having any degree,” I gasped, almost in hysterics. “Mav was in the military, so I get that he just assumed she was busy as fuck, but… et tu, everyone?”

Hannah’s head turned slowly to stare down Zach. In self defense, he held up both hands with one pointing at me. “She told me not to say anything.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I did!”

Carefully, Conor slowly asked the question that was on everyone else’s minds. “Sophie? What’s so funny?”

Tears were pouring down my face at this point - not because I thought the situation was funny, because it wasn’t. Not really. I was hysterical because I was so caught off guard that we still brought something like this with us. “I don’t know the real reason why nobody considered Xiomara, and I’m scared to ask at this point. I’m hoping it’s because she looks tough as hell and like the kind of person who would beat up highly educated people rather than be one.” Wiping a tear from my face, I glanced at Tyche. Her jaw was tight, clearly thinking the same things I was. “But the fact that she is the only other woman on the Council, that hurts, honestly.”

I took a few deep breaths to compose myself. “The fact is, Xiomara has five degrees. Five. Along with her military career. Tyche and I have to know this, since we handle staffing.” Counting on my fingers, I started ticking them off. “Two doctorates, one in international law and one in experimental economics - as in, yes, the calorie economy was her idea. A Master’s in military history, along with two Bachelor’s degrees: one in experimental chemistry and one in nuclear physics.” Shaking my head, I glanced at the shocked and guilty expressions in the room. “It isn’t three PhDs, but damn, y’all. The woman has five degrees!”

“How did she do that, and a military career, so young?” Maverick asked, his tone nothing but awed.

Antoine looked confused at the question. “My friend, how old do you think Xiomara is?”

He shrugged. “Sophie’s age? So, thirtyish?”

Conor poked him. “Mav. You know how old Sophie is.”

Maverick rolled his eyes. “Fine. So maybe forty? The whole healing stuff messes with me, I’ll be honest.”

Smiling, I cut him some slack. “Xiomara is just over ten years older than me,” I clarified.

Hannah’s eyes widened, and Zach looked like he had been punched in the gut. “So hot-scary-lady is fifty?” After Tyche and I nodded, he shook his head. “That’s still super-impressive for fifty. For seventy, even!” Zach shook his head. “Grey, I could understand. They seem like the type to just live for education, you know? But, Xio? I’ve known for a year and I still get dizzy thinking about it.”

“It does explain why she’s so intimidating,” Conor pointed out. When I opened my mouth to scold him, he held up one hand. “No! No. Doctorates have to be argued and defended, right? Plus one of those is in law. And she balanced a military career on top of all that. If I accomplished all that, people would look at me with respect and expect me to be a direct, take-no-prisoners kind of person.” He glanced at Antoine, who winced and nodded in confirmation.

“She isn’t though,” I complained. “She’s a leader.”

“Definitely not ruthless, but she is intimidating to the general population,” Hannah pointed out gently. “That’s part of what Jokul was talking about, right? The Ark, as a whole, doesn’t get to see her get excited over her favorite foods, or pictures of baby pandas, or…. Cherries? Is it cherries she’s crazy for?”

“Pomegranate,” I corrected, begrudgingly.

“Pomegranate,” Hannah asserted. “They don’t get to see that. They get to see ‘hot-scary-lady who lays down the law’. Not ‘Xiomara who gets googly eyed when Parvati Fletcher wears that one violet shirt’.”

“Or hates plantains,” Tyche pointed out. “Which never made sense to me, because fried plantains are basically dessert with dinner.”

I started to giggle a bit. “It makes even less sense when you’ve seen her order coffee.” Tyche groaned, but more confused looks bounded about the room. Full out laughing, I explained. “She… she puts… maybe three ounces of coffee? Not espresso, just regular coffee… with what looks like a gallon - “ I snorted so hard it hurt my nose, but couldn’t stop. “Of milk! And sugar! Oh gods, she must put a cup of sugar in her coffee, I swear!”

Hannah and Zach exchanged glances, as did Conor and Maverick. Within seconds, the entire room erupted in laughter. “That?” Conor gasped. “That is hilarious….”

“I...I always thought… she took her coffee blacker than sin….” Zach wheezed. “And baby pandas?”

Sobering suddenly, I straightened and glared at the entire room. “OI!” I shouted. “Baby pandas are fucking cute, and if you don’t think so, you aren’t human, and I will ask Noah to do genetic testing to prove that.”

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#the miys #science fiction #humans are weird #found family #humans are space orcs #earth is space australia #aliens #apocalypse #found family tropes #hfy #humans are awesome #humans are space fae

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mrmallard · 3 years

Note

If you actually knew about the situation, vinny didn’t do anything, and the situation was made up to make him look bad, and the audio provided was spliced, please do your fucking research!!!!

I've had a bit of time to think about my responses and the information that's flying around at the moment. In hindsight, I didn't say much in my second post that I didn't already cover in my first post, and I understand why people would be upset with my input so far.

I'm going to have another shot at this, because the level of fatigue I had when I tackled this topic really didn't do me any favors. I think my first post was pretty solid, but I dropped the ball on the second post and I understand why someone would be upset with me over that. I'm sorry.

I would also like to say that as more information comes out about this, my opinion will likely continue to change. I'm open to new information. I'm coming to the best conclusions I can with the information that's been provided to me. This is an opinion, and opinions can and should evolve with new information.

And finally, I would ask that you stay with me on this post because A) it's really long and B) I'm going to explain myself to begin with and then go over some angles I didn't cover in my other posts - it's gonna look like I'm retreading the same old stuff to begin with, but I approach the subject with more nuance later on. I would ask that you reserve judgement until you read my final statement on the matter.

TL;DR - the question I'm concerned with is whether Vinny slept with fans or not. I don't have the answer to that question - though I personally think it looks likely - and so the extent of my feelings on the matter depend on whether this is the case or not.

Otherwise, I want to explain where I'm approaching this all from.

In my last posts, I mentioned power imbalances and inappropriate behaviour. I still stand by the basic tenets of what I said - a celebrity has a degree of power over someone who looks up to them, and that can easily create a relationship where one person puts in a lot more work to make the other person happy, or to maintain what they see as a once-in-a-lifetime relationship with someone they admire.

I would like to stress that this imbalance exists whether the more influential person acknowledges it or not. It can be "used" - Quinton Flynn comes to mind - but for the most part it's a neutral force that's inherent to a creator/fan relationship, and neither party may realise that this is the case until a breaking point is reached.

Fame, and the power that fame affords an individual, is relative - Vinny isn't Brad Pitt, but he still has influence with his fans. And as such, I find the notion of Vinny sleeping with fans to be inappropriate due to his inherent influence in the situation.

And so, that brings us to the main question of this post - does Vinny sleep with his fans?

Before I even attempt to answer that, I want to outline my feelings on the document. Because I want to make it clear that there are aspects of it that I don't agree with, and I'm not approaching this with an all-or-nothing mindset.

First of all, the first accusation uses some manipulative rhetoric. "Imagine if you were in that situation", "imagine how you'd feel if..." etc. I understand the point of it - personally, I think it's a useful piece of rhetoric to argue in favour of more humane policies, because if you can make someone understand an inhumane situation by putting them in someone else's shoes, you have a chance of getting through to them. If the accuser has gone through a hard time, I understand why they would want the reader to empathise with their plight.

But given that this is a document where we can't verify every little happening or goings-on that the accuser is presenting to us, it pays to be wary of that kind of rhetoric. And as we can't confirm everything being said here, I would be extra wary of rhetoric like that being used.

Secondly, the audio recording does seem to be stitched together - even the transcript is choppy as fuck. I don't buy that it's all from one single call, and that would indicate that the accuser is trying to paint a particular picture of him and take things out of context to make him look worse.

Though I have to ask - is there any question as to whether the man on the other end is Vinny?

If it was Vinny talking about giving someone HPV, and that someone was indeed a Vinesauce fan - then that says that Vinny does sleep with fans. And because of that, I would find his behavior inappropriate.

If we accept that this recording has been compromised, then I can't verify one way or the other - but if this was indeed the case, I would have to stick with my guns and condemn Vinny for behaving inappropriately.

So you might be thinking to yourself that by labelling this behavior as inappropriate, and suggesting that Vinny has engaged in it, I'm calling Vinny an abuser, or a pervert, or any number of things. I want to clarify what I'm saying.

The accusations levelled against him are heinous and far-reaching. You have people equating him to a pedophile for chatting up younger women, you have people painting him as a malicious abuser. I don't think this is that extreme. I am not trying to further such heinous accusations.

My take on Vinny from the start has been that while something in his relationships might have gone awry one way or the other, I don't think it necessarily comes from a place of malice. I think he's an awkward dude navigating a grey area between private life and the public eye. I like Vinny's content - I'm a long time fan. I sympathize with him, and I understand that opening this can of worms is extremely hard on him, especially if he didn't do anything wrong.

The issue is that if aspects of these accusations are true - and while there are aspects that can be called into question, I don't think we can throw everything out just yet - then it isn't unreasonable to assume that there has been some degree of harm that has resulted from Vinny's relationships with Vinesauce fans. Not intentional harm necessarily, but harm all the same.

I can't just block up my ears and walk away from that - if it's true, I have to take that into account. And outside of this entire narrative being proven false, that's the best case scenario.

I would like to stress that my take on all this is tied strongly to my personal values as a person. And considering that, I think it's important to address that the content creators I follow have engaged in behavior that goes against my values in the past.

I like Game Grumps - I think Danny sleeping with fans in a groupie sort of way is inappropriate. I didn't believe the worst aspects of his accusations because I saw that RantGrumps were involved and they've been trying to take him down for years - sure enough, the person accusing him of grooming her as a teenager ended up deleting her shit and disappearing. The story was suss, and it was pointed out that he didn't do anything untoward towards a minor which was the bulk of the backlash - but the fact remains that Dan sleeps with his fans, and I disagree with that for reasons I've laid out earlier in this post.

I feel similarly about this situation with Vinny. We don't know everything about this story yet, and aspects of the main allegations don't sit right with me. I don't think a fully accurate picture of the situation is being painted. Much like I sat out the biggest bombshells about Dan Avidan, I don't think it would be constructive or appropriate to go all in on any of this without verifying its truthfulness.

With Dan, we can say that we know about his dalliances with fans. I disagree with that, and I condemn that behavior. I think there's a very real potential for harm towards Game Grumps/NSP fans who sleep with Dan, stemming from Dan's influence. I have to take that into account if I'm going to enjoy the content he produces - and given that there is no malice here, I could come around and engage with Game Grumps content in the future with the understanding that Dan is on thin ice, and that there needs to be more responsibility on his part.

The question I'm asking is whether Vinny is having dalliances with his fans. If he is, then my feelings towards him are identical to the ones I just posted about Dan.

And so, that begs the question - has Vinny slept with his fans?

I think there's a chance he has - I haven't seen proof that he hasn't. In which case, I would think it should be said that that's inappropriate behaviour, and I can't condone that.

Do I necessarily believe that it would make Vinny a predator if this was true?

I don't feel comfortable making that much of a leap.

I think Quinton Flynn is a predator. I think there have been much less e-famous personalities who used their influence to get away with a lot worse - specifically in the Smash Bros. community.

I don't have all the answers, but I absolutely believe that painting Vinny as a predator is a step too far with the information we have.

So, to sum up my final thoughts:

I understand that we don't have the full story. There are aspects of the accusations that I don't trust. On the same token, I have seen women saying they've gotten in contact with Vinny and had relations with him, though the first example I saw of this did at least say that he was apparently decent about it. Even then, I can't say I agree with the notion that Vinny sleeps with his fans.

But given that Vinny hasn't acted with malicious intent, I can say that I could eventually come around and engage with Vinny's content in the future with the understanding that he's on thin ice, and that there needs to be more responsibility on his part. Of course, that's if he has slept with Vinesauce fans in the first place - which I have been led to believe, but can't say with 100% certainty.

We need the full story. And until we have a better understanding of all this, I can't say for sure what's true and what isn't.

If I have somehow missed the whole story, before I finished writing this post or while I was writing this post, then I understand that this post has been a wild goose chase - but all I'm seeing is more drama and accusations flying around about who was behind all this with no definitive answer about what's true and what isn't.

Until we know everything, this is where I stand. This is my view of the whole situation. I don't want any innocent party to suffer in all this, which is why I'm taking this approach. And I would like to stress above anything else that A) I'm open to new information that confirms or denies aspects of this situation, and B) I'm engaging in this discourse in good faith.

I'm still not over the Quinton Flynn stuff - as much of an open and shut case as it was, it was still a shock and a sad surprise to learn about what he did and accept that he was a scumbag. I'm still upset about the Close Your Eyes, Look At The Mountains stuff - I loved those comics, but Kaycee was right to speak out about her experiences.

I don't want this to be true about Vinny. I like Vinesauce. I've already lost faith in so many entertainers I used to think of in a positive light. But I can't write it all off until I have confirmation that it isn't true. That's the reality of the situation, and you're free to feel otherwise.

#vinesauce

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writingquestionsanswered · 5 years

Text

Guide: How to Skip Time in Your Story

Few stories take place during a short, unbroken chunk of time. Most stories take place in small chunks spread out over days, weeks, months, or years, which means there will be whole chunks of time not covered. So, how do you skip the time between those chunks?

Scenes and Chapters

With the exception of some very short fiction, most stories are broken into scenes, each of which encapsulates a particular moment or event. In longer fiction, like novellas and novels, related scenes can be grouped together into chapters, though sometimes a chapter contains only one scene. Either way, because scenes and chapters focus on particular moments or events, or a related group of moments or events, starting a new scene or chapter is a natural way to represent the passage of time in your story. In fact, unless otherwise stated, readers will naturally assume that time has passed between scenes and chapters--which doesn’t mean you don’t still have to make the transition between them.

The key to skipping time between scenes or chapters is to make the transition by doing two things:

1) Set up the time skip at the end of the scene or chapter by hinting at what is to come. For example:

As I gazed out the window at January’s first falling snow, I couldn’t help but wonder what the new year would bring.

2) Clarify time, place and (if necessary) POV at the beginning of the new scene or chapter, playing off of the set up from the previous scene or chapter.

The first week of January was over in a blink, and then I found myself back at school, dealing with all the problems I’d left behind during Christmas Break.

Notice how the set up at the end of the previous scene/chapter flows seamlessly into the scene transition at the beginning of the new scene/chapter?

Because the passage of time is expected between scenes and chapters, it’s not always necessary to be direct about how much time has passed. Especially if the amount of time passing is unimportant or already implied.

Direct:

Melinda finally dragged herself out of bed, painfully aware that her entire career hinged on her ability to pull this meeting off without a hitch. She hated the uncertainty of what lay ahead, hating even more the only thing she did know for certain: it was going to be one hell of a shitty day.

# # #

Two hours later, Melinda stood in front of the board, coffee in hand, trying to exude confidence she in no way truly felt. The tired, stoic faces of eleven other men and women gazed back at her, plainly ready for whatever it was she was about to unleash upon them. She only wished she felt as ready as they appeared to be.

Less Direct:

# # #

All eleven faces of the other board members gazed back at Melinda, stoic and tired as she stood before them, coffee in hand, trying to exude a confidence she in now way truly felt. It was clear they were prepared for whatever she was about to unleash upon them, and she could only wish she was equally prepared.

In the second example, even though you don’t specifically say “two hours later,” it’s clear right away from the context that the time and place have changed. No one is going to read “all eleven faces of the other board members” and assume that they’re waiting for her in her bathroom as she goes in to brush her teeth the next morning. As often as possible, try to reserve the “two hours later” and “when she got back to the office” transitions for when the context would otherwise be unclear, or when those specific details (how much time has passed, a specific location) is immediately important.

And, if no time is passing between two scenes or two chapters, you can make that clear via context. For example, if one scene ends with Melinda falling asleep and then being woken up by a loud knock at her door, the next scene could continue with something like “Heart pounding from the shock, Melinda jumped out of bed to see who was at her door.” Now it’s clear no time passed in the next scene. But, since a new situation is beginning, it still warrants being its own scene.

Expository Time Skip

Sometimes you need to show a quick glimpse of something that happened but which doesn’t really warrant its own scene or chapter. In this case, you may need to illustrate the time skip using exposition within the scene. It may look something like this:

The first week of January was over in a blink, and then I found myself back at school, dealing with all the problems I’d left behind during Christmas Break. Not the least of which was the newly formed rift between me and Kristina, who was glaring at me from across the hallway as I spun the combination on my locker that first day back. I’d done my best to ignore her, shoveling my million textbooks out of my book bag, doing a quick check of my hair--which somehow managed to be both wet and frizzy with static--before grabbing my biology books and hurrying off under Kristina’s cold glare.

Later that day, at lunch, Michelina and I decided to eat lunch outside, even though it was thirty degrees and still snowing. Despite the wintry chill, it was warmer than the cafeteria with Kristina’s angry gaze constantly searching us out.

Terms such as: later that day, two hours later, the next afternoon, the following day, by the time the bell rang, when it was time to close, etc., allow you to show that time has passed without transitioning to a new scene or chapter. This allows you to cover smaller moments/events that don’t warrant their own space.

Whether you use a scene transition between two scenes or two chapters to show the passing of time, or whether you clarify the time skip through exposition, just pay attention to where you leave your readers before the transition/clarification, and where you take them. Make sure it’s clear, flows well, and wouldn’t leave anyone confused. Do that and you should be in good shape. :)

#writing #writing tips #writing help #writing advice #wqaaguide

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prettyboysdontlookatexplosions · 4 years

Text

totally stealing @honeybabydichotomy‘s meme-adaptation concept re: i have a handful of things that could be described WIPs and nearly all of them i already can’t shut my mouth about, but here is a trip through the GOOGLE DOCS GRAVEYARD of abandoned fandoms past (mcu, trc, something too embarrassing to list above the cut so you’ll just have to CLICK and find out)

first up, the last fic i never actually wrote for, lmao, american idol season 8 RPF fandom, back in 2010... this was going to be a bigbang fic but in keeping with my terrible track record re: challenges etc. i did not finish it, although in my defense that had at least something to do with spilling coffee all over my laptop right around the time i started a very hours-intensive job with a huge commute. when i look at this now i’m like, this sure was me writing ten years ago, but i still love the emotional architecture of any story in which one deliberately shut-off and long-repressed individual is uncomfortably thawed by the miracle of someone else’s open-hearted joie de vivre; it’s the oldest story here but arguably the closest to an actual WIP in that the ghost of that idea is the seed for the divorced quentin AU i harbor hopes of one day writing; you can definitely see the Relevant Vibes in this exchange, i think, although i feel the need to clarify that adam lambert enjoying twilight is a thing he said on national television, i wouldn’t do that to someone on my own:

Veselka is crowded, but despite the bitter February cold, Kris doesn't mind waiting outside for twenty minutes, leaning against the glass display case of the expensive toy store next door, separated from Adam by little more than an inch. "So - okay, this is kind of terrible. Like, worse than the Twilight thing. But I feel like you should know who you're dealing with, so."

"It can't be that bad."

Adam just smiles knowingly. "Oh, can't it?"

"Hit me with your best shot," Kris says. Something twitches in his stomach as Adam raises his eyebrow to that.

Adam leans down to whisper in Kris's ear, sending inexplicable sparks down Kris's neck. "Sometimes, when I'm standing in the street or on the subway or something, I like to watch people go by and try to guess what they're like in bed."

Kris blushes. "Very mature," he says with a nervous laugh, embarrassed about his own embarrassment.

Adam holds up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Hey. We're all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars," he intones. "Oscar Wilde."

"Do you think that's true?"

"I think it is. At least - " Adam tilts his chin up, a mischievous glint in his eyes " - I identify with it."

Kris searches for something to say that won't make him seem hopelessly square. "What's the view like from down there?"

Adam gazes at the night sky, where Manhattan's perpetual glow blots out all but the brightest lights. "I like it. You see more of them this way."

Kris thinks he's spent six years priding himself himself on keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, avoiding the pull of the horizon or the distraction of the sun. "So. Mr. Gutter." He points to a thirty-something man getting out of a parked Ford across the street. "What's he like?"

next up: an unpublished MCU snippet! this was a peggy character study set at howard’s funeral, also an excuse for me to have feelings about tony stark; idiotically, i actually have a complete draft of this, and got a really brilliant beta job from @nimmieamee, but then never went back and revised it and also could not bring myself to post it when despite being passable as done i could tell in my bones it was simply Not Working, even though parts of it i really liked:

Howard had not taken to aging with grace. It, too, offended him: the body betraying the dream of perfectibility. Dodging it had taken up an increasing percentage of his time. He took up jogging, early among the public, too late in his life: a few months in and a busted knee earned him doctor's orders to abandon that pursuit. His bones were already too brittle to benefit. Howard himself had become brittle long ago. You could blame the war; but that was what happened to people with no give to them. They were like the driest branches waiting for a storm, only unlike branches they recognized on some level the precariousness of their structure, and consequently dedicated themselves to forgetting it.

Howard was undeterred. (Being deterred also went against his every principle.) He had swimming pools installed, outdoors in Los Angeles, adorned with artificial rocks arranged just so to give the impression of a hot spring, and indoors in West Hampton, heated, lit underwater with a yellow-green glow throwing tendrils of light on smooth white walls. Fitness gurus and nutrition consultants were put on retainer, a bicoastal platoon to prevent malfunctions; physical therapists were brought in to recalibrate around malfunctions. They quit with increasing frequency, as his temper frayed along with his body. He gave up, in sequence, smoking, alcohol, red meat, all meat, alcohol, sugar, processed grains, alcohol, salt, and direct sunlight--although by the time of this last pronouncement, it produced little noticeable effect.

Lately he had become obsessed with the idea of cryogenic freezing: the fantasy of going to sleep and waking up in a time when his intellectual heirs had figured out how to repair and replace his rusted pieces. Skin firmed and thickened; knees stitched back to mint condition; a whole new heart, perhaps, grown in a jar or assembled from compounds yet to be constructed. "Wouldn't you take the chance, if you had it?" he had murmured, eyes going dreamy as they did when he talked of his latest missiles.

Peggy pictured Steve in the Arctic, his hyperactive cells stilled by the indifferent cold. She shivered, like a child hearing a ghost story, and said no, she wouldn't.

finally, two stories from a fandom i actually never published any stories with, or engaged with in any meaningful way: the fuckin raven cycle. the dumbest books on god’s green earth. the first was a ronan story where gansey actually dies and stays the fuck dead, and ronan handles it by being a huge asshole, and then, unlike in these hideous godforsaken books, actually decides on purpose to be a better person.... i’m realizing revisiting this now that some of the itch of this story i’ve finally gotten out of my system via damage control, but the GENIUS IDEA of ronan giving matthew an actual soul by giving up the dream power and thus becoming an actual human, sadly, does not really transfer, even though it’s the best concept i’ve ever thought of in my life. anyway, whatever, i have a type:

He opened the door. Adam and Blue were looking at him with expressions he couldn't decipher. Noah was looking at the floor.

"Are you—" Adam started. Ronan watched the word okay die of its own irrelevance in Adam's mouth.

"None of you were invited," Ronan said.

Blue started, "We just—"

"Sorry," he said, loud enough to drown her out. "But this is a very exclusive party. That means no rednecks"—he pointed at Adam—"no bitches"—Blue—"and no pussies"—Noah. "So I'm going to need you all to leave."

He focused his eyes on Blue. She looked like she wanted to slap him. This was familiar. He wanted to go back to the time when his only interactions with Blue Sergeant involved saying something and watching her look at him like she wanted to slap him. Things had gotten complicated after that. Then Gansey had died. Ronan couldn't articulate the connection, but he felt strongly that it was there.

"Maybe I wasn't clear," he said. "What I mean is: get the fuck out of my house."

and last but not least, another TRC story, motivated initially by dreaminess and then sporadically continued after TRK came out (seriously like ever 18 months i dig this one out and write another 500 words and give up again) out of spite - a story where, because fuck stief, adam parrish gets a cell phone, ronan lynch gets a job, and no one assumes that finally having sex means you’re basically married forever without even talking about if you’re boyfriends. this one is like, so close to being “done” in that it almost goes beginning to end and has a lot of individual lines i actually like, but has always been very difficult to pull together because of the reality that maggie stiefvater wrote a series such that ronan lynch acting like a decent boyfriend or experiencing character growth or talking about his emotions is literally out of character, which makes it hard to write a dreamy summer hook-up story; i was actually thinking earlier this year of picking it back up YET AGAIN, but then damage control ate my brain... one day, perhaps, for the satisfaction of having finished... or i might just listen to “cruel summer” by taylor swift while meditating on it for a couple million more hours:

“Did you call me over just to give me the fucking silent treatment in person?” Ronan said. It sounded less vicious than it should have. Like he had been aiming for a growl and somehow landed on a mumble.

I didn’t call you over, Adam wanted to say, but it wasn’t actually true. He had. That seemed wrong, though. Ronan Lynch wasn’t someone to be called over. He was too wild and spiteful for that. Even Gansey couldn’t manage it. The rest of Ronan’s world had given up trying long ago.

But when Adam had called, Ronan had come.

He felt like he might throw up.

“I’m not giving you the silent treatment,” he said instead. “I’m just—“ But he didn’t know what he was doing. So he switched tacks. “You just—“ But he didn’t know that, either. And asking Ronan what the fuck are you doing had never yielded helpful results.

So Adam stuck to the truest thing, what he had worked his whole life to make true. “I’m leaving in three months.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything,” Ronan spat. This time he was closer to the expected intensity, but there was still something strange under his voice. Maybe not. Maybe Adam was just having a nervous breakdown.

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chilling-seavey · 4 years

Text

Anything But Mine (d.s.) - Chapter Sixteen

A/N be gentle with my sweet Florence...she’s kinda all over the place right now... 🥴

Monday, December 2nd, 2019

Florence took the subway down to CTV studios late one evening to resign and thank them for the opportunity of working there. It was borderline unprofessional as it was such a stretch to be able to work there in the first place and it had only been a few weeks but Florence couldn’t keep shipping Clementine to various babysitters as well as the fact that working along side Grayson made her focus more on feelings than what needed to get done.

Now eleven months, Clementine was lively and a clever little girl. Despite her quick learning and developing, Clementine was still yet to walk. She could stand up on her own and cruise a little whole holding onto the coffee table but never went farther than a few shuffling steps. It worried Florence a bit, but Michael and Luke assured her it was normal, that babies all develop at different rates. The Clifford’s still loved caring for Clementine when Florence needed time to herself, this case in particular as Florence stood alone in front of the CTV building, swallowing nervously before making her way inside.

It was late evening and most employees would be gone but Florence was surprised to find the offices empty as she stepped out of the elevator. Of course, the single desk lamp that was switched on belonged to the last person she wanted to see.

Florence tried to head back out without being noticed but she was caught by a, “Hey.”

She turned back and forced a small smile, “Hi.”

Grayson got up from his desk and took a few steps towards her. The floor was dark, illuminated only by the moon and city lights outside the large pained windows and Grayson’s single desk lamp casting a warm glow over the area were they stood.

“What are you doing here?” Grayson asked.

“I’m resigning.” Florence said. “Is Christina here?”

“No she’s not. I’m the only one here right now. It’s late. I can take down your notice though.”

“Thanks.” Florence nodded stiffly.

Grayson frowned after a moment of silence, “Why are you resigning?”

“Working life just isn’t for me I suppose.” Florence chuckled nervously.

“You loved it here though.”

“Yeah, at first, but not recently.”

Grayson looked to the ground, his hands in his pockets. Florence did the same.

“Do you want to come sit?” Grayson whispered after a moment. “I just ordered a burrito. We could split it.”

“Yeah...okay.” Florence couldn’t help but smile a little as she followed Grayson back to his desk. She pulled up a second chair and they sat down. Grayson passed her half of the meal, offering her a gentle smile with it. She took a bite before resting it back on the napkin.

“Gray...” Florence mumbled, clearing her throat nervously, “I’m really sorry for hurting you.”

Grayson merely glanced at her as if urging her to continue.

“I guess I should have talked to you about things before assuming. My only relationship experience is kind of a shitty one and I know that’s not an excuse but...I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing and you didn’t deserve to be hurt like that.”

Florence looked over at him, her eyes begging to be forgiven. Grayson took a bite of his half of the burrito but finally nodded a little.

“Thank you for saying that.”

“Are you-“

“Have a drink if you want.” he slid over the bottle of pop to rest between them. Florence looked from the bottle to his face and he smiled warmly at her. She couldn’t help but smile back. It was the simple act that told her she was forgiven.

The two ate in silence for a little bit. It was surprisingly comfortable despite the silence and darkness looming around them. Once the food was finished and the bottle was emptied, Grayson tossed the garbage into the small trash bin under his desk. They filled the quiet space with discussion of Grayson and Ethan’s show they had been producing and Grayson shared stories of his favourite on-set ‘fails’ and mess-ups. They managed to laugh until their stomach’s hurt; something both of them really missed. Once calmer, silence fell, as they returned to their thoughts.

“Are you really quitting?” Grayson asked as he sat back comfortably in his chair.

“Yeah.” Florence sighed.

“Even if it’s not weird between us anymore?”

“Yeah. It’s was a good experience here but I need to be home with Clementine. It’s just not the right time.”

Grayson nodded, “I get that.”

“Thank you, though.” Florence set her hand on his leg. “It was really amazing of you to do this all for me.”

“Only what you deserved.” Grayson shrugged.

Florence smiled shyly, looking to her lap and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear before folding her hands together on her lap.

“How is Clementine?” Grayson asked after a moment.

Florence broke into a genuine smile at the mention of her daughter, “She’s amazing. She loves to say ‘yes’ now. Seems to be her favourite word.”

“So you can get her to do chores without her talking back.” Grayson pointed out, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“I don’t think I trust her enough to do the dishes yet.” Florence chuckled.

“And Daniel and the boys? They’re okay too?”

“Daniel doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

“What? Why?” Grayson frowned.

Florence shrugged, dropping her gaze to her lap.

“I’m sure he’ll come around. He told me himself how much he loves you. He’s probably going through his own thing.”

“Hopefully.” Florence sighed.

“And Emilio?”

Florence sighed at that question, “Do you care to know?”

“Yes. Need to make sure he’s treating you right.”

“He’s just fine.” Florence forced a gentle smile.

His hand on her leg made her startle and she looked over at him. His gentle touch sent shivers down her arms.

“Are you with him?” Grayson whispered.

“Emilio?” Florence clarified, her heart speeding up in her chest.

Grayson nodded.

“No. We’re not dating.”

“Does he know that?” Grayson teased.

“Yes, he knows.” Florence would have chuckled at his teasing but they way he was looking at her had her stomach in knots.

She hesitated a moment before standing up, swiftly pushing the chair back to the other desk. Grayson stayed sitting and he watched her silently.

“I should go.” Florence mumbled.

“Go?” Grayson stood up too now. “Already?”

“Yeah.” Florence shrugged. “Don’t want you to do something you might regret.”

“There is not a second that goes by where I regret being with you. You were one of the best things in my life.” Grayson frowned.

“Until I messed it up.” Florence said plainly.

“Mistakes happen, okay? I missed you so much. But you’re here now.” Grayson assured her, taking a step closer.

“And what does that mean?” Florence whispered, now close enough to feel his presence against her body.

He set his hands on her face before speaking, “Listen,” his tongue poked out between his lips, wetting them, before continuing, “I have missed you so damn much.”

“Me too.” Florence whispered, her breathing turning slow and shallow as he stood in front of her, mere centimetres between them. His hazel eyes looked down at her with this emotion that made her legs weak. There was still something about him that always got to her in the most beautiful way. She couldn’t help but wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him in to kiss him. His hands on his waist sent absolute fire over her body and she clung onto him like somehow he would save her life.

Almost an hour later they were sat in the parking garage back at Florence’s condo, silence between them as they stared out the front window of Grayson’s blue Porsche. Florence tucked some of her messy hair behind her ear, letting out a soft sigh.

“You okay?” Grayson asked, looking over at her.

“Just fine.” Florence smiled, meeting his friendly gaze. He leaned over to press a single kiss to her lips. “Very fine.” Florence whispered.

Grayson smiled widely, his hand resting on her leg and he watched her like she was framed artwork. He was leaned back comfortably against his seat, his entire body turned towards her in a simple subconscious action that meant nothing less than that she had all of him to herself.

“Gray.” Florence breathed, her fingers tracing the outline of his hand lazily.

“Flora.” he responded through a gentle smile, turning over his hand palm up so she could slide her hand into his.

“What does this mean for us?” Florence asked quietly as if there were people around listening.

“What do you want it to mean?”

“I think you should answer first.”

“Alright,” Grayson cleared his throat, “I want any part of you or your life that you want me to be a part of.”

“But Emilio is still around.” Florence breathed, not looking up at him.

Silence lingered between them, both of their eyes on their intertwined hands.

“These past few months…” Grayson mumbled, “have sucked. Really fucking sucked. I have been holding back tears almost every minute of every single day. I don’t like crying around people…not even E…and it’s been taking such a toll on me. I kept it all in and it hurt so bad. I loved you, you know? So fucking much. I just never felt like I mattered. That compared to Emilio, I was disposable.”

“Gray, you do matter. So much. And you’re not disposable. My heart ached for you when you left that night. I messed everything up and I know that. I missed you, I still do, and I want you in my life.”

“How?”

Florence looked up at him and he was already looking at her. She sighed and looked back down at their hands, “I don’t know.”

“Can we even just be friends?” Grayson whispered, “It’ll be hard to simply be friends after what just happened in the studio.”

Grayson cracked a small smile. Florence’s cheeks went pink and she gave his hand a little squeeze.

“That wouldn’t be able to happen again.” he spoke.

“I agree.” Florence nodded.

Grayson’s free hand went to her cheek and he ever so softly pressed his lips to hers. Their kiss was nothing but chasté, closed mouthed and innocent, and when they seperated, both sighed quietly. She let her hand rest against his face, admiring him in their close proximity, her thumb gently caressing his cheek.

“Not again.” Grayson breathed.

Florence nodded once in agreement before slowly moving to open the car door. She pressed one more kiss to his lips before sliding out of the sports car with a whispered ‘goodnight’ and made her way to her apartment.

#catch me not tagging grayson dolan haha help me #daniel seavey #wdw #why dont we #why dont we fanfic #daniel seavey fanfic #jonah marais #jack avery #zach herron #corbyn besson #writing #anything but mine #wdw imagines #wdw fanfic

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whentommymetalfie · 5 years

Text

Breathe again -Prologue

A/N: Set after that scene at the end of season five -so major spoiler warnings for the season finale. A story requested by no one that I still started writing in a frenzy. This will be a multi chaptered thing, and this is a rather long prologue of sorts. And despite this not being requested, I really hope you’ll like it x (note to clarify -this is not part of my existing AU but completely its own thing, based on the season 5 canon)

Summary: After the field, there’s nothing left to do. Except somehow try to pick up all the broken the pieces. But it seems like no one can do that.

Somehow, Tommy might still end up right where he needs to be.

Warnings: implied/referenced suicide attempt, mental health issues

Pairing: (future) Tommy/Alfie

Wordcount: 2600

A car drives up the gravel path leading to Arrow house, cutting through the evening fog, the sound of the engine humming drifting across the lawn. It comes to a halt in front of the large building looming over the grounds. Only a few of the windows are lit, making the entire structure seem bigger, like nothing but a massive shadow.

Michael climbs out first and goes around to open the door for Gina, who makes a grimace when she sets her high heels down on the damp gravel

“This better be worth the drive,” she says and lights a cigarette, shuddering in the chilly air. Michael doesn’t respond, too focused on the building in front of him. He gazes at the windows, eyes drawn to the ones with a bit of light, and to that particular window on the second floor. He thinks he sees a figure behind the curtains. The room is dimly lit, and there’s only a small opening between the heavy folds of fabric. So the figure standing there could be a figment of his imagination. Must be, considering which room it is…

“You coming darling?” Gina asks while letting out a puff of smoke. It adds to the milky fog. As if the entire garden is full of cigarette smoke. Michael offers his arm to her and they walk up towards the front door.

…..

“-that you have the fucking guts to even suggest shit like this!” Arthur’s voice booms through the room. Seems to echo throughout the entire house. “It’s beyond me. It’s just fucking beyond me-“

Gina rolls her eyes. Michael squares his jaw.

They’re all seated in the living room, a failed attempt at bringing some sense of normality to the situation. Despite the lit fireplace, the atmosphere couldn’t be colder. Finn glares from where he’s positioned in the green velvet sofa, and Ada puts a hand on his shoulder when he shifts in his seat. Michael and Gina occupy the sofa opposite them and Arthur has folded his lanky frame into a leather armchair next to the small table housing the cannister of whisky. That cannister just came dangerously close to being hurled across the room.

“I think we should at least wait for Lizzie,” Ada says, with a cold look in Michael’s direction, before turning her attention to her older brother. “Arthur-“

“No, don’t use that fucking voice on me!” Arthur hisses and staggers to his feet. “Fuck, don’t you bloody dare try making this sound like I’m being unreasonable!” His face is already flushed from one too many glasses of whisky drunken too quickly. He stabs a finger in Michael’s direction. “You- the- the fucking nerve to talk about this when Tommy is-“

“That’s the entire reason we have to talk about this,” Michael says calmly. “And unless you’ve spent the past month secretly working on some brilliant plan, I suggest you let me finish.” His gaze sweeps across the room but no one meets it. “You all must’ve realised we would talk about this. Why else would we have a meeting?”

His eyes finally land on Arthur, and Arthur’s hands clench into fist where they hang by his sides, knuckles whitening. His nostrils flare and twitch. Ada grows tense in her seat, muscles coiling in preparation.

Michael and Arthur stare at each other for a moment that seems to stretch on forever.

The door opening is what breaks the tension, and the occupants of the room turn their attention to the newcomer. Gina gazes at a painting, exhaling yet another cloud of smoke.

Lizzie enters the room, impeccably dressed in a forest green gown that drapes in soft folds across her shoulders, hair shaped into elegant waves. The only cracks in the façade are the faint dark circles under her eyes and the way her jaw is set a bit too tight.

Michael raises both eyebrows and cranes his neck to glance down the empty corridor before she closes the door, leaving a small opening.

Lizzie gives him a look, but doesn’t comment on the obvious question on his face.

“I see you’ve already helped yourself to the whisky,” she says and lights a cigarette, going to sit in the second leather armchair opposite Arthur, who has returned to his seat.

The air fills with tense silence. Because there’s nothing and somehow far too much to say at once…

Arthur finally clears his throat and speaks: “Is he…” but he lets the sentence die after just those two words, trailing into the tense silence again. Lizzie shakes her head.

“No change I assume?” Michael says and earns himself steely look.

“So much for the drive out here,” Gina scoffs.

Arthur’s anger seems to almost physically swell throughout the room, pushing all the air out. But all he does is refill his whisky glass.

“Well, in that case…” Michael stands. Uses that voice that tells the entire room the meeting has started. “Lizzie, since Arthur wouldn’t leave it alone we did start talking before you arrived, even though I made it clear we should wait. But I think we all know why we’re here.” He looks around the room and only catches Arthur and Ada’s gazes. Finn and Lizzie are busy staring at anything but him; Finn’s eyes nervously flickering, Lizzie’s gaze stiffly straight ahead. “Due to the current circumstances, it’s clear that we need to make decisions and take measures to ensure not only the continued success but the continued existence of Shelby Company Limited.” He pauses. “I think we were all hoping things would be different now. But since they aren’t, I propose that we revisit the suggestion I presented a month ago. I’m willing to take on the role as head of the company, which will ensure a way into the American market. And overall just some general fucking stability that this company has lacked for some time.”

Arthur flies up from his chair again and Michael fails to hide a flinch at the sudden move. With a sharp outlet of air he goes to pace in front of the window.

“And why the fuck should you take on that role?” Finn asks. “Isn’t this room full of people with just as much right to that position?”

“Well, not really,” Gina smirks. “All I see here is a commie sister who a few years ago cut all ties to the family, only to crawl back when she realised life without money is hard.” Ada’s eyes have turned a shade darker. Gina looks to Arthur, undeterred, “A brother who can’t even keep his own wife in line, and…” she pauses when she comes to Lizzie and smiles. “A… secretary and grieving wife who probably has enough on her mind-“

Ada’s hand clenches around the armrest on the sofa, but Lizzie is the one who cuts Gina off.

“Thank you Gina for that insightful comment. But I think I’m quite capable of handling a multitude of things at once.”

The corner of Gina’s mouth twitches. “You can’t seriously mean that you would have any kind of claim-“

“Well, as Tommy’s wife and member of the board I do think I should have some say in the matter.”

Gina snaps her mouth shut around her reply when Michael puts his hand up.

“You do have some say, of course, Lizzie,” he says. “As member of the board. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have the contacts in America, which is now our biggest and most promising market.” He slowly walks to stand behind Gina, hands coming to rest on the back of the sofa. “And I suppose I might’s well be fucking clear about this: who else in this room is honestly prepared to step up and take on this role, eh?”

The silence is stifling and thick. Cold. As if the fog around the house has seeped in through the windows and filled the room.

“What about you Arthur?” Michael asks. “Are you prepared to take on that responsibility? To have the whole fucking company resting on your shoulders?” Arthur looks out the window and Michael splays his arms out wide. “Anyone?”

“Aunt Polly-“ Finn starts weakly.

“Has made it very clear she wants nothing to do with this company or, fucking hell, this family again, after what happened to Aberama,” Michael cuts him off. “However I’m hopeful that with these changes, she might reconsider and-“

Lizzie suddenly turns to the door, eyebrows furrowed as she cranes her neck to catch a glimpse of the corridor outside.

Everyone watches as she furrows her brow and listens. Then she sinks back into the chair again.

“Thought I heard…” she trails off and shakes her head.

Michael speaks up again, “Nothing will be decided here and now. We’ll of course vote with the entire board. This is to give you some time to think. To make sure that we as a family are united.”

Arthur scoffs at that. But no one speaks, because what is there to say?

Gina gives Michael a look and he clears his throat. “Now, to the second order of business. I think we have to start seeing things more clearly. Stop just putting out fires and think of the future, not only for the company but… the situation as a whole.”

Arthur turns from the window and comes closer. He picks up his whiskey glass and refills it. Lizzie sits up a bit straighter in her chair.

“We gathered here because we were hoping that perhaps Tommy’s condition would’ve improved,” Michael says. “That maybe he could join us. But it hasn’t. And I think we must face the possibility that it never will.”

Ada sighs. “We already have. Isn’t that why you just fucking proposed that you’d be put in charge? Or have I gravely fucking misunderstood something?”

“I’m talking about getting professional help,” Michael replies. “I’m talking about seeing things as they are: That he’s a danger to himself, and quite possibly others. And that maybe he should be institutionalized.”

Moments pass after he’s uttered the words. Long moments where everyone grapples to just understand them. “An asylum?” Arthur finally breathes out and takes a step closer to Michael, voice trembling when he speaks, “You’re talking, about a fucking asylum?”

“Oh, don’t be so fucking dramatic, “Gina says. “He barely even knows where he is. Might’s well lie in a different bed staring at ghosts. Someplace where people actually know how to handle it.”

Ada drags Finn back onto the sofa, and Arthur’s eyes widen to impossible size, dark with fury.

“Arthur, I know this is not something you want to hear,” Michael says. “But you have to consider the possibility that… that he’s gone. It’s not about the injury anymore. The damage is inside his head, and it’s been there for a long time. That bullet was just a scratch compared to it.” He holds up his hands in a placating gesture as he takes a breath and continues: “An asylum doesn’t have to mean simply being locked in a cell. There are new treatments, things they do in America-“ “Oh, things they do in America, eh?!” Arthur bellows. “Things they fucking do in America? Is that what she’s told you?” he points to Gina with a trembling hand. “That they’ve got some new revolutionary method- something that’s gonna make it fucking okay to- to even fucking consider locking Tommy up in a place like that-“

“There’s a fucking reason those places exist,” Michael snaps, finally raising his voice as a red flush creeps up his neck. “And you know what kind of people they put in there? Hm, Arthur? People who hear and see things that aren’t there. People who have lost all fucking grip on reality. Who can’t take care of themselves-“

A glass smashes into a bookshelf when Arthur throws it in Michael’s direction but misses with about a mile. A rain of splinters skitter across the floor.

“Face it Arthur,” Michael shouts. “He’s not coming back. If you took your head out of your arse for even a second you’d see that-“

“Stop it!” Finn’s shout shocks the entire room into silence and even Michael falters. Staring down at his lap, Finn takes a harsh breath in through his nose.

“Tommy might be- he might not be… how he used to be. But he’s still part of this family and we- we can’t just send him away-“ his hands are shaking. Ada puts an arm around him, and for the first time in years he accept the comfort like he did when he was just a kid hiding outside the door when meetings like this went down. He leans into her side.

“We’re not sending anyone away,” she says softly, but her eyes are nothing but cold steel when she looks to her cousin. “Michael can’t do that. It’s not up to him.”

“No, it’s up to Lizzie,” Gina says simply. “If she wants to spend the rest of her life looking after a catatonic shell, fine. But you might want to consider the fact that he could decide to try again, and that he might succeed.” Lizzie’s mouth is a tight line when Gina looks at her and quirks an eyebrow, before facing the Shelby siblings again. “So maybe the question is if you’d rather have an alive brother getting the care he obviously desperately needs, or a dead one.”

Now even Ada is out of her chair and Michael steps in front of Gina when Arthur comes towards them

But right then the door opens fully and Frances is standing there.

“I’m sorry to disturb you Mrs. Shelby,” she says and nervously twists her hands.

Lizzie pinches the bridge of her nose. “What is it Frances?”

“I just wanted to see if Mr. Shelby had joined you,” she says and glances around the room. Lizzie sighs.

“No, as you can see he hasn’t.”

“Well, it’s just that his room is empty and I thought-”

“Try the bathroom.“

“It’s empty, and I’ve checked the children’s rooms and-“

Lizzie’s face has gone completely white when she gets out of her chair and breathes out, “Check the roof.”

Frances is out the door in moments and when her steps disappear down the hallway, it’s apparent that she’s running. Lizzie turns back to the family. They seem at a loss. Always at a loss these days.

“Arthur, you take Finn and start searching the grounds. Ada, get a hold of Johnny dogs. Tell him to bring some people get those out looking too-“

She gives orders with ease and they all follow them, rushing out of the room one by one to carry them out.

“And you,” she turns to Gina and Michael. “You can leave.”

“We’ll stay and help searching of course,” Michael says. “Make sure you find him. We wouldn’t want something to happen-“

Lizzie goes to stand only inches away from him and spits, “You might already have this company in the palm of your fucking hand, but this is my house. Get out.”

Then she turns on her heal and hurries down the corridor. She heads for the roof.

....

The first rays of sunlight peak over the horizon, casting light over a calm sea and slowly burning away the mist billowing over the dark waters. Today is one of those rare mornings when the sea is completely calm, making the beach uncharacteristically silent. And in the silence, there’s a knock on a door. A door that just so happens to be situated on a house right close to that calm sea.

So even though it only results in one quiet rap, it still rings loudly in the silence.

No one opens, because it’s early and no visitors are expected.

Another knock, even more quiet than the first.

The hand falls from the door, faltering along with its owner. Unsteady feet walk away from the door. Unsteady and bare, leaving wet footprints behind. Unable to walk any longer. There’s a soft thump as a body hits the stone flooring, falling into a heap at the foot of the steps leading up to the house.

And the door opens.

#alfie x tommy #Tommy Shelby #Alfie Solomons #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders season 5 #tw: suicide #-implied/referenced attempt

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raywritesthings · 4 years

Text

Bird in a Storm 3/17

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Tommy Merlyn, Thea Queen, John Diggle Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel’s career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

The end of the next week started out as a normal day. More normal than the last couple weeks had been, anyway. She had gotten up early, moving about the apartment with care not to wake Tommy, and gotten dressed for work. This was helped by the fact that she finally had use of both arms again. Talk about taking small things for granted.

Since she could drive herself, she met Thea at CNRI instead of being picked up by her brother or his bodyguard. She hadn’t minded that routine, but she liked having the freedom of her own movement.

A few hours into filling out some of the preliminary paperwork for a deposition, she received an email on her computer. Their boss wanted to see her in her office.

“Thea, see if you can locate the Schmidt folder. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Laurel headed back into the office. “Hey, Eric. What’s up?”

He looked up, the slightest frown on his face. “Sit down, Laurel. And close the door.”

She did so. “Why do I feel like this isn’t a ‘just checking in’ meeting?”

Eric sighed. “Because it’s not. Look, Laurel, you’re one of our best here. You know that. And I don’t like having to do this.”

There was a but hanging so heavily there she didn’t even bother to voice it. Just kept staring her boss down.

“It’s our investors. The ones we have left, so you can imagine we need to do all we can to hang onto them.”

“Yes.”

“Which is why I’m telling you they’re not exactly happy to have you on staff here.”

“What?”

Eric held up his hands. “Look, everything with the Hood is kind of making them nervous. Makes me nervous a bit too, if I’m being honest. The guy’s unpredictable. And they don’t like his methods.”

“I’m guessing they like his choice of targets even less,” she said with narrowed eyes. It figured they were more willing to empathize with their guilty fellows than to care about the innocents the Hood had helped.

“The point is, they’re not comfortable continuing to support our organization while you have this- this connection to him. And Kate Spencer has had a few things to say about it as well.”

“Let me get this straight.” Laurel leaned forward in her chair. “They’re holding my job hostage?”

“They’re holding all of us hostage. If you aren’t gone, CNRI is. But, there’s one way they’re willing to reconsider.”

“And that would be?”

“If you were to make a public statement clarifying that you do not support the vigilante known as the Hood or his activities, they would be happy to see you remain on staff.”

“Happy to see me toeing the party line, you mean.”

“It’s out of my hands, Laurel,” Eric said. “You’re the only one who can help yourself here. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“I’ll expect your decision tomorrow.”

Laurel was able to register the dismissal for what it was, even if she felt detached somehow from this moment. Like this was happening to someone else, and she was only a passive observer. She stood and left the room to return to her desk, but it didn’t even feel like she’d been the one to move. Her mind was too busy racing.

The philanthropists who thought they were God’s gift to man for keeping CNRI’s doors open were getting nervous about her connection to the Hood. To Oliver. If she wanted to stay, she had to delegitimize his whole mission to save the city. But she couldn’t, not when it was the one thing she really had left to believe in.

“So I got that file you were asking for—” Thea looked up as she approached and paused. “Hey, you okay?”

She was a beat too late in responding, and she was sure her smile looked forced. “Yeah. Just, uh, had to go over some things with my boss.”

“Okay.” Thea was watching her, so Laurel pushed everything else from her mind for the time being. She didn’t want her friend to worry.

Her boss was giving her the day to decide, but Laurel already knew what her decision had to be. Without Oliver, she would have never seen Adam Hunt’s victims get back the money they were owed thanks to the judge Hunt had bought who she’d been due to present the case in front of; she’d be dead in the ground thanks to Martin Sommers and the Triad; Peter Declan’s daughter would be an orphan. There was no decision to make. Even if it cost her her job.

Laurel stood. She couldn’t maintain her composure here, and she needed time to think about what her next move would truly have to be.

“Hey, Thea? I actually need to take a half day today. I’m really sorry.”

“Okay,” her friend agreed uncertainly. There was almost a scared look to her eyes.

“Just ask Anastasia for any additional tasks, and you can go home whenever you want.” She shrugged into her coat and rolled her left shoulder a couple of times to work some lingering stiffness out of it. She’d been out of the splint for only a couple of weeks now, and her mandatory physical therapy had just drawn to an end. That was lucky; no job would mean no health insurance. Yet again, it was probably on purpose. No one would know better how bad the optics would look on firing an injured nonprofit employee than a group of lawyers.

Laurel paused alone in the stairwell and pressed a hand to her forehead. No job… what was she going to do?

---

Tommy was just getting ready to head out to the Verdant when their front door opened and Laurel walked in.

“Oh. You’re still here.”

“Hey, you’re home early.” He leaned in for a brief kiss, but Laurel turned her face so that his lips landed on her cheek instead.

“Yeah, there’s a reason for that.” Her smile faltered and then fell as he stepped back to look at her. “I lost my job.”

He dropped his keys. “What?”

“Apparently it has been decided that CNRI and I should part ways because the investors are making noise upstairs. Not to mention the DA,” Laurel explained. She walked around him, setting her bag down and kicking her shoes off along the way.

“Noise about what?”

“The Hood,” she admitted as she found her spot on the couch.

Him again. He only barely held back a groan. “Well, what about it? You told the police you didn’t have any information to help their investigation.” He eyed her sitting there for a moment, wondering not for the first time if that was true.

“They think my association with him sends a message. And they probably don’t like that he’s gone after some of their friends.”

“But that’s what he’s doing. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.” He walked over towards the couch as well. “Just because the Hood’s got some creepy thing for you—”

“He does not have a thing for me,” Laurel said with a shake of her head.

Tommy felt that was very much in dispute, but he set it aside to focus on the main issue.

“There’s gotta be something we can do. They can’t just fire you like that, after all the cases you’ve won them.”

“Well, they said I could possibly stay on if I publicly denounced the Hood,” she told him.

Relief hit him like a wave. “Okay. Good. At least they’re not totally unreasonable.”

“I’m not going to do it, Tommy.” Her voice and gaze were completely steady even as she was turning the whole world upside down. “I can’t.”

He only barely kept his voice below shouting. “Laurel, come on. What’s the problem?”

“It’s intimidation, for one thing. They’re trying to delegitimize what he’s doing. Stop people from taking his message to heart to keep them from fighting against the powerful and the corrupt in Starling.” Laurel crossed her arms over her chest and continued, “And anyway, it’d be a lie. I still believe in what he’s doing, and I think it’s a good thing. I don’t want to be a part of what stops that.”

“You do good things for the city. Think of your clients, all those people you’ve helped.”

“A lot of those people this year only got help because the Hood intervened. Hunt, Sommers, Brodeur, all of those guys would have walked away from a regular court case. The justice system in this city is broken, no matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise.”

“So you’re fine with him just breaking it more?”

“If that’s what it takes to keep innocent people from suffering.”

She was determined to be stubborn. There was no getting through to her, at least for the moment. Tommy threw his hands up and went to grab his jacket.

“How long did they give you to decide?”

“Tomorrow. I have to go in and clean out my desk.”

“Or to make your statement. I have to go to the club, but we’re not done talking about this.”

“I’ve made up my mind, Tommy,” Laurel said.

He paused at the door and shook his head. “Just let the idea of unemployment and no money sink in for a few hours, okay? It did wonders for me.”

He headed down to his parked car in a much sourer mood than he’d wanted to be in to start back at work. Laurel was determined and not listening to him. But if she wouldn’t listen to him, maybe…

He was going to have to swallow his pride on this one. At least for the moment.

---

Tommy was running late. Oliver didn’t mind that so much; it put off his plans for tonight. The longer he could avoid heading to Queen Consolidated to confront his own mother, the better.

And he soon received additional distraction in the form of his sister, who hurried up to the bar with a nervous sort of energy.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“Ollie, I think Laurel was fired.”

“What?” He couldn’t have heard that right. “What for?”

“I don’t know. She went in to talk to her boss, and then she told me she was taking a half day, but Anastasia and some of the others started talking after she left,” his sister said all in a rush.

Some people talking was just gossip, but why would they assume Laurel had been fired? What was going on?

He spotted Tommy at last, and his best friend looked in about as bad a mood as he’d ever seen him.

“Ollie, you gotta help me out.”

“Laurel was fired.”

“Yeah, how’d you — oh, Speedy, hey.”

“Hey,” said Thea. “It’s true?”

“Not quite.” Tommy looked at him. “She says they’re willing to let her stay if she just makes a statement about how crazy and wrong the Hood is.”

Oliver didn’t have to feign his shock. “They’re firing her because of the Hood?”

“Yeah, well their investors are kind of his target profile, aren’t they? And he is crazy, I agree with them on that.” Tommy scowled. “But Laurel doesn’t.”

His eyes squeezed shut. “She’s refusing to make the statement.”

“She’s refusing to make the statement,” Tommy echoed in confirmation.

“Well, isn’t it enough that this guy got her shot?” Thea asked. “I mean, they have to know she’s not in league with him if he was willing to use her as a human shield.”

Oliver tried not to wince at the words or the disgust with which Thea spoke them. His sister wasn’t wrong to feel that way; it was one of his lowest moments, and he was still paying for the repercussions of it now.

And Laurel was paying for them perhaps even more.

Tommy’s anger had faded. He turned to him with pleading in his eyes. “I can’t watch her throw her life away on this guy, Ollie.”

“You won’t have to,” he promised. Oliver walked away from the bar and out to the back, swinging onto his motorcycle. As he drove, the comm hooked into his helmet activated.

“Oliver, we really need to get a move on.”

“Not right now, Digg.”

“Why not?”

“Laurel’s been fired because of her connection to the Hood.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Damn.”

“I have to talk to her. My mother can wait another night.” He knew he couldn’t put it off forever, but Laurel’s problem was far more time sensitive.

He went up to her apartment and knocked, and Laurel didn’t look at all surprised to see him when she opened the door.

“So, I take it you heard the news?”

“From Tommy.” He stepped through the doorway as she moved back, and he stood by the couch rather than sit down. Laurel shut the door and walked over.

“I’m going to make sure Thea is given another sponsor there to finish out her community service,” she told him, which caught him off guard for a moment.

“Well, thank you. But that’s not my main concern.” He looked her in the eye. “Tommy said there’s a way for you to keep your job.”

“I’m guessing he also told you I’m not interested in that way.”

His brow furrowed. “Laurel, this is an easy fix.”

She scoffed. “What about any of this is easy?”

“No one’s asking you for my identity. They’re just asking you to say what I’m doing is wrong.”

“How can I do that?”

“You just—” he struggled for the right word for a few moments. “—do.”

“But you aren’t — what you’re doing is complicated,” Laurel settled on. “And your methods sometimes have concerned me. I don’t know that I agree with everything. But it’s necessary work. For the state that this city is in, it’s needed.”

He tried changing tactics. “My father asked me to right his wrongs, to bring justice to the people who are poisoning the city. Letting those same people force you out of your job is directly counter to that mission. I can’t let that happen.”

Laurel only frowned. “Maybe it’s all about the mission to you, Oliver, but the people in the Glades don’t know that. What they know is that for the first time in years they have hope. They feel like someone has seen their struggle and decided to do something about it. How can I tell them that they are wrong to believe in that and then turn around and expect them to trust me to fight for them?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. They both knew it. Where he relied on secrecy and lies, Laurel had always kept her integrity when dealing with her clients. Letting her in on his identity had complicated that.

“How can I let you do this, Laurel? It’s your career, your life.”

“And it’s my decision to make. I would’ve made it knowing your identity or not, but at least knowing it gives me more than just a blind faith.”

Oliver didn’t know how Laurel or people in the Glades could have faith in him. He was a killer going after other killers. That was all. He wasn’t some hero.

“What will you do?” It was the only appeal he had.

“I haven’t figured that out yet. But I’m going to. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“It’s not that simple, Laurel.” He shook his head. “I’m always going to worry about you.”

She sighed. “Then I guess we have to settle for that.” She walked over to and sat on one of her chairs. “Look, I’m not happy to be losing my job, but I’d be even less happy if I compromised myself to keep it.”

“Nothing’s totally free from compromise. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to to keep going,” he said.

“But I haven’t been going anywhere at CNRI,” she replied. “All of my big cases this year have been won or settled because of the things you were doing as the vigilante. The law on its own has stopped being able to fix things in this city. Isn’t that why you’re out there?”

The problem was she was right. The problem, too, was that being right didn’t get her job back. He sat on the arm of the couch.

“What can I do? Do they need money? Different backers? I could—”

“You need that money to disguise purchasing your arrows,” Laurel cut him off. “And it would be your mother’s call as to whether Queen Consolidated became a full-time backer.”

Considering the little John had picked up from spying on his mother, Oliver doubted she would make the time or expense at the moment.

“Oliver, you set out to save this city, not my job.”

“Well, it’s part of saving the city. You help save it,” he insisted.

Her lips twitched into a smile despite herself.

“You’re really going to tell them no?”

She nodded.

Oliver sighed. That was the thing about Laurel; when her mind was made up, that was it. And unfortunately, he hadn’t made a single argument for why she should denounce the Hood that didn’t ultimately come back to keeping her comfortable. Laurel never cared about that.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. Ultimately this was his fault. He’d gotten too close, forgotten that while he’d protected his own identity with a hood that Laurel hadn’t had that same protection.

“It’s going to be fine, Ollie. I’ve already started a job search,” she stated.

He gave a small grin. “Of course you have.”

“So, you can tell Tommy that things will be okay,” she continued. “I know he’s upset.”

“He’s just worried about you.”

“Well, he seemed more angry at the Hood than anything,” she replied. “Do you think…?”

Oliver shook his head. “The less people that know, the better. And like you said, he isn’t exactly a fan.”

Laurel’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah.”

His phone buzzed, and Oliver checked it to find a message from Digg: Your mom’s gone home

“Something wrong?”

“No. No, I just missed something tonight.”

“You mean the vigilante did?” She stood and moved to the door. “Really, Oliver, I don’t want to be in the way of anything.”

“It’s fine. It wasn’t urgent.” Digg would probably say otherwise, but that didn’t matter right now. “You’re more important.”

“Well, now that you’ve seen I’m perfectly fine, I shouldn’t keep you any longer.”

He got up, meeting her at the door. “If you need anything,” he began.

“I know where to find you,” she finished for him. “Goodnight, Ollie.”

“Goodnight.”

As he left, Oliver did decide to take an early night. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to the club and Tommy empty-handed.

Laurel leaving CNRI because of the Hood. What had he done?

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #green arrow #black canary #my writing #bird in a storm

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sweetteaanddragons · 5 years

Note

Oh god don't take risk assessments from Fingon, Gil-galad. I'm so glad the family claims him, and I'm curious to hear the author's theory on where this one is from. My dumb theory: since the Elves' Maia heritage is down to Elrond, his sons, and maybe Elured and Elurin, it would be nice if he turned out to be related to the missing twins. My actual theory: no one in particular, the world is built by the ones who show up to work.

It’s not a dumb theory! It’s not, however, what I went with. For that, see below.

Quick note: Maglor’s wife in this is the same as his wife in my alternate character interpretation snippet for her. This will probably make more sense if you read that first.

Maedhros is barely a shadow when he first gets there, but Fingon stubbornly sticks around.

When Maedhros is well enough to listen and, in his opinion, in need of some distraction, he finally asks.

“I’m trying to figure out Gil-Galad’s parentage. I don’t suppose you know?”

Maehros looks startled, which is at least better than horrifically depressed. “He’s not yours?”

Fingon’s heard that from others. A lot of others. He doesn’t know why everyone keeps assuming that.

“Not mine.”

He’ll have to try Maedhros’s brothers later. For now, he’s right where he needs to be.

“Fingon,” Curufin says from his place on the floor. He hasn’t bothered to open his eyes. Fingon never did learn the trick to that. “What do you want?”

Nice to see his time in Mandos hasn’t changed him. “To talk.”

“About?”

Fingon gives up and gets straight to the point. “Offspring.”

Curufin cracks one eye open and rolls over to face him. His face is shadowed through the bars. “I didn’t think you had any.”

“Yours,” he clarifies.

That catches Curufin’s attention completely. He rolls to his feet, face tense. “Has something happened to Celebrimbor? The tapestries here are useless.”

Whoever’s in charge of these things apparently decided Curufin would benefit from graphic scenes of Finrod’s imprisonment. Fingon’s been trying not to look at them.

“He’s fine,” he assures him. “Or at least he was fine the last time someone died, there hasn’t been nearly as much of that going around since the war ended. I wanted to ask about the potential for . . . other offspring.”

Curufin looks around the lonely confines his cell with grim amusement. The bars are set deep into the stone. If there’s hinges or a lock, they aren’t visible. “At the moment, I would say the potential was low.”

“Already produced offspring,” Fingon further clarifies.

Curufin frowns. “Why . . . ?” His face goes pale. “Has Nirivel . . . Is there a child she’s saying is mine?”

Judging by his face, if that was the case there’s no chance the child actually would be.

“No, no,” Fingon assures him. “Nothing like that. I’m just trying to figure out who Gil-Galad belongs to.”

Curufin rolls his eyes. It almost distracts from his slowly returning color. “And you couldn’t just say that? In case you’ve forgotten, Fingon, my wife stayed on these shores. Gil-Galad was born in Beleriand.”

That’s not actually technically a denial, so Fingon pushes on cautiously. “Under the circumstance, remarriage - “

Curufin stalks forward until he’s gripping the bars in a white knuckled rage. “I am no oathbreaker,” he hisses.

“The Valar know we all wish you were,” Fingon mutters without thinking.

Curufin steps away from the bars. The rage has disappeared into a blank pleasantness that makes Fingon far more uneasy. “Forgive me. I should not have been so surprised by the question. I shouldn’t have forgotten that you were of the line of Indis and have strange ideas of family fidelity.”

“Of the two of us, which of us actually - “ Fingon cuts himself off. “No. We’re not having this fight again. Or the other fight. Or any fights! I know what I need to know.” He hesitates before he heads back into the maze of winding tunnels. “Maedhros sends his love.”

Curufin actually looks relieved for a moment before the mask descends again. Fingon’s surprised he saw anything; solitary must have decayed Curufin’s skills at hiding considerably.

The relief brings to mind what had escaped him before. “You do know about - ?”

“How he died?” Curufin interrupts. He smiles bitterly. “You’re not my very first visitor. Nienna brings news sometimes.” His look turns puzzled. “How are you here? Namo sentenced me to solitary confinement.”

“I petitioned to visit Maedhros,” Fingon explains. “Repeatedly.”

Curufin makes a show of looking around. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, he’s not here.”

“Yes, well, by the time he gave in, he was far too frustrated to be careful with his word choice, and what he actually said was ‘Visit the kinslayer if you want to!’ Which as I view it, really gives me leave to visit just about everyone here.”

For the first time in centuries, he hears Curufin laugh.

He stumbles across Uncle Feanor next.

He’s . . . not entirely sure what he’s seeing at first when he does.

“Are you unravelling Vaire’s tapestry?” he chokes out.

Uncle Feanor leaps to his feet. “Findekano! What an unexpected pleasure. I’d been hoping for a chance to thank you for what you did for Maitimo.”

Fingon can’t tear his eyes away from the loose threads that once made up an entire wall of tapestry. Some of them have been laid out in complex patterns. “It’s Fingon now,” he manages. “And you’re definitely unravelling the tapestry. Why are you unravelling the tapestry? There’s a stone wall behind it, it’s not like it’ll get you out! Is it the scene?”

The scene is . . . Maedhros yielding the crown to Fingon’s father which strikes him as a little petty, but at least it explains why Uncle Feanor’s unravelling it.

Or not, because what Uncle Feanor actually says is, “Oh, no. I needed materials, and this was the best option.”

“Materials? What can you possible do with all that?”

Feanor eyes the mass of thread thoughtfully. “Well, it’s woven through with the essence of time and space, so I’m hoping for a form of transport through either.”

This terrifying image needs only a moment to sear through his brain. “Please don’t invent time travel, Uncle Feanor.” It comes out a little strangled.

“Why not? There’s a good deal that could be improved from what Nienna tells me. Anyway, that can’t be why you’ve come. Do you have news? Have you seen my sons?”

Fingon tears his eyes away from the threads. “Two of them. Curufin and Maedhros. Curufin’s well enough. Maedhros is . . . better.” That’s really the best he can say of that, so he hurries on. “I’ve been trying to discover Gil-Galad’s parentage. Unless he’s Galadriel’s, we’re pretty sure he had to come from your branch.”

“Another grandson!” Feanor sounds both surprised and delighted, which at least answers the question that Fingon had been trying not to think about having to ask - Namely, if Feanor had been responsible. The timeline had made it unlikely at best, but he’s trying to be thorough.

“I’d probably best delay testing this until you know more,” Feanor muses. “I’d hate to accidentally wipe a grandson out of existence.”

“Yes. Absolutely. Just - Hold off.” Please, please hold off on potentially destroying the very fabric of Arda. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Just maybe not until he’s figured out how to make sure Feanor’s focused on the geographical aspect of travel.

He has no idea how long it takes him to find Celegorm, but if anyone asks later, he’s going to tell them weeks. That’s certainly what it feels like. The tunnels here are far less open that most of Mandos’s Halls, and he’s starting to feel claustrophobic.

He can only imagine what it must be like in the cells.

Celegorm manages to get the first word in because Fingon is too busy gaping at the image on his walls. It’s Huan as he dies, in vivid enough detail that it makes Fingon want to cry out, and he barely knew the hound.

“I don’t know where Maedhros is,” Celegorm says. He’s sitting by Huan’s head. It’s possible that he was petting the cloth just before Fingon showed up; Fingon certainly isn’t going to judge him if he was.

“That’s alright,” Fingon tells him. “I do. He sends his love. I also saw your father, who was very eager for news of all of you.” Fingon leaves out the rest of what Feanor is currently very interested in. He’s not sure he can get through it without his terror showing through, and that could very well start a fight. “If I see any more of your brothers, is there a message I should carry along?”

“Tell them that with practice and application, it is actually possible to climb these walls.”

Fingon blinks. “And this will be . . . useful in an escape attempt?”

“It’ll be useful in not going out of our collective minds,” Celegorm snarls. “There’s no room to move in here.”

Fingon eyes the tiny space and remembers his own growing claustrophobia. “I see your point.” There’s really no way to gracefully segue into this next bit, so he just dives right in. “Remember Gil-Galad?”

Celegorm frowns. “Of course I do. Why? Is he dead?”

“No, thankfully.” Fingon watches him carefully for a reaction to this news, but Celegorm just shrugs.

“Good for him. What about him then?”

“Is he yours?”

Celegorm stares at him for a very long time. “You do remember the whole Luthien incident, don’t you?”

“I think everyone does.”

“Thank you,” he says through gritted teeth. “You might remember that part of that incident involved me trying to get married. So unless you’re suggesting that I succeeded, had him with Luthien, and then somehow invented time travel and sent him back - “

Fingon flinches at the words ‘time travel.’ Thankfully, Celegorm’s in full on ranting mode and doesn’t seem to notice.

His ears are still ringing when he finds his next cousin. “Amras!”

The twin looks up in desperate hope, but the light in his eyes fades quickly. “Amrod,” he corrects.

“Right. Sorry.” He should have just gone with Ambarussa.

At first glance, the walls in Amrod’s cell look fine. It’s just him and Amras eating a meal together, right after a hunting trip judging by the gear on their horses.

Then he realizes that Amrod’s backed himself up against the image of himself so that it looks like he’s sitting beside Amras, and he has to fight back a wince.

“If I find him, I’ll come back and let you know,” he promises. The corridors he hasn’t taken are still mysteries, but he’s keeping good track of the ones he has. The last thing he wants is to get lost here. He’ll be able to find his way back easily enough.

A bit of the life returns to Amrod’s face. “Would you? I just - It’s not that we were never apart. It’s just never been for this long before.” He looks down for a moment. “Have you seen any of the others? Are they alright?”

“About as well as can be expected,” Fingon says which Amrod, fairly, doesn’t seem to find all that reassuring. “Listen, I don’t suppose you ever - “

The answer, it turns out, is no.

“Amras!” he says with considerable confidence.

“Amrod,” the Feanorian corrects.

Fingon’s jaw dropped in horror. “I’ve circled back around? No, I can’t have, I - Wait a minute. Your wall hangings are a bit different. One of you’s lying,” he concludes triumphantly.

Amras - Amrod - whichever one he is has risen in the interim and crossed to the bars. “You’ve seen him? You’ve seen Amrod?”

“I knew you were Amras,” he mutters petulantly. “Yes, I’ve seen him. He misses you desperately and gave me about a hundred messages to give you. I’ll try to remember them in a minute, but first I’ve got a message of my own.”

“Of course,” Amras says and sets his jaw. “Doriath or the Havens?”

Fingon’s actually doing his best not to think about either of those messes. He’s not king anymore, it’s not his responsibility. “Neither. Gil-Galad.”

“What’d we ever do to him?” Amras protests.

“Created him, possibly. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“Creat- Like with gears? Because that’s really more along Curufin’s line.”

“Like with a woman,” he says in exasperation.

“Oh. No. I thought that would be a bad idea, what with the Doom and all.”

Fingon can’t exactly argue with that. “Maybe Celebrimbor managed to slip away from his father long enough to meet a girl.”

“Anything’s possible. Have you asked Caranthir yet?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Fingon wheedles. They’re not quite to the end of the line yet - there’s still Maglor and maybe Celebrimbor - but they’re getting close. He’d had a good feeling about Caranthir.

“We tried,” Caranthir says. His voice has an edge of anger, but what’s far stronger is the longing, mixed with grief. “Right up until she died.”

. . . That doesn’t actually rule it out. And if he’s any judge of his cousin, Caranthir would very much like to be a father.

Firien goes on his list of people to track down.

“Maybe he’s Maglor’s,” Caranthir suggests.

“Maglor’s not dead, though, so I can’t ask him.”

Caranthir looks at him like he’s being exceptionally stupid. “Have you tried asking his wife?”

Fingon feels exceptionally stupid.

“Did Aranel actually fight at Alqualonde, or was she just there?”

“She fought.”

“Right. Then she’s got to be around here somewhere.”

By the time he actually manages to track either of the wives down, Celebrimbor’s died. Despite what Curufin seems to think, Fingon retains enough tact to wait until he’s somewhat recovered to ask him if he’s responsible for Gil-Galad.

He’s not, but he is able to relay a series of increasingly improbable and hilarious theories that are apparently floating around the court.

Then in quick succession, he finds Aranel and Firien and Aredhel finds him.

Aranel’s locked in with the kinslayers and is the first person who’s been less than pleased to see Fingon.

“Come to lecture me on corrupting my husband?”

Fingon has to take nearly a minute to process this. Finally, the best he can come up with is “What?”

She looks up at him. Her face is set in hard lines of preemptive anger. “That’s what Atar said when Namo let him see me. He said my marring must have corrupted the prince. Maybe even his whole family.”

Maglor used to verbally eviscerate people for saying much, much less. Fingon wants no part of that minefield. He raises his hands in surrender. “I’m not here to blame you for your husband.”

Judging by the way her eyes shutter, that probably still wasn’t the right path to take. Some marriages shattered in the long war; apparently their’s did not.

“I just came to ask about any . . . children.”

“Children?” she repeats blankly. “You mean the Peredhel?”

He’s surprised she knows about that until he takes a closer look at the tapestry. He’d thought it was just Sirion burning, but no. It shows Maglor claiming the twins as well. Apparently someone’s given her context.

“I don’t know why everyone keeps thinking that’s the part I should be most upset about,” she says heatedly. “He defied his Oath when he let them go when it was safe. I’m proud of him, not concerned because he was raising children while I was gone!”

“Not those children,” he corrects, because he’s not about to get in the middle of that whole mess. “I meant any children you might have had with him. Together.”

“Why?” she asks with a slow edge of suspicion.

Fingon explains Gil-Galad.

“What happens if you don’t like the answer you get?”

Fingon honestly hasn’t considered this up to now. “What do you mean?”

“What if he is mine? Is he marred in your eyes? What if he’s not, and he’s not Firien’s either? Is he not worthy of the crown? Why does this matter so much to you?”

“Honestly?” Fingon takes a deep breath. “I’m curious. I don’t have any better reasons. I’m just dead and bored and curious.”

She doesn’t believe him. Fingon can’t quite blame her. She’s been judged her whole life for the circumstances thrust upon her at her birth, and that only worsened after true marring was revealed in Melkor; it’s little wonder she fears the same for Gil-Galad if it turns out he’s not quite as perfect as everyone thought.

“In that case, you can consider it settled. He’s mine. Mine and Maglor’s.”

Fingon . . . isn’t sure if he believes her. “Why send him to Nargothrond? Why keep him a secret?”

“He was stolen,” she says promptly. “We thought he was dead and had no words to share our grief. I have no idea what happened in his early life. I had no idea where he even was until you explained Gil-Galad’s circumstances. That’s not what I named him.” She reels this off matter of factly with no obvious sign of grief.

Fingon is particularly suspicious of the stolen child part of this story given what she’s been staring at for these past few centuries. “What did you name him?” he challenges her.

“Fingon,” she says instantly. “Because Maglor was so grateful for what you’d done for his brother.”

Fingon is . . . almost certain she’s lying. Almost.

On the other hand, it’s the best explanation anyone’s been able to hand him yet.

He’s still mulling it over in his mind when he emerges back into the Halls proper. Firien immediately comes flying into him. Only her tiny height keeps him from toppling. “You found him!”

“Found who - Oh, Caranthir, yes.”

“You found him too? Can you show me where? And what do you know about my baby?”

He’d forgotten how very little like Caranthir Firien is. Also -

“Your baby?”

According to Firien, she hadn’t realized their efforts had finally succeeded when she volunteered to go with the trading caravan. By the time she realized, it seemed safest just to continue on. All had been well until the return, when they’d been attacked only minutes after she had given birth. She had died shortly after hiding the baby as best she could.

Her telling is somewhat more convincing than Aranel’s. Then again, she also used to be a performer, so . . .

Fingon hates his life. Death. Whatever.

Naturally, that’s when Aredhel shows up and announces that Gil-Galad is actually hers.

Her grandson, that is.

According to her, Turgon had pressured Maeglin to marry someone to turn his mind away from Idril. He’d given in and married a girl who’d gotten tired of always coming in second place and run off, apparently while pregnant.

Fingon has no idea if any of that’s true and has no way to check it because Aredhel’s the only one who actually knows where to find Maeglin, he doesn’t have a name for the girl, and Turgon’s already gotten early release for good behavior.

Namo’s been hinting strongly about good behavior lately. Fingon, increasingly convinced that he’s the only reason that his Feanorian cousins are still sane and that his uncle hasn’t gone ahead with his plans to possibly erase them all from existence, cheerfully ignores him.

That’s the short list that at long last he’s able to present Gil-Galad with. If Gil-Galad is in fact part of Finwe’s family tree - and judging by his power and a certain resemblance, Fingon is inclined to think he is - than those are his most likely options.

“Firien’s story is remarkably similar to a theory Elrond came up with,” Gil-Galad says wistfully. “He has an uncanny knack for being right about things, you know.” He sighs.

“Cheer up,” Fingon tells him. “Like I said, we can always pester Namo into telling us eventually. Or you might feel something when you meet them! And really it’s only two options since we know Aranel has to be lying since she claimed to actually name you . . . Although Maglor probably wouldn’t mind claiming you, given his track record, so we could always just pretend you were and go with it.”

“No,” Gil-Galad says firmly. “I want to know the truth.”

“Let’s start with the ones we won’t have to sneak you in for then, and then I can introduce you to the rest of the family.”

Fingon’s money’s on Caranthir.

. . . Which means Feanor will now feel free to resume his experiments.

Oh, well. He hasn’t gotten this far by being cautious. How badly could it possibly go wrong?

Fingon shuts that thought down quickly and drags Gil-Galad through the Halls to Firien, who takes one look at Gil-Galad and throws herself at him, wrapping him in the tightest hug she can manage, even though her head barely comes up to his chin.

She’s crying. Gil-Galad, who’s holding her like she something fragile, looks like he might start.

Fingon feels a bit like crying too.

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plumoh · 5 years

Text

[NatsuYuu] left behind

Word count: 1678

Summary: Natsume Reiko has to deal with the consequences of her grandfather's doing, namely letting youkais barge into her life.

Note: AO3 link. Day 3 - role reversal for @natsumeweek!

One-shot: left behind

“Natsume-sama! Please help us Natsume-sama!”

Two youkais coming from the mountains beyond Yatsuhara are running, making more noise than necessary to attract the attention of the person they've traveled to see. They abruptly stop and bow down, not wasting any time to voice their request.

“Our territory is being attacked by outsiders, please drive them away!”

There is a long silence, sizzling with confusion, then replaced by mild exhaustion. The sigh is heavier in this quiet space.

“Yeah, I'll see what I can do, but no promises. I have other things to do.”

A round calico cat snorts from his perch on a branch, drawn by the commotion that spiked his curiosity, as usual. The youkais lift their heads, an open expression of surprise on their faces that betray their disappointment.

“You...?”

Long pale hair flutters as a hand pushes it back behind an ear, and a slow grin forms on a curled mouth.

“I'm afraid I'm not as gentle as my grandfather.”

***

Natsume Reiko leafs through the Book of Friends with inexplicable fascination. Sometimes she'd trace the writings with her fingertips, summoning the image of the youkai who held the pencil or the brush to carefully inscribe their name in something that was beyond their expertise. She tries to imagine each one of them waiting to meet again the human they've given up their freedom to—a lot of them, she learned, don't repay kindness with kindness, and will seek more opportunities to abuse it.

“Surely he knew that youkais aren't friendly,” she complains one day after returning a name and nursing a headache from the incessant chatting of the nearby youkais who won't leave her alone.

“Believe me, I told him over and over he was wasting his time,” Madara huffs, licking cookie crumbs off his paws. “Takashi was a fool.”

Reiko isn't one for sentimentality, and has no experience in detecting the inflection of someone's voice depending on their emotions (she herself can't express them). She still somehow manages to hear unspoken words behind Madara's gruff remark, lodged in his throat and unable to come out because there is no point in releasing them.

Against her will, she laughs.

“I guess he was.”

***

“You mean you wanted to become his servant?”

Misuzu's eyes remain unchanged as does his mouth, like he's frozen in a perpetual grin that goes with his high status. His frogs are jumping around Reiko, croaking and being a general nuisance.

“I do not think that 'becoming his servant' was what Takashi aimed at when he asked,” he clarifies with a lilt of mirth. “I simply believed that it was easier to watch over him should he peruse the power he was granted.”

To be honest, Reiko is certain that her grandfather didn't care about the advantages that the Book provided him, and by the look of things, so did Misuzu. There is no way that youkais submit themselves to humans willingly—she can't imagine any of them hand out their name like it's a mere entrance ticket to friendship.

However, that seems to be the case for most of those youkais who smile and joke and reminisce about someone whose life might as well have been nonexistent in their almost eternity.

“He was alright for a man, I suppose,” Hinoe cackles, draping her arm around Reiko's shoulders and bringing her closer, much to the human's disgruntlement. “Fortunately he brought me a cute granddaughter!”

“You are all so weird,” Reiko groans, pushing Hinoe away. “This isn't what I thought I'd get myself involved into when I received the stupid book.”

“Then make your life shorter so I can get it.” Madara swipes at her ankle, and she follows with a harsh nudge with her foot that sends him rolling down.

“I still have some dignity, losing to a cat isn't an option.”

Madara goes on a rant about being magnificent and deserving much more than what he's currently given, so Reiko tunes him out as she sips her juice and eats the berries a youkai gave her as thanks for something that Natsume Takashi most likely did. Surrounded by these creatures she grew to view as a thorn in her side, sharing stories and discussing of what qualifies as foolish like they were her own circle of acquaintances, she can't envision what tomorrow will be made of.

***

She's always slept with a weapon of sort next to her pillow to protect herself. It started with a ridiculous toy sword she borrowed from the son of the family she was living with, then a bundle of sticks she collected on the way home, then a soccer ball hard enough to break a wall, and now she grew fond of the baseball bat she found lying next to a sleeping youkai. She never actively went after youkais since they came to her, but the one she followed of her own volition was forced to teach her what they knew about spells and incantations. It was the least they could do after their kind kept harassing her for stupid favors or claiming she would make a delicious meal.

She thought it would stop after meeting Madara, but it only became worse.

Natsume Takashi, her grandfather, were he still alive, would be hearing a piece of her mind for attempting to befriend every single living creature in this world.

Shunned by everyone around him and mocked for his inability to fit into society on top of seeing a world that was invisible to others—Reiko understands he might have left behind the humans altogether to seek comfort in people who wouldn't judge him. She can't wrap her head around his desire to forgive, though.

“Nobody treated him right,” she says to Madara, who feigns disinterest. “A lot of youkais didn't, too.”

Madara is probably just as bad as her at perusing the spectrum of emotions, if not worse; the face of a cat does limit his possibilities, but Reiko is certain that there is much he doesn't tell.

“You understand why he was so stubborn about meeting youkais, don't you?” he retorts with that knowing look she tends to avoid glancing at. “Well, I'm assuming you're smarter than he was.”

You're awfully gentle even if you're insulting him, Reiko wants to say, but just like how she can't admit she still fears she'll wake up from this reality and go back to a life of misery, she can't point out the obvious aching in her friend's heart.

Youkais who come to her thinking she will solve all their problems like her grandfather did often end up bruised and nursing a wounded pride, after they lose to her little games. She much prefers seeing what they are made of before deciding if they are worth her time, and if they deserve having their names back.

(Whether Takashi knew the nature of the contracts remains a mystery, but either way she can't shake off the feeling of loneliness whenever she so much as lays eyes on the Book of Friends.)

“I really don't understand his way of thinking,” she mutters.

Madara lets out an ugly laugh. “Nobody did.”

***

She chases after a youkai to retrieve a trinket they stole from a weaker spirit, and when she does catch up to them she swings her bat and whacks them on the head. The effect is immediate and the thief collapses, whining and complaining about the great power of the holder of the Book of Friends, and Reiko simply chuckles.

“Yeah, we're pretty strong in my family.”

She doesn't ask permission to get back what she came looking for as she plucks it right from the youkai's hands, then turns around to leave. Madara seems to appear from thin air for the only purpose of mocking her.

“You sure put a lot of effort in this one, for someone who doesn't like being used.”

She waves a hand, having learned by now that rising to Madara's baits aren't really productive for either of them.

“I needed the exercise anyway.”

Reiko looks at the cloudy sky, feeling the first drops of rain fall on her nose. She catches movement on her left, and sees the youkai who asked for her help timidly extending a hand. Her lips automatically curl into a soft smile, as she gives the item back.

“Thank you, Natsume-sama,” the youkai bows. “I have one more favor to ask.”

“Your name is in the Book, right?”

There is something particularly strange in taking the name of such a fragile-looking youkai, who probably doesn't even interact much with other people. Takashi has collected names without discrimination, like he expected them all to accept their predicament or the friendship they were offered.

Reiko is different.

“I'll hurry up. I don't want to go home too late.”

Being drenched is a feeling she despises above all (bringing an umbrella wasn't always a possibility), but feeling the trained eyes of Touko-san looking for any signs of sickness never gets easier. Reiko didn't know that someone could be filled with so much love to give, especially for someone like her, who terrorized invisible monsters and drove away those who everyone pretended not to see.

She walks under the safety of a tree's leaves and pulls out the Book of Friends, closing her eyes. The pages flicker and turn, a single one standing out for her to cradle and bestow. She sees warmth, she sees mischievousness, she sees life; she sees everything through the eyes of someone who could have helped. She grasps what loneliness being washed away feels like.

“I'm giving your name back. Accept it.”

She might never understand what her grandfather wanted to do, by leaving his memory everywhere he went. Madara might never forget the gaping hole he can't fill with food, however hard he tries. The youkais might never figure out the amiable behavior a human showed them.

Reiko opens her eyes to the universe of kindness Natsume Takashi has left her, for her to find her way and discover the hidden side of a world she's always hated.

#natsumeweek #natsuyuu #natsume yuujinchou #natsume reiko #madara #nyanko sensei #natsume takashi #misuzu #hinoe #my fanfic

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