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anjuschiffer · 4 years

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Following the Unknown

Okay, so sometime ago, I wrote something up about another soulmate au that was inspired from a dream I had (and for some reason I can’t find it in my archives...f* you Tumblr! And if anyone remembers what I’m talking about, think you can send me a link? Cuz I can’t find it QQ).

So the AU concept went something like this:

Some people know they have soulmates because they can hear their soulmate’s voice. If you’re lucky enough, you can actually see them, or rather their silhouette in the form of a swarm of leaves, that trail away once your soulmate stops talking to you. These leaves fly off and sometimes if you chase them, lead you to your soulmate. However, if they go on, that means that your soulmate isn’t close. Some people have feathers as guides, however, those who have seen these feathers and followed them are guaranteed to see their soulmates...but only at the brink of death. People dread to have feathers guide them to their soulmate, despite their gold color.

The only con of this soulmate bond is that only those with the bond can see the glowing white leaves, no one else can see the leaves but those with that type of bond.

And I haven’t touched the au until I was listening to Into the Unknown...

With that explanation out of the way, I hope you enjoy it!

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Song: Into the Unknown by Idina Menzel | Daminette Soulmate Au

Context: Damian is 17 years old, never once telling anyone he had a soulmate bond. Mari is 16, her soulmate bond appearing that very year, something she always wanted, but hated that it was at the worst time to receive a bond. After all, defeating Hawkmoth was her top priority.

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Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life

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AO3

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Damian stirred in his bed, a whisper ringing in his ears. Attempting to block them out, Damian wrapped his pillow over his head, his knuckles turning white as he did so.

Damian threw the pillow to the side, wincing at the voice that echoed within his head. Struggling to get up, Damian quickly drew out his sketchbook, flipping to the back of it. There, a meticulously set of dates were written and organized, a tip of a quill meeting the page, Damian writing down a new date.

Ever since his 16th birthday, he had been having these effects, a voice whispered to him.

It was soft, soothing, but annoying all at the same time.

Hello. It would whisper. Can you hear me?

I can hear you but I won't.

Of course he was able to. It bothered him to the ends of the Earth, causing him to become distracted at school and during patrols.

He regretted ever answering back to them after they kept trying to contact them for four solid months.

With that single response, he had been able to hear the voice clearer, causing the noise to grow stronger, something that Damian hated.

Because of it, his grades slowly slipped, but Damian had managed to keep them up. Patrol, however, was another story.

He kept getting a scolding from his father and brother, causing his mood to sour even more.

He already had a pretty shitty sleep schedule and the noise just made it worse.

He would awaken at random times during the middle of the night, ranging from one in the morning to four. He rarely got them at five and six, but nonetheless had them then as well.

Ignore your whispers which I wish would go away

Damian got back to bed, hoping to fall back to sleep as he heard the noise stay with him. Damian didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, but he did, nonetheless when the noise had whispered to him.

Sorry.

And the voice remained quiet for the remainder of the night.

------

“-and only one in every three million have this type of soulmate bond.” Damian paused the video, writing something down in his notepad, circling the new piece of information.

The Wind Bond.

A bond that those who had it describe it to be like a wind itself.

It caused you to hear the voice of your soulmate, ever so softly heard like a midsummer breeze.

The soulmate’s voice would only grow stronger if they were close by.

Those who had a romantic version of the bond would also see their soulmate’s silhouette in the form of leaves, scattering into the air if you managed to see it.

However, only the people with the bond were able to see and hear their soulmate.

It was also because of this that people called it the Wind Bond; many only faintly heard the voice of their soulmate and almost never got to ingrain the silhouette of their soulmate, causing them to lose all hope in ever seeing their soulmate.

It was hard to catch, hard to believe, just like the wind.

As Damian tapped in pencil against the table, the noise returned, Damian dropping his pencil to cradle his head.

You're not a voice, you're just a ringing in my ear.

With shaky hands, Damian reached for the headphones laying on his desk.

Damian paired them to his phone and put music to drown the noise, his shoulders relaxing when he could no longer hear it.

I'm sorry, secret siren, but I'm blocking out your calls.

Damian looked at what he had written, huffing at the paper.

Why would he ever believe in this?

Soulmates?

Damian ripped the paper and tossed them into his metal trash can. Seeing that all of the pieces were inside, Damian opened his desk drawer, rummaging through it until his hand found a small rectangular-like item.

Flicking the lighter, Damian took the final piece of his ‘research’ and lit it on fire, tossing it in with the rest, watching as smoke rose from the can.

Soulmates…

Why would he ever think he had one?

Even if he did have one, he shouldn’t care.

They were unnecessary, a hindrance to him…

At least his mother and grandfather told him.

As he watched the last ember die, Damian went back to studying, the ringing fading from his mind.

------

Damian’s eyes widened as his eyes caught the thing behind him.

He had just gotten past the manor’s gates when he heard someone call out to him.

Turning, Damian found a girl made of softly glowing bluebell leaves.

He watched as they soon scattered into the air, Damian taking a step forward before going into a sprint.

He had the Wind Bond. And the romantic type at that.

Romance…

Love…

Chasing…

Damian quickly came to a stop, watching as the leaves finally left his view.

I'm afraid of what I'm risking if I follow you

Damian didn’t know for how long he was standing at where he was, but when he was done accepting what had happened to him, he let out a long deep sigh.

A soulmate, huh?

He would just have to try his best to ignore it.

------

Damian dug his nails into his hands, the noise coming back inside his head, and at the worst possible time.

What do you want?

He was busy trying to concentrate on the math problem in front of him, the clock ticking as his professor reminded the class of the time constraint.

“There’s ten minutes left!”

Are you here to distract me so I make a big mistake?

Damian wanted to scoff at the answer, racking everything he learned to solve the integration before him. It was the only thing left, but for some reason he just couldn’t seem to figure it out.

Just breath.

He did.

Recheck your fourth to last step. That’s where-

“Five minutes!”

Damian quickly rescanned his work for the twentieth time, finally noticing where he had gone wrong. Reworking that step, Damian began to internally grin as he confidently finished the rest, smiling when he placed his pencil down and the professor called time.

Damian hated to admit it, but was glad to be able to hear her voice clearly this time around.

The bell rang, signaling the start of the next class, Damian quickly walking out to get to it.

Thank you.

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“-I simply did what I had to do!” Damian yelled, a snarl present on his face.

“You endangered the civilians inside the building!” Dick yelled, throwing a glare at Bruce. “And you allowed him to-”

“It was necessary for the mission.” Bruce simply stated, walking out the cave, leaving Dick with his feelings.

“I thought you had changed B!” Dick yelled, grabbing his coat. “Seems like you haven’t.”

Damian watched as Dick left, wanting to call him back, but knew that he shouldn’t. Instead, he went off to his own room, heading straight to the shower to get rid of the sweat that made his shirt cling to his body as if it were a second skin.

As he stood under the steaming hot water, Damian pondered to himself.

While he always held his father in high regards, Damian struggled to follow his standards, finding himself to lean more towards Dick’s. Who was right? Who did he have to follow? To please? Who’s standard should he even begin to follow?

Neither.

But he had to.

But don’t you already have your own set?

He did.

Then follow it.

Damian pursed his lips, turning off the water.

Why should he follow his own instead of one laid out before him?

Because if you try to meet the standards someone placed for you, you’re going to burn out quicker. You will start to lose yourself. Believe me. I’ve been there and hated it. Every. Second.

Damian kept wondering about the words the voice told him, catching the resentment behind them.

Despite having lived under the same roof as his father and older brother for seven years, Damian could still measure the tension between themselves. The air was suffocating, made his breathing heavy and felt off.

Or are you someone out there who's a little bit like me?

They did mention having to choose a decision and regretting it.

They had been through it…

Was it when he told them to take the ring from the other person she was fighting with?

If so, were they once like him? Did they once have these unwanted thoughts? Thoughts of fleeing?

Who knows deep down I'm not where I'm meant to be?

Damian shook his head, throwing himself onto his bed, Titus laying beside him.

As he laid in bed, Damian closed his eyes, replaying the day he stopped chasing the bluebell leaves.

Damian found himself reaching towards the ceiling, grabbing one of the leaves. He watched as the bluebell turned red before it slipped out of his hand.

Damian quickly chased after it, stopping as he reached the edge of the manor’s garden, watching as the red leaf turned bluebell once more and disappeared into the distance.

His hand reached out in an attempt to grab it again, despite knowing it was futile.

Don't you know there's part of me that longs to go

Into the unknown

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Are you out there?

“-you alright Bugaboo?” Ladybug blinked as she registered what Chat had said, finally facing him after scanning their surroundings. “Is there something-”

“You didn’t hear that?”

“Hear what?” Chat asked, tilting his head, his ear twitching in anticipation.

Marinette looked to her side once again, wondering what the hell was happening to her.

Migraine? No, definitely not.

“Do you really-” Ladybug was about to ask, only to get interrupted by Chat.

“Seems like you can do it with a day off.” Chat said with a grin, twirling his baton. “You know, maybe a date at-”

Marinette zoned out Chat’s voice, wondering what was going on. She swore she had heard someone call out to her, a smooth voice that sent chills down her spine. But despite that, she felt curiosity behind that whisper.

“-and who knows? We might find out that we’re actually-”

“Soulmate.”

“You mean soulmates.” Chat tried to correct, watching as Ladybug’s face pale. “Bugaboo. What-”

“My soulmate bond.” She whispered, feeling a lump in her throat. “I got my soulmate b-”

“Does that mean-!”

“No.” Ladybug said, sternly looking at Chat. “We’re not soulmates.”

“How are yo-”

“When I asked if you heard that, you said no.”

“And what does that-”

“My soulmate bond has to do with hearing each other’s voices. Our thoughts.” Ladybug watched as Chat’s smile dropped, his eyes turning dull. “You’re not my- Chaton!” Marinette yelled out as Chat ran away from her, using his baton to launch himself to who knows where.

Sighing, Marinette called off her transformation, Tikki flying up to Marinette’s cheek. “Why now? Why now of all times?”

“I wish I had the answer to that Marinette, but even we have no knowledge on how soulmate bonds are assigned and given. If we did-”

“I always wanted a soulmate bond.” Marinette confessed, Tikki giving her a small smile. “But to think I would get one right now, with Hawkmoth-”

“It’s going to be alright Marinette.” Tikki assured, snuggling closer. “It’s going to be alright, you’ll see.”

“I hope you’re right Tikki. I really hope you are right.” Marinette said, embracing Tikki in her own way.

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Do you know me?

Or rather do you remember me?

Marinette had not heard back from her soulmate in a solid month, wondering what was going on.

Was it just a fluke?

“I don’t think so.” Tikki said, munching on a cookie. “While we may not know everything about soulmate bonding, we do know some basic principles. Using those, I’m pretty sure you have a soulmate bond. It’s just taking a while to settle into your life. Well, lives.”

Marinette sighed, placing her head on her desk, attempting to reconnect with her soulmate for the umpteenth time.

Months continued to pass, Marinette now dealing with a tantrum-throwing Chat and an unresponsive soulmate.

Yes, the soulmate bonding was supposed to be the least of her worries, but how can Marinette ignore the fact that she hadn’t heard from them in three months?

In attempts to push it to the back of her mind, Marinette focused on retrieving the cat miraculous from Chat.

Another month passed when a miracle occured.

Marinette was sick and tired of playing cat and mouse with Chat, promising herself to try this one last time before she officially gave up on taking back the cat miraculous.

They were once more fighting an appearance changing akuma, the akuma changing the appearance of any person they touched, Marinette doing everything in her power to avoid being touched. What should she do? She didn’t want to be a useless fish nor-

Take it when he gets hit by his opponent.

Marinette stiffed at those words, feeling as if he knew then from experience himself.

Marinette didn’t get a response, but stuck with their advice, watching for her opportunity to rise.

An hour later, there it was.

As she flung him out of harm’s way, she slipped the ring off of him, her eyes closed as she renounced his ownership of the ring and of Plagg.

A single tear slipped as he heard him scream at her. As he begged her to reconsider.

Ladybug simply ignored the growing guilt in her chest, but knew it was for the best.

With a final tug at her yo-yo, Ladybug took down the akuma and prepared herself to be the hero Paris truly needed.

Back at home, Marinette hugged her pillow, crying her heart out as she started to doubt her decision from earlier that day.

Sorry.

———

A month had passed since that day, Marinette slumping into her bed as she de transformed. Plagg and Tikki quickly checked on their Guardian before going off to replenish their own energy.

With a heavy sigh, Marinette threw her arm over her forehead, feeling the tension in it.

Hawkmoth was still out there, searching for her, using all her allies against her. All but two.

Rena Rouge has the first out.

Then Carapace.

Lady Guêpe was forced to resign.

Then Chat Noir.

Ryuuko and Viperion remained, but at what cost?

But she couldn’t keep burdening them with her duties, with her life.

The trio were the only ones to protect Paris, although it was majorly Lady Chat in the scene.

Announcing to Paris that Chat was no longer going to aid with the defeat of Hawkmoth ended up turning for the worst, half of Paris wondering why Ladybug would ever do such a thing.

Why would she ever let Chat go when she needed him the most?

She ignored them, knowing it was for the greater good. She knew that what she did was necessary.

She wasn’t going to allow Chat to continue to corrupt Plagg, even Viperion and Ryuuko agreed with her.

And yes, she did always meet up with them...in their slightly hidden civilian forms.

While the previous guardian told her the importance of keeping their identities, Marinette’s morality began to waver.

If they wanted any chance of defeating Hawkmoth, they needed more trust with each other.

Yes, they can potentially leak out each other’s identities if akumatized, but she was willing to risk it.

So with Ryuuko and Viperion’s help, Ladybug sought a way to take down the enemy, once and for all.

Marinette’s thoughts soon became muddled, equations blurring into her mind.

She sat there, cradling her mind as math flooded her head, a concerned Tikki rushing to her.

They are rushing it.

They had to use substitution there, not the answer they got in the first part.

What do you want?

Are you here to distract me?

No.

Just breath.

Recheck your fourth to last step. That’s where-

The voice faded, becoming a soothing hum. Mari felt as her shoulders relaxed, only then noticing she had then square and tense.

She decided to sit up, eyeing her sketchbook.

When was the last time she opened it?

Just as she turned to a clean page, Marinette started to sketch, writing the word red at the side.

That’s when she heard her soulmate say something she thought they were never going to say to her.

Thank you.

Giddiness filled her imagination, Marinette got to designing, Plagg and Tikki smiling as they watched her emerge herself into her work.

———

Marinette placed a final pin into her alterations when her head began to angrily hum.

Who’s standard should I follow?

Marinette wondered what was going on with her soulmate that made them question and doubt the morality standards around them. But if she went off experience…

Neither.

But I have to choose a side.

Don’t you have your own set of morals? Principles?

I do.

Then follow them.

Why can’t I just choose one of the ones laid before me?

Because if you keep trying to choose one of them, you’re going to burn out. You’re going to lose yourself. And you’ll hate it. Every. Second. That passes.

Marinette began to panic when she didn’t hear anything said back, looking at Tikki for some type of explanation.

Tikki simply looked at her with sad eyes while Plagg purred against Marinette’s cheek, Marinette deflating upon not getting an answer to her situation.

———

Can you feel me?

The voice asked, Damian debating on whether to answer it.

Because, no. He couldn’t feel them, but certainly did feel their emotions

He had been for the past half year.

And he knew that whoever they were, they were either a hero or vigilante.

He was able to clearly feel their emotions and hear their thoughts when they finally defeated someone called Hawkmoth.

He had tried to ask them who it was, but they never responded, quickly changing the subject.

Mostly about their upcoming schedule.

Something about having to make a dress for some event they were invited to.

He remembers telling them about him being in the same boat, having to get his measurements taken for a new suit for the gala.

Can you show me?

Their bond only allowed them to hear each other.

And our silhouettes. They added.

“Master Damian, there you are.” Alfred spoke, Damian looking over at his grandfather (not that he would ever say it out loud).

“Is this about the gala? I presume Father wants me to do something for him.”

“More like remind you of how-“

“I won’t let some random harlots try to seduce me.” Damian stated firmly, picking up Alfred the cat. “They can try, but I will not waver.”

Alfred let a smile out, giving a few words for thought before leaving.

Damian sighed, going back to his conversation. Or at least attempted.

He tried to say something to his soulmate, but never got a response…

Not even as he tried to talk to her for the next few weeks.

———

Marinette stood by the punch bowl, watching as everyone around her talked like old time friends, chatting away into the night.

She rubbed her hands against her bare arms, wondering why someone like her was even at the Wayne Gala.

Oh right. She was personally invited because of her other identity: M.

M - the mysterious designer that had taken the fashion world upside down with their presence and style.

Marinette sighed, taking her glass of champagne and walking towards the balcony, not a single set of eyes following her crystal embedded red dress that stood out like a sore thumb.

Leaning against the stone railing, Marinette huffed, twirling the glass between her fingers, watching as the champagne sizzled as it swirled.

Finding herself bored, Marinette hummed to herself, wishing she was still able to talk to her soulmate.

Ever since that night a few weeks ago, she hadn’t been able to contact them, even Tikki growing worried as to why it was happening.

Marinette missed talking to them, even if their relationship did start on the wrong foot.

She missed them...dearly.

As Marinette continued to hum to herself, something caught her attention; a single emerald glowing leaf flew into her line of sight, her breath hitching.

It continued to fly away, into the hall in which the gala was taking place.

Where are you going? Don't leave me alone

Without a second thought, Marinette quickly followed it, not caring about the stares she was gathering as she pushed her way through the crowds.

She stumbled a bit as she saw the butterfly take a corner, almost losing it in the process.

How do I follow you

Into the unknown

Marinette quickly called out Kaalki, giving out an order to bring Mullo to her.

As soon as she had made it out into the open, Mullo quickly joined Marinette into the chase, multiplying to help with the search.

Marinette’s heart beat louder and stronger as she watched the butterfly begin to pulse brighter than ever before, a smile growing unbeknownst to Mari.

The joy died done when the butterfly stopped going, hovering in the middle of the garden which Mari found herself at.

Finally having a moment to breath, Marinette looked around herself, hedges and rows of flora surrounded her, shades of camellias encircling her. In the distance, she noticed some blue salvias, the tips peeking from under bushes.

Why was she brought here?

Here of all places?

Her thoughts were broken when she heard a pair of shoes click their way towards her, Marinette watching as the shadowed figure became another person.

When their eyes met, a group of leaves burst around them, the soft bluebell mingled with the emerald ones, dancing around each other.

“So you’re my soulmate.” He started, Marinette wondering how he wasn’t breaking a sweat in the layers of formal attire. She also couldn’t help but notice that his suit had kevlar integrated.

“I must be if the leaves guided us to one another.” Marinette responded, wondering what to do next.

The two looked at each other, wondering who was going to take the next step when the man broke into a smile.

“Damian. My name's Damian Wayne.”

“Marinette.” She followed. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’m glad I found you, Damian.”

She really was.

She was happy to have followed the wind bond into the unknown.

Epilogue/Bonus:

Dick watched as Damian ran through the crowds in the gala.

“Damian! Where-“

“Somewhere!” Damian yelled, peaking Dick’s curiosity.

Dick waited until he saw him leave the hall before tailing him, having to pick up the pace when he almost lost sight of the boy a few times.

Dick wondered where exactly Damian was running off to, worry growing stronger when they had left the manor and were running into the garden.

He quickly tumbled into a hedge when he watched Damian slow down, following his gaze.

There, a few meters away, was a small stature girl with the most captivating red dress. The off-shoulder dress perfected fitted the girl’s small frame, Dick watching with the utmost glee as he saw Damian approach the girl.

Just as the two were three feet apart, Dick watched as a kaleidoscope of butterflies burst around them, leaving Dick starstruck.

He’d always heard of the wind bond, some of his friends telling him they had it. But this was the first time he’s ever seen it, let alone seen actual soulmates-

Soulmates…

HIS BROTHER HAD A SOULMATE AND NEVER TOLD HIM?!

Filled with hurt, Dick curled into a ball and stayed there in shock.

“Grayson. How long do you plan on staying there?”

Dick raised his head, watching how Damian attempted to keep a smile in check while his soulmate was wrapped around his arm. “Come on, the gala’s about to end. I need to make an announcement as it does.”

It took a quick second for Dick to figure out what he had meant by that.

“Damian! Don’t you dare-“

“Watch me.” Damian said with a grin, watching as the girl looked at Dick in confusion as Damian led her back inside.

Dick, however, didn't make it in time to warn their father, watching as Damian announced to the world about his soulmate… right as his own father was going to propose to Selina on live.

“That idiot.” Dick muttered, a smile still on his face as he watched Damian glow alongside his newfound love.

#maribat #daminette #maribat song inspired fic #daminette soulmates #maribat soulmate au #daminette soulmate au #anju writes

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the-cat-at-the-theatre-door · 3 years

Note

Gus and Skimbleshanks for the character ask!

All of them?? Oh, gee, okay um...

I'll tell you what - I'll answer all of them for Gus for now, and then perhaps answer them all for Skimble in the future (depending on interest level).

Alright, let’s see...

Gus

Already answered 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 here!

1. Something this character is truly proud of

Gus is extremely proud of his accomplishments throughout his life, and extremely proud of how he worked up from nothing to get where he is - and he will humbly boast about these accomplishments until the cows come home, ask anyone in his proximity.

But, if I may take a moment to be as sappy as a possibly can, what Gus is *most* proud of is his legacy - aka, his children and his grandchildren. Though he never thought he’d be the nurturing type, and he still really isn’t, there is not a soul alive that has come into contact with Gus the Theatre Cat that does not know of his son and daughter, and later, his group of grandkittens. That’s why he’s always lamenting at the young ones that they “think they’re smart” when they do the bare minimum when he *knows* that they’re able to accomplish more than that.

2.Who they want to please the most.

Gus is, quite literally, a crowd pleaser. He’s a showman, so of course he is. He wants to please his audience, his director, his fellow castmates...all at once. He is also very proud when he manages to please his fellow cats or people in his family - for making a name for himself, for getting somewhere, for reaching such prominence as just a *cat* for crying out loud. He’s made it, and that makes him feel happier than anything else considering where he started.

When kittens tell him that they want to be like him someday, he positively beams.

3. Who depends on them.

His children depended on him for the longest time, but he kinda blew it with that one for a good chunk of their lives - and by the time he had started to come around, they were already independent, and it’s one of his biggest regrets that he didn’t come around sooner.

Nowadays, no one really depends on Gus for physical things or favours, but there are many members of the tribe that depend on him to listen and to talk to them. Gus has a way of spinning situations simply so that they make sense, an eccentric conversation style that is both pleasant and distracting, and is able to read the room *extremely* easily. It’s a little spooky how easily Gus can pick up on a situation, with very little conversation, and how smoothly he can transition conversation/interaction style if necessary. Gus can be rather blunt and honest to a fault, but you’d be hard-pressed to find better life advice than from him.

(If we go with my Gus and Bella are siblings, theory, she used to depend on him a lot when they were young, since their parents also weren’t around much - what goes around and all that - to protect her and watch her)

4. What they would do if they had one month to live

Well...I mean...what is he doing now?

Sorry. A younger Gus would have said he would press on with whatever he was doing at the time. He’d want to be back in the pub with his friends, late into the night. He’d love to get a final dramatic monologue in, a final curtain call; die doing what he loves instead of caught up in a bed.

Now, well, Gus is well aware - somewhere in the back of his mind - that he’s not going to live a long time. He knows the end is nearing. All he really wants is quiet - after a life lived out loud, if he could just collect himself enough to sort everything out one thing at a time, and quietly work through each day he would be grateful. Bored to death, perhaps, but grateful.

He’d like to maybe see Bella again, before he goes.

5. A cherished personal belonging.

The blanket Gus began to wear around his shoulders used to be where his wife and children slept and where his grandchildren currently play, and it has a whole cacophony of different scents attached to it. He hates being parted with it. When things get overwhelming for him, he buries himself in it, curling himself under a literal blanket of familiarity - even if he isn’t quite sure *why* it’s familiar.

11. This character’s favorite piece or pieces of clothing.

He has a pair of gloves that his wife also made for him that Jelly has patched over the years because they’ve worn thin. She ended up having to cut the fingers off and hem them when they became more hole than glove.

He also has a scarf given to him by one of the theatre patrons from an earlier show of his - a little girl with her mother who was only truly fascinated with the cat on stage, and didn’t understand why they didn’t give him a costume as well. She was helping by giving him hers.

12. How they sleep.

He snores and mutters in his sleep, to the point where he seems to have entire conversations with himself. He’s also rather fitful. The kittens are wary of sleeping anywhere near him, since he has been known to jerk awake suddenly and kick out in alarm (and doesn’t he feel guilty the few times that *has* caught a few of them in the ribs or the legs)

13. What kind of parent they would be.

Well he *is* one, and the answer to that question would be not a *great* one, but not a *bad* one either. Gus is a fun parent, a loving parent, a proud parent, but he isn’t the best parental figure. He isn’t so great with discipline, nor is he great for showing up to anything on time.

I’d say Gus’ strength as a parent came from his unfailing willingness to go along with whatever scenario his children would cook up - from pirates to knights and princesses to aliens - Gus was always willing to jump into the game should they invite him to play with them. And you know he threw his entire self into it, too.

14. How they did in school

Gus would have a been a “graduated from Juilliard” kinda guy, if the timeline matched up - or if he could have afforded it.

As it stands, he didn’t really finish school. Not necessarily out of any inability to do so, but a complete and total lack of interest. He held odd jobs mostly, to support his family, which led him to quietly quitting school. He figured anything he wanted to learn would be just as good coming from direct experience or working under a mentor than a formal education - and it got him where he is today, so all in all not bad.

15. What cologne or perfume they would use

There is a very specific one that my grandfather uses that smells exactly like something Gus would wear - it’s that standard older gentleman scent - kind of like...Aqua Velva but softer - that is slightly on the pricy side, but not ridiculously so. He doesn’t bathe in it, but he uses it religiously.

He *used* to dip into a Chanel perfume that one of his actress friends gave to him after one of their shows wrapped, that he *kinda* thought just smelled a lot like lightly spicy rubbing alcohol but felt it polite to at least...use it - when that finally ran out and he curiously checked on its price...he never even looked at it again.

(”Ridiculous...I may as well douse myself in a bottle of gin it’ll give off the same effect!”)

16. Their sexuality

Gus is bisexual and biromantic, with a preference for Queens, but he’s had several trysts with Toms as well. He was quite the paramour in his younger days.

17. What they’d sing at karaoke

Gus finds karaoke to be absolutely *dreadful* in that he legitimately does not see the fun in it OR its purpose. And that’s coming from a cat whose whole job it is to perform.

So count him out of that. He’ll monologue on the spot for you, though, if he is so inclined.

18. Special talents they have

Gus used to be extremely good at remembering people’s names - even after just one introduction or overhearing it once (Jelly gets that from him).

He's very good at patter songs and tongue twisters. He also used to delight his kits by speeding through the alphabet backwards.

He can clock a person's personality within literally seconds of knowing them - and he's usually right.

He plays piano and was the one who taught Jelly to play. He can’t so much anymore with his shaking hands.

19. When they feel safest

Gus feels safest in the light when he's able to see everything. He never got stage fright, per say, but would get waves of nerves when he was directly in a spotlight - with the rest of the stage dark around him...like he was being swallowed. He would get nervous to move out of it - the lighting techs needed to be *very* on the ball if the director called for a total blackout (he only really trusted two of them).

20. Household chore they hate the most

Cooking. 100%. Can't stand it. Does not know how the oven works. Cannot adjust to picky palettes well. Definitely a take out dad.

21. Their fondest childhood memory

(Sibling AU) When Gus and Grizabella were children, they put on “Cinderella” (which Bella insisted would be changed to “Cinderbella” because of course. Gus goes along with it because *whatever fine his mother told him that he was the big brother and had to be nice to her*) as one of their very first collaborative plays together - they were around 8 and 6 respectively. They had already put on dozens of little skits and read-throughs and imaginary games, and they loved doing it.

Bella *refused* to be anyone other than Cinderella and Gus refused to play the prince (because it meant he had to *kiss his sister yuck*), so instead it was really “Staring Grizabella as Cinderella and Asparagus as *literally every other part except for Prince Charming*.- they spent hours trying to figure out how the quick changes would work, and making script changes, and hanging sheets behind them for curtains, and Bella glued together a tiny little suit for her teddy bear who would play the prince instead.

All in all, it went about as well as they could have expected - a bit of a disaster. They put it on for their father, who watched with tired eyes and a patient smile, and applauded enthusiastically at the end - and they both decided right then and there that that was what they would do for the rest of their lives.

He considers that his first stage credit.

22. How they spend their money.

Honestly, Gus’ money spending habits are very strange. He will buy himself a new car *once* and then run the thing into the ground until it physically can’t run anymore, won't buy new clothes until you can see through the old ones, will *always* weasel his way out of paying for alcohol at a bar (he has *many* tricks up his sleeve for this one), and he will refuse to spend his money on other frivolous things, but you bet your dollar that he is literally always shelling out money to his grandchildren just because - saying it would be their little secret, and one time bought a bird house because it "spoke to him" but never bothered to hang it up or actually use it.

23. What kind of alcohol they drink

Well, he used to be a “whatever I am given I will drink and I will probably drink *too much*” kind of guy, but since cutting back he’ll moreso partake in brandy or gin, but only in very small doses.

24. What they wish they could change about themselves

There are several things that Gus wishes he could change from the past, but the one thing he wishes he could truly change about himself in the present is how much of a burden he feels he’s become to the others (he's not but he feels that way). Gus is a proud cat, he will admit that. And with that pride comes mourning of his own independence.

Sometimes, when Jelly is helping him do things - like button up his coat or helping him to eat - he just looks at her forlornly and murmurs “My poor dear. You shouldn’t have to do any of this.”

He also wishes that there wasn’t a period of time that his familial relationships were so strained because of him putting his career first, but he can’t really change that so much as try his best to make up for it.

25. What other people wish they could change about them

Gus has the tendency to be a little...let’s say *long-winded*. And a little hypercritical. He holds himself to a high - near-impossible - standard, so he also has a bad habit of holding others to that same standard.

#sorry it took so long i had to think hard about some of these!#jellicles ask because jellicles dare #is-it-mungojerry-or-rumpelteazer #my headcanons #Gus the Theatre Cat

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ciel-plusultra · 4 years

Note

Hey, welcome back to tumblr. I would be super happy if you could write something really fluffy, maybe Sebastian finds out how cuddling works and he keeps cuddling Ciel or something the like. That would be cool. Anyway have a nice day.

Hey there! Thank you for the ask! It just so happens that I loooove writing fluff so I’m very excited to work on this for you!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Quarter past nine. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked away relentlessly, echoing in the endless caverns of the demon’s mind as he made his way towards his young master’s bedroom. The soft click of Sebastian’s heels against the hallway kept in perfect time with the ticking of the clock. One would not be able to tell one from the other as the demon walked amongst the paintings, moving as if he were a ghost. As if he were one of the dead painted in the extravagant portraits. The candelabra flickered, casting shadows on the walls. Tendrils of darkness threatened to swallow the entire hallway whole with every step the demon took.

His knuckles tapped lightly on his master’s door. He promptly waited three seconds before opening the door, knowing that it was above his master to verbally invite the demon into his room.

“Good evening, My Lord,” Sebastian greeted evenly without looking at his master yet. It was incredibly hard to gauge what mood the young earl would be in, but after a verbal response, Sebastian would have a good enough idea and be able to act accordingly. “It’s time to get you ready for sleep.”

“Do you feel temperature, Sebastian?” The young lord asked, and finally the demon looked at him. Sebastian’s expression remained neutral despite how internally intrigued he felt.

“My Lord?” Sebastian asked, slightly raising an eyebrow as he set the candelabra down on Ciel’s bedside table.

“Temperature.” Ciel repeated in an icy tone. “Do you feel it?” The earl sat in his chair, partially facing out the window, and partially facing the demon.

“Yes and no, Young Master,” Sebastian answered and in minimal strides, closed the space between himself and his master. He knelt down in front of Ciel’s chair and carefully unbuckled his shoes. “I can feel it if I decide to, but I do not actively notice nor am I affected by it. Why do you ask?” His curiosity was piqued. It was an unusual topic for his young lord.

“It is winter, demon.”

“Are you quite cold, My Lord?” Sebastian asked, lifting his chin to look at his master as he began undressing his many layers. “I can light the fireplace, if you wish.”

“Yes, that would be nice.” Ciel nodded, but his voice seemed distant. He stood up from the chair to allow Sebastian access to undress him properly. His skin was not subjected to the cold air long, as a nightshirt was immediately pulled over his head. The demon disappeared to Ciel’s wardrobe for a moment, seemingly looking for something not part of his regular nighttime attire. When Sebastian returned, it was with thick wool socks. Ciel crinkled his nose. “I don’t typically sleep with socks. Those look itchy.”

Sebastian chuckled lightly and knelt down once again. He lifted one slender calf and smiled a bit as he felt two hands grip his shoulders for support while he slipped the sock onto Ciel’s foot and up snuggly to his calf. Though the displeased look on his master’s face, he didn’t protest the warm socks and allowed Sebastian to put on the second one.

“They May be itchy, Young Master, but they will keep your feet warm. I’ll fetch you an extra blanket, as well.” Sebastian offered, then picked the earl up in his arms and carried him to his bed. With a delicate touch that was so unnatural to him, he laid his master down and pulled the sheets up to his chest. There was a look on Ciel’s face, as if he had something to say but he did not. Sebastian would not press the matter. “If I may,” He said quietly, then untied the eyepatch from behind Ciel’s head and laid it down on his bedside table. “Allow me to fetch your blanket and start a fire for you.”

Sebastian excused himself from his master’s room, feeling a bit perplexed as to his young lord’s mood. It wasn’t a sour mood, but he didn’t seem happy, either. Ciel rarely seemed happy, but there were nights that he at least seemed at peace. His current mood was quite different, though, almost nervous and the demon couldn’t place why. From a spare linens closet, he grabbed a thick blanket and made his way back towards Ciel’s room. Half past nine. The grandfather clock continued its ticking.

The demon approached Ciel’s bedside once again and unfolded the blanket, then laid it out over top of his young master. He tucked the sides in, hoping that it would keep him warmer than his standard bedding did. The fire would take a little bit more time, but nothing that a demon butler couldn’t handle. He knelt down in front of the fireplace and set out to work rearranging the refreshed firewood. Sebastian struck a match and waited for the firewood to become engulfed in warm embers. As he was using the fire poker, evenly distributing the wood within the flames, a quiet voice broke the silence.

“This isn’t what I had in mind.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow and turned around, adjusting his gloves. “What did you have in mind, My Lord?”

“I thought that you...” Ciel trailed off. His cheeks looked a healthy shade of pink, and Sebastian wondered if the warmth of the fire was working so quickly. “Could lay with me.”

Sebastian paused. He looked at his gloved hands. Lay with him? What ever for?

“Of course, Master.” Sebastian answered with a slight nod of his head. A request was as serious as an order when it came to Ciel... Unless the request was for sweets before dinner. Sebastian carefully untied his dress shoes and left them by the door, but kept the rest of his butler uniform on as he approached the bed.

The bed. Of course, Sebastian had one, too. It was just rarely ever used. There was far too much for a demon butler to do and he did not require rest, so it seemed a waste to lay around in it. Yet for some reason, Ciel wanted his company. Sebastian laid down ontop of the blankets, stiff as a board, and folded his gloved hands neatly over his chest.

“What do you think you’re doing, Sebastian?” Ciel snapped with impatience. “Beneath the covers!” His master’s cheeks turned a rosy shade.

“Yes, My Lord.” Sebastian nodded and sat up to rearrange himself beneath the covers. He snapped his fingers next to the candelabra to extinguish the small flames, assuming that the earl no longer needed them with the healthy warmth and light coming from the fireplace.

“Now... Hold still. I’d like to...” Ciel paused again, as if his throat was suddenly too dry to speak. Sebastian began to worry about his master. “I’d like to try something.”

It was unlike Ciel to seem so unsure of himself. It was rare for him to hesitate. Sebastian remained still, looking at the ceiling to give his master privacy for whatever it was he decided to “try”. There was nothing in particular that Sebastian had expected, but he was certainly surprised by Ciel’s movements.

The earl turned beneath the sheets to face the demon and laid his head on Sebastian’s chest. The earl’s face felt warm even through the layers of Sebastian’s clothing. Was he suffering a fever? Before the demon had a chance to ask if Ciel felt well, the earl’s fingers were removing Sebastian’s gloves.

“My Lord-“

“Stay quiet.” Ciel intructed, then wove his fingers through the demon’s. Sebastian was naturally warm to the touch and was suddenly quite aware of how cold Ciel’s hand was. Instinctively, he rubbed his thumb over the back of the earl’s hand and gave it a light squeeze, engulfing the smaller hand in the warmth of his own. “Very good. Now place your arm around me.”

Ciel’s voice sounded more certain. More sure of himself. Without hesitation, Sebastian obeyed. A long arm wrapped around Ciel’s body and pulled him in closer. Ciel his face in Sebastian’s chest, but the demon could feel how warm it was, and he started to understand.

“This will keep you warm, My Lord? Laying in bed?” Sebastian inquired, tucking the earl’s head beneath his chin as they settled into a more comfortable position. Sebastian hadn’t laid in his own bed in quite a while, but he certainly didn’t remember it being so... Comfortable.

“It is not just laying. It is... Cuddling. And yes, it will keep me warm.” Ciel answered, followed by a short yawn. His mismatched eyes finally closed and he nuzzled his head against Sebastian lightly. “This is what we will do in the winter from now on, demon. Do you understand?”

A small smile tugged at Sebastian’s lips. For as strange as humans were, cuddling did feel quite nice. His eyes also closed. Over the crackling of the fireplace, the demon could hear his master’s breathing slow down. The earl was already drifting off to sleep. “Yes, of course. Sleep well, My Lord.” Sebastian murmured quietly, keeping his voice lower than the fireplace’s crackling. Though the demon did not require sleep, he decided to indulge... Just this once. Just for the winter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

There you have it! I have not written in literal MONTHS so I apologize if I’m rusty, but I really appreciate the ask! Thank you so much for sending me a prompt! Have a great week 💙

#dawnlightsilhouette #black butler #sebaciel #sebastian michaelis #ciel phantomhive #kuroshitsuji #asks #ficlet #drabble #fic request #answered #thank you for the request!#sebastian x ciel

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leam1983 · 3 years

Text

It’s the end of the work week and, well...

I’m having thoughts on labor culture.

My father was born in 1958. He lived as the son of an absent father of five children who had no ability to truthfully express his love and care, and who instead chose to bury himself in work as a means to display his commitment. My paternal grandfather made and sold mattressees and died quite young of a cancer strain that today would’ve seemed benign. He was described as a hard worker, either up to his neck in his business or wanting just a scant few hours per day to himself. It made an aloof lover out of him and a distant father - who still loved his wife and children to bits but who felt emotionally castrated in a sense, as were men of the era.

The family consensus is that his work killed him.

My father is now 65 and survived a bout of Non-Hodgkinian Lymphoma. The oncologist and anyone with half a brain agreed that stress was the culprit. Early on, Dad had the family as an excuse for his tendency to overwork. He had to provide for us, after all, and garnish my mother’s meagre savings. All she has is her government-issued pension plan, while my father does have his own pension as a retiree of the City of Montreal’s Real-Estate Appraisal service. Considering, he felt obligated to pull a heavier load to bring in more, so they’d have better investment opportunities. Later on, he kept working out of a sense of fealty and attachment to his division, breaking out of retirement during the pandemic to join the work-from-home team. He wanted to help techs and city officials find ways to bring more of the traditionally snail-mail-based parts of the system online so the city’s Land Management service wouldn’t be paralyzed by COVID-19. What was supposed to be a single month turned into four, which turned into twelve.

By the end, they were begging him to stay on the team and to pull longer hours. We’re talking twenty hours per day, in some particularly grueling stretches. That means being logged in by breakfast and scarfing bagels down with Urban Design techs on Zoom instead of your own family, or having supper with your boss because she needs a play-by-play of the situation to stave off her executive anxiety.

Long story short, I didn’t see Dad much during the first wave. His reasoning was that he’d eventually stop, pool all this cash, and chuck it into his and Mom’s Registered Retirement Savings Account - with maybe an extra two thou or so in case the country reopened enough for their postponed trip to Cuba to take place.

Guess what? His zona flared up and he ended up with odd, shingly bumps along his scalp which to this day the local dermatologist grimaces at and tentatively has us dab with cortisone cream.

Mom, though? She’s a retired and registered nurse with a self-negating streak and a chronic propensity to undervalue her own physical ailments. Someone who quite literally understands the pain of busted hips on a clinical level because she was trained in Gerontology - and also someone who refuses to schedule an appointment with her GP and who inexplicably self-medicates with white wine.

As for me, I’m a 37 year-old man with a paycheck I consider massive with its meagre six bucks above the minimum-wage threshold - someone who chose to shack in with his folks until the current crisis ends and who therefore has a history of a single, willingly terminated apartment lease that originally began in the Planned Housing market. The apartment I want is basically a Barbie doll house for adults, a gleaming fantasy I’ll never have enough capital to touch unless I feel like trying my hand with criminal applications of my skills. The apartment I can get right now is a shithole, and I have the audacity to think I deserve a shithole that at least wasn’t someone’s former cockroach den.

Now here’s the kicker: I value my sanity and my health. I know my mental stamina levels and I know from experience that after working seven-point-five hours per day with the occasionally shorter Friday, I’ve found my limit. I could invest more if I worked more, yes, and I’m already in a better position than my parents, retirement-wise. I’ll never be rich, but I’m already set to be comfortable, provided I don’t spend my golden years trying to make it as an unsponsored TechTuber or anything else that’s equally ludicrous.

Where that’s a problem is in the toxicity this is generating. See, I have the gall to slide my daily schedule later so I can start at an hour that fits my biological clock and ends at an hour where I’m at my most creative. That means the folks saw me spending my pandemic mornings on Animal Crossing while Dad was trying to wrangle Excel spreadsheets for non-tech-savvy fellow Boomers while preventing the dog from eating his meeting notes. That means they guzzled vinho verde like it was Kool-Aid after seven while I made sure to find more concrete means to distance myself from work - ideally ones that didn’t involve functional alcoholism.

Naturally, what was bound to happen, happened: Dad soon spent his evenings calling me shiftless or “unwilling to commit”, while I was stuck watching him miss all the cues his stressed-out body were sending him. We already had Trump’s last desperate months and a global plague to handle, I really didn’t want my work to turn into more of a nuisance than it already is. I already love the people I work for and hate what I do (repeating the family cycle, it seems), but I’ve at least decided to give myself ample Me time every single day.

I’ve paired that with smaller, if consistent portfolio investments, along with a few new habits I wanted to get into to stay saner. Dad pulls crosswords or plays competitive chess in the wee hours, while I usually lay down to meditate around midnight and fall asleep by 1 AM at the latest. I’m half-expecting my father to pull a Tyler Durden and to sneer at me, at some point. “Self-care is masturbation,” he’d probably say.

Looking at classifieds for rentals, it’s obvious that the entire system is predicated on abuse. Work yourself down to the therapist’s office, right down to the fucking bone, and you just might earn a half-decent retirement because nobody’s taught you to invest incrementally. Nope, Society seems to say, you’re supposed to buy, buy and buy some more, until you realize you have ten years left to start from scratch!

I remember Dad’s face on my eighteenth birthday. “Why would you want a Disability Care Savings Account, Brain? You just turned into a legal adult by Canadian standards - you’re in no rush, right?”

I told him the real gift I wanted for my birthday, that day, was a ride to the family’s Financial Investments counsel. I pulled up the PDFs I’d printed out and filled and brought them over. From then on, if I dropped a penny in my nest-egg, Ottawa would drop another one. If my share grew, so did the government’s. In the twenty-odd years since, it’s expanded exponentially.

Dad thought I’d done this to have a big cushion by the time I’d retire. Mom thought I’d done this in case my disability worsened and I started requiring equipment or physical assistance. Honestly, my dumb, if slightly prescient eighteen year-old self figured I’d rather spend my time reading or playing video games than working. I knew I’d need something to help cushion my admittedly low career-related ambitions. I might throw several thousands at a new computer every seven to eight years, but that’s because I’ve saved them up for just as long, little by little. I have no vices beyond what sillicon offers and what you’d find in the pages of a book and don’t exactly need a big ‘ol, stonkin’ humidor stuffed with conoisseur stogies.

I have a shoebox with a poked-out Ziploc bag and a sponge, with a handful of joints and a few Santa Anas I got off of a buyer’s pool from work. Five of us occasional chair-bar goons pooled cash together on Cigar Chief and cushioned prices with a single, shared and massive order. I’m nowhere near rich, but assuming the housing market can catch its breath eventually, I’ll be able to live modestly - with one or two markers of occasional luxury I’ll have chosen.

I have a shittier job than my father has had and I’ve chosen to be happier than him. It’s just sad that the usual response elevates overwork as the supposedly one, true way to leave a mark in society.

No, Dad. I don’t want to die while my own cells eat me alive, I want to die blazed out of my fucking mind, happy because I’ll have had time to enjoy my friends’ company and to finally make some sense out of Kerouac’s Subterraneans or to figure out what the fuck is going on in Joyce’s Illiad. I’ll die crusty as shit and fulfilled as a Pop Culture jockey, because I’ll have either finished Persona 5: Golden in my lifetime or I’ll have watched the entirety of the MCU’s output before Disney finally manages to kill their golden goose.

I want to die decades from now, feeling like I at least owned my choices and didn’t spend my time tethered to someone else’s professional expectations of me.

#personal life #thoughts #work culture #overwork #cancer #free time #mental health

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missbrightsky · 4 years

Text

Chasing Tails

Fics Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 2: Feyre

It was nearly impossible to keep a straight face as I announced my plans to marry and how I was picking a husband. The women looked upon me with contempt while the men’s faces were open with intrigue and determination.

I stood in the dim hallway that led to the balcony, gathering my nerves for the night ahead. Now that I had shown my face and made my declaration, it was time to meet the masses, which will no doubt nearly drown me.

One breath after another, Mother trained you for society. I took a final, steadying breath and lifted my chin, making my way to the stairs that will take me to the ballroom floor. The quartet had taken up the music again, a gentle, sweeping piece but conversation nearly covered the notes.

Bright light temporarily blinded me as I stepped onto the floor, but that was much more preferable than the looks that were thrown my way.

Who will be brave enough to ask me to dance first?

I quickly had my answer when a tall man shouldered his way through the crowd. His long, blond hair was tied back in a simple ponytail at the nape of his neck, but his clothes oozed wealth. A rich brown jacket was snugly fitted over a forest green vest with matching breeches. He had piercing green eyes that took in my form but left a film of grime that had me wanting to retire early and take a bath.

He stopped before her, bowing low. “Hello Miss Archeron, I am pleased to meet you. My name is Tamlin O’Toole.” His grin was a bit too sharp to be called friendly.

She curtsied in response, “Pleased to meet you, Mr. O’Toole.”

“Will you do me the honor of being your first dance partner?” he asked, offering his hand.

“But of course,” even though you’ll actually be the second, I added silently. I let him guide me the short distance to where half the room was currently dancing, trying to ignore that everyone was looking at us.

I positioned my left hand on his shoulder and rested my right in his hand. Despite his slightly disconcerting presence, he was still a graceful dancer and lead her through the steps without fault.

“So, Miss Archeron, do you really intend to lead everyone through this wild goose, or cat, chase?” he questioned, his tone mocking.

“You must think it silly, Mr. O’Toole,” I simply replied, it was only natural that some people would poke fun at the challenge.

“I must confess that I do. Why have a perfectly nice gentleman jump through the hoops of catching your cat rather than court them the usual, and proper, way?” it was obvious that he was referring to himself, but I skipped over the insinuation.

“Believe it or not, it’s actually a tradition in my family, to come up with a quest,” not the complete truth but only the winner of my challenge will get to know the true answer.

“A tradition you say, and you have no intentions of breaking it?” he pressed further still. As handsome as this man was, his manner was starting to grate on my nerves.

“Yes, I have no intentions in breaking my family’s tradition, lest I be shunned for the rest of my lifetime.” I was starting to count down the measures until the song ended and I could escape to a more pleasant partner.

“Well if you marry the right man, you won’t have to depend on your family, you will have your husband to support you,” he countered, thinking that his logic was infallible.

“Perhaps, but there are no certainties in life.” Thankfully the final notes floated off of the violin strings and I bid Tamlin goodbye.

The next several hours were filled with similar conversations, men thinking that there were simpler ways for me to pick a husband. I could only brush off their questions and comments, handling them with as much grace as I could muster. Mr. Night did not appear again to ask me to dance. I tried to ignore my irrational disappointment.

Any time that was not spent on the dance floor, I was sipping on a flute of champagne and trying to find at least one sensible woman in the crowd that I could hold an intellectual conversation with, but those moments were few and far in between.

The grandfather clock in the hall was striking just past one in the morning when I was finally able to slip through the crowd to the buffet table without being stopped. The last time I ate was lunch and even then that was only a few bites. If I was going to last any longer, I needed no less than three lemon tarts in my stomach.

There was the only one left that got snatched up by a golden hand when my fingertips were only inches away. I strangled a cry from escaping my throat, as that would be improper behavior of a hostess in the middle of her own party.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, here,” a voice said as they slipped the tart onto my plate. I startled, looking up at the person that had returned my last hope at sanity. She had gorgeous gold hair that was pinned half up, half down, ringlets slightly damp from the heat of the room. Her amber eyes glowed in the light, liquid and warm.

“Oh, thank you….”

“Morrigan Night,” she finished.

“Ah,” my heart fell a little. She must be Mr. Night’s wife. I internally scolded myself for being so taken with a man that I only danced with for a few minutes and also had a wife. “Thank you, Mrs. Night, I haven’t had anything to eat all evening.”

Morrigan let out a surprised laugh, her eyes sparkling with amusement. I gave her a confused look, unsure of what I said that was so funny.

“Sorry, Rhysand Night is my cousin, not my husband, although it’s an easy mistake to make if you’re new to the town. He danced with you earlier, correct?”

I only had a second to rein in my relief, “Yes, it appeared that I saved him from an unwanted dance partner,” I said with a small grin.

Morrigan returned my grin, “Indeed, that was Ianthe Prion. She tends to ask my cousin to dance even when she knows that he does not enjoy her company.” She leaned in like she was sharing a scandalous secret, “She hopes to marry him someday but has yet to catch on that there isn’t a chance in hell for her.”

We shared a laugh at this woman’s ignorance. “Well how about you gather some more food and come join us at our table, you can meet the rest of the family and catch a break from dancing, I’m sure your feet are about to fall off.”

My chest warmed at this woman’s friendly words. She was so genuine and grounded that I couldn’t help but agree. Morrigan stood guard for me as I filled my plate with a few more pastries and other food.

Once my plate was sufficiently piled, she led me through the still thick crowd to the ballroom, where a few men were lounging at the table. I recognized Rhysand and gave him a friendly nod.

“Look who I found,” Morrigan announced. “I’m sure everyone knows who Miss Archeron is at this point so allow me to introduce my other cousins. Cassian Monte,” a gentleman with a roguish grin and long brown hair tied back rose to kiss my hand, even going as far to wink, “and Azriel Shade,” the other gentleman had the same shade of brown hair, only shorter, but his face was more reserved. Not cut off and distant, but quiet and peaceful, someone I could sit in hours of comfortable silence with.

“Pleased to make you acquaintance,” I said with a curtsy, setting down my plate. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Night. No more dancing with unpleasant partners I trust?”

“None as so pleasant as you, Miss Archeron,” he replied smoothly. It appeared that any earlier awkwardness had faded away and been replaced with easy grace.

I only allowed myself a small blush at his compliment and instead turned my attention to my food. Handsome men were fun to talk with, but my stomach demanded more attention at the moment.

The others sensed my need for a moment of quiet and continued their conversation around me. I could still feel eyes on me, but they were gentler and less pressing than the others that I’ve felt all night.

Once at least half my plate had been cleared, I returned to the present topic at hand.

“I still believe that I can ride a horse better and faster than you, Mor,” Cassian argued. “Remember that I beat you when we were racing in Mr. Beechamp’s field.”

“When we were nine!” Morrigan exclaimed, “That was the first time that I didn’t have to ride side saddle so of course I wasn’t at my best.”

Cassian waved his hand, “Still, you've hardly improved since then.”

“Fine, two days from now, we will race again and then we shall see who the best horsewoman is.”

“Or horseman,” Cassian corrected.

Morrigan leveled a glare that would have flattened a lesser man, but Cassian only returned it with a smirk.

“Twenty marks on Mor,” Rhysand interjected, earning him a glare from Cassian.

“Thirty marks on Cas,” Azriel countered.

“And what do you think, Miss Archeron?” Rhysand asked me. I paused, swallowing the last of my pastry and contemplated the two in question. Cassian would seem like the natural better choice, being a man, but there was a quality about Morrigan that most would overlook.

“I’m afraid I cannot give you an answer as I have not seen either of them ride a horse.”

Morrigan and Cassian then launched into their respective histories of how long they’ve been riding, tripping over each other.

Rhysand leaned over to me, “They could be at this for a while, would you care to dance with me?”

“Of course, Mr. Night,” taking his hand and standing. Morrigan and Cassian let out what sounded like squawks as Rhysand took me away from their lecture.

Instead of a waltz, this one was a standard line dance. I stood opposite of him, curtsying with the other ladies as he bowed in tandem with the gentlemen. Unfortunately, this type of dance allowed for little conversation but instead gave me the opportunity to study his form.

Mr. Rhysand Night stood a few inches taller than me, enough that allowed for a comfortable difference of height without having to crane my head to an uncomfortable angle. He had hair blacker than a raven’s but shared the same blue qualities when it caught the light.

Tonight, he had chosen an all-black ensemble, down to the undershirt that peeked out of his jacket sleeves. On anyone else, it would have looked too stiff or pretentious, but he wore the outfit with ease as if he owned the color. His shoulders were broad and his body seemed well kept, unlike some of the heavier gentlemen I had danced with tonight. It seems that Rhysand had not allowed his wealth or position keep him from being active.

His eyes, well, I don’t know how they didn’t stand out before. While everything else about him was remarkable, it was his eyes that made all other features fade away. They were the deepest blue I had ever seen, making even the summer sky seem pale in comparison. When they fell into shadow, they turned purple, a color I previously thought impossible to find naturally in the human form but here was evidence otherwise.

The song was too short for me to continue to observe him, and we soon made our final bows. Rhys thankfully offered his arm to escort me back to the table. I wasn’t quite ready to continue to socialize for the evening. Even though it was getting into the wee hours of the morning. Country dances could go all night, with its final guest not leaving until the sun broke the horizon.

When we were once again seated at the family’s table, Morrigan and Cassian seemed determined to draw an answer out of me as to who would win in a horse race.

“I think the only obvious answer would be for Miss Archeron to join us and witness the results,” Rhysand halted the impending argument. He turned to me for my answer.

“I have yet for any social engagements for that day so I would be delighted to attend,” I answered with a smile. Unlike the other offers for tea and dinner that had come my way, this was the only invitation I was most looking forward to. This family was small and loudmouthed but was the most cohesive I had met so far.

A round of smiles swept the table, excited to see the outcome of the race and to have made a new friend.

Unfortunately, I was only able to spend a few more minutes at the table before another gentleman asked to escort me into dance.

I again fell into the pattern of dancing and conversing with others, but none could match the warmth of my newfound friends.

As I suspected, it wasn’t until dawn appeared when the last group of guests bundled bleary-eyed into their carriage and took off down the driveway. I was sad that I was unable to see off Rhysand and the others but the promise of seeing them the next day was enough to hearten me.

I entered my house, napkins and doilies littered the floor, accompanied by the odd or end ribbon that had come off a gown. Plates were heaped on almost every surfaced, even with my servants constantly clearing them away.

Speaking of my servants, they looked even more exhausted than me, sluggishly gathering the trash and platters.

I clapped my hands, gathering their attention. “Everyone take the day off, we’ll clean this evening. Please tell the cook that we will be eating simply today and that I will be joining you all in the kitchen for dinner. No need for any fancy pretense.”

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The past month had been nonstop preparation of the estate for my living and then the ball. They all needed to rest before continuing on with life.

When I saw everyone was clearing out, leaving the mess be for now, I climbed the grand staircase to my chambers. My handmaid tried to help me out of my gown, but I shooed her off to her own bed, stating that I could undress myself.

It was a relief to finally be alone and my thoughts could be put into order.

I must have met dozens, if not hundreds of new people tonight, almost none of which really stuck in my mind.

Except for Rhysand Night and his odd family. I could only hope that he would be the first the catch onto my competition, but it was too early to start wishing that he would be the one to unlock my front door.

After all, I had just met him.

Next Chapter

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sjmaas #sjm #sjmaas books #sjm books #feyre #feyre x rhysand #rhysand

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timeoutforthee · 5 years

Text

Like it or Not-Chapter 25

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl, @bubblycricket, @fnp-alizay, @neonbluetiefling, @comicsimpson, @a-little-bit-of-ace

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings: disordered eating habits, death mentioned, parents not understanding mental health, general ignorance, parents fighting

Read it on AO3!

On the one hand, Logan’s support system was growing stronger. On the other hand, he started to see the cracks in its foundation.

Patton and the others seemed to be willing to celebrate any small victory, but his parents had much higher standards for him. They didn’t know what their son was struggling with, they just knew they wanted it to end.

Obviously, Logan thought to himself, They are my parents. They love me. They want me to feel better.

That was the mantra he repeated to himself, but some days it seemed less about love and more about convenience.

“What do you mean by that?” Thomas asks him.

“I mean…,” Logan trails off, unsure of how to phrase this, “They just don’t...understand. And part of that’s my fault, I haven’t taken the time to properly educate them, but sometimes I wonder, if I stopped this tomorrow, would they be happier?”

“It’s not your job to educate them,” Thomas says.

“It feels like it is,” Logan admits, “How else are they supposed to learn?”

“They’re adults, Logan, they should take the initiative to research themselves.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Well, then, they’re not being very supportive, are they?” Logan is quiet at that. “Have they been supporting you, Logan?”

It takes Logan a while, but he finally says, slowly, “No.”

“How do they react to this, then?”

“They ignore it.” They ignore me.

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“They take me to therapy, but we’re silent in the car. We don’t talk about therapy, they’ve never even asked about what I’m coming here for. They’re against me taking a psychology class. And there are certain things I have to do that they don’t understand and I-”

“Wait, pause there. What do you mean there are things you have to do?”

“Like I have to eat my food a certain way. Like I have to keep track of my calories. It’s just something I have to do.”

“I see, are there any more rituals you have to do that aren’t related to food?”

“No,” Logan says, “Well…”

"Yes?"

"There was the instance, when I was younger."

Logan was eight when he learned about death.

His grandfather passed away, quietly in his sleep, and suddenly death felt a little too real. He had seen it in movies and tv shows, but now suddenly it felt like it was around the corner. He knew it wasn’t after him, necessarily, but the main person he worried about was his grandmother.

So every time he visited, he’d leave, dragging his feet behind his parents, before turning and walking back up the steps to knock on her door. She’d open the door, and he’d nod, satisfied. But not for long. He had to walk down the steps and turn back around at least two more times before he would finally pick up his feet and follow his parents to their car.

“Why does he do that?” his grandmother asked one day when she thought he wasn’t listening. Logan had closed his eyes during a movie, and now he was slumped over on the couch. But he wasn’t asleep yet. “It’s annoying, you know.”

“Aww,” his mother replied, “I think it’s funny when he does that.”

“I do too,” his father said, shrugging, “Kids are a handful. At least with Logan it’s something as tame as knocking on the door a few extra times.”

“So you’re not going to stop him?” his grandmother says, her annoyance creeping in.

“Come on, Mom, it’s just a little quirk, he’ll grow out of it,” his mother says.

Mental health has a funny way of expressing itself, especially in kids. How people reacted to it could change the whole trajectory of an illness, completely changing their lives. And when it came down to it, when Logan started acting a little different, his family laughed it off.

Logan didn’t grow out of his knocking ritual, it only ended when his grandmother passed. And Madelyn and Kurt didn’t grow out of ignoring their son.

Thomas is staring at Logan, listening intently.

“Tell me, Logan,” his doctor says, “That sort of panicked feeling you had when it came to death before, do you ever have a similar feeling now?”

“No,” Logan says.

“Really? Not even when it comes to food?”

“I mean…,” Logan starts thinking. Thinking of the moments before he cuts his food, when he arranges his food on his plate, when he’s counting steps, calories, carbs…

“...yes.”

Thomas makes a note of that. “Logan, I have a question for you. Have you ever heard of obsessive compulsive disorder?”

“OCD? Yeah, though I’m not sure how accurately it’s been portrayed to me. It seems to involve a lot of cleaning.”

“Not quite,” Thomas says, “It’s when we have intrusive and upsetting thoughts-obsessions-that can cause us to perform rituals to try and keep them away-compulsions.”

Logan feels something in his stomach sink. “Why are you telling me this?”

Dr. Sanders smiles softly, “Why do you think I’m bringing it up?”

“I thought I had an eating disorder,” Logan says, ignoring the question.

“Oh, you do. One doesn’t cancel out the other. There is such a thing as comorbidity.”

Which makes sense to Logan. He’s read enough of his psychology book to knows it’s actually pretty rare to only have one mental illness. He had a feeling that a day like this would come, but he didn’t think it would be this.

“So...if I did have OCD...what would happen?”

“We would work on it,” Dr. Sanders says, shrugging, “I have an OCD workbook around here somewhere that you could work through, but it would also give us a new way to approach your eating disorder.”

“And you think that would be more beneficial?”

“I do. But we can discuss that at length next time. For now, we’ve run over time.”

Logan looks at the clock on the wall behind him. They’re fifteen minutes past when he was supposed to be out of here. His dad would probably be worried.

No, says a voice that’s a little too honest, Dad probably won’t care.

Dinner that night is tense.

More accurately, Logan is tense and it’s starting to infect his parents. They’re having hamburgers and fries which made Logan even angrier than he was because if they spoke to him for even a second they would know how much he hated french fries and how triggering they were. Yet they had the nerve to make passive aggressive glances at his plate and at each other as he was cutting the fries into bite sized pieces.

“How was school, Logan?”

And Logan knows he should bite his tongue. Should play nice like he always has, but after the session he just had with Dr. Sanders, he can’t put forth the effort.

“Fine.” Maybe if he just doesn’t talk everything will be fine.

His parents glance at each other which just makes his blood boil more.

“Are you sure, honey? You seem stressed,” his mom says.

And just like that, he deflates. Maybe he’s being unfair to them. Like he told Dr. Sanders, he never tried to educate them. Maybe it was time he tried.

“School was fine, I just had a stressful session,” he says, honestly.

His mom purses her lips, trying and failing to keep her face neutral. “Oh?”

“Yeah, we…,” Logan’s throat goes dry. He doesn’t know why talking about this makes him so nervous, but it does.

“Are you going to be done with that soon?” his dad asks, cutting him off.

“Done…? With therapy?”

“Yes, with therapy.”

“We haven’t discussed that at all. In fact we just made a breakthrough today, we’re going to start working on something new-”

“Breakthroughs should mean ‘almost done.”

“But I’m still struggling!” Logan snaps, “So that means continue.”

“Honey, I don’t think you’re struggling as much as you think you are. I mean, everyone has struggles, I think yours are normal.”

“They’re not!” Logan is getting emotional and he knows that’s only going to hinder his argument, but he’s getting desperate. “How can you guys not see it?”

“See what?” his dad asks.

“The counting, the compulsions, the-the,” Logan never stumbles over his words, but his emotions are overtaking him right now, “The OCD, the anorexia.”

His dad leans back in his chair. “Anorexia? Like when you don’t eat?”

“Yes, dad, when you don’t eat.”

His dad stares at him. There’s no recognition, no realization, no sadness. Just confusion.

“Boys don’t get eating disorders.”

And maybe Logan should have expected this or seen it coming, it’s not exactly an uncommon belief, but he’s always seen his dad as an intelligent man. Clearly, he would listen to reason.

“Mental illnesses don’t discriminate, they’re chemical imbalances in the brain-”

“Chemical imbalance? I thought you were talking about anorexia-”

“I am.”

“That’s a behavior. A behavior is choice, Logan,” his dad says, slowly, as if Logan is the confused one in this instance.

“Dad, that...isn’t the way it works.”

“Of course it is!” his dad says, “That’s the way it’s always worked, that’s the way it’s always been! Maybe these doctors you’ve been seeing are just hacks in disguise.”

“They’re not hacks what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about some new age doctors who think they know everything, when in reality they’re just taking my money!”

“They’re not-”

“You know what? I’m tired of waiting for this to be over. It’s over now.”

Logan suddenly feels like he’s been plunged into the arctic. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re not going back to therapy.”

“Dad,” Logan stutters, which is unusual for him, “Dad, you-you can’t mean that, I need it, please-”

His dad doesn’t say anything, just stands up and goes to his room.

“Mom,” Logan says, turning to her, “You can’t let him do this, please, I need therapy, I need group, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

His mom is staring at her plate. She finally shakes herself and looks at her son.

“I can’t control what your dad does.”

“You can take me to group,” Logan says, desperate, “please.”

She sighs, “We’ll discuss it.”

#lion #like it or not

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sistercelluloid · 5 years

Text

A while back, my grandfather was taking my mother on a cruise, and trying to persuade me to come along. “You just sit back and rock, as the boat goes back and forth and back and forth,” he said, swaying and nodding his head from side to side. “It sounds great, Pop,” I blurted unconvincingly, “but please, you have to stop now!” I was getting seasick just watching him. I got queasy again at the Bon Voyage party.

Then there was the Jetfoil my husband Tim and I took from Bar Harbor to Nova Scotia. I was fine… until I wasn’t. At one point during a festive screening of The Little Mermaid on the upper deck, I suddenly felt… unwell. I barreled across the boat in frantic search of a bathroom, making it just in time. After watching in horror as everything I’d eaten since the fifth grade made a glorious comeback, I pulled myself together and swanned back to the land of the living, trying to seem calm and collected—maybe even elegant if I could pull it off! (Think Miss Davis in Now Voyager or Miss Dunne in Love Affair.) But as I settled into a lounge chair, channeling Mary Astor in Dodsworth, a deckhand leaned over and gently patted my hand. “We’re almost there,” he whispered reassuringly. Mortified, I asked if he’d seen me flying across the deck. “No,” he said, “but I see you now. And you’re green.”

When I got home, I told my doctor, who had armed me with industrial-strength drugs and dermal patches. “Those things work for guys in the Navy going across the North Sea!” she said, shocked at their spectacular failure. “There’s only one other thing I can prescribe: Stay off boats.” Which I did. For years.

Then came the TCM Classic Cruise. And I even stayed off that for years. But this time, I gave it a whirl. Along with the drugs and patches, I added ginger drops to my bag, a Seaband on one wrist, and an electronic thing on the other that’s supposed to interrupt the nausea signal to your brain by zapping the median nerve with a little Z-Z-Z every few seconds. I put it on the second-highest setting; any more voltage and I was pretty sure I’d electrocute myself.

Now it was time to settle in for five days of movies.

The schedule aboard the Disney Magic was slightly less hectic than the one you’ll find at the TCM Classic Film Festival, though there were still plenty of choices to make among 14 special presentations and 64 films, ranging from Eddie Muller-hosted noirs like The Asphalt Jungle, The Hitch-Hiker and Rififi, to screwballs such as The Lady Eve and It Happened One Night, to musicals like On the Town and Shall We Dance, to standards including Laura and Dodsworth. And like the Festival, there were no bad options.

Most of the documentaries and special events were found in the lounge; my favorite was “The First 25 Years of the Academy Awards,” complete with backstage tales and fabulous film clips, hosted by Randy Habercamp, managing director of Preservation and Foundation Programs at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Why doesn’t every classroom have cozy tables and a bar off to the side?

The rest of the films, including those with special guests Cicely Tyson, Mitzi Gaynor and Diane Ladd, aired in one of two cavernous but comfy theatres, or on the upper deck, poolside. Where I spent much of the week.

With, among others, Fred and Ginger…

…and my movie husband Rod Taylor. (This is the scene in Sunday in New York where, imagining that the pillow was me, I got shushed for sighing at the TCM Film Festival by a woman who clearly had no pulse. Hey, laydee, I was the one who pestered them into putting it on the program in the first place!)

The atmosphere on the ship was more casual than at a regular film festival, with a lot more freedom to duck into or out of theatres mid-film. (Which is great if you’re the one doing the ducking but not so much if you’re the one being climbed over.) And up at poolside, all bets were pretty much off in terms of talking; during Topper, I had to move from a prime viewing spot when a Martha Raye sound-alike and her bevy of boisterous buddies tucked into the table directly behind me.

And once, things got a bit too casual: a woman in the deckchair next to mine whipped out a can of highly stinky aerosol spritzer and proceeded to spray her entire torso, underarms and all. When I looked up from my book, startled and half-gagging, she snapped, “It’s deodorant! Don’t you wear deodorant?” I said, um, yeah, but I don’t put it on in public. “We’re not in public!” she informed me. “We’re on a boat!”

And then there was… the food. Oh my God the food. Everywhere, all the time. Buffets round the clock. Dessert stations. A pizza, burger and hot dog stand. Unlimited popcorn at screenings. And a soft-serve machine with old-fashioned cones. You know you’re on a cruise when your roommate jumps up in the middle of breakfast and says, “You want some ice cream? Cause I’m gonna go get some!”

Oh and the four-course dinners every night, with the same fabulous staff taking care of us. Our headwaiter Walter took his duties so seriously that one day when I was poolside—nowhere near dinnertime—I turned to find him behind me with a Coke. And then a little while later appearing at my table, seemingly out of nowhere, with another one. I was almost relieved when the movie ended and I was heading downstairs, as 12 years of Catholic school would have made me feel too guilty to be served another soda.

I had no problem eating, well, everything, since after a shaky first night, I did okay with the whole boat thing. But a touch of claustrophobia kicked in after a couple of days.

Me, calling Tim: “I’m having a great time, there’s just one thing though. Sometimes I have kind of a closed-in feeling. I can’t explain it… it’s like I’m trapped on a boat.” Tim: “Yeah, ummm…”

Luckily we were just about pulling into Bermuda by then. I felt a twinge of guilt about swilling a mango daiquiri beachside on a random Thursday, when everyone back home was working. It lasted about as long as it took me to bite the maraschino cherry off the stem.

“Some people just stay on the boat the whole time and keep watching movies,” a veteran cruise-goer told me. Which seemed silly. Until the second day we were dockside, when I did the same thing for a day of Halloween films. Val Lewton (Cat People), Buster Keaton (The Haunted House), Boris Karloff (The Mummy) and Lon Chaney (House of Frankenstein) were whispering my name.

As if on cue, day turned to dark and stormy night during The Haunted House, but nothing could budge me from my Buster.

And just in time for sweet dreams, House of Frankenstein—also featuring Dracula and the Wolfman—wrapped at around midnight, when we all unbundled from our deck blankets and trundled off to bed. (Or the bar on Deck 3.)

In fact all the late-night poolside showings were a bit nippy, which deterred… no one. Not with fleece and cocktails and hot chocolate handy. Though on the final night, when they showed Sullivan’s Travels, I had swathed myself in blankets so thoroughly I didn’t even budge for a drink…

…warming up only when Joel pours his heart out to Jimmy Conlin. Oh and whips his shirt off.

Cold as it was that night, I was reluctant to shed my blankets and head down to my warm stateroom, knowing this was the last film of the trip.

Before dawn the next morning, as we pulled into port, I strolled around the still-damp upper deck, where so many movies had gone by so quickly in the days before. Strains of Gershwin wafted through the air as I gazed out on the city I love—a little disappointed, though, to be back so soon. Almost a week had flown by in under a minute.

I popped into the coffee shop where Colin had made my coconut lattes all week. Where were they off to next, I asked? The Caribbean. And here I was heading into drizzly Manhattan. He skipped the usual Disney characters that had topped the foam in my drinks all week—which I always felt guilty about smooshing into oblivion on the first sip—and gave me a little going-away present.

Thank you Colin, thank you Walter and the crew, and thank you TCM, for this Sullivan girl’s lovely travels.

The TCM Classic Cruise: All Aboard to the Fabulous Movie Past A while back, my grandfather was taking my mother on a cruise, and trying to persuade me to come along.

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peppersandcats · 5 years

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Well okay.

So I have just finished the Elseworlds crossover, and while there is a lot to say, I feel like geeking about stuff from a very specific perspective. It is the perspective of someone whose knowledge of DC comics is extremely patchy--as I may have mentioned before, I think I spent around twenty years knowing that J’onn J’onzz was a Martian, the last survivor of an ancient race, somewhat religious, and fond of Oreos.

(If you can figure out where I learned that information and only that information, congrats! It will come up again later.)

A decade-ish later, I learned he could shapeshift.

The whole “telepath who can credibly punch a Kryptonian” thing didn’t come up until sometime in the last couple of years.

Also: spoilers ahead.

So this is not a critical analysis; this is me squee-ing over things I think I have seen that remind me of other things. And I mean... maybe this is all totally obvious and everyone who’s been looking at the script and the character names knows it? Or maybe this is as purely a product of my own personal geekery/history as my inability to not read comics!Commander Cold as a Judge Dredd homage? I don’t know. But I’m happy.

Mostly this is about the second and third episodes of Elseworlds, although in the first episode I did notice that they defeated Amazo by uploading a virus (at arrowpoint) through his eye, and in comics!Flashpoint he was deactivated by Plastic Man going in through his eye and plucking out his operating system (namely Ray Palmer). Is that a standard Amazo-coping tactic?

((also: holy crap comics!Flashpoint was grim.))

The Shakespeare head in Kate Kane’s office was a reference to the old Batman TV show, right? The Adam West one? They’d... pull on the head and the grandfather clock would slide sideways and they’d go down the Batpole and be in costume when they got to the Batcave, I think? (I laughed.)

I liked that Mark Guggenheim showed up as an inmate. Or his name did; I couldn’t pick him out of a lineup to tell you if he was in any of the shots.

I squeaked so hard when other!Barry (old-TV!Barry? who knows?) looked at John and was surprised he didn’t have a ring. John Diggle as a Green Lantern makes me happy. He would knock that out of the park. I like Diggle.

Also: Alex Danvers, badass on any Earth. I love Alex Danvers being a badass. I love that in the first season, you can see her going hand-to-hand with a Kryptonian, and a bunch of other DEA agents are just running past like “yep, it’s Agent Danvers, she’s got that, she’s fine”.

Was so pleased to see that the Book of Destiny was written in the Speed Force language. Of course it makes sense.

One thing I didn’t think was a reference, but that I loved about the third episode; all our main characters are in black-and-white. Mostly black. Just seeing those characters who are usually so damn bright in such utterly colourless outfits was a kind of lovely note about the setting. (Also, one thing I didn’t catch but that the LOML pointed out to me as we were watching: black-and-white Superman is Justice Lords Superman. (My understanding of Justice Lords comes secondhand from @demiurgent and can best be summed up as “those fascist versions of the Justice League that Billy Batson was absolutely not like”.))

Loved no-powers everyone's-a-criminal Barry and Ollie, too. Looking forward to fics. (Also, was I the only one looking at Barry and thinking he always looks like kind of a doof when he's dressed up as a criminal?)

I honestly wasn’t sure Barry wasn’t going to die. Partly that was the suspension of disbelief kicking in enough to make me ignore that we’ve got mumble more episodes this season and it’d probably be hard to miss Tumblr flipping out over the actor not being on contract or something. Partly that was... well, this season has been about Nora coping with Barry disappearing, and the skies were red which is a callback to That Headline from the time vault, and That Headline references the Crisis, and I have managed not to miss the fact that ?Monitor + Crisis + Barry running until he starts to fall apart can mean he dies. Like, there’s precedent. I didn’t think they’d kill both him and Kara, and wouldn’t kill just him on someone else’s show, but you know...

It was nice, to be unsure. It made them surviving even more awesome.

Also: props to you, Oliver Queen, for yelling loud enough that the Monitor actually decided to talk to you. I have suspicions about what you two talked about, and they are heavily related to your very bad habit of not telling people shit, but props.

But the big thing, for me, was Deegan.

(This ties back to where I first learnt about J’onn J’onzz.)

So. In the first ep, Deegan is a poorly-presented kind of dude who’s got unspecified but weird ideas about how to help his patients. Okay. That could be a “good intent, bad execution” kind of guy. He was going on about his patients feeling inferior, and about how to make people feel super without them actually being super. I legit thought he might have swapped Barry and Ollie because he wanted to see if letting someone be super would be safe, and thought that giving a hero superhero powers might be a small way to test it.

(Yeah, I’m a gentle optimist sometimes.)

But the second episode, man.

He’s from Arkham and has a history of being horrible to his patients. He’s wielding an object of Destiny to reshape reality. In fact, he’s wielding an object that might or might not be something the Monitor uses (hell if I know, I only vaguely figured there was a Monitor because I’d heard there was an Anti-Monitor), but that is called the Book of Destiny and is definitely looking like Destiny’s book in which all things are written.

I’m sure there are other gigantic tomes in the DC universe, but that one is mine.

And I begin to hope that instead of John Deegan, I’m seeing Dr. John Dee. Doctor Destiny. I mean, we’ve got an Arkham inhabitant who got his hands on a reality-rewriting artifact belonging to one of the Endless and is making himself a god and making things horrible-- that’s him, right?

And then he gets affected at the end of the third episode, and... yeah, I’m going with that being him.

Dr. John Dee is (for me) from the first Sandman graphic novel, which I loved very much; the issue “24 Hours” was probably the high point of my introduction to horror comics that were not of the EC genre or gloppy adaptations of public-domain short-stories. (Not that there’s anything wrong with EC. (I... I’m now envisioning Dr. John Dee as drawn by Ghastly Graham Ingels, and I may need to lie down a moment. That’s approaching Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark levels of creep factor.))

(My introduction to J’onn J’onzz was also from the first Sandman graphic novel. Like two pages in which I saw him interact with Dream and Scott Free.)

But yeah. For the longest time, the only DC I read was some Batman and some Vertigo, and Sandman was the reason I read Vertigo. And I haven’t read a lot of it in years and I still remember it, and I got to see part of it on the small screen.

And 2019: I’m holding out for the Eye Guy. Don’t disappoint me.

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svtskneecaps · 6 years

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See You When I Fall Asleep

Jeon Wonwoo x reader; Soulmate AU

So this is a little different to the other soulmate au stories I’ve written, and it also explains the reason why I’m postponing updates on Stop Loving to an unspecified date, and why i’m on the verge of a mental breakdown. Sorry for the inconvenience, hope this makes up for it! I haven’t got anything up for Wonwoo yet, and honestly writing this really helped my stress. Ya know, I felt productive and all that. Anyway, hope you enjoy~!

((this is not part of my main soulmate au series))

Soulmark: when your soulmate sleeps, they appear near you looking like the person who’s on your mind. you can interact with them, but nobody but you can see them, and they’re not allowed to give you anything that would hasten your meeting (I like to call this a Guardian Angel Mark)

Main Masterlist

“You’re up late.”

“And you’re asleep early.” You glanced up at your soulmate. “Or late, depending on who you ask. What brings you here?”

“Driving. Decided I’d take a quick nap.” He sat on your bed (you’d asked his pronouns long ago). “Who do I look like today?”

“Tony Stark. But young, so not Robert Downey Jr Tony Stark. Like, imagine him, but as a young, acne faced, awkward, too skinny for his height teenager. Minus the beard.”

“Specific.” He laughed. “Any reason why?”

You shrugged with a soft smile tugging at your lips. “ ‘S for my essay.”

“Oh right.” He leaned against the wall. “How’s that going, anyway?”

“Not well, let me tell you.” You sighed, fighting the urge to slam your laptop shut. “Actually don’t, I won’t shut up.”

“Made any progress since I was here last?”

“Unfortunately, not much.” You rubbed a distracted hand across your forehead, smearing the foundation you’d forgotten to take off that evening. “Maybe another hundred words, before I started looking for better examples.”

“Five hundred isn’t bad,” he encouraged.

“On a four thousand word essay?” You shot him a wry smile, turning back to your computer screen. “I don’t think so.”

He watched you work in silence for a second, before scooting closer. “You know working in the dark like this and staring at that screen isn’t good for your eyesight.”

“I’ll wake the people in the next room if I turn on the light, and they’ll be upset.” Your eyes didn’t leave the screen as you scrolled down the page. “You know how they get.”

“You know how I get,” he insisted, leaning into your side. The hair on your arms stood up. You still couldn’t get used to seeing that, where his ghostly figure leaned on you but you didn’t feel a thing. “You’ve at least been eating well, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” you said, unconvincingly.

“Y/N, you know your health is important.” He sounded disapproving, and worried.

“I’m not going to die because I didn’t eat breakfast.” You successfully avoided rolling your eyes like a petulant teenager. “I did that for the past two years and look, I’m still alive aren’t I?”

He just stared at you. Damnit. You hated that he knew that worked on you. “Alright fine, I’ll try to eat better.”

“And sleep at a more decent hour,” he scolded, checking the clock across the room, reading a time well past midnight. You just sighed, long and low, resting your head on his phantom shoulder.

He stared at your computer, seeming curious. “What are you looking at now?”

“Fan fiction. I’m trying to figure out a way to back up my argument.” You straightened back up, and now you rolled your eyes. “Or, you know, make one.” You sighed again and pulled a makeup wipe out of the box on the table next to your bed, rubbing the foundation from your hand and face. “I hit the same damn block, for the millionth fucking time.”

“Language,” he chided.

You snorted, reappearing from behind the wipe. “Sorry, it’s just hilarious for me to hear teenaged Tony Stark saying that.”

He pouted, but moved past your comment quickly. “Maybe if you went to sleep, it’d make more sense in the morning. You’d get a fresh perspective.”

“Oh, probably.” You tossed the makeup wipe in the trash and grabbed another one. “But I’d lose time, and that’s what I really, really need.”

“No, you need ideas.” He closed your computer, an action you knew took immense amounts of energy, so you were shocked that he’d even bothered. “And you’re not going to get them from staring at a computer screen.”

You trashed the last makeup wipe. “Okay, but it’s only because I love you.”

“Good.” You couldn’t see his face anymore, since your computer screen had been the only source of light in the room, but you knew he was smiling. “Now get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay.”

~~~

It was always disorienting to fall asleep with your soulmate by your side and wake up to have him gone. You knew he’d show up soon, though, and besides, you had an essay to work on.

“You didn’t forget what I said, did you?”

You didn’t look up. “Which part?”

“The part about eating.” Your soulmate found a seat on the arm of the chair next to you.

“I did get breakfast, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Good.” He seemed satisfied. “Any luck?”

You closed your laptop. “Not much. I’m probably going to give up for the morning. Clean my room or something.”

He followed along beside you. “So who am I today?”

You turned to look at him. “Jeon Wonwoo, from Seventeen. You know who he is or do you want me to describe him?”

“Describe him.”

You weren’t sure what that look on his face meant, but you shrugged it off. Your soulmate could be mischievous. Who knew, maybe he knew the guy. He mentioned at one point that he was an idol.

You studied him for a second. “Light brown-ish hair- I’m not sure which promotion this is from. He’s wearing glasses, actually, those cute thin wire framed ones that kinda remind one of Harry Potter. Kinda got the bookish nerd vibe going on if we’re being real. Umm... kind of a square jaw. Actually he has a really strong jaw. It’s nice. Never noticed that.” You shrugged. “He tends to be rated among the top visuals by fans, so take that however you will. I’m sure you know Korean beauty standards better than I do.”

“Yeah.” You could see him side eyeing you. “But do you find him attractive?”

You tried to keep your voice casual as your responded. “I mean I guess, I understand the physical appeal. And he’s got a lovely personality to go with it, which I can appreciate.”

He hummed in response.

You glanced back over at him. “What’s that big smile for?”

“Nothing.” He turned his head away slightly. You could tell the smile never dropped.

“Let me guess, you’re a Wonwoo stan? Don’t worry, once we meet in person I’ll describe you with all the care I do everyone else.”

“I’d love that,” he said, “more than anything else.”

~~~

He hadn’t shown up.

You’d known this was coming, of course; he’d said that his group would be touring in your country, but you didn’t think you’d feel his absence so keenly. Desperate to escape the lonely feeling, you spent a lot of your time in coffee shops. There was one downtown that you really loved, since it was in a non-sketchy neighborhood and the barista was kind of cute. She also didn’t mind when you accidentally fell asleep in the shop, which tended to happen quite often. Like today.

Your soulmate was wandering around in a downtown area not unlike yours when you showed up. He was obviously filming, so he didn’t acknowledge your presence, but you knew he was aware that you were there. He managed to slip away from the cameras for a brief second in a park as his members split off into various directions.

“Seems kind of early for you to be sleeping,” he teased.

“You know me.” You laughed. “Always falling asleep in random places.”

“I just hope this ‘random place’ is safe.”

“It is.”

You didn’t get much more than that quick exchange, since the cameras returned. The members went back to wandering around town (unfortunately, you couldn’t see what they looked like either, and although you weren’t sure why you figured it was because they were idols, and it would make your soulmate too easy to find). You narrated some of the things you saw, although you tried to keep it at a minimum. Despite your unending well of witty commentary, if your soulmate was caught smiling at nothing too many times the fans would catch on. His career meant a lot to the both of you and you didn’t want to mess that up.

Despite your unspoken commitment to staying quiet, you were getting confused, and with that came the desire to voice that confusion, because you knew a music shop with that name and you could’ve sworn that woman walking across the street from them was Mrs. Perkins from the nice clothing shop a few blocks down the street from the café you were dead asleep in, and you thought for a second that the friendly looking man switching the sign on the laundromat door to ‘open’ looked a lot like the grandfather of your best friend from childhood. And then you couldn’t keep quiet. “I think I’m around here.”

He looked over at you, then immediately jerked his attention back, but you knew he was listening. “I think I’m around here,” you repeated. “I know that shop, and I know him- and I recognize her- I might be right down the street.”

He said something in a low voice to his PD, who listened for a second, then said something to one of the staff members. Your soulmate looked back at you, and said one thing.

“Show me.”

After all those years an ocean apart, it was laughably simple to navigate through the streets to find the café, and seeing the look on his face when you pointed at your sleeping form, passed out on your computer keyboard, was simultaneously priceless and the sweetest thing you’d ever seen. As he pushed through the coffee shop door and moved over to wake you, you were suddenly struck by the realization that, this was it. You’d finally get to see what he looked like, to put a face and a name and a voice behind that personality you’d fallen for a million times over.

He placed his hand on your shoulder, and you were gone.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said. “Wake up~”

You pulled your face off your keyboard, rubbing the impression the ‘f’ key had made on your cheek. The face of the stranger who’d woken you blurred in your sleepy vision. But it wasn’t a stranger, you remembered, it was your soulmate. You couldn’t rub the sleep from your eyes fast enough, eager to see who it was you were destined to be with.

Your jaw dropped.

And of course, your first reaction upon regaining your senses was to smack him on the arm. “You told me you didn’t know who Jeon Wonwoo was!”

“I never said that!” he defended, grinning at you. “I just said I wanted you to describe what he looked like.”

“Well he looks like you, you dumb nugget!” You huffed. “Did you even try to tell me that you looked like yourself?”

“Well no,” he admitted, “but I wanted us to be in the same position, you know? Makes this moment sweeter.”

“But it would’ve been sooner.” You pouted, although you both knew there wasn’t any real emotion behind it. You were elated, and so was he.

“It’s better like this.”

You looked back up at him, smiling. “You’re right.”

“I always am,” he said calmly. You leaned your head against his arm, your smile growing as you felt him there, as more than just a ghostly presence. It was comforting.

He smirked. “So, about that essay...”

“No! I just met my soulmate, I’m not gonna think about some stupid essay!”

#in case you couldn’t tell i have a huge essay due soon that i’m not done with so writing will have to take a backseat for the time being #seventeen #seventeen soulmate au #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen au #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo scenarios #jeon wonwoo imagines #jeon wonwoo au #jeon wonwoo soulmate au #in a flash of erratic genius or sometin i pulled the title from a song #it’s crap i just couldn’t title it ‘soulmate wonwoo’ bc it would look too much like the series and it’s not that

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marshmallow-phd · 6 years

Text

The Experiments

Genre: Sci-Fi, Thriller, experiment au

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Exo (????)

Summary: You were a med school graduate who just wanted to help research cures for the world. Instead, what you got was a dream job at EXO Applied Sciences. That is, until you discover the secrets of Level Sixty-Six and the nine inhabitants that inhabit there….

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I 18 I 19 I 20 I 21 I 22 I 23 I Final

A/N: This is a story that had been bouncing around in my head for a while. I hope you all enjoy it! The pairing is unknown right now because I’m still trying to decide who (y/n) should end up with. BTWs the picture is not mine. Happy reading!! XOXO

EXO Applied Sciences and Operations was the dream job. You had to be at the top of your class to entertain the idea of the company as a possibility and even then, there’s no application process. You have to be offered the job personally, no exceptions. Those who wanted to spend their lives doing research and finding cures vied for the right to be accepted there. And that was exactly your goal.

Since high school, you knew you wanted to be a doctor. By the time you got into medical school and had to start boggling down on a specialty, you realized you didn’t want to be in an OR or the ER; you just didn’t have the steady hands for that. But you liked the experiments. You liked analyzing the data and coming to conclusions, finding the answers to problems those before you couldn’t solve.

All the hard work paid off. You graduated third of your class. Not exactly the top spot, but it was enough. The day of your graduation ceremony, after all the cheers, speeches, and annoying traditions that still somehow get carried on, a man in a black suit pulled you off to the side, handing you a large manila envelope. At home when you were alone, with shaking hands and a pounding heart, you opened the package. Sliding out the stack of papers, you read the first sentence and nearly fell off the couch.

It was the invitation you’d been waiting for. All the information you needed to accept the job was right at your fingertips and you didn’t hesitate. But those first six months were brutal.

Though it wasn’t officially “entry level”, it might as well been. On your first day they introduced you to the other new hires in your area and dropped you off in a large laboratory where the walls were lined with filing cabinets and a long table in the middle littered with desktops.

You were on paper pushing duty. As the results of the experiments that other people were conducting came in, it was up to you and the other bottom feeders to organize, sort, and label the findings and put them in the filing cabinet to be easily accessible later on. If someone came in needing those results, you were there to find the file and check it out in the system. There was only one room that was off limits to all of you in the laboratory. A special code encrypted on the company-issued badge was needed to gain access. The others around you were all dying to know what lied beyond the secret door, but you didn’t really care. You just wanted out of that damn filing position.

As the months rolled by, you watched the faces of the people around you change. Some were transferred to other departments while others just flat out quit. You held on, though, just needing to get through the grilling trial of being the newbie. You weren’t going to quit just because the road got a little bumpy. But it was a bit disheartening to watch others be freed while you were left behind.

It was another day of expected boring paperwork when your luck finally change. As soon as you clocked in, you were pulled out of the laboratory and into the office of Dr. Kwon Daesuk. You’d never met him, but you’d heard some of the other doctors whisper his name as they passed through the lab right to the secret door. Worry washed over you. Had you done something wrong? Had important files gone missing?

Dr. Kwon was sitting at his large desk looking over files as you entered. As one of the top researches for EXO, it was no surprise that he was up there in the age department. His hair was more silver than black and his face was littered with crevasses that wrinkled even more when he frowned. Though he wasn’t as big as some of the other doctor’s you’d seen, he did have a little extra weight on him that gave him the aura of a grandfather you could trust.

When he saw you standing in his doorway, he motioned for you to sit down in one of the simple, dark wooden chairs in front of him. The upholstery was a garish green and tan paisley pattern. At least you were sitting on it and not having to stare at it.

“Good morning, Dr. (L/n),” he greeted, closing the files. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called you here today?”

You nodded cautiously, your entire work history running through your mind. As far as you remembered you hadn’t had anything disciplinary worthy happen.

“Well, we’ve been monitoring your work here so far and you seem to be very dedicated. As you certainly are aware, most people don’t make it to the sixth month mark. We wanted to be sure of your determination.”

“Working for EXO Applied Sciences has been my dream for a long time,” you answered honestly. “I wasn’t just going to give it up for some pharmaceutical company that I have no interest in because I wasn’t handed a lead position right of the bat. If that meant another six months of filing before being moved to a team, I’d do it.”

Dr. Kwon grinned. “That’s exactly what I like to hear. Dr. (L/n), you’re no longer stationed in the holdings lab. We’re moving you to level sixty-six.”

You nearly choked on the air in your throat. Level sixty-six was deep underground and the most secretive area in all of EXO. It was where the government sanctioned experiments and top-secret holdings that no one but the select few knew about were located. It was also access to the forbidden room.

“Your thesis on using animal DNA to heal injuries and cure diseases was fascinating and exactly the kind of ideas we need here.” He tossed over a badge to your side of the desk. Your picture that you’d taken on your first day here was smiling up at you and a tiny new symbol that you couldn’t quite make out from this distance was shining in the top right-hand corner. It looked like a hexagon, but you’d have to confirm it later with a closer look. “You’ll need this to gain access to the basement. Come with me. We’ll start the tour.”

You followed him out of the office and back to the laboratory that you would no longer call home. Your former coworkers watched you pass the tables, their eyes growing wider than petri dishes at the realization of where you were headed. Dr. Kwon stopped in front of the door that, until now that it, had never really given you excitement.

“Ladies first.”

With a little worry that your badge wouldn’t work, you held it up to the square black pad off to the side and watched with glee as the small red light switched to green. Dr. Kwon opened the door slowly and allowed you to enter first. Whatever your imagination had conjured up about this room, it was a complete let down that shouldn’t really have surprised you.

Bright florescent lighting stung your eyes as the beams bounced off of the white and chrome surfaces. Twelve individual filing cabinets lined the walls, four drawers high. Each cabinet had its own designated number, large and black on the top drawer. Three of them had a harsh red “X” passing through them.

You turned around to face Dr. Kwon, who was smiling at you expectantly. “What exactly is housed in here? I mean, what do we do on level sixty-six?”

More importantly, what would you be doing there? And would you constantly be having to ride the elevator up here?

A little chuckle left his thin lips. “Well, my dear, level sixty-six is where we conduct the human trials. Thanks to grants given by our wonderful government, we’re working on the ultimate soldier.”

“Super soldiers?” you scoffed. That was seriously still a thing? “Like Captain America?”

“Not quite,” Dr. Kwon countered, walking over to the filing cabinet labeled “12” and pulled out a file. He handed it over to you. Inside was a standard info sheet, including the subject’s date of birth and their current height, and weight. All that was missing was their picture. “They’re Special Forces, but we’re concentrating on the healing factor, especially for severe injuries, along with unique abilities that could come in handy in covert operations.”

Now your interest was piqued. “What kind of abilities?”

“In time, in time.” Dr. Kwon took the file back and replaced it into the cabinet.

Your eyes settled in the large red “X”’s. “What happened to these three?”

Dr. Kwon frowned. “They were transferred to our Chinese division. They’re doing much better over there.”

There was no explanation for it, but for some reason the way he phrased the transfer set you on edge, like a ghost story around a campfire. But there was nothing unusual about a patient moving to another building for further testing. Maybe your nerves were just getting the best of you today.

“Come now, let’s introduce you to your new coworkers.” Leading the way to the elevator, Dr. Kwon explained to you how your full hours were to be taken in the basement, including lunch breaks, just for precaution’s sake. There was a fully stocked break room and bathroom facility, so the only reason to ever leave was to come to the holding room for any files that you may need.

Once again, your badge was needed to access the basement from the elevator and when the doors dinged open, they revealed a small round lobby that broke off into two hallways at eleven and one o’clock respectively.

“Your main lab is down this way,” Dr. Kwon said, leading you down the hall to the right.

You couldn’t hold in your curiosity. “What’s down the other hall?”

“Oh, that’s where we house the subjects,” he clarified. “For safety precautions.” Safety precautions. You seemed to be hearing that a lot. It shouldn’t be that strange since this was a laboratory, but the way Dr. Kwon was saying those words was sending strange signals off in your head. Maybe you were still just waiting for him to say “just kidding!” and make you go back to filing for another six months.

That strange, ominous feeling just could be shaken from you as the hall, lined with heavy metal doors on either side, seemed more like a jail than a housing center, but you forced the thoughts away. You still didn’t know exactly how things operated down here and for all you knew on the other side of those doors could be five star hotel rooms.

Dr. Kwon stopped at the second door on the right. “This is our blood work lab and your new home.”

The lab was like any other you had worked in during med school. Everything was either white or chrome. Refrigerators with glass doors so you could see inside lined one side of the room, storing dozens of vials and dishes waiting for testing. Other display cases showcased glass slides, each shelf labeled with a corresponding number with the cabinets upstairs. At the long table in the middle of the room sat a woman around your age in purple scrubs looking into a microscope while an older woman in her mid-forties stood over her, writing on a clipboard.

The older woman noticed you first and bowed a greeting.

“Hello, there. You must be (y/n).” she stepped forward as the younger one looked up. “I’m Dr. Wang.” Your new boss appeared to be a kind woman, her smile wide and genuine. Her hair was pulled back into a precise and sharp bun without a hair out of place. “This is my assistant, Dr. Kher. I’ve been waiting for you to arrive here since you accepted our offer. I’m looking forward to what you can bring to our research team.” She held out her hand and you took it enthusiastically.

“Thank you,” you beamed. It was the greatest compliment you had ever received.

Dr. Kher stood up and walked up to join the group. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m happy I won’t be by myself anymore.” She was beautiful, with caramel skin and dark hair to compliment it. Her friendly grin just seemed to pull the whole package together. You hoped that her personality was just as pretty. So far, it seemed so.

“Well, I will leave her to you then,” Dr. Kwon bowed and left us alone.

Dr. Wang shook her head as she watched him leave. “I can’t believe he made me wait six months to get you down here. I wanted you from day one, especially after getting a hold of your thesis. Your analysis on blood work is right in line with what we’re doing down here. But no, you still had to go through the trial period.”

“I’m surprised they waited six months,” Dr. Kher chimed in. “I was only up there for three before they pulled me down here.”

“Oh, well,” Dr. Wang sighed. “We’ll just have to make up for lost time. Dr. (L/n), I’ve already taken the liberty in pulling the files for subjects’ Zero-One, Sixty-One, and Ten for you. I’ve pulled all their vials and set up your station; it’s just across from Dr. Kher. I’ll be in and out today, we’re running some further tests on subject Zero-Four. For now, I just want you to become familiar with those three subjects and get to know their blood like the back of your hand. Later on, I’ll introduce you to more subjects and what we’re aiming for. At the end of the day, just make sure everything is put back into its proper place, including taking the files back up to the filing room. If you have any questions, Dr. Kher should be familiar with everything by now.” She checked her watch at the end of her speech. “Oh, I’ve got to go. But I’m so glad to have you here.”

Practically running out of the room, Dr. Wang disappeared from view, her white lab coat flapping behind her.

“That’s about the same introduction I got when I transferred here,” Dr. Kher mused. She turned to you with that smile still on her face. “I read your thesis, too, although it seemed a bit comic book to me.”

You blushed with embarrassment. “Well, to be honest, that’s where the inspiration came from. However, all the research is legitimate, Dr. Kher.”

She threw her hands up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. Just an observation. I know your research was accurate. Oh, and you can call me Nada when it’s just the two of us.”

“No, it’s okay,” you reassured. “I’m just protective over my work. And you can call me (y/n).”

“Well, (y/n), I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

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liiahearts · 5 years

Text

Babynort centric fic

Chapter 1

The story was perfect. Mostly because Xeha thought it was. The edginess, dark humour, unexpected climax and finally the unhappy ending. Surely, it was relatable in somewhat’s standards. Now all he had to do was add on the finishing touches. Grammar, spelling, all the visible critical mistakes he hadn’t noticed while writing. Just before continuing his work, he took a glance at the beeping clock next to him. His tired eyelids rose a little when he realised the time. It was about 4 a.m. when he finally realised he’d been burning the midnight oil working on this god forsaken story. As he leaned back on his chair, he took off his glasses and pinched the space between his eyes. Sighing, then stretching out his whole body where he sat.

“Sleep’s overrated anyways.” Blinking his eyes several times to test wether or not he’d fall asleep anytime soon. ‘Still not that tired, maybe I should go for a walk?’. After a moment of debating if he should risk himself getting caught by his grandfather for staying up so late ‘or waking up early if he’d ever assumed’, he was already at the door.

Coat ‘check’, socks and shoes ‘check and check’. He wasn’t planning on touching anything covered in snow, so gloves weren’t necessary. Going out this early in the morning before sun rise won’t hurt anybody. He would just be out for a moment before anyone in the household realise. ‘Just a quick walk’ he thought, justifying that nothing could go wrong from just a small jog. There wasn't any school that morning, so it won’t be such a big deal if he just slept in after breakfast.

Upon opening the door that made the oh so squeaky, lack of grease sound, the night wind that blew through the slight door crack gave him the first taste of sweet mother nature. The one he avoided at all cost by barricading himself in his own room. “Okay then. Let’s go.”

Just as he suspected, the sun had yet to rise and the air was a freezing cold. It made him feel shivers crawl up his spine. ‘What was it? December?’ He held himself together not wanting to tumble all over the place just because of the north pole in his backyard.

Walking over towards the the wooden fence, he simply opened the the door and he was met with a slightly snowy street. He stuffed his hands into his pockets when he felt the cold risen there. ‘Maybe I should’ve worn muffins.’ There was no point of turning back now, so he made his way down the narrowed path along the streets.

The neighbourhood felt like a ghost town at the dead of night. At the most on normal days, it was quieter. More peaceful. Noting that only a few people from his school lives here. Which included him and- “Xeha?”. At the sound of his name being called, his eyes lifted from the slim path to a boy covered from head to toe with warm clothing. He was around Xeha’s height, maybe a bit shorter.

His face was barely visible, alas the winter hat and scarf that covered only but his eyes. At first, Xeha failed to recognise him from sight but it was unlikely for a stranger to even know him. His best guess was the only person other than his family to even remember his name.

“Well that’s my name, Era. What in the world are you doing around this hour?” Coming closer to the heavily clothed boy, he had to bend a bit of his body forward to get a good look at him in the eye. There was no bother asking why he’d been so overly dressed this early in the morning. Knowing perfectly how low Era’s tolerance were to the cold.

“Well, I knew you’d be here despite your granddad grounding you for it.” The old coot however, had more of a name than Xeha could get from winning an essay writing competition. Everybody knew who Master Xehanort was, the next best thing were his twin sons. One that happens to be the father of a total nobody.

The urge to roll his eyes out hoping he’d see his brain at the back caught him. At least he’d knew he had some. Which he’d also noticed he made Era chuckle from his eye rolling movement. “Hey! What are you laughing at?”

Era continued to chuckle through his warm knitted scarf. “Your face!” He pointed at his in a humorous gesture. “Well at least I don’t have a stick up my ass, huh?” Xeha cocked his body straight up and lightly placed both his hands on his hips. Confidence wasn’t a stranger when it came to these sorts of accusations. Especially coming from Eraqus. Who abundantly filled the air with more laughter. Still, he was a bit strange sometimes enough to even leave a garboil look on Xeha.

On the contrary, the raven did agree with his silver haired friend. “You always seem to have the same syndrome. What? Does it run in the family?” He replied with the same amount of cockiness and attitude. It was the same foreplay they’d have before going down to real importance. Not that Xeha was really expecting to run into him this early.

Nor was he expected to narrow down a look of annoyance this early too. “Hey! What do you mean-hmp!” A scarf was quickly wrapped around his neck until it covered half his face. Noted that it also smelled like fresh baked cookies. “Grandma’s visiting?” Even though his voice was off and muffled, he knew Era heard the tease.

Eraqus only chuckled and ignored that statement and got to his point. “Didn’t bother getting a scarf out of that awful pile of laundry again. This is what I’m talking about.” Abruptly he turn completely the opposite direction and cocked his head to give Xeha a full view of his smug response. “Stick stuck up you’re butt?” He taunted as Xeha had just stood still.

Predictably, Xeha was ready to clobber the life out of Era as he attempted to jump him. That was when the other shoved a sealed letter onto his face. Evidently it was slapped right onto his nose. “Ow! What gives?”

Jokes were over. And so were the foreplay, as the mood turned serious when Xeha saw Era’s head was down facing the hard cobblestone. Xeha held onto the letter, then finally looked at it. Then finally understanding the slight change as his grey eyes swapped from the letter to his friend.

No, he wasn’t shocked. To be fair, he saw this coming but knew truly how hopeful his friend had been for him. “Eraqus, it’s okay. I’ll just try again-“. Surprisingly, Eraqus found his voice to protest. “I don’t think you’d wanna waste your time on them. You’ve sent your stories countless of times and they still rejected you. You’ve fixed everything they deemed flawed and it’s still not enough! Why do you even-“

“Because I want to, Era!” he said sternly. Facing Eraqus’ venting demands and standing for his own choices. Slowly, his features softened and he let out a huffing breathe. “I want people to read my stories and enjoy them. But I’ll see to this” he gestured to the damned thick letter, “and ask Mr. Eden what he thinks.” He made sure to give Era at least a reassuring smile. Noting that this wasn’t a big deal.

“I’m sorry, Xeha. All this fuss so early. I was actually planning on giving it to you later but-“ he felt a palm on the right of his shoulder. “There’s no time like the present my friend.” Lastly, he put it off with a big smile.

Finally, Eraqus returned the smile. When all that drama had cooled down in the matter, Xeha looked back at the letter. “Wonders me what they’re complaining about this time. Huh! Eden will give me an earful.”

Taken back by the suspicious look Era had suddenly threw him, he cocked up an eyebrow. “What?”. Era looked away from his questioning friend and tried a graceful swayed. “Oh nothing,” though Xeha could definitely sense the malice, “I for one, think your writing is great, but apparently ‘you’ need an excuse to see Mr.Eden.” He pointed an accusing finger at Xeha.

Abruptly, Xeha made the effort to loudly clear his throat to avoid the heat that was mercilessly running up his face and to throw off Eraqus’ ridiculous superstition. “Well, he has been helping me a lot with it. Of course I’m supposed to seek his help. Besides, he’s our ‘teacher’” Xeha sent him an equal look of glee.

Deciding to ignore the unconvinced scoff he received, he turned to move them to other discussions. While they were still together at this rare time.

“Well whatever.” Taking the gloved hand of his friend, he guided them to a different area. “Where are you taking me, Xeha?” Now, it was his turn to chuckle. Barely turning but he knew Era could hear him. “You know where!”

When they arrived, it had been an abandoned playground. The area was awfully neglected, with the snow almost covering the entire ground. Monkey-bars with only a few bars left. The swing set looking so rusty it would break. The slides were filled with holes.The field full with snow covered over grown grass. None of the apparatus were even safe for kids to use anymore. Yet, nobody had bothered to do anything about it.

Reasons hadn’t mattered, they never did because to Xeha and Era, this was their sanctuary. Nobody came here but them. And since the whole residence were filled with workaholic adults, it was really just for them anyways.

Xeha still had a handful of Era’s soft muffins. He pulled them towards the tallest slide. “But Xehaa! It’s like an hour before sun rise”. Regardless, they were already on top before they could debate anything. With that Era let out a sigh of defeat. While Xeha just chuckled in victory as he hugged the heavily clothed arm.

“Aww, come on Era. It’s usually the sunset. Rarely we get to watch it rise.” Nothing Era could do would stop Xeha if he was determined. So, he just followed his demands as his arm was being snuggled like by an oversized kitten. “The sun isn’t even up yet- Are you cold?”

Concern for the other’s well being, he considered taking off one of his coats. “Nah, I’m quite comfortable like this.” With that Era pushed the decision for later and instead let the other snuggle up him arm. “Then don’t blame me if you freeze to death.”

He noticed the other puff up a cheek and lightly heard mumbles of ‘you’re such a jerk sometimes.’

“Only sometimes hun.” He laughed it off.

Then having some of more things to talk about, like how much of a pain school’s gonna be the next day, the good and the bad. Good; when the nerd next to him finally gets to see his favourite teacher after only two days apart. Bad; when hell breaks, as freshmen gets put in their place by the Queen Bee on the first day.

If Jennifer Mckenzie were to ride a BMW, pressing the oil paddle with her high heeled boots, it’s better for even the police to get out of the way. For their own sake since she apparently have power on their own insurance. The chick was seen as flawless. A pictured goddess of the school, no, maybe the whole city.

But she didn’t exactly mattered to them. As long as their not the victims of her car crash, they were safe from her peripheral view.

All that chitter chatter finally got Xeha to fall sleep on Era’s shoulders. Peacefully he purred like a sleeping Cheshire cat waiting to pounce him if he’d dare let himself be off guard. Sighing, Era thought to himself if he’d know Xehanort that well to predict such movements. They were best friends after all. The best guess Era could make up for was as long as it’s them against the world, everything will go fine.

As long as NOTHING changes, everything will remain the same.

He smiled at the thought of being like this forever. And how naive and regrettable it will be.

After a few deep thought moments, he saw a small glimpse of light crept up from the horizon. Quickly he woke up the sleeping silver head next to him. “Xeha.” Softly at first. “Xehanort!” Then began the wild shaking.

“Uuhu! I’mupimupwhodied? Oh, it’s just you.” Letting out a big yawn, and allowing his retinas to readjust to his surroundings, he finally remembered where he was. Adding the note he was wearing a scarf and extra coat that wasn’t his.

Finally he took in the sight of that perfect sunrise. He smiled. Again, he let a tired yawn and leaned his head against Era’s shoulders. “Don’t you wish these moments would last forever?” Eraqus’s suddenness took him a moment into reality. Would he wish it? Yes. Did he realise how temporary it was? Also yes. In deep thought, Xehanort knew these moments only last in the present. And he’d doubt they’d have them again. It would only be wishful thinking. Alas to just satisfy Eraqus’ question, he decided to push those thoughts away and ignore the justification of his opinions. “Yeah, I kinda do.”

A/N: this is absolutely an AU and I’m getting used to writing the characters. So bare with me💓💓💓

Anyways... where em EraXeha/Xehaqus fics at!

#kingdom hearts #fanfiction #young xehanort #xehanort #kh3 #EraXeha #Xehaqus

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ughgclden · 3 years

Note

bee!! hi again!! look at me being regular again :)

i just missed writing them but everything has been going to shit lately and holy fuck do i find myself relating hard to neil (i’m leaving theatre in the middle of the year. because my grades. weren’t up to my parents’ standards. it’s. so hard. we’re still running the show and every night i die a little)

but i totally get the exhaustion thing, existing seems to take so much energy these days, it’s hard to stay awake, let alone really live.

i’m glad uni is going relatively well, and that your lecturer complimented you!!! that’s always lovely. (incidentally when teachers do the opposite for no real reason it tears me up a lot a little)

my days have been days, bleeding into one another, holding little pleasure at all, but i sat down and i saw your response and i think i smiled for the first time in a long time, so thank you.

(i’m rubbing off on you bee that’s the only explanation) thank you for saying so, and you deserve all these nice things, all the nice things the world holds, always, i swear it, (not by the moon, as the moon is inconsistent)

incidentally, i watched prince caspian the other night, the vibes, they really are immaculate

the show is incredibly complicated, as every night there is. a different cast. we basically just memorised all the lines and every day they randomly draw new people to go. it’s so fun but SO stressful. ive been on all three nights so far, two more to go, and it’s so fun, but i’m always exhausted after. both emotionally and physically. i wish you could see it though, i think you’d like it. it’s really metaphysical, about life and death and morality etc etc etc most of the characters are feelings and ideas instead of actual people, it’s a modernised version of a 15th century british morality play.

i ended up going with carry on, and then as soon as i finish i’ll read narnia again, i just finished red white and royal blue, so i think i’m just longing for love at the moment. even though i’m emotionally unavailable /hj and thank you i was. a child who read way too much, and i think it’s always been my vice, after i finish narnia, i’m going back and trying to read all of orwell and hemingway, stuffy, but decent reads with giant mugs of earl grey in the evening and a litany of candles (way too many to be safe) lighting the words.

i’m so proud of you, bee, for reasons that feel increasingly impossible to quantify, but also just for being here. for existing. letting yourself be. and i hope you are. i hope you’re being kind and lenient to yourself. have a cup of tea, on me. you and i are sort of made of silly little notes, but i think we prove that silly little notes aren’t always simply silly little notes.

have the best of days and nights, mi abejorro

the most comforting thing about my birthday is that the 20th of november is a national holiday in mexico, so it means something special to my blood, it’s revolution day, which i think somehow made me who and how i am. vive le révolution right? gosh it’s scary though. no one i talk to in person knows when my birthday is, i think if i ignore it enough it won’t come, i think at some point every year became less about aging and more about looking at what i did and didn’t do by this age that i just depressed myself. anyway! the dancing queen thing is a plan, maybe if i play it too we’ll play it at the same time and it’ll feel a little like there’s someone else there. honestly a lot of the time i end up sitting in front of the giant analog grandfather clock downstairs and watching it tick to midnight, then feeling no different, and reading in my room until exhaustion takes me. so it’ll be a nice change of pace

ageing is scary. especially when you’re getting to those odd ages in between 15 and 29 when people really expect things from you.

bee please i am nowhere NEAR susan pevensie, but you on the other hand-

thank you, mon ami, for indulging my little letters, letting me have a little bit of you, as it were, and i send this with all my love, all my wishes for coffee or tea and pastries and kindness to yourself, and narnia, narnia or dead poets (provided you stop before the play) the fantastic mr fox even, something to make you happy.

anything to make you happy

yours,

star✨

p.s. "if ever we loved one another, let me go with you now." - c.s. lewis, the chronicles of narnia: the last battle

star!!! so so happy to hear from you again :)) god im so sorry to hear that, i really am - please remember that your grades don't define you, and im so sorry how shitty of a situation you're in. im sending u all the love i can muster up, as you deserve much much better

god this made me feel. so so happy. the fact my existence isn't only perceived but also enjoyed??? god im <333 your letters always give me the biggest boost in mood, i swear. i totally get that oh my god, the days really do just become one long blob.

that sounds absolutely amazing star, holy shit. i adore the concept so so much, the idea of it makes my little mind go wild. i hope you had the best time being part of it.

reading with candles is such a you thing, i can picture it perfectly. as much as i like to pretend im an avid classics reader, my heart lies in the simpler reads - despite what people say, reading six of crows over and over by candlelight is in fact chaotic academia.

i'm so proud of you star, for everything you've done and for the person you are. and i'm also so thankful for you. thank you for being here for me, for these lovely words and for sharing a bit of yourself with me - i'm honoured. you mean a lot, star.

i hope it's an amazing day for you, as you deserve only the nicest of days. that makes so so much sense, and is such a fucking cool day for a birthday!!!!

ageing is terrifying, i agree. the moment i turned eighteen i was like fuck. i have actual responsibilities now. and that? was not fun for my brain to comprehend. but i can promise you you get used to it, and it becomes just a fuzzing mess in the background of your brain (i admit, that sounded a lot more comforting in my mind than in words, but oh well, c'est la vie)

in my absence i've managed to become obsessed with 'last night in soho'; anya taylor joy's cover of downtown is now imprinted in my brain, and i am hopelessly and desperately in love with her, but then again, i was before. i also have three 1000 word essays due in a week's time which is. certainly fun. /s

anyways. i'm sending you all of my love, a large cup of black coffee and as many candles as your heart desires, along with all of your favourite snacks, and a showing of the little prince under the cosiest of blankets. the narnia quote is making me scream im <333

all my love, star. be kind to yourself.

ps; "love always wakes the dragon and suddenly flames everywhere" - richard siken

#asks <3 #anon asks!#star anon #long post

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rassilon-imprimatur · 6 years

Text

The Master, Surviving Elemental

As she got nearer, Miranda got a good look at him. He was of average height, and looked very smart in his black suit and pressed shirt. He had neat black hair, greying at the temples and a small, pointed beard. But that wasn’t what Miranda concentrated on – she was struck by his eyes. They were black, but they burned into her, like he could read her mind. Like black lasers.

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Hello, Miranda, my dear. I am the Headmaster.”

[...]

The Doctor was disappointed to find himself in a perfectly ordinary Headmaster’s Office, or at least something doing a very good impression of one.

A large oil painting of the current Headmaster in academic robes glowered down at him as he began a quick search of the room. There was a grandfather clock in one corner… but there was something odd about it. Something wrong with the way it had been made – it didn’t look quite finished.

Opening the desk he found a glowing sphere, the size of a cricket ball. Space twisted around it.

‘A dimensional stabiliser,’ the Doctor heard himself saying. It was responsible for moving the office into the fifth dimension. No-one native to Earth could possibly enter the room while it was active.

He picked it up, found it responding to his thoughts. He could hear it talking to him. Yapping, like a loyal dog.

The Doctor asked it to go into standby mode, then slipped it into his pocket.

He quickly found a set of official school notebooks, like registers. But they were full of mathematics symbols, what looked like Greek writing, and a number of very interesting drawings. One looked remarkably like a scale diagram of a black hole. Another was a spiral, like a five dimensional whirlpool.

The Doctor scowled – he knew he should be able to read this, but he couldn’t. If it had been Greek, it wouldn’t be a problem. And he wasn’t sure he could ever decipher it – very few of the symbols were repeated. If it was an alphabet, it was a huge one.

‘It’s called the omegabet,’ a voice told him. ‘It has a million letters…’

‘…but only five vowels,’ the Doctor completed.

‘So you do remember?’

The Doctor frowned. ‘No…’

Then he turned. The Headmaster was there, covering him with what looked for all the world like a laser pistol. ‘

I knew you’d track me down, my dear Doctor. But you’re in the same boat, aren’t you?’

‘Boat?’

‘Where are you from, Doctor?’

‘I don’t know,’ the Doctor admitted.

‘Not this planet, though?’

‘No…’

‘Neither am I. We’re from the same place. Something’s happened to time. Something’s happened to… to…’ The headmaster squeezed his eyes together, tried to concentrate. ‘Wherever we came from, it’s gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘It never existed. That’s my theory.’

‘Of course it existed. Otherwise, how could we exist?’ ‘It’s paradoxical, it’s mindbending and upsetting. But… it’s exciting. Liberating. Full of potential. We can push things further, how far only depends on us.’

The Doctor looked at this strange man. He wasn’t a tall man, but there was something about him – his bearing, those eyes. He was a born leader.

‘And where do you want to “push things”?’ the Doctor asked, already suspecting what the answer would be.

‘If we don’t take control, someone else will,’ the headmaster insisted. ‘This is a perfect opportunity.’

[...]

The Doctor was edging back towards the door.

‘We can’t do this alone. We have to recruit other… other people like us. We’d also need to root ourselves into this reality. I don’t know how yet, but we don’t have long. I don’t think there are many of us left. It’s why you’re special. It’s why your daughter is so special.’

‘Miranda’s adopted, she’s -’

‘I know who Miranda is, Doctor. I know the truth. There’s no need to hide it from me. I know.’

The Doctor tapped his lip. Until the Headmaster had mentioned Miranda this had been a game. But he was threatening her, now.

‘And you’d be our leader?’

‘We would have a universe, Doctor. A whole universe. The whole of space and time. Even I don’t think I could rule all that alone. We’d need an army, and what better place to raise an army than here on Earth?’

‘Then we’d divide up the universe between the three of us?’

‘Four. There’s another.’

‘Another time traveller?’

‘Someone else like us.’

‘But you said yourself that you don’t know what we are.’ ‘Precisely. But I know what I am not. I’m not a slave, not a servant, not a subject. I was born to rule, as were you. It’s our birthright, Doctor.’

- “The School of Doom,” Lance Parkin

Standing before the iron door – a still definitively and solidly locked iron door – is a dapper, sardonic-looking man dressed in a pristine dinner suit. His jet-black hair is slicked neatly back with oil. He is leaning, nonchalantly, on a silver-handled cane.

‘Who. . . ?’ Anji’s voice falters with a curious mixture of relief and trepidation. ‘What. . . ?’

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ says the man. ‘You know perfectly well who I am. In a certain sense, anyway. And as to what I did. . . ’ He blows on the nails of his free hand. ‘You know how it is when you have any number of pets. Familiars, chimeras, creatures of hideous, diabolical and slitheringly unutterable evil, that sort of thing. One has to let them out occasionally. One has to keep them fed. It’s a bit of pain, sometimes, to tell you the truth, but it is rather expected of one.’

Abruptly he becomes brisk. ‘Well, I really should be going, for the moment. You’re swimming busily for the surface, I can see, but you still have a way to go yet. Never does to rush these things.’

He essays a formal little bow and shoots out a well-manicured hand. Anji has no time to lurch back in alarm before she realises that he is merely proffering her (as if for her inspection) a small pasteboard card. Still in something of a daze, she takes it.

‘Feel free to drop by,’ the man says. ‘When you feel up to it. Any time at all.’

With that, he lays his cane over his shoulder, slides past her and strolls out of the alley, whistling a complicated little tune that Anji has never heard in her life, and will never hear again – though it strikes a chord somewhere inside her, some part of herself vaguely recalling troop trains and soldiers packing problems into their old kit bags and smiling, smiling, smiling.

- The Slow Empire, Dave Stone

According to Scarlette’s journal – though not Lisa-Beth’s – during the fight one of the male denizens of the tavern edged his way through the violent crowds and quietly seated himself at Scarlette’s table. Though no name is given for the man, Scarlette says that he was ‘a gentleman of distinguished nature’, clean-shaven and dark-haired, and at first she thought he might have been in the market for business. She does note, however, that on the lapel of his black clothing he wore a rosette in blue-and-white. It would have marked him out as a member of the Opposition, but nonetheless he was quite gracious and civil.

[...]

Assembling a picture out of all the accounts, he’s described as a cleanshaved, dark-haired man in distinguished middle age, handsome in some respects even though to some of the British witnesses he came across as ‘swarthy and difficult to place’. He was slim and well turned out, and he made an impression on the island by always dressing in tight, straightforward clothing of prim black. . . apart from the rosette of blue and white which he wore on his lapel. He would often be seen simply standing in the vicinity of the other guests, hands folded behind his back, observing intently without becoming involved in any of the visitors’ many disputes. Whenever people would ask each other about him, in muted whispers, the dark-haired gentleman would simply bow his head to them. His accent was English, although some said they detected a little Latin in his features.

[...]

DOCTOR: Have we met? I’m sorry, my memory isn’t what it was. I shed most of it a long time ago.

THE MAN: Met? Oh, I’d say so. Believe it or not, we used to know each other quite well.

DOCTOR [with recognition?]: Good grief.

THE MAN: Ah. Spoken like the man I used to know.

DOCTOR: You’ve lost that terrible beard, then.

THE MAN: But of course. I have whatever it is you lack. And vice versa. Have you forgotten? Oh, I’m so sorry. You’ve forgotten everything, haven’t you? [Irony?]

DOCTOR: You’re behind all this? No, of course you’re not. Not your style at all.

THE MAN: Here, Doctor, I’m simply a guest. Thank you for the invitation, by the way. Most touching. Admittedly, I would have preferred something more personal. . .

DOCTOR: And would you mind telling me what that rosette’s meant to be?

THE MAN: A sign of my allegiance to the great Whig cause. I’ve become an exponent of democracy.

DOCTOR: Why does that not sound convincing?

THE MAN: My dear Doctor, I’m telling you the truth. I told you. I have to offer the universe whatever you can’t. If you’ve decided to take on the colours of your new sweetheart, then it’s up to me to side with the Opposition. Perhaps one day you’ll consider destroying the universe. Then I’ll be in the awkward position of saving it.

DOCTOR: You don’t expect me to believe that, surely?

THE MAN: Your friend in red came closest to the truth. What does she call you, again? Her ‘elemental champion’? Very perceptive of her. There are only four of us left now, you know. Four of us in all of the universe. We have certain standards to uphold.

DOCTOR: Then I suppose you’re going to say that you don’t want to kill me.

THE MAN: It’s hardly the time for that any more, wouldn’t you agree? While our kind still walked tall, we had the whole of space and time as our battlefield. These days, I’m afraid our little duels would be utterly meaningless. You’ve met Sabbath, of course.

DOCTOR: Yes. He reminds me of you. I think.

THE MAN: How interesting. He reminds me of you. Our replacement, Doctor. The new breed. All our kind in one, and a mere human being, too. We can hardly return to our old routines, with his kind in charge. Can we?

DOCTOR: I’m sick. I’m helpless. You must know that.

THE MAN: I rather think that’s my point. Do your duty Doctor. However tedious it may be. Save the universe. Become King of Time. Go after that irritating black object in the sky. Whatever you think is necessary. Once you’ve done that. . . well, perhaps the universe will be ready for us again, who can say? Then we can set about destroying each other properly. Otherwise, I’m afraid this is hardly our arena any more.

- The Adventuress of Henrietta Street, Lawrence Miles

‘There were four of us left, apparently. You’d be number five.’

Marnal rounded on him. ‘Left after what?’

The Doctor hesitated. ‘I don’t know. Some disaster. I’ve picked up hints, seen the odd vision, but I was never able to follow up on anything.’

Marnal leant over him, sensing a moment of weakness. ‘Weren’t you, now? Not terribly enterprising of you. So you have no idea?’

The Doctor shrugged apologetically. Marnal raised his hand, and the Doctor thought he was going to hit him. Instead, Marnal touched the Doctor’s temple with a fingertip.

‘Contact.’

For the briefest moment, the Doctor saw himself as Marnal saw him. Then back to vice versa. Then rapid alternations between the two viewpoints. It was dizzying.

A man with a sallow face and small, pointed black beard, who wore a blue rosette; a young woman with long blonde hair in an extraordinary piece of haute couture; a tall man with a bent nose wearing a cravat and holding a pair of dice; the Doctor himself with close-cropped hair, sitting on an ornate throne, a newborn baby girl in his arms.

- The Gallifrey Chronicles, Lance Parkin

#Eighth Doctor Adventures #The Slow Empire #The Adventuress of Henrietta Street #The School of Doom #The Gallifrey Chronicles #Lance Parkin #Lawrence Miles #Dave Stone #Anji Kapoor #The Master #The man with the rosette #long post

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okimargarvez · 6 years

Text

WHEN THEY FIRST MET- Tara

Original title: When they first met.

Prompt: writing challenge.

Warning: none.

Genre: family, romantic, comedy, friendship.

Characters: all members of BAU team, O.C.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot (collection of individual tales of each member, except for Walker).

Legend: 💑💏😘😈👓🔦🎲🎈👻⚰.

Song mentioned: none.

When They First Met- Masterlist

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

*Tara: Behind a screen

Penelope quickly dialed the answer to the message she had received, with a smile on her lips. They are all taken by this damn game ... a colleague of mine this morning did nothing but talk all the time about this... she was naturally referring to Rossi. The new case wasn't very demanding, and it was in Virginia, so they didn't even have to use the jet. By nine o'clock they were all home, including her.

Well, it's not just any "a" match... it's the super bowl. There is people preparing for this event for weeks... Oh no, he, too, one of those maniacs? She wouldn't never think! He never talked about sports, and they have been texting quite a bit 'of months. She had signed up on that website a bit for challenge, a little to get a laugh and a little... because... now, that Derek had gone, she needed a dose of flirt daily.

Are you a maniac of those things too?😲 She inserted a smiley face even shocked, to increase the effect. He had been the first to contact her. He had never shown himself to be trivial, nor had he started with a string of copy-paste compliments, as men usually did. Indeed, he had courted pretty clearly her, but with words, weaving particular phrases, taking an interest in her life. By now they have been texting practically every day, usually before going to sleep. And at least on her part, the feeling had become very serious.

A little... I got that from my grandfather, is an affective thing, more than anything else... A moment's pause, that if they were face to face, would have been embarrassed silence. She didn't know what to say, but didn't want to say bye to him. Fortunately, a moment later another message arrived. But I didn't want to talk about it. We've been texting regularly for six months and I'd like to go deeper. Meet you from the truth. Penelope jumped, reading his words. She liked the idea that he wanted to meet her seriously, but was also afraid. What if he was disappointed? She would have lost this which has now become a pleasant habit. You don't say anything? I don't think it's premature. I can't be content with a telematic relationship... She took too long to answer him.

You're right, just ... I've always been honest with you, and I want to be so now. I'm little terror, like a girl in high school. I'm blonde, but other than that... the exact opposite of classic beauty that appeals to men. 😊 She added that face, to play down a bit, but actually she was very serious. She waited anxiously for his reply, but time passed, and the telephone remained silent.

Let me judge 😉 When we meet, then? 😃 Finally it had enlightened, and her heart had started to beat driven crazy. Can one fall in love like that, only through some message and smile?

Are you really so very eager to see me? When will you be in Virginia?

Not even half a minute had passed. I'm already here, baby 😉 Tomorrow night? It's Friday, and you should have a free night, right? How could he remember it? Penelope melted even more. What will he be like? And his voice? It was time to find out, not to be afraid anymore.

Yeah, as long as there is not a case, otherwise it deal's off... you know that mine is a job like that... zero private life.

I know I know. So, see you tomorrow (I hope). I really want to meet you, Penelope. I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight. If will not be tomorrow night, it will be another, soon. Good night, little one. ❤

The woman thought she heard an unknown voice whisper those words in her ear and out the window a breeze caressed her skin. She closed her eyes. You're too sweet, Luke. Get some sleep, you have to be fit for tomorrow 😝 Sweet dreams...

She put the alarm clock on, took off the internet connection and tried to fall asleep. She didn't know when Morpheus actually captured her, but went from a dream to 'other, protagonists always men, many male specimens, she wandered among the crowd looking for Luke, but couldn't find her. She woke up the next morning with great difficulty, as if had really done all those kilometers. She dressed normally and pretended, all day, that it was an ordinary day. Her colleagues realized that there was something strange about her, especially girls. Eventually Tara and JJ took her aside.

-Penelope, are you ok? Your mind just tends to wander off these days. You sent me the file about the case of the last year, rather than those of this year...- the blonde peered at the screen shown by her friend and sighed. Love makes people stupid.

-Oh, I'm sorry, I'll send it back immediately.- but she was blocked by the other.

-There was a man involved, right?- there was no response and this confirmed her supposition. In that moment she heard a sound that a message was come. And Penelope was sure it was him. But she couldn't look at it now, under the eyes of her friends and co-workers. -Garcia, we've known each other for a long time, I killed a man, for you!- JJ was willing to play whatever card she must.

-Okay, okay. I give up. I have a date. Tonight.- both smiled as she told this. -I met him in chat, he's very attractive, sweet... Don't give me that look!- the petite blonde had look at her with a serious expression contrite. -That's why I didn't want to tell you. Nothing will happen. I remember very well what happened the last time, it was never about chat or dating web site. Nothing will happen. He's a federal, like us.- JJ was about to reply. -Okay, Battle was a cop but... I'm sure. Really, JJ don't worry!- she took her hand, but the friend hug her. Penelope met Tara's gaze and realized that she was not trying to convince her friends but herself.

Luke looked at himself in the mirror. White or blue shirt? He let his life partner choose; a specimen of Belgian shepherd who, lying on the bed, looked at him as if he were stupid, and she was probably right. Then he opted for the first one, put it on and looked at the time. If all's going well, there were only two hours left. He couldn't stop thinking about her, didn't know how to expect her, apart from the fact that she was blonde. After all, the appearance wasn't so important, he was much more anxious to actually be able to finally hear her voice. It would be as he was dreamed it? Sweet but with some mischievous aftertaste?

I'm counting the minutes. 😃 Everything ok at work? By now he no longer had any brakes, could no longer worry about looking like a fool, too attracted with a woman who he had known through messages, her name and job... But it was not true, he had learned much more of Penelope, she had allowed him to know her soul... and now only the icing on the cake was missing. He was sure wouldn't be disappointed. He hoped could say the same about her.

-Ah, Roxy, I'm pretty fool, right? I hope I can bring her here very soon and let you know her. She loves all the animals and I'm sure she'll drive crazy for you, girl.- he gave her a caress and then went on with the preparation, trying to sweat as little as possible.

Penelope wasn't in a very different situation, except that had no one to share her anxieties with, so she talked for herself. Finally, after a long and exhausting research, she decided to wear a red dress with white diamonds, which came quite a bit above the knee, but it was even content, by her standards. Loose, smooth hair and red glasses, matched. Shoes with décolleté and high heels. Only one thing was missing: the courage to direct the feet to the place where they had decided to meet.

Red and white dress. Glasses. I'll not tell you more.

The message blew him up, he had already arrived on the spot and looked around, knowing that she was not there yet. He had read it and smiled. White shirt and jeans. If she wanted to play, he was ready. The answer was not long in coming.

Doesn't count, you're unfair! Any more particular sign? He laughed openly, looking around again. No blonde dressed in red and white around.

Dark hair. Tall. I can't say more, because there's nothing to say, really. You'll realize it when you'll look at me... In the meantime, he kept on watching the crowd and while was reading the next message (Mmm, dark, I like it) identified her. A woman with long, fair blond hair, a pair of glasses, and a dress that matched the description, was looking around in front of him with a bewildered look. It was definitely her.

-Penelope?- he asked once had reached her. She stood for a moment paralyzed, seeing that man by the Latin traits, very charming, who had spoken to her, calling her name. Then she realized it had to be Luke. Then she nodded.

-You expected better, right? You're disappointed...- it was a clear provocation, just as she had always liked to do with messages, behind a screen. He wanted him to tell her she was wrong. And Luke understood that perfectly, although he wasn't a profiler.

-What are you saying! You look great in this dress...- he gave her an exploratory look that would clarify his real appreciation. Penelope had all the curves at the right point and above all... her voice was exactly as he had imagined: sweet, not shrill, sexy and caressing.

-Do you really think so?- she peered at him carefully, not trusting him. -I don't understand why you didn't want to send me a picture. In short, congratulations for the 'wrap... I don't thought I had chatted with Mister Latin America... how the hell can you be single?- Luke was like to find out that she was delirious in live exactly as in the virtual world. At her last question he shrugged.

-Well, I did it on purpose. Like you, I don't like to be judged from the appearance. As for the second question... I've known few interesting women, lately, if I must be honest... indeed, only one.- he made her the wink and she blushed.

-You're too gallant, man, I could end up believing you...- she recovered quickly enough, folding her arms a few inches from him. Yet still too distant for Luke's taste.

-So, where do you want to bring me? I'm a guest here and I don't know which way to go... - he was teasing her, and Penelope understood it quickly enough but didn't have time to reply in kind, because he took her arm, leading her away from the crowd. It was the first time ever that their bodies came into contact and both felt electric shocks. It was not like exchanging text messages, talking to each other (even if every evening) behind keyboards and screens.

-It seems to me that you know how to move very well ...- she finally managed to say how much he stopped, near a row of shops, under the arcades. Suddenly there was a rumble and after a few seconds it began to rain with great intensity. Luke gave her the 'wink, as if to tell her he had super powers and was thus able to predict the shower and put her away. He's still not had left her to go. Penelope began to shiver everywhere, except at that spot, covered by him. The man, however, noticed that she was cold and so moved his arm around her back and embraced her, pushing her against his chest, with such ease that anyone would have mistake them like a perfect couple, well-matched as if they were together for years. -Luke ...- with some other tremor, this time of another kind, he looked for her look. It was the first time sshe uttered that name in front of him, and latter had liked how it sounded.

-I know.- he whispered. The woman felt the warmth of his breath on her hair -I'm running too fast. But I can't do without it. It's just for the rain, when it ceases I'll let you go... if you want it.- and in fact Penelope didn't want it at all, in that simple grip she felt safe and loved, at the same time, as when was with Morgan, with the except that in the eyes of Luke there it was also something else that was missing in those of ex BAU's agent: an interest physical, and sexual. Possible? It was not worth asking such questions when his hand began to make a slight movement on her back, a kind of repeated caress that was as sweet as his good-night messages.

She wished that the rain would never stop. A rumble of thunder was heard just after a flash that lit them up. The storm was in full swing, but usually more were intense and less would last. Who knows how Luke realized that her expression had become sad. -Hey, baby, what's going on?- not getting any answer, he lifted her face, holding her chin with two fingers. Penelope shook her head.

-Nothing, nothing special. Just... I feel stupid, as usual. Because I'm trying to find the strength to get away from you, to protest and do the right thing. Because we had spoken only through PCs and phones, and it's my world, the one in which I move better, but... but the so-called "normal people"- she made the quotation marks with her hands keeping the tone serious, even in delirium -they think negative about who trust someone he's just met, and maybe they right. But I'm feel so good in your arms, feel your scent, your warmth that surrounds me... I'm the usual stupid fool, don't pay attention to... - but he interrupted her in a way that certainly she didn't expect. Pushing her even closer to his body and grasping her face, he put his lips on those of Penelope and felt himself on cloud line. The "people", as she said, could say what they wanted. In many cases people pretended to be who they weren't, behind a screen, they had painted themselves leaner, smarter or funny... but there wasn't the case of Luke and Penelope. She had never tried to make him believe she was a stick-style model or a nuclear scientist, and Luke had told her about his dog, about dangerous missions and about being tired of being welcomed (only) by Roxy, who he adored. The woman returned the kiss with a moment of delay and realized that wanted more, wanted to feel the rough and big hands of him dig her, touch her everywhere, cross every border, but also understood that during the evening she would place her heart and not only her body, on a silver platter and Luke could dispose of it at will. And although he had proved himself sweet and interested in something else, she was too afraid to stay and experience the consequences. She parted and ran away, in the rain. He stood looking at her for a moment, then began to pursue her. He didn't take long to catch her wrist.

-Penelope, did I do something wrong?- he was too cute, too... Everything. And she felt wasn't ready yet, still worthy for a man like that.

-No, no... I... I'm sorry to have wasted your time, but... I'm not ready to... of... understood?- obviously not. -Make everything real.- He said then - I'm sorry, Luke, I'm sorry.- she weeping, but hoped that he wouldn't notice and exchange those tears for drops of rain, which continued to flow inexorably on them, drenching them. The cold she felt, however, was not due to it.

-Can we continue slip messages?- but it was a vain hope, and he knew it. He had understood when had looked into her eyes. Not even the feeling that now felt each other, would be able to fight against the terror that had taken her. Only she, alone, could have overcome it. Penelope shook her head, then gave him a kiss on the cheek and ran away, leaving him alone with that sign that burned on the skin, the frost in the heart and an empty space impossible to fill.

***

-My god, what a touching story.- all taken from listening the story, nobody notice someone had arrived. But they recognized the voice of their computer technician.

-Penelope?- JJ is the first to recover and even the first to realize that she isn't alone. Next to the blonde there is in fact Alvez and they... is holding hands.

-What are you doing here? Were not you both sick?- Emily asks, trying to take things into her own hands.

-Well, if I'm honest... we said a little lie.- she turns to Luke and looks at him with accomplice and mischievous gaze. -We knew that there would be no major cases, and we needed a moment to do something...- everyone here think negative, for this last sentence. -And then they called me and told me that you were stuck in here and... I'm had to come and this big head, had to accompany me... didn't you know that I helped to create this security system?- someone laughs at her serious and proud tone.

-No offense, Garcia, but you didn't do a great job. I had a fabulous evening with Monica, waiting for me instead... - Walker sighs, not completely resigned.

-It's only ten o'clock, you still have time to... - the Latin is interrupted by an elbowed in the ribs by the woman he was holding his hand. -Ouch!- she looks at him as if to say You've been looking for this. JJ and Tara laugh.

-But then... are you together, seriously?- finally Rossi finds the courage to ask the question that was on the tip of everyone's tongue. Penelope looks at Luke and seems to ask him for permission to spill everything.

-Ehm... yes.- the other blonde has a desire to strangle her and embrace, simultaneously.

-What? For how long?- JJ is anticipated by the boss.

-In our defense... for a short time. After the car crash... I realized that I could no longer continue to call him Newbie and dream about him every night... but couldn't have done it, however, to tell him how I felt. So, I approached, I did the 'friend"-impossible not to notice the way in which Luke looks at her while she talking. -l helped him with Roxy, since he had to move on crutches... and so, haven't to no more walking on hot coals... He showed his hand, a little more.- she smiles in an ironic way at him and he seems to struggle to resist the temptation to take this smile off with a kiss.

-I asked her a date and she said yes. I told her "a real date", she repeated "Ok, a real date". And it was... magnificent... - but it's clear that what he thinks, what is really magnificent is she.

-Wow, guys, I'd like to choke you but... I'm so happy for you! I knew it! I knew it!- JJ jumps, gloating for being the first to notice something between them.

-Yeah, please, boy, treat her right, because if you had to make her suffer... - the retired writer almost seriously threatens him. Luke chuckles a little embarrassed.

-Quiet, Rossi.- he replies, however, with great conviction. Penelope takes his arm.

-Tell me something, Garcia, how long have you been listening to?- confirmation of Emily's suspicions comes through a pair of mischievous smiles.

-I must be honest? When you started reading stories. That's why we decided to show ourselves like that.- she raises their hands, again intertwined. -All beautiful stories, but I particularly liked the later... - he overlaps almost on the words of his woman.

-For me the first.- and makes a wink to reinforce his opinion.

-The usual maniac!- Garcia scolds him, then return to earth, before ending up to made love in front of their colleagues. There will be time at home, to resume what the call of the technicians has interrupted.

-Out of curiosity- Tara starts while they eventually leave the room and take the elevator. -You two met here at the BAU when Luke became profiler or before?- Luke and Penelope look at each other.

-The answer is much more complicated than it may seem ...-

Note: this story is not ended!

TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee @itsdawnashlie @talesoffairies @janiedreams88 @kiki-krakatoa @yessenia993 @teyamarra @c00lhandsluke @gcchic @arses21434 @orangesickle @entireoranges @jarmin @kathy5654 @martinab26 @thisonekid @thenibblets @perfectly-penelope @ambrosiaswhispers @maziikeen92 @lovelukealvez @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @ichooseno @ megs2219 @rkt3357 @franklintrixie @thinitta @chewwy123 @skisun @maba84 @saisnarry @myhollyhanna23 @thenorthernlytes

#garvez #penelope garcia #luke alvez #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #BAU team #criminal minds #cm #tara lewis #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #spencer reid #david rossi #stephen walker

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artdjgblog · 4 years

Photo

Innerview: Carmen (Editor) / HOW Magazine

April 2008

Image: Gummi Bears (Disney, 1985-1991)

Note: Email Q&A

Question:

My interest is piqued a bit about the year you took off–why you did that, how you spent it, how it affected you, what you learned, etc.

Answer:

At the end of the past several years, I’ve been starting each new twelve month set with a list of what I learned in the previous. Items from this past year (2006) include: Things DJG Realized in 2007 -I found out that LOL in an email does not mean “Lots Of Love”. -I still get weird when I see LOL in an email even though I know what it means. -I realized I officially dislike the use of emoticons in emails sent to me. -I learned that internet “Phishing” does not involve jam bands and hippies. -I found out how to copy and paste pictures into myspace blogs. -I like to read about stuff on www.wikipedia.org. -I think that body spray is kinda cool. -I don’t think it’s cool to keep my mouth open when spraying Old Spice. -I am thankful for blow dryers with longer locks in winter. -I still love “Gummi Bears”, but it’s still not as cool as when i was eleven. -I love Chick Peas. -I don’t love Chick Pee. -I found out how I like my steak. -I don’t like pants pleats. -I can go on a diet and lose weight. -I like the way Chinese food smells in colder weather. -I feel that New York City is a very comfortable place because nobody stares. -I don’t like New Jersey (or turnpikes). -I can swim in the ocean and it is fantastic fun. -I found out the hard way that salt water really is salty. -I can wear flip-flops. -I don’t like the sound of flip-flops. -I like Branson. -I still don’t like to do laundry. -I learned what the clothing pattern “Hounds Tooth” looks like. -I can’t help but think of the ’84 Olympics logo when I see the pattern. -I don’t have to say “Yes” to everything. -I lose faith in my fellow man three days out of seven. -I am not a perfect person though either. -I get more and more irritated and more easily the older I get. -I have stopped sympathizing for those who know how to make terrible decisions. -I am trying to enjoy the little things in life…even if it’s a bad meal. -I have the same brain functions I had when I was five, just more polluted now. -I can’t stay up late like I used to and function properly. -I realized that sleep is an important ingredient to a healthy life. -I can get up at 5:00 am every day and enjoy it greatly. -I am a morning person when it comes to ME, alone and with a handful of hours. -I love to watch old movies in the early morning with a blanket and a kitty or two. -I am a “Glass Half-Empty” kind of guy. -I can never do, make or learn enough. -I study better and actually enjoy it now that my college loan is almost paid for. -I am starting to dress like my Dad and I like that. -I learned that Shadow meows quite frantically when ready to leave the basement. -I really warmed up to Alfred Hitchcok, Werner Herzog and David Lynch movies. -I can really relate to the movie “Punch-Drunk Love” and it is my favorite movie. -I love cashews. -I even like pecans. -I love squash. -I really like to hunt deer. -I enjoy writing. -I am no lecturer. -I get worn out easier now and realize when I need a break. -I feel more comfortable when I get to church late and leave early. -I can relate to the hit TV show “Friends” now (that I’m older) and actually enjoy it. -I like the original “Star Trek” series. -I like the television show “Angel”. -I love to start my Sundays with “CBS Sunday Morning”. -I am glad I no longer buy comic books regularly because I would be broke. -I still can’t get enough books, movies and music…so it all evens out the wallet. -I have stopped apologizing for my personal preferences in pop-culture. -I am getting more used to the idea of the MP3 and the digital music world. -I don’t really enjoy a live concert setting anymore in the majority of circumstances. -I learned to read and match the (+) and (-) signs on battery operated gadgets. -I love the feeling of coming home to my house, wife and kitties. -I still don’t know how to say properly for example, “Two pair, or two pairs of socks”. -I still have bad English and grammar…regardless of age, location and knowledge. -I have learned if it works, change it (especially in concern of my own work). -I learned that I am not a real graphic designer in standard weights and measures. Several important items stand out on this list that pertains to my year of slowing down the design machines and refueling… -I get worn out easier now and realize when I need a break-I can get up at 5:00 am every day and enjoy it greatly. -I have learned if it works, change it (especially in concern of my own work) -I don’t have to say “Yes” to everything -I learned that I am not a real graphic designer in standard weights and measures -I can never do, make or learn enough I ended 2006, my most fruitful in productivity and success, with extreme exhaustion and a head polluted with design takeover. And the near-death of my Grandfather frazzled me as well. Some would find a “head polluted with design takeover” as a good thing, and maybe when you’re naive to it…maybe? A realization of this can out-weigh on the full scale of the daily spectrum though. Also, a string of a few strung-out disappointing projects and disappointed clients pointed all arrows at the fact that DJG was starting to show some burnout and bitter. This scared me. Though, it was even scarier to just up and stop what I’ve started and worked so hard to build. Ultimately, my goal has always been to do the things that I’m doing full-time, and stopping all of a sudden would turn back the clock a bit on that. I just had to realize that what I had built was there all along and will always be, and only on the right kinds of full tanks of fuel. True, I’m a relatively young man, but in my early-early days of mining this strange, loopy-lop design odyssey, I never thought of burnout ever being an option on the design iron man meter. When you start to tackle anything, you’ll do most anything to make it happen. I had fire (and have had it for many years), even if it was threatened to be snuffed out by a couple of day jobs on top of it…i had a torch. I once swore that I wouldn’t stop until my skull was spilled (and I still believe this in some light). But, now it’s getting a little bit harder to perform with age settling in and being married…and trying to be more responsible. You know, life stuff? A major factor on most anybody’s tool belt is TIME. I just didn’t have a way to manage it properly anymore, even though I felt I had more than I used to. Add this to being a little annoyed and frustrated with the shaping of the design world and I didn’t feel too well about myself and what I was doing anymore. Back to my string of disappointing projects and clients…I know I can’t please everybody, but I do my best and give my all. Even though I make maybe twenty or thirty or forty bucks on average pop, I give everything I’ve got for something even so throw-away as a concert poster. I’ve somehow landed a comfortable position within the realms of the things I make, that I somehow have gotten a nice little pile of press, and I haven’t had much bad press at all (at least from all that gets passed down to me). And it’s not that I need press, but, it’s nice to share this stuff when I can, and again, ultimately I want to do this full-time and it’s hard to get there without press! Bad press and critiques are appreciated and needed for the most part, but there is a level of maturity and knowledge that must come with that from both parts. And I was on the receiving end of a couple that were pretty brutal and uncalled for, considering that I was getting paid twenty bucks or less. And being that I am extremely critical on myself, and at the same time really enjoy my little works, it can be hard to heal some sliced fingertips. People are taking themselves way to seriously too (though, haven’t they always?). It’s like they threw all their toys away right when the clock marked thirteen, along with any pinch of heart they once had…discarding and disguising all that miracle grow that helped them grow. The stress of cramming the work in-between the day job and life stuff and having to deal with people on top of that was beginning to roll me over. Situations like this should tell a person rather quickly which guns they need to stick with. Mine have always been constant cannons, so it was almost too late before it registered completely with me. And I must say this now, I’ve had some incredible clients and a few bad apples are just part of the crippled ladders in the design orchard. But, still they just hit at the right-wrong time for me. I pretty much can make whatever the heck I want and when I want and I pretty much have complete parental rights to my work. Though, that is getting increasingly harder with the land of computers and everybody thinking they are a graphic designer because they can change the decorations on their blog and have the ability to pass a digital file labeled “NOT FOR PRINTER” to the printer anyway without my consent (this is rare anyway as I don’t do a lot of professional print projects). That’s all fine and dandy and just the shape of things in a whole different story of communication all together. But, the idea of the graphic designer just doesn’t get much respect these days. Maybe it’s always been like this? I don’t know. I could just tell that in my little area this was true OR, I was just getting old and bitter. Also, with this web 2.0 world, or whatever the heck version it’s on now, my main work, the ageless poster piece, is starting to show it’s age as everybody gets their information from myspace and other blogs. I’m guilty just the same as I’m more of a comfortably spoiled house cat than anyone. So, really, I feel that most design work I see around has become more for decoration or afterthought (similar to the bulk of moviemaking). Though, isn’t all design decoration in some way? My primary area of work has been in the independent music industry. It’s a path that I happened to fall into and found a connection with. And after many lack-of-heart feelings coming home from well-oiled design studio meat market visits in design school, I wanted my own thing or a quick exit. I wanted what was coming out of my system, to be of my own system, as I’m very protective of my work like a mother bird. I wanted something that gave somebody a “something” and in-turn something that gave me back something inside…and all of that gushy stuff. The music scene in general hasn’t been in my heart like it once had when I started this. Maybe because I barely have enough time to slide down for design that it’s easy for me to neglect the music side? I still love music and devour it daily. Though, my first involvement was more one-on-one with bands and I was always going and going, which gets harder as I grow older. I really enjoy being at home now and ever since early childhood, I’ve enjoyed locking myself up or out, and making things. I don’t go to many concerts anymore because I tire easily, most live music settings push my buttons rather quickly, and I am not in a position to network like I once was. And thank the good lord of Full House that I don’t live in poverty anymore with about ten musician roommates. It was fun for the first few months and I consider those days very crucial and special to my development, in a strange way. Though, I consider all days very crucial to my development…in a strange way. It can be mighty discouraging when some musicians I work for tell me that they don’t see the point in trying to achieve an artistic endeavor on the side of a full-time day job. This is the biggest kick to the pants. The same person who shucked the day job responsibility and overall, ability to pay the rent and his graphic designer has told me this. It made me feel like a fool and worthless. Due to my situations and relationships (it’s certainly not my charisma or good-bad looks) I’ve never had to promote my design work at all (well, except for competitions and magazines which cost more money than what I make in a year). Getting the work has never been an issue for me. I’ve never had to promote myself or throw myself on inbox door stoops before now. People, projects and inquiries have somehow come to me. Though, an obvious global positioning has thrown a wrench in this and I don’t get out much. However, even when I used to get out, I didn’t work myself around by any means. I’ve always believed in the work speaking for itself and I’ve always believed that early success can lead to early exits. I’ve felt that I’ve needed to earn my design stripes on my painting shirt, like a Dalmation dog earns its spots. I’m now finally at the still sheepish point where I’m learning the values of shameless self-promotion and taking all that I’ve built and have been sitting on to work smarter, not harder. Though, I still plan to work my hardest. It’s hard though because whatever small amount of time I have, I try to make something new with that, as opposed to rubbing knee-caps. And I really don’t care to go to my own art openings or other shows because I’d rather be home creating or studying instead of looking at old news. I get a little strange at art shows. Sometimes I end up being disappointed all together. A like-minded friend, Chad T. Johnston (a writer) and I, have been working non-stop of late because approaching 3.0, we both feel that we have a lot more to say in this short life and we hope to whip our day job blues in order to work smarter, not harder and fill up the spit cans with what we’ve got to say. Through our conversations I’ve realized that I have said a lot in this small amount of time with design so far. And my lot is not full yet by any means. I’m still young. I took a good look at the past 6 years and realized that I’ve fulfilled most every goal that I had marked in my opening day cement. Though, I think that if I were to die today that I would day satisfied in certain lights, but not within my own personal paper trail I hope to leave imprinted on the Earth. I have much more work to do here. I suppose though I haven’t done too bad compared to other brackets. And some days it’s all just out of my hands. But, I don’t believe in sitting on them. Before 2006 hit, I used to think I could spin these design wheels fast and forever. I was wrong. Early last year I just didn’t care anymore for popping the bubbles on the asphalt. I’ve always been very much in tune with what I put to paper, but I also felt like the work was definitely headed in the direction of, more for me instead of for my clients. I enjoy making things for people greatly and the great relationships I’m able to share with my clients, beyond a poster, logo or CD design (heck, I get invited to birthday parties and everything). But, it can become dangerous for a designer when the work starts to take over and becomes more important than the cause…when the designer becomes the cause. Of course, why do the work at all if you don’t like it? I love what I do and it’s medicine for me in strange ways. And it means a lot to me when people stop to take a thought or a giggle home with them because of something I’ve bent my back over in the basement. It still baffles me that I have a small following of eyes attracted to my silly things and that people say there is “something” to the something I’m saying. Though, this can become dangerous when crossing personal paths upstairs. And I don’t know of anybody in this life who doesn’t have tugs of war of whatever sort they might be kicking out their insides. It’s a hard wrestle when you know you have the potential to be sitting on a bit more golden colored eggs than the average man-child in his basement, but not know how to get them to hatch and/or how not to suffocate them. And sometimes you want to settle for bronze because then so many people won’t see you standing there. Every semester for the past five years the handfuls of professionals and mostly students, randomly contacting me has swelled. This means so much to me that these little things that are trickling out are flying about and popping bubbles with their beaks to make new bubbles for thought and inspiration. At the same instance it gets me crazed because I have to keep this up, even when I don’t feel like it on some days. So, my portfolio has gained a lot of weight, but do I make any money? That answer is NO…and I knew that one coming in, so no surprises there. I’m in my seventh year of this game (in a professional manner) working full-time day jobs on top of my passions. Some past pavements even found me with a part-time job on top of the day-time job and then saving the nights and weekends for design (and a girlfriend too). So, the issue is not about a lack of work ethic, passion or drive, nor is it a lack of ideas or imagination. I’ve don’t believe in having a lack for any of that. And designers that do have an issue in those areas need to possibly reconsider what they’re doing. But, with me it’s been more the issue of a fire being lit. Interesting enough, it takes fire to keep it lit and to burnout with. It’s just a healthy balance that you’ve got to keep tending to. So, I realized that whether I made things for myself or for others, I would pretty much even it out as I don’t make any money and I’m still making and doing the things that I love and enjoy and need to be doing. So, there is nothing to lose there in some fashion. This is something I have learned…balance. Last year I still had a few loose ends and commitments to fulfill. But, after learning to finally say “NO” to a few new projects coming in (which is very hard for me), I started to just do things completely for myself, for me and the basement and my wife and the kitties to only see. I didn’t stop producing, I just took it a different direction. I’m also in the process of spitting out some writings and special little projects with a few others that will be trickling around one of these days. I suppose I’ve always felt more in kin with old folk artists or the older generation(s) of designers/illustrators than younger graphic designers in my approach and ethic. I’m not really sure, and I’m not a fan of labels other than a “maker of things”. I just wish to make the things that need to come out of me and share them with others if need be. Back to TIME…without having time to fully spend with the development for some of my more important design children, and with the lacking ability to muster through multiple all-nighters like I once did, I needed to find a healthier balance. I’ve learned that a lack of sleep will catch up with you eventually. So, I switched roles and started getting to bed early and up early. My day job doesn’t need me until 9:00am, so that gave me a solid four hours (I walk four blocks to work, so no travel time), minus thirty or forty minutes of dish washing, eating breakfast and getting ready. For the first four or five months I did nothing but read books for the first hour in the morning and the rest of the time I tinkered with little things here and there or filled up on movies. I also took back my time at the day job by not eating lunch with the rest of the office. Instead, I changed up my lunch time all together and started eating at 3:00 or 3:30 in the afternoon. Even this little shift in scheduling helps build self-control and strength. AND, i was tackling a diet and being that I like to be alone, it helped me to find some peace in the work place and to keep filling up the uncovered wagon w/sideboards at the all I can eat pop-culture buffet by way of books. It’s always been filling up. If I’m not doing anything, I have to be doing something. There is just not enough time in the day for everything I wish to devour. But, I try my best. It’s hard at first, but, after a week or so I looked forward to waking up at 5:00am. As I would hit the pillow, I couldn’t wait to get up for myself. In the past I had always hated going to sleep because it meant that I had to get right up and get to work for somebody else. I would roll off the couch in my janitorial outfit on a few hours of sleep and immediately walk out the door. Getting up for myself was like a new life for me, up with my own crickets. There is something almost dream-like about being awake in the early morning hours before most everybody else is crawling out of the sheets. It’s that time of day when the possibility of the prayers getting to the last of the line first, is a greater than. I’ve always thought that even though I can be too entertained when I’m alone and with my work, I’m still not completely alone in my scribbles in the big picture. I guess it’s my way of worship to a much bigger palette? There is almost a “last man standing” position of feeling, in a sense(s) to getting up in the early a.m. for me as well. It’s not too unlike an old “Twilight Zone” episode. It’s easy for me to day dream of being the only person left, just sitting in my basement making things because it’s so easy for me to spend a lot of time alone and I enjoy it. Though, then I get to the food issue. I don’t want to eat my cats or wonderful Millie. So, I would need a vast supply of well-kept hot dogs or something? Perhaps my farm boy roots are digging into me of late as well with getting up and into my fields early. I guess I’m a young whipper-snapper. I think that if I ever manned a fully-staffed studio, I would have it start really early and we’d crank out stuff like mad. My dirt feels fresher in the mornings without the junk clouds of the day following me. When I’m at my day job all I want to do is go home and make stuff. And I’ve been blessed with the jobs that I have had, as some have found me sweeping parking lots and literally digging thru junk clouds and bringing stuff home to create with. And…they’ve been pretty good jobs! Heck, at one of my janitorial positions, I had some free time on a few occasions to make posters. I’ve worked in data entry work the past two years and of late have been playing the spoiled meat in a cubicle sandwich. It’s a great job, but many days I can’t focus because I feel stuck and the fact that I’m too self-involved and can’t sit too still in my own mind or concentrate can boil quick. It can be triumphant, yet very troubling to carry this. My after school special isn’t reserved for a certain slot of time. I’m always on the inside jungle gym. Though, after an eight hour day of chasing another man’s dream, it can be hard to have the muster sometimes to come home and want to do much for me…especially the older I get. This happened just the other day as I couldn’t sit still at work for the pile I could be creating at home. I finally got home and I was so dog gone tired and defeated. Many days of this can ruin a man, but it’s got to be worth fighting for and in some odd cases can be fuel. And it’s alarming to see the time stack up and be filed away when you’re working for somebody else. It’s easy to put the personal goals and cares on another branch and just wish the weeks away fast. So, getting up early and wittling out a chunk of time on my tree, was a very crucial foundation to a much healthier life and helped dust the frame(s) for me. Another thing that I wanted to do was make overall life changes and diet. Working non-stop, not sleeping and not eating well starts to speak pretty quick and I wanted to whip this before it got serious later in life. Now, I’m not guaranteed the next paragraph, but I want to make this one I’m in right now lead up to it in whatever formal best manner that I know best. Though, shortly after taking grooming classes at age eleven in 4-H, I stopped tucking in my shirt and combing my hair. So, here I am. It’s taken me many months (heck, 29 years) of wrestling and hair tugging of who am I and what the heck am I doing. And I think that I don’t think I can turn it off. What is the conclusion? Well, I am not finished by any means. I always plan to be making my best work as I see myself a work in progress, though I see myself as my only competition too. I’m always cracking my whips. I am at my best when I am alone and making things and it can turn to bad as well. It’s just a matter of a healthier balance of everything else to where I don’t dive too far into DJG. Though, maybe if I just work hard enough I can get a special spot out by the back dumpster up there next to the much-bigger, name-tagged cubicles in design heaven? Who knows? I do know that I am just a man first thing. Second, I am a man who happens to make things. I believe I borrowed that from another man who made things once, but I can’t find whose fingernails it belongs to. Or, perhaps I need to stop thinking and just get to making? -djg

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