#She's kind of like the star of the label and they have no problem granting her every wish as long as she keeps bringing in money | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starship-imzadi · 3 years

Text

S5 E17 The Outcast

Androgyny is defined as having both male and female characteristics so that a specific gender cannot be determined.

Jonathan Frakes has reportedly gone on record to express his belief that Soren should have been cast with a male actor as it would have sent a stronger message. And I absolutely agree.

As it is, Soren identifies as a woman and is played by a woman which is just reestablishing a heteronormative status quo. In fact, all of the credited cast who portray the J'naii are women.

I have a problem with this. Often times the dichotomy of western heterosexual gendering is seen as "the haves and the have nots". E.g. men have body hair, women do not (which is absolutely untrue). Women are emotional, men are not (also absolutely untrue). Women as "the weaker sex" are often seen as "without" and androgyny is sometimes construed as being more "without" because it's supposed to be lacking the characteristics that give definition or.... features that are identifiable as a certain gender. Casting all women to be androgynous is, in a way, sexist for this reason. Though the non speaking and background J'naii are far enough away they seem less defined and more androgynous (some might be cast with men but it's not possible to tell...which is the way it should be).

Okay...so, Riker gets a bad rap for his struggle with pronouns and misgendering BUT what he's doing is actually incredibly important and valuable. Riker is canonically an American, heterosexual, cis gendered, Caucasian, male. He is the character that the most privileged, and most represented demographic will see themselves in and relate to. He is put in a position where he doesn't understand the experience of the person opposite him, he's trying his best and he makes mistakes, but he's also demonstrating that he's open to learning.

I've also seen some small uproar, especially from younger viewers (I'm looking at anyone born after the year 2000) over the writers not using they/them pronouns "I do not think there is really a translation". It is true that "they" as a pronoun to refer to a non specific person in common speech has been in use since the time of Shakespeare. Up until women's suffrage in legal context the pronoun used was "he" without specifically meaning a man. I.e. those pronouns were place holders for an unknown person regardless of gender or sex. Non masculine or feminine pronouns used to refer to a known individual is a slightly different story. There have been many different pronouns developed and used to greater or lesser extent through the entire 20th century (e.g. Hir or Xe) However, none of them really caught on for regular use across the entire language. "They" has been adopted most successfully because it is already in the language but its prominent use and acceptance wasn't until between approximately 2013 and 2015. This episode aired in 1992.

I really like that early on Soren and Riker are given an established shared interest. Too often on this show two people are put together....and it's not clear why they like each other. In such a short span of time it's tough to establish a believable new relationship, but this is a good first step.

They've known each other two days? It is reminiscent of "The Masterpiece Society" just a few episodes ago where Troi started to fall in love after five days. (Maybe they're both just very loving people.)

Also, in the midst of the misgendering, I'm pleased that the writers (or whoever) chose for Riker to use "he" because it plays against this species that's supposed to be androgynous but... Have a tendency to look feminine.

Riker's dad had a recipe for split pea soup...I wonder when he ever cooked it though. Riker mentions that it's good for cold Alaskan nights and it's the second episode in recent memory of his mentioning that he's from Alaska (the other was "Conundrum") I can't actually remember it being mentioned prior to that episode.... though there's a good chance it was established in the "Icarus Factor" and i know it's mentioned again in "Lower Decks"

A lot of the focus on this episode from fans seems to be on Soren being transgender but the J"aii are also homosexual. Riker and Soren have two different paradigms that are represented as neither worse nor better nor even given a moral label, they're just different. (Although, the J'naii's insistence that Soren cannot be male or female in gender or sex, is clearly meant to be the reciprocal of any insistence by humans that we can only be male or female in gender and sex.)

"I like one who's intelligent, sure of herself, who I can talk with and get something back. But the most important thing of all, she has to laugh at my jokes."

This conversation has a great sub text: different men like different things in women (and vis versa) so for someone to even identify as "heterosexual" doesn't mean every member of a different sex is attractive to them. And it begs the question: why are so many people with different qualities all under the same gender "umbrella"?

I've seen screen caps of Soren asking about human male genitals but they only show Riker's surprise. Really he deserves more credit because he handles the question really well. The way he handles everything very kindly and graciously, and the fact that Soren continues to ask questions, is a real testament to the safe place that he makes for discussion and curiosity.

There's some... dark humour in how Star Trek talks about misogyny and sexism. It's one of the notable hypocrisies and failings in star trek: to talk about a better future, while still operating on damaging ideals, and without any real idea of the journey it would actually take for society to reach "better". Both Gate and Marina had struggles with how they and their characters were treated compared to the men.

Oh boy. Worf's sexism fluctuates a lot, but when they need someone to be a misogynist, Worf is the go to and it's always painful. And Data asks the innocent, child-like questions. With a scene like this there are unfortunate reflection on some of the characters BUT the main purpose of the scene is, a slightly heavy handed, means of proposing different view points for representation and comparison. It's not really about the characters at all.

I'll say just from experience with that long hours spent working together will create some sort of bond for pretty much any two people. Love or other wise.

This scene is clearly about Soren coming out to Riker. And he takes it as kindly as he has everything else so far.

Geordi has a beard! (LeVar apparently grew it for his wedding)

"good hunting commander"

"thank you sir. See you for dinner." Do Riker and Picard have dinner together? (I love a good found family shared meal).

I really like this scene between Will and Deanna.

"well this one looks like you" with the teddy bear absolutely gets me every time. And Deanna's side look! I love their friendship and comfort together.

"You're my friend and I thought... I don't know, i thought I should tell you."

"I'm glad you did"

"Nothing will change between us, will it?"

"Of course it will. All relationships are constantly changing. But we'll still be friends, maybe better friends. You're a part of my life, and I'm a part of yours. That much will always be true."

This really hits home. Regardless of the label for their relationship, regardless of the details of the boundaries of their relationship, Troi is affirming for Riker that they are important enough to each other, that he is important enough to her, that she will stay in his life and keep him in hers. In a way this touches on what was established way back "Haven". The characterizations were still being sorted out to a large extent, but when Troi was due to be married Riker thought he was losing her and Troi ask him "i am no longer imzadi to you?" But even as much as they love each other, Riker isn't taking for granted that Troi will stay in his life once he becomes involved with someone. Troi is assuring him, promising to him, that she will stay. And the fact that Riker went to her, to tell her about him and Soren, was his way of demonstrating to Troi that she is still important to him, and that he wants to keep her in his life too.

Props to Riker for protecting Soren. Not only did he keep her secret he tried to help her preserve it.

This is a really good and impassioned speech that, even though its clearly about legislation against homosexuality, doesn't feel over the top like a lot of star trek speeches can. It's probably one of the better speeches not given by Picard.

This is the second episode in a row Riker has gone to Picard for guidance...kind of.

It's kind of sweet that Worf offers as a friend to help Riker jeopardize his career, for the sake of someone important to him, even though he doesn't like or understand the J'naii.

In the end, the Enterprise must maintain its status quo, so much like "The Host", there had to be a reason then love interest cannot stay. Even if the reason is honestly so disheartening and sad. I genuinely believe Riker cared for Soren, and this is so devastating. This was probably the best single episode relationship in terms of development.

Picard is so gentle and subtle with Riker.

Engage (!)

8 notes · View notes

feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter twenty-nine: somewhere upstate

The next day, Sam knocked on Bill's door during her lunch break. She figured that it was best to merely get it all out of the way before she moved onto the real important work, like her homework for her general classes and the suggestion that she and Belinda needed to make for leather crafting. Meanwhile, Belinda herself had told her to meet up with her and Marla right around then: she hoped that this meeting would remain quick and concise lest she miss a lunch hour with her best girl friends.

“Come on in,” he called out from behind the panel; and she opened the door to find that he had not a single leaf of paper or a book to find be found anywhere on the surface of his desk. He did however signed onto something on the page before him on his lap. He then raised his head for a look over at her.

“Miss Shelley!” he declared at the sight of her, and he gestured to the chair before the desk. “Have a seat.”

She took her purse off of her shoulder and rested it on her lap once she had sank down in that wobbly chair. She shuffled her feet underneath her and she peered all around her: it had been only one of a handful of times that she had gone into his office. The other times she had gone into there for an appointment it was to sign up for classes or check up on her grant, and thus her heart pounded at the thought of something possibly serious happening there in the office.

“So what'd you want me to do for the senior project?” she began.

“Well, I figure that since—you're doing excellent in your classes,” he started, and he tucked the page away in his drawer in front of him, “that you could have a little sneak peek into it. I think it can genuinely get you ahead of the curve of everyone else.”

Sam shifted her weight in her seat. This had come onto her so fast that it almost felt like a betrayal of everything that she had worked for, and it also made her realize that school was about to end soon: another year and she would be out on her own as far as she knew, and she wondered what on earth she could do with an art degree besides working at a record label, where she kept her art closeted away from the world and those curious about it. But then again, Bill was her counselor: he helped out with signing up for new classes prior to the new quarter each and every time like clockwork: she never really put too much thought into it, either. Always a pop in and then she was out with a brand new schedule in a manner of five or ten minutes.

But perhaps he had some insight into it all at the end when the time came for her to walk across that stage.

“When do you think we can do it?” she asked him in a low voice.

“Well, I'm thinking that—since this is your junior year—” He pointed his finger down at the desk's surface, and she spotted a big fat golden ring on his pinky finger, something she had never seen before her in life. “—it won't be until next summer, the summer prior to your senior year. And I found out that it's next August.”

“Oh, wow. So plenty of time to figure it out.”

“Absolutely, absolutely. There's just one tiny little drawback, though.”

“What's that?”

Bill cleared his throat.

“I'm gonna need you to come with me out to California for it,” he said in a low voice, to which she frowned at that.

“With you?”

“Yes. Because I'm your counselor and also the driving force behind it.”

“And we have to actually go out to California, too?” she demanded, stunned. “Like—actually have to pick up everything and move to a new coast?”

“Yes. How long, I don't know. But it's part of the project, though.”

Sam let out a long low whistle. On one hand, it made sense to her. She had been wanting a change of pace and a break away from the tedium of going to school and checking in at work every other week. But then again, she had pitched a tent in New York City. This was her home, the place to call her own. To leave now would be insanity, and so soon after she had moved into the new apartment in Hell's Kitchen with Marla.

“Is—there a problem?” he gingerly asked her.

“Well—see, I just moved to a new place, not even a couple of months ago. I'm also just getting settled in, too. I would have to pick up again and take Marla with me.”

“Marla's got her own thing to deal with—this is between you and me, though. You are my star student and potentially a great artist who can be seen for centuries, Miss Shelley.” Sam squirmed in her seat when she thought about how closeted her art truly was in comparison to what Bill had seen in the past. As far as she knew, he only saw that one journal she had made in order to get into the school, thus it felt so sudden and so quick as well.

“Again, it's a ways off,” he continued, “but it's definitely something that I wish to do. With you. You have the Midas' touch, Miss Shelley. Whenever I speak with Miss Estes, she always praises you. And thus, I would love to work with you some day.”

She swallowed and nodded her head. At least she could trust the word of one of her long time teachers, and the one who organized the nude drawing of Cliff in the year before, too. But at the same time, something about the whole thing made her squirm in her seat. Maybe it was the lack of anything important on his desk or the huge ring on his finger never seen before, but something didn't feel right. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

“Tell you what,” he started again as he folded his hands over the overly clean surface of the desk, “I will sit in with you in one of your classes this semester—and I will make observations. And if you are fit enough for it, we can talk more about it. Because you don't look very comfortable right now, and I want you to be comfortable.”

She thought of all the things she had said to Joey before, all about him being comfortable. But at the same time once more, she had to trust him and take his word for it.

“When do you plan on doing that?” she asked him.

“What, sitting in?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm thinking closer to Halloween or somewhere around then. You know, so you're in the midst of it.”

“You're not gonna tell me what date, though, are you?”

“I want it to be a surprise,” he insisted, and that coaxed a chuckle out of her, albeit a nervous one; but he never changed his expression once for her. “But I will in fact do it, though.”

“Okay. So—I'll be on the lookout for you?”

“Now, now, you do that, you put yourself up for scrutiny and you hinder yourself all the while. I want to see you free flowing in your creativity. I want to see you in your element.”

She then sighed through her nose and relaxed her shoulders a bit, which she realized she had been hunching that whole time. She shifted her weight again, that time to relieve the pressure on her back.

“But I'll still be ready for you, though,” she insisted.

“Of course! I look forward to it, Miss Shelley.” He extended his hand for her and she took it for herself: his grip was rather lax, but not limp like a floating fish; thus it made her feel as though she was the one too strong. They stood their feet in unison and she turned a bit towards his desk: she spotted a framed photograph tucked away right behind him, one she had never seen before of two young girls, one with rich black hair and one with towheaded blonde hair.

“Never seen that picture before,” she pointed out, and he turned around to it.

“Oh, yeah! Those are my daughters—Matilda and Cassandra. Mattie and Cassie, if you will.”

She paused for a second.

“Wait, I didn't know you had kids,” she pointed out, to which he shrugged.

“They—kind of have a life of their own with their birth mother. I haven't been able to see them since they were born.”

“Oh, I see.”

“I just have this picture of them, but sometimes it's—a little hard to look at. So I always make sure to sit in front of it because—it can—it can hurt at times.”

She tilted her head to the side. Maybe she was wrong about him, especially if the despondent look upon his face was anything to go by.

“Where do they live?” she asked him.

“Out in California, believe it or not. Los Angeles area—and your neck of the woods believe it or not. Around Lake Elsinore.”

“Wow!” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Wouldn't it be something if you got to see them again, though? You know, during the project?”

“Yeah,” he softly said, and the look of despondency turned into one of thoughtfulness, “yeah, it definitely would be something.” He fell silent for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. “Well, I have a couple more people to talk to and a phone call I have to make.”

“Okay—I'm supposed to be meeting Marla and Belinda for lunch right now.”

“Say 'hi' to those two girls for me,” he called after her as she left the office.

She kept the whole thing in mind for the rest of the day, and in turn for the rest of the week until she remembered that she and Joey would have the weekend all to themselves. On that Friday afternoon, and when Marla still had one more class left to her helm, she took her seat on the couch right before the coffee table and in front of the usual spot Genie liked to lay on. She leaned back against the cushions and she wondered what exactly he had in mind for those next two days.

She gazed on at that vase on the table, the one that held those yellow tulips. To think that she and Belinda had crafted a series of tulips on Alex's new leather strap. It felt like something right out of a dream, or something that felt like a pure coincidence on Belinda's part. She probably didn't even mean to engrave tulips, however, it felt so obvious to Sam.

She lifted her attention to the shelf on the side of the room, where Marla had put the other square black and white box for the time being.

Inside of that box was that guitar strap that she and Belinda had made for him for his birthday. On the thirteenth, not the next Tuesday but the Tuesday after that, he would turn twenty seven, and the day after Columbus Day no less. Such a strange, faraway number to be, as if life was about to start and end at the same time, and following the date of the man who sailed the ocean blue and pitched a tent on the land of the Indians. The world of the Indians, left to their own whim against him.

She wondered if he would have the same reaction to the guitar strap as Alex did. There was so much she still hadn't figured out with Joey yet, and there behind him stood a whole other world, one that awaited her touch and her artistry. She could bring him to life through her own imagination, but then again, there had to be something more to him. She could guess all that she wanted with her own mind and by the stroke of her own pencil and her black inks.

There stood before her a real man with a full life story, almost twenty seven years worth of it, and she had merely uncovered a small sliver of it. He had a story to tell and one that she was willing to crawl upon for herself. One that she wanted to bring to life through her art.

Sam closed her eyes and thought of Joey himself. Those black curls as they swirled and waved behind his head like the tentacles of an octopus. His slender body wrapped in silken black leather and his large drummer hands tucked into those pockets against the cold bitter winds from the black waters of Lake Ontario. The man was art to her, art and a story that needed to be told to the rest of the world.

Sam was shaken out from her trance by a continuous knock on the door panel. She scrambled to her feet and she threw it open, and there before her stood Joey himself in those snug dark jeans and those black Chuck Taylors tied tight on his feet. His black curls were brushed right behind his head: they glistened under the soft hazy sunlight out there beyond the apartment building. She almost expected to find a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a corsage in lieu of that silver bracelet on his wrist.

“Hi,” she greeted him, and he leaned forward for the kiss on the side of her neck.

“Hi,” he returned the favor, complete with a warm welcoming smile on his face. His brown eyes shone with life and his dark skin was smooth and healthy.

“Oh, my god, you look excellent,” she remarked to him. “Like, healthy.”

“It's what I get for abstaining from the booze for the past few weeks,” he told her. “I'm not even gonna touch it again.”

“Good! That's excellent, Joey.” He then strode into the apartment and ran his fingers through his black curls. “Just realized this is only the second time I've come to your new place. I mention this 'cause it actually took me a little bit to figure out, but—”

“Here you are,” she declared as she gestured for him to have a seat on the couch next to her, and he did just that: he spread his legs a little bit to ease the tightness of his jeans on the upper part of his thighs.

“Now, mind you—this is the last weekend I'm gonna be able to spend time with you,” he told her. “On Sunday night, I gotta get on the next red eye and fly up to Oslo from Syracuse.”

“Oslo! For the European stint of the tour, I presume.”

“Yup, going all the way to Christmas and the girls—the Cherry Suicides—are gonna be with us, too. I guess Metallica is gonna be out there with us, too, at some point. Just not sure when. Charlie knows about it more than I do. And I will say this, though: I'm gonna spend my birthday in Germany, too.”

“Lucky you,” she remarked with a smirk on her face. “Would you like something to eat or drink before we go upstate?”

“Actually I was thinkin' of spending the night here tonight if you and Marla don't mind,” he confessed. “I was gonna tell ya at Alex's birthday party the other day but y'know—there was like no time to do it.”

“Right, right. Well, she's still at school but when she gets home, we can run it by her together.” She then cleared her throat. “Well, seeing as you're gonna be in a far away place for the next bunch of weeks, I might as well give you your birthday present.”

“Oh, boy!” he said with an excited clap of the hands. Sam then turned to the shelf, and took the box off of there, and handed it to him.

“Happy unbirthday,” she told him, and he couldn't resist the chuckle at that. Unlike Alex's neat unraveling, Joey peeled back the paper at the corner of the box like a banana peel and revealed the cardboard interior. Eager, he took off the lid and he raised his eyebrows at what was inside there.

“A belt?” he asked her.

“Guitar strap. When Bel and I were making the one for Alex, we made one for you right next to it.”

“Oh my god,” he breathed out as he lifted the strap right out from its hiding place and set the box off to the side, right on the cushion next to him. His brown eyes caressed over those colorful engravings like a young boy at Christmas.

“First thing I'm doin' when we go back to Camillus is putting this right onto my guitar,” he vowed to her. “This is just—this is beyond beautiful.”

Sam took two steps towards him with her arms wide open and he held her close right there.

She then held back for a better look back at him.

“By the way, I've been meaning to ask you this,” she started, and he gazed up at her with a look of interest on his face, “—why did you pick up a guitar from Dave, but not from Alex? As far as I know and as far as you know, Dave isn't the one who took lessons from Joe Satriani.” And at the drop of the hat, his expression hardened at the sound of Alex's name.

“'Cause Dave doesn't wave it in my face all the time,” he grumbled.

“What do you mean?” she asked with a shake of her head.

“You know, that time when Alex and I got in that scuffle? Like, right before that happened, literally every other word out of his mouth was 'Satriani this' and 'Satriani that' and it got on my nerves so fast.”

“Well, maybe he was just proud of it,” she pointed out. “Maybe he was trying to give himself credibility. I know I would've done the exact same.”

Joey rolled his eyes and shook his head at that. The wound was still very much raw with him, but she didn't want Joey to take her upstate and then have him leave for Europe on a sour note like what happened with Cliff.

Within time, Marla returned to the apartment with a mountain of homework on her end, which left Sam and Joey to their own devices for the night. She was overjoyed when he talked about spending the night with them before he took Sam back upstate with him for a day. She thought about his guitar back at his place, and also if there really was something more to him.

She gazed on at him from the side of the kitchen table as they ate their dinner, right at his side profile, and she thought of the drawing in her journal. More to that man than she had ever believed before. More to the world behind those deep brown irises: that venom originated from somewhere on the earth.

Genie slunk into the room with her tail erect straight from her body and she rubbed on Joey's legs. He reached down so as to stroke the top of her head and she squinted her golden eyes at the feeling of his fingers on her soft black fur. Sam took a glimpse up at the warm little smile on his face as Genie slunk around his ankles and bumped her head right under his knee: all the while, she gave him a loud, contented purr. So much more to this man than she had originally believed before.

After dinner, he helped her and Marla clear the table, and the latter went back into her room to prepare her essay for a class.

“It's only five hundred words, though,” she assured them.

“Five hundred words?” Joey echoed her as he refilled his glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge. “Wish I could write that much, to be perfectly honest.”

“Yeah, you can do it, Marla,” Sam encouraged her. Marla then showed her a smile and she doubled back into her bedroom: she left the door slightly ajar in any which case of them needing her for something, or if Genie wanted to join her in there. Meanwhile, Joey drank down his water in four large gulps and then he turned to Sam with a twinkle in his eye.

“Wanna get some ice cream?” he offered her in a low voice.

“Ice cream?” She gaped at him. “It's kinda late, though, don't ya think?”

“Not at all,” he replied, still with his voice low. “The first time Anthrax went overseas with Metallica and Metal Church we ate ice cream all the time. Well, Danny and I did. We'd go to some place in West Germany and just chow down on the lush ice cream they had there for us.”

“And it is Friday, too,” she pointed out.

“It is Friday, and I'm leaving Sunday night, too. Yeah, let's take a walk down the block. You and me.”

Sam was about to take her purse off of the hook when Joey stopped her right in her tracks.

“No, no—I'll pay this time.”

“Hey, you've actually got money now!” she proclaimed as she fixed her dark hair.

“Hell yeah, I do. It's only gonna get even better with time, too.” He gave her a wink and then he led her outside to the cool, overcast evening. A gentle breeze was blowing through the apartment complexes surrounding them there in Hell's Kitchen: indeed, up the block stood an ice cream parlor, still open just for them.

“You know those songs that Scott left behind for us?” he recalled over the noise of the street. “The ones Charlie shared with us during the auditions?”

“Oh, yeah. Vaguely.”

“During the birthday party, he told me to go ahead and put those down on the new album.”

“You guys are already working on a new album?” she asked him with a bit of glee.

“Yeah, we kinda haveta,” he replied as he moved closer to her on the sidewalk. “Right before Alex left to go upstate, Jon told us that Among the Living is going crazy on the charts right now. We're kinda superstars now, Sam.”

“Pretty soon, you'll do a collaboration with Madonna and Prince!” she joked, and he laughed at that.

“I dunno 'bout Madonna, but Prince would be rad as all hell, though.”

Soon, they reached the ice cream shop and he held the door for her. It was the first time Sam had gone into this place as well, and thus the smell of chocolate and fresh sprinkles welcomed her as if it welcome her home. Joey offered to buy the two of them two large cups of chocolate and vanilla ice cream: him with the rainbow jimmies on top, and her with the big fat chocolate caps.

“Some day we'll have all the ice cream at our every whim,” he promised her as he raised his cup to her, and she clinked the edge of hers against it for a toast. They both dug into their ice cream in unison. Rich and creamy and velvety against her tongue, and the chocolate was perfectly hand in hand with the vanilla and the chips on top.

“Not just all the ice cream in the world but the chocolate as well,” she told him as they stood outside on the sidewalk together. They proceeded to walk on back to the apartment; before they reached the corner, Joey cleared his throat.

“Can I ask you sump'n? Seeing as you're officially my girlfriend now.”

“Sure,” she replied, and then she took another bite. She also realized that, if the project Bill wanted her to do took place out in California, she would have to leave Joey behind, and the very thought of that made her heart sink a little bit. For all she knew, this may have been one of the last times she could walk with him to her apartment together, between his tour and her knee deep in schoolwork.

“Never mind, I'll tell ya later,” he quipped with a wave of his hand. He kept on eating his ice cream all the way until they reached the building a block away from the harbor. She unlocked the door for him and they made their way inside. At that point, it was nearly ten o'clock, but the look of fatigue on his face told Sam that he was ready for bed.

“I'll just crash on the couch,” he told her as he scraped the last bites of ice cream and rainbow sprinkle from the bottom of his cup.

“You sure? My bed's real comfy.” He snickered at that, but he was adamant about it. Once he finished his ice cream, he took his seat on the couch and untied his Chucks. Sam realized he was serious as she finished her ice cream soon enough. She fetched him a blanket and a pillow out from the hall closet, and he stretched out across the couch with his feet up to the opposite arm. She tucked the pillow beneath his head of black curls and he pulled the soft fleece blanket up to his chin.

“You comfy?” she asked him in a gentle voice.

“Yeah.” He snuggled down into the cushions and he showed her a warm little smile. “This is a comfy couch, Sam I am.”

“Zelda slept her when we were all over in England,” she told him. “When Marla, Bel, and I got home, she was out like a light.”

“Wow. Gonna look forward to seein' her again. Her and those three badass chicks.”

“Bring me home something, too, if you can,” she suggested him.

“No need to tell me,” he assured her. “I already have sump'n in mind for ya.” He flashed her another wink which he then followed with a little grin.

“Good night, Joey,” she told him.

“G'night, Sam,” he replied back. She stood to her feet and made her way over to the lamp. She knew Marla was still up but she needed to give Joey his darkness; thus she switched it off for him. Using the light from Marla's bedroom at the far end of the hall, she crept on back to her own room.

“Sam?” Joey started out of the blue.

“Hm?” She froze right in place.

“Can I ask you sump'n?”

“Sure.” She could make out the outline of the couch as well as the sides of his face and his black curls. “Seeing as you didn't on the walk home...” She knelt down before the couch, right in front of his face.

“How would you feel if I asked you for a kiss good night?” he asked her in a near whisper. “Y'know, seeing as Marla's not gonna bother us at all.”

“I'd love to give you a kiss good night,” she confessed, and without another moment's hesitation, she leaned into his face and pressed her lips onto those smooth dark ones. As smooth as silk, as decadent as the very chocolate she had eaten in the few moments prior to then, as cool and sweet as the very ice cream they had eaten up.

“Good night, Joey,” she told him right into his face.

“C'mon, gotta do better than that,” he insisted. She gave her hair a toss back and she leaned into his face once more, that time for a bigger heartier, longer kiss on the lips. She held there for a few seconds before she rested her hands on either side of his face: his skin was soft and healthy to the touch. He let out a soft groan from his throat at the feeling.

“Not with Marla in the next room,” she whispered to him.

“Damn it. Okay.”

She gave him another kiss before she ran her fingers through the black curls upon his head out of affection. She headed back to her room for the rest of the night: once she walked in through the door, the fatigue settled over her as well. It wasn't that late and yet she felt ready for bed herself.

She was quick to undress and change into her camisole and her pajama shorts, and then she strode across the hall in order to brush her teeth. Even with the tooth brush and the spearmint, she could still taste Joey on her lips. Even as she crawled into bed and switched off her light, she could still taste him there.

Sam lay her head down on the pillow and closed her eyes. The mysterious man in her dreams lay down next to her there in bed, with his head propped up in the palm of his hand and his eyes fixed on her. His body was a lot more shapely than she had originally imagined him to be, especially when held next to the darkness of her room.

“So much is happening right now,” he whispered to her.

“Too much is happening right now,” she confessed.

“It's alright, though—just don't erase me is all I ask of you.” She rolled her head over the surface of the pillow for a look into his eyes but he vanished into the thin air of sleep. She drifted into a dreamless realm and she awoke to the sound of Marla laughing at something in the next room.

Sam was quick to crawl out of bed, and she made her way into the living room to find Joey had fallen off of the couch and Genie lay down on the small of his back.

“Oh, dear,” Sam declared. Joey then lifted his head from the carpet and he stared up at her and Marla with the sleep still very much riddled in his eyes.

“I almost don't even wanna get up,” he admitted to them, but Marla stooped down and picked Genie off of him, and held her close to her chest. It was still early, given the gray light from the rising sun filtered through the filmy curtains on the far side of the room and Joey was still rather sleepy as he rolled over onto his back. But he glanced up at Sam with an eager expression on his face.

“Want me to get dressed?” she asked him, to which he quickly nodded his head.

“And would you like me to take my drawing stuff with me?” she offered him.

“Please!” he insisted with a gesture of his hand.

Within time, and after a cup of coffee all around and hugs from Marla, Sam had dressed and she and Joey headed out the door to his car parked down the block. The rain fell all around them as he led her to the passenger side.

“Don't ask me why but the lock on the driver's side started malfunctioning,” he told her as he unlocked the car. “I can only unlock it from the passenger's side.”

“Huh.” But Sam climbed into the seat and she shut the door behind her. He then climbed into the driver's seat and fired up the car.

Soon he found the way to the freeway out of New York City and onward to the upstate region. The clouds hung low over them with the impending autumnal darkness, but Sam was more than happy to be next to Joey once again. The skyline fell away from them within time and they were met with the open road and the vast stretches of multicolored forest. All manner of red and orange all around them: fall had made its way to the Northeast and in such colorful fashion to boot.

“One of these days,” he began as he took the turn off to Monticello, “and by one of these days, I mean when we get home from Europe—we're takin' you and the girls to go see Iron Maiden. Go see 'em for real.”

“Like actually genuinely for real?” she asked him, to which he nodded right at her for a few seconds.

“Hell yeah, gotta see the Maiden. I guess Zelda really wants to see 'em. I also got sump'n to show ya when we get to the house. You're gonna love it, too.”

The rain continued to fall all around them, even as the sun poked its head out from behind the vast stretch of cloud cover over them. Joey squinted his eyes against the bright glare against the soaked pavement before them.

“Hand me my sunglasses for me, please and thank you,” he told her. “They're in the glove box.”

She took those big mirrored sunglasses out of hiding for him, and he unfolded them with just two fingers before he slipped them on over his big brown eyes. He was silent the whole way up towards the halfway point of Binghamton, but Sam kept her eyes on those dark lips, especially since they were from the side at that point. She thought about the drawing in her journal, the same journal upon her lap as well as the one she handed in to Bill for a place into the school. Joey from the side, with that straight Roman nose and those soft little dark lips.

She still had yet to draw him out again for a stained glass drawing, and she hoped that she could do it for him by the time they reached his place in Camillus.

By the time they reached the heart of Binghamton and the stoplight at the center of it all, the rain stopped for a moment, but Sam knew more awaited them up ahead. But the sun poked out once again over them as if it welcomed them back home. Joey peered over his sunglasses to the meters behind the steering wheel. Sam peered out the window and she recognized that other head of soft black curls. She recognized that little plume of silver over the crown of his head, even from clear across the street and through the small rivers on the outside of the windows. That little plume stood up high and bright like a little bit of genuine silver in the crisp sunlight.

“Oh, hey, there's Alex,” she muttered: two older people stood before him. They looked to be in line for something. “Alex with his parents.”

“He's a freak,” Joey remarked without looking over to them.

“Who? Alex?”

“Yeah.”

“How so?”

“He's just a freak.”

“Joey,” Sam scoffed.

“What?” He frowned at her from behind the mirrored sunglasses. She stared on at her own reflection in those two lenses.

“He's a good boy and a nice kid,” she insisted. “Yeah, he's a little bit precocious but I can tell you that he's a good kid, though.”

Joey never said anything as he took his foot off of the brake, and they lunged forward along the main artery of the town. Soon, they returned to the highway and made their way forth towards Camillus. The clouds gathered over them and blanketed the sun once more: the rain returned with a vengeance. Joey flicked on the windshield wipers to full force so those little rivulets would stay at bay. Nothing like the monsoon flow out in the California desert, but still something strong enough for him to slow to a crawl at one point.

Sam recognized the Syracuse skyline up ahead, but Joey took another turn off to that little town in question.

“Jesus, this is a lot of rain,” he remarked as he bowed his head and kept his eye on the gages. “I don't think it's ever rained this much in one sitting before here.”

“Remember that one time I came up here?” Sam recalled. “Like last year or something? Same thing happened there.”

“That was a lot of rain in and of itself,” he said with a nod of his head. “But this is like twice that, though. Look at that! I can't hardly see the yellow line between us.”

“Wanna stop?” she suggested to him.

“Nah, I see the signs up ahead,” he assured her. “Thank you, though. If we were closer to Binghamton or even the City, I might'a pulled over.”

They almost crawled back to his apartment, which felt so alien and out of place against the sheer amount of rain all around them. Sam kept her head bowed and her journal tucked under her jacket as she and Joey scurried back to his place. He still had his sunglasses on as he took his keys out of his pocket.

“You got it?” she asked him over the roar of the rain.

“Oh, yeah.”

He almost fumbled the keys but he unlocked the front door. They almost stumbled into the front part of the warm, dry apartment. He was quick to take off his sunglasses and wipe his face with the palm of his hand. Sam shut the door behind her and shook her damp head about.

“Anyways, I gotta show this to ya,” he told her as he gestured over to the kitchen. There on the shiny clean linoleum floor in between the oven and the table there stood a little drum kit, complete with a series of cymbals and a small kick drum with a black head on the front side.

“Mr. Drummer!” she exclaimed, and without sparing another second, he rounded the side of the kit, and took to the stool, and picked up a pair of drum sticks. He had wedged it in such a tight space that she worried about him hitting his knee on the corner of something.

“Lemme show ya how we do things here in upstate,” he said in a loud voice, loud enough for her to hear over the roar of the rain. He clicked his drum sticks together and then made a drum roll for her on his snare first. Then he turned to his biggest splash cymbal. He proceeded on a quick drum line that almost sounded as though Charlie was drumming before her. Joey hardly moved his arms but his feet seemed to bounce on the kick drum.

“One of these days,” he shouted over his own racket, and he hit the splash cymbal once again. He let the reverb of it dissipate before he spoke again. “One of these days—I'm gonna sing while I drum.”

“Go for it, Joseph!” she shouted back to him and he laughed before he hit the cymbal once more. It was as if she had opened up something new with him. Something new and something that she needed to bring to life through art. The tight way in which he moved and the way it was so effortless with him left her in awe, and it left her fingers tingling, itching to draw something for him and only for him.

2 notes · View notes

yeaahishowedupatyourparty · 3 years

Text

THE PARENTHOOD INTERVIEW: Florence.

In all of these interviews, I’m obviously going to have to make things up about other people’s characters! Don’t take it too seriously if you feel like it’s not accurate, just how I picture things being :)

10 QUESTIONS NOT LINKED TO YOUR KID(S).

what is your current career now? “I’m currently a teacher at a dance school. I mainly teach ballet at the moment, but I’ve started moving in to more commercial and contemporary styles. Eventually, I’m hoping to open my own school, but life is hectic and always throwing new things our way, so we’ll see!”

are you enjoying it? “I love being a teacher, especially when I get to teacher the mini-classes. They’re about four and it’s been such a long time since I’ve had children that age around; I miss it!”

where do you currently live? “We currently live in the Springs, it was just convenient because that’s where the three of them went to school but we do make an effort to visit Italy a lot. That’s where Dom’s family are from, firstly, and it’s just always had significance.”

are you married? “Since I was 18! Younger than Daisy!”

what is one thing that’s stayed the same with you since st judes? “My connection with my family. I’m still really close to them all, especially Disney, Florence and Park.”

what’s the biggest change you’ve experienced? “I think I’ve become smarter. I hope? Helping with impossible maths homework for years changes a person. I now know all seven continents. Proud of me yet?”

now that you’re older and have had a successful career, what’s your biggest goal in life? “To make sure I’m present for my family, especially my children. I never want them to look back on their lives and think; well, where was my mother? It’s the reason I gave up work once Carter was born, too. I’ve never missed a sports game, a school show, a birthday, a parent’s evening...It’s not how everybody chooses to live, but it’s important to me that my children know that they can fall back on to me if they need to.”

would you still consider yourself famous? “Only by association, and that’s fine by me.”

what was the first thing you did after your graduation? “I went on tour, would you believe! I choreographed for Ruby’s tour, who was signed to my Dad’s label at the time.”

do you have any regrets about your time in st judes? “Not speaking my mind more often. I feel like there was an awful pressure on girl’s too be sweet and not come across as a bitch, which meant people could say what they liked and you’d have to grin and bear it if you wanted to be seen a certain way. I wish I stuck up for Dom more, and myself.”

QUESTIONS ABOUT PARENTHOOD.

who are your children? list them in age order. “Carter, Peter and Daisy. My babies.”

if you gave birth, who was the easiest pregnancy? if you didn’t, which pregnancy did you feel most anxious about. “Carter was the easiest pregnancy. It was the first, so I didn’t know what to expect and probably took it for granted at the time, but I had no morning sickness. I got up every morning and went to this mother-to-be yoga class and had a ton of energy. I feel like I had the glow everyone speaks of? Being pregnant with Peter wasn’t the worse. I think it was more that I was pregnant and still had Carter to care for, so I was tired. Daisy’s birth definitely had the most complications and she was early. We knew from early on that things weren’t ‘normal’, so I guess that was the one with the most anxiety.”

did you have any baby showers or gender reveals? if yes, what did you do? “I can’t remember if I did gender reveals! I don’t think I did, honestly. I did have baby showers, though. It wasn’t anything major. Just gatherings with close friends and family. It was cute when Peter and Daisy were born because Carter was more involved in the pictures and stuff, and then of course Peter too during Daisy’s one.”

what kind of parent would your children describe you as, do you think? “God, I don’t think I want to know! I think if we’re being honest, they’d say I’m almost overbearing and they’d be right. I wouldn’t be offended. I just like knowing they’re okay...”

which stage was hardest: baby, toddler, child, teenager or young adult? “For Daisy, toddler-slash-child. She wasn’t very well and that was hard on all of us. I think Peter was the trickiest teenager...and for Carter, probably young adult, honestly! He’s coming into his own and it’s harder to get him to open up to me because, you know, he’s an adult! They’re all amazing though, so don’t think for a second any of that means they’ve caused me massive stress in any way.”

what has been your favourite memory with each child? “There are so many! One of my favourites that involves them all was the first year we went skiing with their cousins. Seeing the boys help Daisy out with the skiis...and then also ambush her with snowballs until she got stroppy and ran to Dom, was fun. Seeing them all get along like that never gets old and makes it all worth it.”

be honest, do you think you’ve had any failings as a parent? “Definitely. I constantly blame myself for Daisy being sick when she was little. I’ll forever wonder if I could’ve done anything differently while pregnant or if I did anything to contribute. For both of the boys, I sometimes worry that I didn’t sit with them enough when they were younger and help them talk things through. They’re both such ‘get on with it’ types of people and it’s admirable but I just wish I gave them more opportunities to vocalise their feelings. It gets harder the older they get.”

what do you think you do well as a parent? “I hope it’s being present! Again, that’s something that’s really important to me. If they all know that there’s no such thing as a mistake too big or a problem too bad to bring to me, then I’ve done my job. I don’t want any of them to ever think they have to suffer in silence about things in fear of being told off or yelled at.”

how much involvement do your own parents have in your child’s life? “Quite a bit! My parents used to take them on holiday a lot over the summer along with their cousins.”

as a parent, what is something you’re still learning? “That they grow up and they’re entitled to have thoughts and feelings they don’t share. I think I always have the urge to fix everything for them when in reality, they’re at the age where they’re figuring things out alone which is just as important.”

what’s the funniest memory from parenthood so far? “Carter takes this one. We were on a plane going to, somewhere. Daisy must have been tiny. Anyway, Peter was sat with Dom and Carter sat with me - Daisy on my lap with the baby seatbelt on...and suddenly, he just became overly excited. I’ve never seen him so happy. When I finally got his attention, he was like “Mummy, Santa’s on the plane!” and wouldn’t stop. Well, we looked down the aisle to see a person in a dress...A woman, mind you...And she had long white hair, which to be fair to a little child could have been seen as a beard. Anyway, after the embarrassment and a journey of death glares from her, it’s definitely one of my favourite things he’s done.”

when do you feel like you were needed the most? “Now! Life gets harder as you get older. But, I need to learn when they need me to back off too...I’ll get there.”

JUST FOR FUN, WHICH CHILD… if you have just one child, you can just say if they’d do the stuff or not.

which child is the most sensible? “Carter and Peter are two different types of sensible and they’re both important qualities, so I’m going to say those two. Sorry, Dais.”

which child is the most independent? “Peter. He always has been, too.”

which child did you always have suspicions about being famous one day? “They’re all so talented, typical Mum comment! Maybe Daisy, though. She’d stand in front of the boys while they were playing their video games and belt out Frozen. If that’s not star quality...and bravery, then I don’t know.”

which child was the hardest work as a child? “Daisy, only because of the complications with her health.”

which child have you cried/stressed over the most? “Daisy or Peter. It’s too close to call.”

which child has the tidiest room? “Carter. That’s the easiest one so far.”

which child do you think likes you the most? “I hope they all like me! I feel like Carter’s the one who’ll still pity me and laugh at my jokes or has the patience to show me how to set up crap on the computer too. So, we’ll say him. I know the other two love me too, but I tend to get a few more eye rolls!”

which child is most likely to forget your birthday? “Daisy! She’s been spoilt. The boys have always been nice enough to put her name on cards and organise it for her. Perks of being the youngest? I remember my siblings doing it for me too.”

which child is/was the most academic? “Carter, I think.”

which child is/was the most athletic? “Peter.”

which child tends to be the most annoying? “They all give it a good go, believe me. I think Daisy’s the most unintentionally annoying and again, it’s because we all spoil her. She went through a stage where she would not leave Peter alone and if the poor kid tried to do something by himself, she’d have a full blown tantrum. It got to the point where I had to start giving her time outs! If we’re talking about being intentionally annoying, then the whole family will agree on Peter. If he’s in that mood, he knows exactly how to wind you up...which is funny unless you’re the target!”

which child asks for money the most? “Daisy, but from Dom. That’s his problem to deal with!”

which child is most likely to move in back home? “Deep down, I don’t think any of them will and as much as it pains me, it also makes me really proud. I feel like it means we’ve given them everything they need for the next chapter.”

which child helps out around the house the most? “Either of the boys. Are you noticing a pattern?”

which child enjoyed disney the most growing up? “That’d be Daisy.”

BEING AN ACADEMY PARENT.

did you have a say in the academy(s) your child(ren) picked? “I didn’t! They all made their own decisions and I deliberately didn’t comment because I wanted them to have that.”

how did you feel when your child decided they wanted to go to an academy? “I felt hopeful! I know it can be intense but they all have what it takes and I’m so proud every single day.”

do any of your children study the same as what you did? are they less, equally or more successful than what you were? “Daisy studies dance and she’s miles ahead of where I was at her age. She’s a star.”

when your child(ren) were younger, what did you THINK they’d end up working as? “That’s a good question! I always thought Carter would maybe do something like, helpful? He’s quite social and so caring. I always saw him as maybe a firefighter or teacher, y’know? With Peter, it was obvious from when he was tiny that he wouldn’t be sat behind a desk or doing anything office-like. I did always have a feeling it’d be sports related, or something that lets him travel...Maybe with my brother out in the canary islands. I don’t know! Daisy was in dance from when she was tiny, so I always had the feeling she’d do dance...”

have you met any of your child’s friends or partners? “I’ve met Callie once, I think? And Aurora a few times, yes. Beautiful girls. I won’t say too much or I’ll get texts from my boys saying I’ve embarrassed them.”

what’s your biggest worry about your children being in an academy? “Their mental health. I don’t think anything can prepare you for people suddenly being so interested in your life and wanting a piece of you all of the time.”

what’s the one piece of advice you’d give your child as they start this journey that you wished you had? “That it’s okay to slip off of the radar, you’re allowed to decline that invite to the exclusive party everybody is buzzing about and if you decide it isn’t for you, you’re allowed to leave. If it’s not your thing, there’s a whole world out there and your thing is in it. I just hope they always see the big picture and don’t feel like they’re stuck if they’re unhappy.”

MEMORY LANE.

what tv programmes/films were on repeat as your children were growing up? “Paw Patrol when the boys were younger...Power Rangers was a thing at one stage. Daisy had a frightening obsession with Dora the Explorer. We’ve done it all!”

have you ever lost your child/had something happen that’s made you panic? “Holy shhh. Yes. I used to take all of the kids out a lot during holiday’s and stuff because like, Brody and Disney both worked. Park worked. Imogen worked. Even though they have their own businesses, it’s still work. I was unemployed from when Carter was born right up until when Daisy graduated, so I liked to get them all out and away from their parents for a bit. Anyway! I took them swimming one summer - all of them! - Jay, Daisy, Dixie, Fleur, Pippa, Peter, Carter, Emmett...I turned my back for one second to let one of the younger ones - maybe Pippa - into the pool, when I turned back Peter and Dixie had gone. We searched the changing rooms, the toilets, the sauna. I was on the brink of tears. Anyway, they were hiding under the slide in the main pool which we never went in because it was too deep for any of them at that point. Needless to say, we never went swimming again. It was play dates in our garden pool instead.”

what was the first holiday you went on as a whole family? “Italy, I believe!”

can you remember a time you’ve ever been called to the principals office? “I don’t remember the first time but, let’s just say the principal and I were on a first name basis.”

say one thing about your child that you think they’d like to hear, but wouldn’t expect you to say. “...Let’s see. For Daisy, I think it’d be that she’s so much more than pretty. She’s been complimented on her looks since she was little - including by me, I’m guilty! And it’s because she’s beautiful! But, I hope she knows we all see how smart and generous she is too. And funny, there’s so much more to her and we value it. For Peter, definitely that we’re proud of him. Out of the three of them, he’s hardest on himself and holds himself to a painfully high standard but he’s constantly surpassing any expectations I’ve ever have. He amazes me everytime I hear from him and I just want him to remember to be kind to himself. He’s so much more than he gives himself credit for. And, with Carter, it’s similar but not quite. It’s more that he’s perfect just as he is. I think he grew up as the sensible, and possibly softer sibling. Daisy and Peter are louder by nature and from my experience, I know it’s hard to not feel like you’re forgettable or have faded into the background if you’re not as bold with your personality. But, I can put my hand on my heart and say I couldn’t imagine a better older brother - he’s kind, thoughtful, intelligent...He’s been a great example to them and so selfless. He’s had to endure and put up with so much growing up and not once has he complained, or felt sorry for himself. He’s a blessing and I just hope he knows that he doesn’t need to be more like anyone else to make me proud of him. I love them all!”

#itsflorence #SHES DEFINITELY MY FAVE PARENT I THINK - SHES SO LOVING

5 notes · View notes

inquartata30 · 4 years

Text

WIP Whenever Monday

tagging @forlornmelody and @jennserr no obligations

tagged by @natsora so you know where this is going:

Thaia’s eyes opened seconds before Zahra shuffled into the bedroom and flopped herself against the side of the bed. Through the covers, Thaia could feel the heat emanating from Zahra’s body.

“Babe,” Thaia said, reaching over to wake Lexi. “No monsters in the closet, so this one’s yours.” Her hand encountered an empty pillow and the little form of a sleeping Aella. Right, Lexi was on the Tempest. “Hold on,” she said to Zahra. “I’ll just call your...”

Fuck. She couldn’t. Lexi was dead and had been for over a fucking year.

Grief wrestled with Thaia’s squeamishness and the rising panic that she might need to deal with the worst kind of sick on her own. She braced herself. “Are you going to throw up?”

“No.” Zahra’s answer was mumbled into the comforter, but clear enough.

A shred of mercy granted by the universe. Thaia relaxed exactly that much. “Do you want to stay in my bed or go back to your own?”

“Mine.” Zahra lifted her head. Even in the dim light, it was easy to see her grey eyes bright with fever. “I don’t want Aella to get sick.”

“Give me a second.” Thaia slipped out of bed and carefully scooted the still sleeping Aella to the middle. Then she picked up Zahra, who looped her arms around Thaia’s neck and laid her head on her shoulder. Through Zahra’s thin pajamas and Thaia’s t-shirt, Zahra’s fever threatened to make Thaia break into a sweat. Shit.

Zahra mumbled something about her head hurting and then: “Mum, slow down.”

Thaia did, but she’d already been going slow. Fuck. What was it that Lexi did first? Right, scanned them. Thaia could do that, except not in depth like Lexi could.

Had.

She gritted her teeth and forced herself to relax because Zahra would notice if she wasn’t and start worrying and Zahra was already dealing with being sick. Thaia only had a thermometer available in her omni, not a fancy medical suite because Thaia wasn’t the doctor. Lexi was. Thaia’s job had been hunting down creepy noises in the night. Now, despite lacking proper training for one, they were both her jobs.

In the kids’ room, Carian was still passed out in her bed, a blanketed lump tucked against the wall and Bubbles, her stuffed hanar, over her face. Switching Zahra to one arm, Thaia gently moved the toy down. Then she checked on Anahera, in Zahra’s bed and not her own. Lexi had encouraged them to sleep in separate beds since they were old enough not to freak out about it. It’d helped them with forming their own identities, a necessary early childhood intervention for asari twins. Otherwise, they tended to have trouble distinguishing between themselves, which could’ve led to lifelong problems. But Lexi’s interventions, along with those done by specialists, had worked. Zahra and Anahera had strong, distinct personalities along with individual wants and needs. However, whenever one of them was sick, one would crawl into the other’s bed to help her feel better. And no one had or would ever deny them that.

That said, after Thaia put Zahra back in bed, Anahera threw off her covers only seconds later.

“What?” Zahra more croaked than asked.

“Sorry, you’re too hot,” said Anahera. “I’ll come back when you aren’t an oven anymore. Goddess.” Then she scampered back to her own bed.

“I’m cold,” said Zahra, wrapping every centimeter of available covers around herself.

Chills. Chills were bad. Those meant... Thaia struggled to remember what Lexi had told her. It’d been over comms, when Zahra and Anahera were still toddlers and Thaia had been worried as fuck because the doctor was gone and her own doctorates weren’t the helpful kind unless her kids turned into ships or stars.

“If they’re experiencing chills, it means their bodies think they’re too cold and their temperatures are going up.”

“That’s bad.”

“Only if it gets too high.”

Too high. It could get too high and Thaia couldn’t remember much except it could cause brain damage or something. Wait, Lexi had always left some medicine in a locked cabinet, labeled with correct dosages, instructions, and expiration dates so she knew when to replace them.

Thaia ran a hand lightly over Zahra’s crest. Fuck, she was hot. “Be right back.”

Then she silently sprinted to the kitchen. Good, the meds were in the cabinet like she thought, and neatly organized. Lexi’s organization skills when it came to medical supplies have rivaled Thaia’s own when it came to tools.

Thaia began checking the labels for the right one and then came to a dead stop.

They were all expired. This was all she had and they were all expired.

Would they be safe to give, anyway? She didn’t know.

Lexi never would’ve let any expire in the first place and needing to hadn’t even crossed Thaia’s mind until it was too late and how fucking bad of a parent was she to forget?

She scrubbed at her face. Great, she’d given herself a headache with her fuckup.

But that didn’t matter because Zahra’s fever could spike dangerously high and now Thaia recalled something about seizures and—

Thaia sprinted back to the bedroom.

Zahra was still, but not the worrisome type of still, just a kid in her bed too miserable to do anything except sleep, but her symptoms weren’t letting her. Fuck. Her kid was miserable and she couldn’t do shit about it.

They shouldn’t have gone to Elaaden. That’s where Zahra must’ve picked up the virus that could maybe kill her if Thaia didn’t get her shit together and do something.

She hadn’t even taken her fucking temperature yet. There, something to do even though she should’ve done it already.

Fuck, it was high. Zahra moaned a little about her bodying aching all over. She was more miserable and Thaia didn’t know how to fix it and the person who did know—had known—was gone and never coming back. Eyes stinging, Thaia stood up. Crouching had reminded her that she’d pushed really hard today at the gym. Too hard, judging by how much complaining her body was doing. But she’d be fine, only had to take a rest day or two and it was Zahra she didn’t know how to help.

Wait, her dad was home. So was Aridana. They’d know what to do.

Thaia sprinted to their room. Luckily, the door was open and she didn’t risk seeing anything she’d regret when she ran inside.

Her dad was already sitting up. “You’re not gonna throw up, are you?”

Thaia frowned slightly because she wasn’t six. Then her worry overtook everything. “Zahra’s sick and has a fever and all the medicine’s expired and I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s all expired? Shit, I knew I should’ve checked it earlier.”

“Medkits,” Aridana said from under the comforter.

“What?” both Thaia and Sula asked.

“Check the medkits. Lexi had replaced the medicine in them the day before the attack. She had planned on checking the rest of the medicine the next day.”

She’d never gotten the chance to. Thaia’s eyes stung even more. How could she have forgotten about the fucking medkits? And since when had Sula and Aridana’s bedroom been cold enough to compete with a polar ice cap? Whatever, she’d grab a sweatshirt on her way back to the kids’ room.

Aridana already getting out of bed and offering help. “I’ll fetch one of the medkits.” She gave Thaia’s arm a reassuring squeeze when she went to step past, but then she halted. “Sula,” she said, kind of urgently in Thaia’s opinion, and then she gestured to Thaia.

Sula rolled out of bed and grabbed a robe. “Get the kit, I’ve got this one.”

Aridana left and Thaia went to follow, but Sula stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

Then she removed her hand just as quickly and shook it out. “Shit, your fucking skin is on fire. Nomi called that one. There’s no way you don’t have a fever, too.”

No, no, she couldn’t be sick, she couldn’t. Her immune system still wasn’t working right and what if it killed her? Then her kids wouldn’t have either parent and that was—that would be even worse than the shitty job Thaia knew she was doing by herself. Her kid was sick and she was so useless that she had gotten sick. Thaia needed Lexi and so did their daughters and the kett had ripped her away from them forever and what if she couldn’t do this alone? She shivered. She was fucking sick and how could she help her kids if she was sick? Just a year and a half in and she’d failed them and Lexi. It was like an ocean dive too deep and not realizing it until the pressure crushed you and it was too late.

Her head swam.

Too late.

#wip tag #tessera: the darkest timeline #tessera au

25 notes · View notes

fictorium · 4 years

Note

Lemme take a chance that this very obvious combination may inspire more Supercat ficlets coz I’ve been dying with the feels you’ve been giving me lately. 22, 25, 40. Thanks so much!

22. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

At first Kara assumes it’s another retreat in the mountains ‘diving’ situation. Cat Grant walking out on the White House is a big deal, but in a career like hers it barely breaks the top ten. Everyone speculates about what big move is next, including serious political commentary about whether Cat will run in the next election to unseat Baker.

Instead she just disappears. Off the face of the Earth, it seems.

Since she hasn’t been told otherwise, Kara ignores the chatter as best she can. It’s only natural that she reaches out by text and email to see if she can help spin whatever story Cat would rather have out there, and it definitely hurts when those go unanswered. Just a little. A totally normal amount. For two friends. Mentor and mentee. Former colleagues.

Which is all they are. Were. Can be. Kara’s sure about that. Mostly.

It would just be polite, in a civilized society, to reply to a person’s texts. Even if just to say that what Cat had planned next was less than zero of Kara’s business. Period.

It’s not like she’s mad about it. Anyway.

It’s only when the unthinkable happens almost three weeks in, when the media actually moves on from the Where Is Cat Grant story that they’ve been having so much fun with, that Kara starts to look at the situation differently. Cat can be guarded about her privacy for someone so public, but she usually leaves at least a trail of breadcrumbs to wrongfoot the paparazzi.

The reporter in Kara almost can’t help herself. She has access to almost everything she did as Cat’s assistant--surprisingly, most things on that front haven’t changed--and it only takes a few calls to former colleagues of Cat’s in DC to start picking up the first scent of the mystery.

It’s a mystery that results only in dead ends though, and Kara is so frustrated after days of working on it flat out that she gives in and uses her supersenses for the kind of lead that good journalism just isn’t providing. She’s out of practice and it wouldn’t work if Cat really had gone to the other side of the planet, but she must at least be somewhere on the West Coast judging by how quickly Kara picks up that familiar half-stutter in Cat’s every second heartbeat, the result of a faint murmur she’s had since childhood.

At first it worried Kara, because it sounded a little broken and almost like a warning, but she quickly got used to it working beside Cat all day every day. Now it’s a useful beacon in street after street of heartbeats, none of them quite right. When she does finally, almost frantically, track down that one elusive beat, Kara’s a little startled to discover Cat’s somewhere way out in the desert, with only a handful of other people anywhere nearby.

Kara checks property records and Cat’s accounts to see if there’s some new house in the portfolio, but it’s only tracing a sizeable payment in the thousands to something vaguely labelled on a statement as ‘wellness’ that Kara puts the pieces together.

She should leave it there, when she does. It’s not something she should intrude on. But there’s a website. Full of glossy words and promises and legally-watertight non-guarantees. Kara wants to throw up as she reads more and more of it, of seeing page after page that screams at her for being so far out of the loop, for not being around to see where this was all going.

And mostly, horribly, for being too damn late.

There’s only one thing Kara wants to do now, but the tiny chance of it is entirely dependent on whether Cat will even see her. It’s coming up on 8pm when Kara picks up the phone, and she just hopes that will be reason enough for her call to get answered.

* * *

At least when she gets there, to the mysterious sprawling ranch in the desert, Kara can see that it’s the height of luxury. That much hasn’t changed since Kara’s world flipped upside down over a week ago. The worst part has been not being able to tell a single soul, not even Alex, and the stress of that was only offset by Cat agreeing to see Kara. Today. In exactly 13 minutes to be exact.

Security is tight, but Kara has patience to spare as she goes through step after step to be allowed inside, to once again be accepted into Cat’s inner sanctum. The room that Kara is politely told to wait in is certainly a beautiful space, a courtyard of sorts with sunbleached white walls and the kind of sleek but stuffed garden furniture that costs four times what Kara’s actual furniture was worth, brand new.

There’s a small table with a pitcher of iced tea, so Kara pours a glass and downs it, pouring another right after. It’s distraction enough with the rattling ice that she doesn’t notice Cat’s approach.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” is Cat’s opening shot, and Kara spins around at the sound of her voice.

“I’m not asking for one.”

“Good. And I don’t want a drink, before you offer.” Cat waves a sleek water bottle that she’s holding in one hand, a band from it around her wrist. “I haven’t been drying out in here for weeks only to come out addicted to sugar.”

Well that answers any number of questions Kara doesn’t dare ask. As rehab facilities go, it’s certainly five-star. This is the first day on Cat’s program that she’s been allowed visitors, and Kara is surprised she’s even there. It would be terrible to blow it, to have Cat throw her out before they even sit down.

“You look good,” Kara says instead, taking a seat on the large bench that dominates one wall. Cat considers for a moment, then joins her. She has large sunglasses in place, but there’s no evidence of makeup on her skin. Her hair has none of its usually immaculate style, and the blonde highlights have faded out to mostly brown at the roots. All the same, it’s true that Cat looks every bit as beautiful as Kara has always found her.

The compliment earns only a derisive snort, but Cat preens just a little, in her linen shirt and pants, loose-fitting and crinkled in a way that feels almost unbearably intimate; like Kara shouldn’t be present when Cat is so stripped back and vulnerable.

“So, you found me,” Cat says eventually. “We’ll make a reporter of you yet.”

“I’ve been nominated for a Pulitzer, Ms Grant.”

“Oh please, those don’t even count until your third.”

Kara winces at her own excitement, at how readily she’d believed she’d made it. Cat, to her credit, seems to notice that the words were a little too flippant.

“You can still enjoy the first two, of course. Now you’ve seen me for yourself, is that enough?”

“Enough? Cat, I came to see if you need anything. If I can help in any way. Here, now, or when you get out and come home. I’ve been researching addiction, and how best to support someone you care about and--”

“Kara, I’m not your problem anymore. You don’t have to manage me, or keep my life running smoothly. You’re... off the hook for all that now.”

“Did you not hear the part where I care about you?” Kara won’t let that be swept aside, not now. “You can be oblivious, Cat, but not that unaware.”

“And if you’ve done your research, you’ll know that relationships in the first year of recovery are a bad idea. Along with all the other reasons it’s a bad idea.”

Kara stands. She’s being shot down before she even gets going, and it can’t be that way. Not now.

“Do you honestly think I wouldn’t wait for you? That I haven’t basically been waiting for you since I walked into your office at 10:15 years ago? Do you think there is anything you could go through that would make me stop caring about you?”

“I have a lot to fix, Kara. Not least with my boys. Carter isn’t even...”

“I spoke to him,” Kara replies. “I know you’re not talking but I know he’s open to making that better, when you’re ready. And nothing I ever wanted for me and you would get in the way of that. We might only ever be friends, Cat, but I plan on being a good one.”

Cat reaches for her then, catching Kara’s hand and clutching it with her own.

“I knew you’d find me. Somehow, I knew. And I don’t deserve you, Kara, but if you’re really offering to be in my life again, I don’t think I can turn that down.”

“Then don’t.”

“We could go for a walk? In the grounds? They let me do that now.” Cat stands without ever letting go of Kara’s hands. “I can’t promise anything else, but we could start with that?”

“I’d like that,” Kara replies. “I’d like that a lot.”

#s1 nostalgia meme #supercat #kara danvers #cat grant #tw alcoholism #tw drug addiction #tw rehab #Anonymous

75 notes · View notes

yeet-me-dad-dy · 4 years

Text

Beautiful Condition

Summary: You have a condition called Rosacea, which makes your face red and splotchy. Loki is eager to make sure you know that you’re beautiful.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Words: 2,197

You hadn’t been an Avenger for very long. Technically, you weren’t even fully an Avenger yet, having not completed your training. Despite this, the others already considered you part of the team and you were invited, along with the rest of them, to attend a party. The event was being thrown in their honor, to celebrate their most recent successful mission; the prevention of the obliteration of the entire East Coast. You had turned down the invitation not once, not twice, not three, but four times already, saying that you hadn’t even been a part of that mission and didn’t deserve to be celebrated. With the whole team against you, however, you caved in the end. Natasha and Wanda tried to reassure you, saying that they would help you get ready, that they would make you a true spectacle, that everyone would be jealous of you.

But that wasn’t the problem.

“Y/N, are you done in there?” Wanda asked from outside the bathroom door from her place on your bed. You adjusted your formal wear a final time, appraising yourself in the large mirror above the bathroom counter. Your eyes roamed up your body, taking in the clothing that the pair had picked for you to wear tonight. It fit nicely and complimented all of the curves and angles of your body, and just as you were thinking that you might actually look hot, your gaze fell upon your face.

The angry red splotches covering your cheeks were something that you had come to accept as a part of you. That didn’t mean that you had to like it. The bathroom door opened behind you and you saw Natasha reflected in the mirror.

“Worried about your face?” she asked tactlessly.

You turned around with a scowl. “Yeah.”

“We can put some makeup on you. Try and cover it up,” she offered.

You shook your head. “Makeup doesn’t cover it up. Trust me, I’ve tried everything. I’ve blown whole paychecks on foundation and creams to try and hide it. Nothing works.”

You pushed past her with a huff.

Wanda rose from the bed with a soft smile. “I know you don’t believe it, but it’s not that bad. Noticeable, yes, but not ugly. Having red on your face does not immediately make you ugly.”

“Maybe not to you, but to the rest of the world it does.”

She sighed, her smile dropping into a pitying frown.

Natasha cleared her throat. “Come on. We’re already late, we should get going.”

It was late in the year, and a chill breeze hit you as you slid out of the limo, followed by Wanda and Natasha. You rubbed your arms, trying to find some warmth in the friction. Before you stood a massive hotel, dark and foreboding against the bright New York skyline, the gray bricks and Victorian architecture giving the place an eerie feel. You shivered, though not from the cold, and before you could turn around and get back into the limo, your friends were pulling you toward the front doors, one on either arm.

“You’ll be fine, Y/N,” Wanda whispered in your ear.

“I hate parties…” you grumbled as a young man in a sharply tailored tux opened the door to grant you entrance and you were pulled inside.

The feel of the hotel’s interior was in sharp contrast to the exterior. It was brightly lit, with red velvet furniture and a massive gold chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling. You gaped at anything and everything you laid your eyes on as your friends lead you farther in.

“You’re late.”

You pulled your gaze away from an exquisite stained glass window high up in the wall and dropped your head to see Tony Stark striding toward you, a glass of champagne in hand.

“Only by half an hour,” Natasha responded with a smirk.

“So, fashionably late, then,” Tony quipped with a playful grin. He turned to you then. “Glad to see you here, Y/N. I was sure you wouldn’t come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you mumbled coldly.

“You look good, if that’s any consolation,” he tried to reassure you.

You offered a curt nod in thanks, but said nothing else.

“Well, party’s this way,” he said and lead you, Natasha, and Wanda through the entrance hall and to a set of heavy, ornately carved doors that hung open on their hinges to reveal a massive ballroom. Well… it may not have actually been a ballroom, but that was the only word that you could think to describe it. It reminded you of something from a fairytale castle, and suddenly you felt very out of place. This is a room for royalty, not… not you.

Your friends departed as soon as you stepped over the threshold, weaving their way through the crowds of elegantly dressed guests to find the rest of the team. The sea of people within swayed like a tide and you had to dance around them to move farther into the room, lest you crash into someone. Luckily, you were fairly graceful on your feet and managed to find your way to the bar without causing an accident.

The young woman at the counter smiled at you as you pulled up and leaned back on the bar. “What can I get for you tonight?” she asked, her soft voice harmonizing with the piano and cello music whispering through the room from the stage.

You looked over your shoulder at her. “Oh, sorry. No, I don’t want anything right now, thank you.”

She nodded and moved on to another customer as you hopped up onto a barstool, facing the counter. You tried to read some of the labels on the fancy glass bottles lining the shelves, but they were either too small or the font too curly for you to make out much. After a few minutes, you were picking at your cuticles as a body took the stool to your right. Not wanting to make small talk with a stranger, you opted to ignore them, turning your body slightly away so that they would hopefully leave you alone.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“A glass of ice water for my friend here,” a dark, smooth voice with an unforgettable accent replied.

Your heart stopped in your chest and you held your breath. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

The bartender set a tall glass of ice cold water in front of you and you wrapped your hands around it instinctively before muttering a thank you.

“Having fun?” Loki asked and you knew the question was directed at you.

You took a sip of water to try and cool the heat that was rising to your face. You were fond of the God of Mischief and his presence always sent fire rushing to your face, which you knew made your condition so, so much worse; the red splotches on your face darkening to a deep crimson. You tried to angle your face away from him, to hide it from his searching gaze.

“I, um… Yeah, I… It’s… It’s a good party. Nice music,” you stammered in answer to his question. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him because you knew how he was looking at you. He didn’t look at anyone else that way, which was part of the reason that you had such a hard time being around him. When he looked at others, his eyes were dark, full of judgment and self-righteousness. When he looked at you, his eyes held the bright blue of the sky. They were soft, kind, caring. He looked at you like you were all the stars in the sky, like you were an exploding nebula, brilliant and beautiful, like you were the only thing in the whole world worth looking at. “I didn’t think you were coming tonight,” you said.

“I wasn’t going to… Until Thor told me that you’d be attending.”

You didn’t answer, unsure of what to say. He shuffled beside you. “You needn’t hide your face from me, darling.” His voice was barely a whisper as his hand came up to gently grasp your chin. You didn’t fight him as he turned your head to face him and a soft smile tugged up at the corners of his mouth as his eyes met yours. You were sure your face was beet red at this point and subconsciously you turned away once more as he lowered his hand.

You could see his smile drop and his brow furrow. “Do I truly make you so uncomfortable?” he asked.

You shook your head, eyes downcast and focused on the bar in front of you. “No, it’s not you…” you began. “It’s not you, Loki.” Finally, grudgingly, you angled your whole body toward him with a sigh. “You don’t make me uncomfortable, not in the slightest. In fact, I enjoy your company. I enjoy it more than any of the others.”

“Then… why do you avoid me?” he looked confused, but there was still a tinge of hurt behind his eyes.

There was no reason to lie to him. No reason to keep hiding. If there was one person that could look past your condition, it would be Loki. However, you’d thought that about people before, and every time, they’d let you down.

You rubbed a hand down your face and took a deep breath to steady your nerves before you looked him right in the eye. “I avoid you because I like you, but I’m afraid that my face will make it so that you won’t ever like me back.”

The crease between his brows deepened with his confusion. “Your… face? You have a beautiful face, darling. What could possibly make you think any different?”

You cocked your head to the side. “The redness,” you stated simply. “My condition.”

The prince chuckled. “Last I checked, blushing isn’t a condition, my dear.”

You shook your head. “No. No, it’s not blush. Well, I mean it is, I always blush when I see you, but it’s not… It’s not just that. It’s called Rosacea. It makes my face red, but the red gets worse when I experience strong emotions, like happiness, sadness, or anger, or when… when I like someone. Blush is just a little splash of color on your face not… not… this.” You gestured wildly to your face, to the scarlet that painted your cheeks.

His smile returned and he reached a hand up, brushing the tips of his fingers ever so gently across the splash of color before he cupped your cheek and looked once more into your eyes. “If this is a condition… then it’s surely the most beautiful condition I’ve ever seen.”

You felt the heat rush to your face once more. “Oh…” you smiled, lowering your gaze to your hands, which rested in your lap.

“You have no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed of the patterns that adorn your face, darling. Da Vinci himself would envy the color upon your cheeks were he alive to see it.”

“Now you’re actively trying to make me blush,” you said, poking him in the stomach.

With a chuckle, his thumb ghosted once more across your cheek before he dropped his hand to take one of yours. “Well, of course, dear. I do so love the color that springs up when I do.”

Suddenly, the chipper piano music was replaced with a dark, haunting melody that wove through the crowd like ghosts. A sound fit to compliment the dark prince of Asgard, you thought. In one swift movement, he had slid from his barstool and stood before you, your hand still in his.

“Would you dance with me?” he asked quietly.

With a smile, you nodded and he wasted no time in pulling you to your feet. The crowd parted for him so you could easily pass and he pulled you close once you came to a stop in the middle of the room. The crowd of people faded into darkness, indistinct shapes dancing in the background. He held you tight as he gazed down at you and took a step. His smile widened as you moved with him and he took another. Soon enough, you were dancing an elegant dance with Loki, who was looking down at you as if you were the very oxygen he needed to breathe.

“My crimson flower…” he sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “My alluring crimson flower. Do you think you’re not beautiful?” he asked. “Roses weep as you pass. Do you think you’re not regal? The sea bows to the sand when you stand upon it. You are not your condition, Y/N. Don��t you ever think you are not enchanting. You are everything to me.”

He glanced down at your lips and you knew what he wanted. Without hesitation, you inclined your head and brushed his lips with your own. He pressed them together, kissing you softly, slowly, passionately, starting a fire in your chest. All too soon, he pulled away, his breath hot against your skin.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered in your ear. And for once, you believed it.

#loki x reader #loki x gender neutral reader #loki x gn reader #loki fanfiction

20 notes · View notes

morris-magus-merry-miller · 4 years

Text

Chapter 5: The Marvelous Manor of Madness

The island was to be a two-hour trip from Port Town. Enough time for me to prepare a special little spell, which if this is not the final draft will likely be on this page if it hasn’t already been expended. Sorry about that, I’ll undo the effects if you weren’t the intended target. Hope you at least have a nice nap.

Anyways, it was a quick and uneventful boat ride, until the last moments. As we approached the island, we found there was an ominous storm brewing. Blood red clouds had gathered in the sky above Gladshire’s manor. I would not blame you, dear reader, if you find this storm very similar to the roiling pink clouds which had gathered when Ulong had frozen Dualwood. Certainly, that is what we feared as we approached the island. But this proved to be a different phenomenon entirely.

We dropped anchor at the shore and made our way inland on foot. As we approached the manor, we came upon four shambling animated corpses and a foreboding looking tree.

Issac, our dear nature expert, informed us that the tree was a very dangerous undead plant called a Hangman Tree. It’s a tree…that does exactly what its name implies. It’s an insidious creature that uses spores to trick your brain into thinking it’s nothing but a normal tree, or even a friendly treant. Then when your guard is down it snags you by the neck with its vines, strangles you to death, and then eats you!

As we formulated a plan of attack, Issac warned that it wasn’t particularly flammable by normal means—but it would likely be set ablaze by a well-placed lightning bolt.

That meant it was John and Vigo’s time to shine. John called upon his goddess’ wrath and bolts of lightning rained from the heavens, striking the tree and the zombies that meandered around it.

Strange that a goddess of death would have an affinity for storms…although I suppose many people are likely killed by lightning strikes, so it’s not utterly uncalled for. It would make more sense I think for a cleric worshipping Nairon’s goddess to strike down foes with lightning. But again, I am no expert on divine magic. If a goddess of death wants to grant her followers control of the weather, who am I to say it makes it seem as though the world we live in has no internal consistency?

With the zombies weakened, Vigo followed up with a wall of lightning that blew them apart. Thus in mere seconds only the tree remained.

I began a reading to focus my companions’ minds to the task at hand, and also sent a spell at the tree to slow its movements to a snail’s pace. Even if it released its spores, I thought, it wouldn’t be able to immediately grab any victims.

Well, I was right, but that didn’t stop it from releasing said spores. As Terrance and Nairon pushed forward, intent to take advantage of the plant’s slowed state, a cloud of spores were released into the air. I saw Candy let out a gasp, breathing in the mind-altering pollen. I couldn’t allow that to happen to my friend, of course. I snapped my book shut, abruptly ending my performance. The remaining magic was channeled to Candy, clearing her lungs of the dangerous substance.

Unfortunately, in doing so I left myself open to breath in the same pollen. Things got a bit fuzzy from there. The tree actually looked quite friendly. I think I was about to run up to it, before John utterly annihilated it with another lightning strike from above. It is quite possible I owe John a life debt for that, and I will repay him in kind.

Nairon and Terrance had apparently also been taken in by the tree’s mind warping properties. They expressed discomfort with going any further after such a harrowing experience, and decided they would return to the ship and keep watch from there while we cleared out the manor.

So we parted ways, and our band continued onwards. As we approached the manor it was clear all was not well. Many of the once opulent windows had been shattered, and a quite deceased body hung out of one. Not moving, unlike the corpses that had stood vigil around the tree, thankfully.

However as we approached a voice spoke up from the body. At first it appeared a lingering spirit was calling for our aid. What we discovered, however, was that the body had one of those Stones of Farspeech on its person, and Oswald Gladshire was trying to contact us through it. The Wizard of the Stars was being held captive within his own tower by a vile necromancer—who also happened to be his grandfather. Gladshire requested our immediate aid, to clear out the monstrosities that now infested his home, and to free him from the bird cage he’d been locked within at the highest point of the tower.

We needed his guidance to save Dualwood, so we were of course going to do so regardless. Adventurers save nobles in distress because it’s the right thing to do, that is a given. That he offered to let us keep anything we picked up that could help us within his manor was, of course, a secondary concern.

He quickly dropped the call as he heard his captor approaching, but promised to keep in touch as the situation allowed.

The inside was both as extravagant and as wrecked as the outside had been. Rubble blocked a ruined staircase, necessitating us going the long way around to get to higher ground.

There were a number of rooms down the halls to both sides, many with placards denoting what the room was. Vigo stuck he head into a room labelled “WC”, which he said didn’t have anything of interest. John and I went looking into the “Horse Room”, which was a mostly barren room with a single large golden statue of a horse. Someone—Gladshire I must presume—had placed sunglasses upon the horse’s face. Quite reminiscent of Nathaniel’s usual attire, in fact, although something about the statue gave me a feeling that this horse was much older and more venerable than my own dear companion. I gave him a polite nod in greeting, as I would Nathaniel if he had been there at the time, before being on my way.

Down the next hall we came upon an imposing metal door—Gladshire confirmed over the Stone of Farspeech that it was a vault. He was fairly certain some baddies had made their way inside, and asked that we unlock it and clear it out. One itty bitty little problem stood in the way of that—the door was protected by a device that was password protected. A skull mounted above the door would spit acid at anyone who guessed the password wrong, or tried to open the door through brute force. Gladshire didn’t know the password himself, he’d had his apprentice Elena set it for him, and he hasn’t seen her since the attack. All he knew was that he’d told her to set it to ‘something you will remember’.

Clever adventurers that we are, we took the most prudent course of action. Guessing wildly. Paige confirmed that a few…admittedly rather vulgar terms were not the password. I tried Elena’s name—after all she was sure to remember that! We brainstormed other possibilities, and were about to give up when Paige tried the word ‘Something’. While the door remained closed, the skull didn’t activate.

A brilliant thought hit me—Gladshire hadn’t said the password need be only one word. Heart pounding, excitement flowing through my veins, I spoke the password.

“Something you will remember”

And voila! The skull remained inactive, and there was the sound of a lock opening. I pushed open the door.

And immediately back-peddled for Candy to take the lead, as there was a golden skeleton waiting directly within the doorway. A swift flurry of kicks was all it took to do away with that little problem. We got a number of nifty trinkets courtesy of Gladshire’s generosity, and we continued on our way to keep clearing the manor of such ghouls as that. Not literal ghouls. I don’t think we faced any literal ghouls. A few…other things, as you’ll soon find, but no ghouls.

We circled back around, finding that the next hallway led back the way we’d come, but also continued forward in the opposite direction. John found a “smoking room”, and he and Vigo took a number of seemingly enchanted cigars from there. One was as long as Vigo was tall, and smelled…just atrocious, really. I had to excuse myself, alongside Peanut whose poor sensitive bear nose must have been burning from the putrid smoke.

Next we came to a parlor. The room beyond had music coming from it. Issac decided to try to scout ahead. He transformed into an adorable little hedgehog and skittered forward to peek beyond the door.

He didn’t get far. In the next room a number of awakened skeletons waited, and they immediately spotted the tiny hedgehog that pushed his way into their midst. The music grew louder and more focused, as one of the skeletons—whom I later learned was named Georgio—began playing trumpet.

I felt a challenge had been issued, and whipped out Nathaniel’s flute to begin a tune of my own.

While Georgio and I provided background music for the skirmish, Candy had a more up close and personal fight with one of the musician’s friends. (A backup dancer perhaps…?) I threw my hat into the ring as well, so to speak, when the skeleton had some disparaging words to say about Candy. His companion may have been a fine musical talent, but a gentleman this one was not. I called up a new spell I’ve been toying with—biting words—and told him just what I thought about him speaking ill of my companions.

Between the five of us, the musician’s two companions fell quickly. Georgio didn’t seem to have much in the way of battle prowess himself, and quite frankly I felt no desire to destroy him. He was a man of true talent after all!

It would seem he had no desire for a physical confrontation anymore, either. He ceased his trumpeting and challenged me to a far more desirable duel—one not of magic or sword, but of musical might.

Unfortunately for him, he flubbed his notes rather quickly, while I was quite on point. He tipped his hat to me.

Before exploding.

…I know some people don’t handle a loss very well, but looking back that still seemed a bit excessive.

I took both his trumpet and a fiddle from the wall, which I shall play in his short lived memory.

With the skeleton band out of the way, Issac stole a peek into the next room. It was…beyond description, and even if it weren’t I fear I don’t desire to make use of words to do it justice. You shall have to fill in the gory details yourself, dear reader. Suffice to say there was a veritable horde of Fetches. They were seated at the table eating. Not food—oh no—but viscera, scraps of flesh, the last remains of many a visiting noble’s carcass...

I apologize, I did say I would not describe it, but the memory is difficult to banish.

Standing before the feasting horde was a man. Although ‘standing’ and ‘man’ are both inexact. It was more ‘floating’ and ‘ghost’.

I recognized the man from some old news I’d read some time back, while Candy realized she’d seen this man first-hand in the past. A vile fellow by the name of Count Bartholomew McLaurin. For those not in the know, he was once a count in Donmum City. However he was caught up in some dark business—human experimentation, warping creatures together, and who knows what else. All at the behest of some group called the Society of Great Enlightened Ones. He died in an explosion, a suicide bomb, I suppose to escape any punishment for his crimes.

What connection he had to this place was at first unclear. Without knowing we feared we couldn’t best him permanently—for as everyone knows, a ghost will just keep coming back if it still has unfinished business in the mortal realm.

And it would seem I was to be the one to uncover the truth. The others were rather quick to volunteer me for the task. I cannot deny I have a knack for words. I wouldn’t be an author if not! But I must say this entire situation was rather off putting. Quite frankly, I wasn’t certain that the entire room wouldn’t just mindlessly attack me. Not that all undead are mindless—as we saw from Georgio that is very much not the case, and I am well aware of the rise of awakened undead in cities across the globe. However these were…you know, eating viscera in the middle of a manor where most everyone had apparently been slaughtered…it didn’t seem like an ideal place for a chat. Georgio aside.

Still, my companions felt this was the best course of action. The fetches wouldn’t be difficult due to their pyrophobia, but we feared the ghost alone might be enough to drag one or all of us to the grave if we weren’t careful. So we hatched a plan to speak to the ghost, butter him up to learn what we could about what bound him to the mortal plane. We brainstormed possible codewords to use to call in reinforcements if things got out of hand—and settled on ‘would you like some merlot with that’, since the undead were eating. Issac also decided to come along with me—transforming into an adorable little black rabbit who helped calm my nerves tremendously. I wonder if anyone has ever told Issac he’d make an amazing therapy animal in that form?

To be quite honest with you, dear reader, I found the idea of talking to a ghost a rather frightening concept. I know we were in a haunted manor, but I didn’t expect to find a real ghost of all things!

As a wise man once said “I ain’t afraid of no ghosts”. Actually, I think maybe Vigo said that. Regardless, with a plan in place, a very fluffy bunny in hand, and a few spells cast to grant myself a…let’s say confidence boost, I strode forward into the feast of horrors.

#entry #pathfinder #pathfinder campaign #dungeons and dragons #d&d campaign #Morris 3M #a totally normal horse

1 note · View note

toxikbubblegum · 5 years

Text

May Reading Wrap Up

I'm actually really proud of myself. I finished 13 books last month. Spent a lot of extra time away from screens and focusing on my mental health so I burned through way more than I normally would. So anyways, here's my reviews. - Also please understand that these are just my opinions and if I shit on your favorite book I'm sorry that I didn't enjoy it as much as you. Also, also Im terrible with character names.

Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor ⭐⭐⭐

I actually started this book at the end of April but didn't finish it til May 1st so whatever, here it is. This books is a YA urban fantasy novel about a girl with a double life. She spends half her days studying art in Europe and the other half running errands for a tooth collecting wish monger. I don't want to say a whole lot more because I dont want to spoil anything important about the plot. So, I'll try to be vague. Let me start by saying this story is amazing. I loved the writing and the world. I rated it so low solely because I can't stand the two main characters and it really dragged down what would have otherwise been an amazing novel. So yeah, great book but its a preference thing. Also took points off for the insta-love but not really insta-love shit. Idk. I have a lot of mixed feelings about this read even a month later. Gonna read the second to see if maybe my hatred of the two mains was just a fluke.

3/5 Stars

Spellbound by Rachel Hawkins

⭐⭐⭐

This is the third book in the Hex Hall trilogy. Not much to say about it. It was a meh ending to an overall pretty good series. 3/5 stars. Moving on.

The Wicked Deep by Shea Ernshaw

⭐⭐⭐

Realizing now how many of my reads this month were pretty middle of the world. Hopefully next month will be filled with 4 and 5 stars. Anyways, this book was honestly a struggle for me to finish and Im not sure why. It's a YA mystery magical realism story about a tiny coastal town that is cursed by the spirits of 3 sisters who were suspected of witchcraft and drowned 2 centuries prior. Because of this, every year the sisters return from the sea to take the lives of teenage boys by luring them to the sea. We follow the life of kind of meh and standard YA girl #1. She meets a strange non tourist boy and hires him to work in the lighthouse her family owns. Her dad randomly disappeared years ago and her mom is a loon. So yeah... I dont know. I kind of felt like this story was hot garbage in places. I usually dont have any trouble with the suspense of disbelief in magical realism stories but this one just had too many plot holes. Like, I get morbid stuff becomes tourist attractions but why wouldn't someone have stepped in and evacuated the town if at least 3 teenage boys die there EVERY SINGLE YEAR without fail? I honestly feel like the FBI or some other government agency would have cleared the place out after the first 20 or so deaths. There was also the whole MC can see the ghosts of the girls possessing people but chooses not to tell anyone? Like, I get it. You dont want people to label you a freak or think you're crazy but come the fuck on. You live in a tourist trap where people flock to watch local teenage males wash up on shore and you really think the authorities arent going to take you up on the help? It wasn't an awful book by any means. It was well written and extremely descriptive. Just had major beef with some of the details. Anyways, I wont say much more so I don't spoil the whole book.

3/5 Stars

An Enchantment of Ravens by Maragret Rogerson

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Finally, I get to talk about one of my favorite reads of the month. I love anything to do with the Fae in my YAfiction and this was literally everything I wanted in a Fae novel. It takes place in a town called Whimsy, a humanish town in the world of Faerie. The fae cannot do any Craft, or what we would consider craftsmanship. Art and humans who can do it well are very precious in this world because the Fae can't ever do it themselves. We follow the adventures of a girl who has been commisioned to paint the portrait of the Autumn King and the chaos that ensues. Let me just start by saying this is one of those insta-love situations where I feel like it's genuinely ok. I might be making excuses because I loved the title so much but whatever. It's explained and I accept it. Also, I realize that Gadfly had a lovely description but my brain willl not let me picture him as anything but Mr.Waternoose from Monsters Inc.

5/5 Stars

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

⭐⭐⭐

This book started out so good and went downhill very quickly. It follows the story of these two magicians who were fated by their Master's to one day fight to the death. There were so many things I loved about this book only for the last 100 pages to just take a firey dump on my face. I loved the setting and the majority of the characters. The supporting characters were so deep and interesting that I almost cared more about them than I did Ceilia and Marko (Im proabably wrong and I dont feel like googling but I think that was his name) . I don't know. I don't want to complain about anymore meh books.

3/5 Stars

Matched by Allie Condie

⭐⭐⭐⭐

Went into this book expecting to hate it. I usually don't like contemporary love stories but this had major City of Ember meets The Giver vibes and it just appealed to that 14 year old girl in me again. That seems to happen with a lot of dystopian utopia stories. Anyways, story is about a girl who lives in this town where when you hit a certain age you are brought to a place and told who the government has chosen for you to marry. She is matched with her life long best friend and all is well. Except that her little Get To Know Your New Husband microship thing showed her two guys instead of just one. And lots of bullshit ensues. I honestly think I rated this so high because I enjoy the world and not so much whats actually happening to the kids. Like, I loved the idea that art is harmful so the government chose 100 acceptable pieces and thats all these people know. I loved the brutality of the government in general. I can't say much more without spoiling some of the twists but geez did it have me hooked. I'm going to be started the second one soonish, though my TBR for June has gotten intense so we will see.

4/5 stars

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

I cannot say enough good things about this book. It is so fucking good! Not going to rant about it or anything because y'all just need to go read it immediately.

5/5 stars

Would give it every star in the sky if Im being completely honest.

Reign of the Fallen by Sarah Glenn Marsh

⭐⭐

Got sucked into this book by the cover and honestly that was the best part of this book. Its about this world where necromancy is pretty highly regarded and used to resurrect the royals after they die. The only downside is that if a living person ever lays eyes on the resurrected person's skin then they turn into these horrible monsters. Maybe it's just me but like that absolutely does not seem worth the risk. Plus, in order to bring the person back, these reapers have to go into the death world and bring the spirit back. And it's HELLA DANGEROUS. So like, WHY? Anyways, there is this stupid underlying love story that I absolutely wasn't invested in. This just all around was not a good book.

2/5 stars

Monster High by Lisi Harrison

⭐⭐

Little known fact~ I'm obsessed with Monster High and Ever After High. So yeah, I realize this wasn't targeted to me as an adult but even going into it with an open mind I was disappointed. Granted I didn't read the description of the book prior. I just saw this franchise I love and grabbed it. First, if you are a fan of the mini series and the movies do not read this. It doesnt follow the cinematic canon and I think that was my biggest problem with it. Frankie's character was all wrong and I hated the whole"Normy" cast. Was really excited for these but I definitely won't be continuing the series. I don't even want to torture myself with seeing how they manage to ruin my sweet baby Draculara.

2/5 stars

Unhinged by AG Howard

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

I can't say enough good things about this series. This is the second book in the trilogy and it was a fanatstic bridge book. It had me engrossed through the entire audiobook. Morpheus is still everything. If you loved Splintered I would highly reccomend continuing.

5/5 stars

Truthwitch

⭐⭐

Have had this on my TBR for a while because of how many Booktubers have hyped the series. Buy, was I disappointed. I was soooooooooo bored. Maybe it's because I don't really enjoy this type of fantasy or maybe it was just the slower paced story but I just slugged through this book. Both of the main female characters were bland to me and I didn't care about their friendship. The world was cool but not enough to keep me invested. Just wasn't my cup of tea.

2/5 stars

Paranormalcy by Kiersten White

⭐⭐⭐

Picked this up because of how much I loved The Dark Descent of Elizabeth Frankenstein and it didn't meet my expectations. It follows this girl who works for a paranormal gorvenment group. She has a special ability that makes her really useful to them so they are trying to groom her basically. They capture this changeling and she befriends him and there is an overarching plot that I just didn't get invested in. The friendship between the two main characters was pretty much the only thing that I enjoyed in this title. The mother figure was insufferable and I just didn't really understand the whole org that they worked for in general. Not an awful book but not fantastic.

Solid 3/5 stars.

The Siren by Kiera Cass

⭐⭐⭐⭐

Going to preface this by saying I might be biased. I love Kiera Cass and have enjoyed almost everything she has written. That said, this wasn't nearly as good as The Selection series but it was a pretty good stand alone novel. It about a girl who becomes a siren on her deathbed and spends the next 100 years serving the sea by luring people to their deaths. After doing this for 70 years, she falls in love and pretty much ruins everything. Loved the characters, especially the male lead. The insta love was a little pet peeve of mine but the love interest was so sweet and genuine that I was willing to overlook it. Pretty good read if you dig supernatural romance.

4/5 stars

June holds the Ghibli-a-thon but also lots of holidays for my family so we will see how much I actually get read. So far my tentative TBR is 5 books but we will see where the days take me.

21 notes · View notes

harrietvane · 6 years

Note

do you mind talking about why you dislike Love Actually and Richard Curtis's romcoms? I've seen you mention it in some of your tags and I'd love to hear your thoughts :)

Long post, so scroll now, ye who care not.

OK, so like better voices than mine have articulated Why Love Actually Sucks Balls, but you were kind enough to ask for my view, so strap in I’m gonna talk about Jane Eyre, and the 1990’s Fran Drescher sitcom The Nanny also. It’s coming up on western civilisations’ holiday season, so why not, it’s a good time to tell this movie to choke, because it’s about to be repeatedly thrust upon us once again. (Disclaimer: I acknowledge Richard Curtis is responsible for Blackadder and Vicar of Dibley, so whatever else, we’re still cool on that basis. But I have spite and to spare, so there’s plenty to go around).

My main beef is actually the context. Technically, if all of the below bullshit was in an offbeat movie from any other movie market (I’m thinking maybe a French, or Spanish movie from the 90′s boom, Almodovar style?), the focus would probably be a black humour take on ‘Lord What Fools These Mortals Be!’, sort of look at the inherent ridiculousness of mankind, and how we get in our own way, blah blah, might have been cute. I’d buy that. This movie? A british movie for the american market? It’s sold with a big holiday sticker on it saying ‘ROMANCE’, and specifically ‘ADORABLE ASPIRATIONAL ROMANCE THAT YOU SHOULD ADORE AND ASPIRE TO’. Also the context *inside* the movie itself (through a narration voiceover no less) is that all of these narratives is somehow proof that ‘Love, Actually is all around’, and specifically in a good, wholesome, happy way, overall at least. These stories are redeeming, even if they’re not all happy, they’re Good™ or whatever. The context outside the movie is the same: british TV advertising, hard copy packaging, holiday specials, outdoor gala screenings: they all say over and over: THIS IS SQUISHY HOT PINK NEON LOVE, wholesome, healing, and healthy. You should want this, aspire to this, think this is the cat’s pyjamas! It’s a wide and varied look at the beautiful power of love from all angles, comic, tragic, the lot.

Is it fuck. The ‘positive’ romance stories range from Stage-5 Creeper to Crotch Puppet Afterthought, the ‘melancholy’, thwarted romance stories seem to say ‘if you’re a woman who’s not readily/immediately bangable to your allocated straight dude, romance is over for you I’m afraid’. Let’s recap, shall we:

Much has already been said about Andrew Lincoln’s character BLANTANTLY SHARKING ON HIS BEST MATE’S WIFE being uhhh, less than fresh. I don’t even feel like I need to justify this one, it’s so over-the-top. The main point is that movie itself maintains this as a tragic, swoony, thwarted, heart-string-tugging missed connection, rather than The Worst Friend Ever (meaning: it assumes we’ll be 100% onboard with Keira Knightley skipping secretly away from Chiwetel Eijiofor to grant his best mate one treasured kiss, as opposed to saying ‘what the FUCK Mark, why are you telling me this, this is super inappropriate?? and my only wedding video is just you zooming in on my face? Pls get help’.

We all love National Treasure Colin Firth and all, but like is Love, Actually fixating on a woman who literally can’t speak to you? Has said nothing understandable to you? About whose own life you’ve never yet, and could never have asked about? Whose main interactions with you have been to wordlessly clean your room, bring you food, and tidy it away after? Your ideal woman, who you meet immediately following a break up, is one who silently meets all your domestic needs, while making zero emotional or intellectual demands on you whatsoever? WOW, SHOCKER. (Oh but it’s cute or whatever, they have him propose, and there’s a mix up when her sister appears, but she’s Ugly™, so it’s funny that the sister is not getting romance. I mean, how could she, an uggo?? Classic joke. Good times.)

The Prime Minster and his tea lady: more on Curtis’ Domestic Servitude Kink below, whoo boy.

Laura Linney would really really like to sleep with Rodrigo Santoro, and god bless her who wouldn’t, but she is tragically unable to, because she has family commitments as being the sister – not even fulltime carer, just RELATED TO - a brother living with disability. Sorry folks, romance is OFF THE CARDS, FOREVER for Laura here. How can she??? That’s the nature of love, actually. Can you have sex right now this moment? No? Whelp, sorry, thanks for playing, back to the Tragic Assisted Living facility for you. Gosh it’s unfortunate that’s a truth universally acknowledged that any whiff of disability = no romance for you ever. (Don’t start me on 4 Weddings* [edit: *it’s totally Notting Hill, not 4 Weddings, thank] and how that husband is like The Best because he continues to love his wife even though her legs don’t work. What a champ, honestly, do they have an award for that?) I have to stop now before I get sarcasm poisoning, but my eyes will continue to roll.

How could I say anything bad about the Liam Neeson widower and his adorable lovestruck son storyine? Lol, I’m gonna. Have you seen the Buffy episode The Zeppo? Xander is convinced the only way girls (as a concept, not in the specific) will like him enough to sleep with him is if he has A Thing. The Thing is posited as ‘being cool’ by having an object or skill that alone will be the magic bullet to romance. Musical instrument prowess is considered, and he ends up just getting a car to be his Thing. This just seems like a redux of that logic. This kid could get some genuine direction from the movie to get to know this girl, learn her interests and share his, see if she likes him as a person by being A PERSON, but the narrative just backs away from that and eventually DOES just say ‘play the drums in the show, she’ll like you’ and that’s …it. But it’s cool, teenagers don’t learn key interpersonal dynamics at this age or anything, she kisses him for some reason, whatever. (Bonus points for gifting his dad with a literal supermodel as a punchline, after making that an actual joke earlier about the shallow nature of attraction, and love is about filling a one-sided need.)

I could go on, but I have very little to say about Freeman falling for a girl whose tits he’s been holding for a week, the no-homo pop star Nighy plot, or the guy that goes and has sex in Wisconsin with Bond Girls, and can’t be bothered, which leads me to…

Richard Curtis’ Domestic Servitude Kink. Must I kinkshame Richard Curtis in his own home?? Nope, I’m kinkshaming him AT WORK in his narratives, surrounded by his nubile, pliant, adorable female employee characters. Oh Mr Curtis, I seem to have dropped a pencil!

OK, so like a M/F Domestic Servitude romance is an extremely old trope, and extremely common, and I’m not here to tear that up, because done well it’s amazing, lot of petrol in that King Cophetua narrative tank. I’m a fan. The most famous in-context historical example being Jane Eyre, for instance: he’s her boss, she’s his paid subordinate, they’re both 100% aware of that. It’s a great way to explore the real-life class and power dynamics of these 2 train wrecks of human beings, and they vomit their ridiculous drama llama feelings all over a 600 page novel. Super fun, they’re both awful humans, I love them. Mid-century you might have The Sound of Music, and in more modern times you get 1990s sitcom The Nanny, both extremely well-developed romances involving paid employees, and part of their value is that the shows KNOW THIS. They’re aware it’s the basis for their dynamic, that they have to directly play with that, and develop beyond to go anywhere. Watching Fran Fine in her runway-fresh Moschino minidresses jump on Maxwell Sheffield’s desk for the 800th time making him super uncomfortable (and not a little turned on) is always such a treat. It’s right out there on the label. The problem with Love, Actually, is Curtis doesn’t want to admit that naughty secretary seems to be a cornerstone of what gets him going, romantic-stylez.

One (1) time in the movie would be ‘sure, why not’. Literally the highest political office in the land, making overtures to the woman who brings him tea, i guess might be a bit off, but let’s say it’s done well, and maybe Hugh Grant and Martine McCutcheon’s charisma gets us over the line (his behaviour is cute because her last man didn’t like her body, but the prime minister DOES like her body! so it’s cute!). Whatever, seen worse. Two (2) times however is making a point, and Colin Firth is driving his silent portuguese maid home - not a french maid but so close! - and deciding he’d like her to bring him tea and clean his toilet for as long as they both shall live, and that also seems to be her greatest joy. Ah, l’amour. OK, I guess you like the thing, everyone has a thing, but at least you’re done now. Wait, you mean there’s a third (3rd) one? Everyone’s Fave Alan Rickman drives the plot of his own marriage’s tragic romance because he’s having stiffening feelings about his own Naughty Secretary halloween costume, after all. All the beautiful speeches about Joni Mitchell give Thompson some nice things to do, but it still assumes the Nature of Romance is to want to plough the help. A man can’t help it! It’s how romantic attraction works! Once would be whatever. Three times and there’s a tag on Ao3 for that, so please just scratch that itch and stop selling it to me in a heartwarming christmas movie as the Universal Nature Of Romance, so varied, so vast, the full spectrum! Just 2 hours to tell a story: but 3 whole narratives and 7 actors devoted to the variants on the naughty maid story. My point is be upfront about it and I’d be all for it - pretend it’s not A Thing You’re Doing and my creep-meter goes ping. Steven Shainberg’s ‘Secretary’ has a scene where the boss literally puts a saddle on his employee, and I find it to be one of the most genuinely moving romances I’ve ever seen. Love Actually makes me feel like Curtis is sending me a ‘u up?’ late night text about his secretary fantasy.

Anyway, I fucking hate this film, and not necessarily because of the content, but because of the context. The movie tells me to love it as aspirational romance. My culture tells me to love it as aspirational romance. Everyone tells me to love it as a varied and full exploration of reasons to get up in the morning, because it’s an aspirational romance. It makes me want to claw my own face off.

#replies #long post #ishipallthings #that kid in the octopus costume can't save it #look no judgement if you like it - whatever floats your stoat - but it's uhhhhh not for me

401 notes · View notes

sherry-smith · 5 years

Text

Trapped Among Mortal Things

Lack of knowledge leads to questions. Questions lead to answers. Answers lead to knowledge. Knowledge leads to trouble. Seems easy, doesn’t it? Seems logical.

It wasn’t always like this, not until Earth was created. In the beginning, the true Beginning, trouble didn’t exist. That’s due to the fact that knowledge didn’t exist either, at least not what people currently label as knowledge. Crowley, of course, remembers what it was like; They create you, They fill you with the bare minimum you’re required to know - your name, your identity, your purpose - and then you’re free to go. There was no such thing as lack of knowledge because no one was aware that maybe, just maybe, they didn’t have the keys to unlock all the secrets of the universe; no one was even aware that there were secrets of the universe in the first place. This means, obviously, that questions didn’t exist either and, by extension, nor did answers.

It is believed that questions were invented by Lucifer when he asked why angels should submit to human beings. That’s not quite true. What he really did was use free will to point out that there was no reason for humans to be put on a pedestal and venerated as the Almighty’s finest creations. The War in Heaven begun and ended, and questions still didn’t exist; without them, free will seemed rather pointless.

Actually, questions were invented by a pretty stubborn and curiously clueless Archangel. At first all he did was knock at the Lord’s door - despite everyone telling him it was a hopeless mission, that They weren’t there anymore - and requested, in utter reference, for permission to descend in Hell. It was an odd request, admittedly. He claimed that he couldn’t bear the thought of those poor souls suffering from the wounds inflicted to them during the War; no matter the horrors they had committed, no matter how awful their sins, they still were creatures of the Lord and, as such, deserved some kind of comfort. Of course, the permission wasn’t granted - nor denied, which seemed good enough for the Archangel.

So he crossed Hell’s entrance. His sincerity and good will meant nothing to the fallen angels, least of all to Lucifer, still too full of pride to admit his defeat, or even accept help of any kind. Raphael was thrown out without hesitation. It took him a while to realise the price that little visit had costed him; his innocence was forever lost, and, as a memento, his wings turned as black as the darkest night.

Being stubborn, the Archangel - not quite Fallen, nor quite full of Grace - knocked again at the Lord’s door, furiously, desperately. «Why? - he cried out - Why would You invent pain and suffering? Why would You cast them out instead of proving them the Holiness of Your Love?» He didn’t know it yet, but in that moment he invented questions, and all their dreadful consequences.

He also didn’t know that They were still there, contrary to the popular belief. The door slammed open, shockingly. Raphael felt a tingly warmth in the middle of his chest as a hand pushed him, and then there was coldness, as he fell for miles and miles. He had understood the theory behind pain, but feeling it? Feeling pain is a whole other matter than understanding it.

He landed in a pool of boiling sulphur, horribly disfigured and deeply broken. Raphael was no more, and the Almighty disappeared for good. It truly was the end of the War in Heaven.

Lack of knowledge leads to questions. Questions lead to answers. Answers lead to knowledge. Knowledge leads to trouble. Easy as that.

Crowley never regretted inventing questions, not once. He’s always thought it was quite a clever move of his. The real problem was that nobody had bothered inventing answers yet, so at first one couldn’t see the brilliance of being able to ask questions; they seemed rather pointless.

Despite not existing yet, Crawly had a vague idea of what an answer should look like; it has to make sense and be satisfying, even when you don’t like it, no, especially when you don’t like it. But he couldn’t invent answers himself, having invented questions already, so all he could do was wait for someone to do the job.

Crawly was quite sure that knowledge was somehow linked to answers. At that time, knowledge did exist - as established previously - but it wasn’t part of this particular equation yet. The chain was more like: free will leads to questions, questions lead to trouble. Crawly was aware of the missing link, having thought about the issue for a long time. He was therefore delighted upon discovering that there was a tree in the middle of the Garden of Eden that could grant mortals knowledge. He was even more so upon discovering that Lucifer - no, not Lucifer, not anymore, Satan now - was looking for somebody to go up there and make some trouble. Obviously, he volunteered.

He didn’t really need to make trouble; he just had to lead the humans to ask questions, that was all. He crawled to Eve, mostly because she seemed more interesting than Adam. She also seemed to have a better understanding of her own free will.

«You see that tree? It’s called the Tree of Life and its fruits grant you the ability to tell the difference between good and evil. Such a pity God forbid you to eat them.»

«Why?»

Technically, you can’t see a snake smiling, but in that particular case one could feel the serpent’s cheeky grin. «Indeed. Why?»

He slithered away, hiding himself between the bushes to watch the Fall of Man from a safe spot. If he was lucky, soon enough humans would’ve invented answers. But that’s not what happened.

It is believed that answers were invented by the Almighty in response to a stubborn Archangel’s question, when he explained to him that, hadn’t They invented pain, there would have been no balance in the universe, things could’ve never worked in the long run; it was ineffable. That’s not quite true. They tend to ignore questions, so it wouldn’t have made any sense for Them to come up with answers.

Actually, answers were invented by a pretty clueless and curiously atypical angel. He was supposed to smite demons on sight and yet, once Crawly started talking to him, he was too polite to even ignore him. Yes, as soon as he heard the snake’s doubts, he had started babbling about the ineffability of the Great Plan, which was such a tedious subject; but at least he wasn’t rude, nor entitled. And then…

«Didn’t you have a flaming sword?»

«Er.»

«You did, didn’t you? It flamed like anything. It looked very impressive, I thought.»

«Er, well…»

«Lost it, have you?»

«Oh no! Not exactly lost, more…»

«Well?»

«If you must know, I gave it away.»

Two things crossed Crawly’s mind. First of all, this was no common angel. What kind of angel gives away his God-given weapon to mortals who, on top of it, had just been punished? It was a miracle he hadn’t fallen. But, to be fair, those days God was nowhere to be found; probably They weren’t paying too much attention.

Second, he had answered his question. “Have you lost your flaming sword?” “No, I gave it away.” Simple as that. He hadn’t batted an eye, as if answers had always existed. In the end, there was no need to wait for humanity to sort it out.

He couldn’t help but smile. Things were about to get really interesting. And this angel, this Aziraphale, seemed really worth to be liking.

Lack of knowledge leads to questions. Questions lead to answers. Answers lead to knowledge. Knowledge leads to trouble. But it’s not so easy.

It’s not so easy, because sometimes lack of knowledge leads to blissful ignorance, which may lead to either happiness or violence; sometimes knowledge leads to satisfaction or peace; sometimes questions lead to more questions, or answers lead to even more questions, in a vicious circle that can’t be broken because sometimes, sometimes, there are no answers, no matter what.

Crowley shouldn’t keep asking questions - one thinks he should know better. And yet… And yet he still does. He never stopped. His curiosity, his need for answers, turns always out to be stronger than any fear of consequences, however big or frightening they might be.

But they’re drowning everybody else?

What did he say that made everybody so upset?

What the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille?

Should I say thank you?

He likes asking questions to Aziraphale. He knows that, no matter what, he’ll always get an answer back. It’s comforting. It almost makes him forget how bad questions can be, it makes him feel like it’s not wrong to pursuit knowledge, like he himself - his own strange existence - is not wrong for being curious.

However, thing is, sometimes Aziraphale is not enough. He doesn’t understand the Ineffable Plan no more than Crowley does, and that’s frustrating. So, he plays with fire; he talks to the Almighty Themselves. He’s aware of the dangers but he’s not afraid. After all, what’s the worst that could happen to him? He’s already fallen.

God, You listenin’?

He’s not sure why he still bothers. There’s nobody up there, there hasn’t been for such a long time that one might even question the existence of a Creator in the first place. And Crowley probably will, one day, given his nature. But not quite yet. For now, he just looks at the starry sky and wonders where in the damn universe are They hiding.

For now, he just looks at the starry sky. He thinks about how long it would take to travel to the end of the universe, how long would it take to search it all, every planet, every nebula, every galaxy. He decides an eternity is not enough.

(He think about mountains and brave little birds and spaceships travelling at the speed of light)

What he does know for certain is that the universe itself won’t last that long. Protostars become red giants, which become white dwarfs; supergiants become nebulae or supernovae, neutron stars and black holes. He knows, for he had built them, a very long time ago; he created those intricate patterns, those complex chemical reactions that lead one way or another depending on as little as a the presence or absence of a single atom, those delicate physical laws that maintain everything in balance, a graceful dance across the light-years. There’s so much beauty out there, but it won’t last; the universe runs towards entropy and there’s no stopping it. Even if there’s no Apocalypse to destroy the Earth, life is ultimately doomed in such a cold and hostile environment. What’s the point of it if… there’s no point at all?

Hey, God, can You show me the Ineffable Plan? Not all of it, You can just spoil me the ending, will You?

Crowley feels lost, without references, without meaning. He tries not to think about it. He tries to keep himself busy - some little temptations, lunch at the Ritz, a bottle of wine - but ultimately he feels like a tightrope walker, torn between cheap materialism, existential dread and hopeless cynicism.

And so he asks, question after question. And so he longs for all the things he’s lost and all the things he’ll never reach.

Trapped among mortal things (even the starry sky will end) why do I yearn for God?

#fanfic #mine #good omens #crowley #angst

4 notes · View notes

stedes-black-bonnet · 5 years

Text

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 9

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: Ongoing fic, want on the tag list? Let me know. Bit more Roger here than the others, evens out a bit in the end, leading to some heavy Deacy x reader action for the next chapter (patience is a virtue?)

Warnings: idk Roger has some dirty thoughts? Drinking?

Abstract: Roger can’t make up his mind; Brian notices what's missing from his life; Freddie and Jim attempt to push you and a certain bassist closer together.

Roger Taylor had met his match. He was certain; he was in denial. Well, this kind of thing, a permanent attachment, wasn’t in the stars for him. He was certain of that. He was also in denial about it. His honed hands pulled Lydia on to his lap. Her slippery red dress flowed over his legs, obscuring them from view. His vigorous fingers traced up Lydia’s thighs. He was drawing on her in the same way he was drawing his own conclusions about his own life. Which was to say, more or less randomly. He had yet to meet anyone capable, he thought, of reining him in. He had never really had reason to not partake of as many ladies as there were names for them.

No perfect Goddess in Red was going to change his mind on this. Sure, she was witty, gorgeous, sensuous, she was bloody well perfection walking in the night. He felt like she was always one step ahead of him and instead of being irritated by that quality--like he was with a certain John Deacon--he found it consumingly desirable. He wanted to be challenged by someone. Maybe Lydia was just the person to swing into his life and alter it forever? Maybe he should just leave well enough alone and be alone forever, doing whatever he pleased with whomever he pleased to do it with? She was something else entirely, though. A game changer.

He was certain. He was in denial.

Lydia was daring, uncouth. She was aware of it, knew people either hated her or envied her for it. He adored this about her. Her ability to just not care. He, perhaps, cared a bit too much. Roger had a temper. That was the negative way of putting it, and, in fact, when people said he had a temper, or tried talking to him about his temper, if often put him in a sour mood and caused him to have a temper. Rather, he liked to think of himself as passionate. He’d throw televisions as often as he threw words; they were one and the same for him; they were a means to an end. And Lydia was a very beautiful means to an end.

There was something about her though. Something usually tantalizing. Some forgotten whisper that said to him she was the kind of woman to keep beyond tonight, beyond one night. A keeper. No, best not to go there, he thought to himself. Denial was useful. Or was it? He was in denial about denial now. Great. This was, he was certain, Lydia’s fault. He had met her yesterday, and, he’d need Bri to explain it to him later, but he swore when he saw her, everything stopped but her. Her hair, he recalled the most. It had been blowing in the breeze of a fan, each tendril reaching out to him like a helping hand. Each caresses of each tress was an invitation. Come to me, it said. He was certain of it.

And he certainly wanted to come to her.

She was so captivating he took his sunglasses off to really look at her. She had been wearing a lilac-colored flowing top that slithered over her body like leather. She had this quality to make even gauzy, floating fabrics sing on her skin. It was as if even something as blasé as fabrics wanted to be close to her. Everything, everyone wanted to be close to Lydia. Of this, Roger was also certain. He wanted to be close to her. Close enough to breathe in the scent of her skin, taste her sweat. Close enough to mingle his with hers.

She hadn’t noticed him yet, Roger was certain. Chatting with someone else, though he couldn’t recall details outside of her. Man or woman, it didn’t matter which, he did remember feeling jealous of whoever she was talking to; she should be talking to him. Maybe she should be talking to him forever.

In the club, they finally locked eyes, and he couldn’t remember his name.

His name.

He couldn’t remember his name.

At 32, he figured remembering his name would be routine by now. He had taken for granted, he guessed, the value of being able to instantly recall his own name. He was in denial, though. He was in Queen, one of the most famous bands in the world. He played the drums, wrote some songs, and sang with the best singer any rock-band has ever had. But what exactly what his own name? How many drinks had he had? Five? Maybe six? It was his first night back from tour, and he was letting go to be sure, but he had never forgotten his own name.

Or had he? No, he was certain he hadn’t and he was even more certain it had nothing to do with the alcohol. He wasn’t an amateur, after all.

He’d have to go to her. He finished off his gin, slid the glass down the bar. It was undeniably a slick move.

Then, before he could actually make his move, before he could walk even a pace, she started moving towards him.

Roger was stunned. He couldn’t move. Great. Now he couldn’t move or remember his name. What exactly was happening to him?

He was the kind of person who approached people, not the kind of person who was approached. It was a self-confidence thing, he thought. His confidence came from actions and making bold choices, and in a split second acting on them. He was thrown off by this reversal of fortune. Simultaneously attracted and afraid of her boldness, frozen to the spot, his appreciation and desire for her grew by the second.

Her dauntlessness did not help him recall his name, however. What if I can’t remember it by the time she gets to me? Leaning up against the bar, he tried to look cool, effortless, and coherent. He wasn’t the kind of person who had to try to look like any of those things, however. He just simply was cool, calculatingly so; he was effortless, easy to laugh and to make others laugh; he always had a comeback and would fight to the hilt in any argument; he had a reputation for drinking too much, partying too much, seducing too much, and good on him, he thought. The only problem here wasn’t his myriad appetites. The problem was that he was vastly intelligent on top of it all.

He was labeled the pretty one, and not the smart one. He had a brain, though he didn’t always have to resort to using it to get what he wanted; therefore, his means to challenging himself, to being entertained, increased in danger and intrigue over the years to satiate an unknown wish to be of use, to be challenged, to be seen as more than another stereotypical pretty rock-star.

Sizing up Lydia, he thought, brains or looks, which to use to win her?

The mistake was his, he’d find out later. Because they were birds of a feather in this respect; brians and dashingly good looks mixed in one vessel. A deadly combination in the right hands, he was certain. Maybe, he’d let her pick, let her speak first.

Lydia reached him, and stared at him. She said nothing, just looked at the only man worth looking at in the entire club. She raised a contoured eyebrow at him, silently asking him if the cat had his tongue.

“I’m afraid you have possession of something that is mine,” Roger Taylor said.

“Oh, what would that be? Your heart?” She rolled her eyes at him. She’d heard every line before. With each passing second he was disappointing her. She thought the great Roger Taylor would be different.

“My tongue,” he grinned at her.

It was her turn to be shocked now; she hadn’t expected that retort.

“I’d like it back,” he said, holding a hand out to her, presumably for his tongue back.

She took his hand, “Well, Roger Taylor, if I give it back to you, what will you do with it?”

Roger Taylor, right. He thought, “Well, come to my party tomorrow night, and I’ll show you. Beauty like yours should be shared.”

“Alright,” Lydia said. She brought his hand up to her mouth, and licked the back of it.

It was the most brazen act he had ever seen, ever been party to, and he couldn’t get enough of it--he couldn’t get enough of her. He wanted more.

Lydia let go of his hand, “Lydia Wesmor.”

“Roger Taylor,” he said.

“Yes, I know.” She said.

Did he know then she was everything he was looking for in a partner without knowing what he was looking for in the first place? Probably not, but he was a man in denial, after all. He told her the address of Garden Lodge, suggested she bring a friend, and put his baby blue sunglasses back on. He turned around to order drinks for them at the bar, but when he turned around to ask what she wanted, she was gone from sight.

Did I imagine her, he thought?

He kept tracing his fingers up Lydia’s thighs, pushing the boundaries as far as she’d allow him to. They were in public, after all, and in Freddie and Jim’s bedroom no less. Even though the band was used to this kind of behavior from him, he didn’t want to push boundaries with them too far right now; things were tense among the band these days.

It was the ridiculous disco album they were cutting, Roger thought. He didn’t want to think about it right now. No, right now he wanted to think about Lydia’s thighs, and what was between them, and how much he wanted to be between them.

Roger looked at her lips, then. Painted red, they were a toreador’s cape and he wasn’t strong enough to resist the urge to chase them. He wanted her. Though for how long, he couldn’t decide. His heart had already made up its mind on the matter, but he didn’t want to listen to his heart to right now. His heart only got him in trouble. And even though right now he wanted to be very naughty, he didn’t want to be in trouble. The difference was subtle, but not to him, to him it was a clear line. So, he pushed the sighs of his heart to the side, at least for tonight.

Over Lydia’s shoulder he saw Freddie’s arm slip from his knee and cascade into Jim’s. He saw Freddie trace the green seam in Jim’s pants, and soon they held hands. Freddie and Jim, how could Roger ever live up to them? God’s own bloody love story on bloody earth, he thought. Maybe it was better to not feel for others, to not have attachments, to not fall in love. But, they looked so happy, staring into each other’s eyes behind Lydia’s back.

Jim kissed Freddie’s hand.

A melancholic look flashed in Roger’s eyes, and he knew his heart wanted that kind of intimacy with someone. That tender gesture was so different from when he had met Lydia and she had licked his hand. Or was it? Maybe it was the same? This was a dangerous path, he thought.

He shook his head, in denial. “Lydia,” he said, “Can I take you away from these Queens?”

“Lay on, MacDuff,” Lydia challenged.

Roger Taylor, a man determined to not make up his mind yet, lifted Lydia into the air. She squealed playfully. He was stronger than he looked. He spun her around, and slowly, so slowly lowered her to the ground. Her feet touched the floor, and she looked up at him, smiling.

What was she thinking, he thought? Can she see right through me? He had never felt more invisible.

He was in denial again, because, for Lydia, he was all she saw.

She put her hand in his, ready for anything. Roger pulled her towards the doorway.

“If this is losing sardines, I must adopt the losing temperament more often.” Roger gloated to the room at large.

“That’d be a first,” Brian said, from his armchair.

Roger, leading Lydia through the doorway, heard Deacy singing behind him, “Ooh I need your loving…”

Freddie’s clear voice joined Deacy’s, “Ooh I need your loving tonight!”

Roger thought he’d still have the last laugh tonight.

Watching your friend leave with the one and only Roger Meddows Taylor, you found yourself thinking of John Deacon. You let your gaze return to him.

Deacy had been watching Freddie and Jim, a strange expression on his face, but his eyes flicked fast onto yours when he sensed you looking. A small smiled spread across his face.

“Are you all always like this?” You asked, intrigued.

“More or less,” Deacy said.

“A bit more lately, to be honest.” Brian added lightly. There was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there earlier.

“Any particular reason?” You questioned.

“Yes,” Brain said, “Though now isn’t the time to get into it.” He stood from his chair, and walked over to Freddie and Jim. “A great party as always, Fred.”

Freddie stood and hugged one of his oldest friends. Brain then hugged Jim. He turned to you, and extended his hand to you. “It really was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N. I hope we will see each other again soon.”

You stood to shake his hand, “I hope we do too, Brian.”

Deacy danced up to Brian to say goodnight.

“Don’t get into too much trouble, Deacy.” He said cheekily.

“There you go, confusing me for Rog, again.” Deacy shook his head, and hugged Brian.

Brian turned and walked through the bedroom door and out into the hallway beyond. His mind was buzzing. What a bizarre night! Full of new people, two in particular seemed to be likely to stick around, he thought. Two new women. It was so painfully easy for his friends to meet people. They all seemed to meet people wherever they went these days. Maybe meet wasn’t the right word, he reasoned. His friends seemed to easily become acquainted, instantly delve into knowing the people they’d meet. Brian would often fumble around his words around new people; he needed time to warm up, to get comfortable around people. Fred and Rog--even the quiet-as-a-game Deacy--took to people as easily as people took to them. It was, more or less, natural for them. Brian always had to work at it.

Brain marveled at their abilities to make themselves at home in any situation. He much preferred the company of animals to people. Maybe he just hadn’t met the right people yet. The right person, he thought. He wasn’t precisely lonely. But he did notice a vacancy in his life that had nothing to do with his robust friendships. Roger was his best friend. They couldn’t be more different in some respects. Here he was, leaving Fred’s party alone, while Roger was leaving with another stunning woman on his arm. People rarely made sense; this was why he enjoyed physics. Everything had its place and if one factor was obstructed, or flawed, it showed, and was easily solved. You couldn’t just solve people. Especially not his friends. They were all so confusingly different and splendid. Brain didn’t want to think of what life would be life without them; even on the days when they were fighting more than creating music, he still loved them. He wouldn’t change them for the world. Though he wouldn’t mind a romantic relationship of his own in the meantime.

“Did one of you manage to lift Rog’s keys tonight?” Freddie asked in a way that made this seem old hat, like it was another private game they all played with each other.

“I did,” Deacy said, pulling a pair of keys from his pants pocket. He tossed them to Jim.

“When he found us at the bar, right?” Jim asked. “You were quite subtle.”

“Was he, darling?” Freddie asked, excitedly wanting every detail of parts of the party he had missed.

“I was impressed. Roger was so distracted by Deacy’s interest in Y/N, here. He wasn’t able to really focus on anything else, including the stealing his car keys.”

Deacy smiled at Jim, and walked over to you, “Was it really that obvious?” He asked you.

“Was what obvious?” You asked, not wanting to assume.

“My interest in you?”

“Yes,” You and Jim said at the same time. You both laughed. Jim gave you an encouraging wink.

“Well, shall we leave them alone, you think, my love?” Freddie asked Jim theatrically.

“What? In our bedroom?” Jim asked in mock-horror. “Good lord, imagine what they’d do in here if left alone…”

“I do suppose we could stay and watch…?” Freddie suggested.

“For science, surely.” Jim responded, “Brian would want us to collect data, after all…”

“We could even join them, I suppose.” Freddie sighed, it was the sigh of a man mustering up the courage to do a job no one really wanted to do. It was all an act, and he had it down to a tee. Everything was a production.

“They might need pointers.” Jim agreed.

“Have you ever even slept with a woman?” Freddie asked incredulously.

“Well, no,” Jim said, “But I’m sure I could figure out the mechanics.”

Tag List: @phantom-fangirl-stuff @triggeredpossum @obsessedwithrogertaylor @groupiie-love @richiethotzierz @partydulce @sophierobisonartfoundationblr @psychostarkid @teathymewithben @smittyjaws @just-ladyme @botinstqueen

#john deacon x reader #John Deacon #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #brian may #freddie mercury #jim hutton #bohemian rhapsody #Queen #queen x reader #ben hardy #Rami Malek #gwilym lee #joe mazzello

70 notes · View notes

cuthie · 4 years

Text

Omru: Talk Talk Talk

Dripping.

Vul’dun was a hot desert often frequented by raging sandstorms. The heat could be downright oppressive and water a scarce resource. So when Omru came to, the sound of dripping water was almost alien to his large vulpine ears. Slowly he brought his hands to his eyes, wiping the crud sleep had gathered along his lashes.

Drip, drip-drip, drip.

Om groaned as he sat up, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. Beneath him was a thin blanket atop a smooth stone. The air was relatively warm and along the walls were torches being held by small earthen sconces. He was inside a cave, that much was certain, though not one he was familiar with. In the corner was a very small shallow pool, and what was interesting was that water seemed to drip down only above the puddle and nowhere else. Near the water was an odd red metal object, drilled into the stone itself. The drill had a flickering blue light that seemed to match the rhythm of the dripping droplets.

Blink blink blink, drip drip drip.

Light flickered at the opposite end of the cave as a hooded figure passed before a torch, revealing an exit Om hadn’t initially seen. A trick of the stone, it only looked to be a solid room, the far cavern wall blending into what looked like a stone hallway. This hooded figure began to sing in the most off key croaking sounds Omru had ever heard.

“Oh wella wella wella woop, tell me mo’, tell me mo’, how much dough did he spend?”

Omru snarled his muzzle, “If you’re gonna kill me, then kill me quickly. I can’t bare this kinda torture a moment longer.” The hooded figure stepped into the torchlight, revealing himself to be an odd furless bipedal creature.. Like a troll but not quite, Vulperine in size,and ugly as sin.

“Ey, I been nurturin’ yous back ta life with these songs. Fuggin kids today don’t appreciate nothin, I tell ya. Anyways, welcome back to tha land of tha livin’. We diden getta meet proper last time, on account of yous was seducin’ rocks with them pipes. I’m jelly, ta tell ya true. At’s a gift, kid, but damn if I ain’t all befuddled tryin ta figure out what that’s gotta do wit’ shamanism. And I’m sure you gots questions too, so let’s have a nice chat. Whaddaya say? Tha name’s Pazaz. Pazaz Nunya Bidniz, proud member of the Earthen Ring and.. Kindy sorta semi ashamed member of the notorious Horde. Heh.”

Omru’s big bright orange eyes blinked in mild disbelief. He wasn’t really up and up on his history, but Horde sounded like a familiar word. What really struck his interest was this green ball of hot air’s funky way of talking. Of course, trading tales and exchanging information was a way of life out in the desert, often a profitable one. Still, this guy had saved his life, so Om wasn’t withholding. “Omru. I kind of remember you. I’ll be honest, waking up, I kind of thought I had just dreamt you into creation. Sooo, what happened and where are we?”

“Omru what? No last name?”

“Nah. Having more than one name just sounds complicated. I’ve heard of a few, though.”

Paz shrugged, “Cool. Okay, so, I came here ta Sargeras’s butthole on a super secret mission. Recruitin good guys to fix the world’s problems. Ain’t secret no mo’s, is it? Aha! Along the way, I saw that a buncha you fox folks was all chained up and/or enslaved. Slavery is uh.. We had it back in Kezan, former island paradise of my peoples the Goblins. I had a few myself, but I done learnt the errors of my ways, yeah? So I went about settin yous all free. Ain’t that sweet’a me? You remember that bit, for sure. I smashed them shackles right offa yous, then ya summoned an elemental to smash them slavers into snake dust. You passed out, ya babysitter picked ya up, and I lead you and about a dozen more Vulpera out ta safety. The Horde’s got the rest of your friends.. Or family or whatever. I kept you, though. Even built up these lil digs. I ain’t the best healer, but it got the job done. Your turn, tell me about the rock monster you employed.”

Omru’s eyes darted from corner to corner in the room as he absorbed the story. Sargeras? Probably a religious figure. Goblins. That sounded familiar, right? He had heard of them before. Probably. He scratched at the back of his neck, his shoulders feeling stiff as he did. In response, he hopped up off the ‘table’ and stretched out. For a moment he just patted himself down, checking that all of his parts were there, then curled his tail to his arm for inspection. Everything seemed fine. Better than when he was chained up for sure. Hm. “So. You saved me, thanks, I owe you. Rock monster, huh? Yeah, she came in handy. I’ll be honest, not too sure how it all works. Just something I found a few months ago. Not Rocky, but the totem on the rawhide. That was my second time using it, glad it worked. Now, you said you kept me here instead of leaving me with the rest at the Horde camp. Why?”

Pazaz picked at his nose with his pinky finger, then flicked the booger towards a wall to let it stick. “Found it. That don’t sound right.”

Omru cringed. Ugh, what a dirty little bastard. He took a second to shake the image from his head, “Well, that’s the truth. I find lots of things. Not all of them summon stone guardians though. That’s why it’s my most prized possession.”

Paz exhaled, “So you don’t know nothin ‘bout shamanism?”

“I know it’s a thing that a couple troll tribes do to talk to ghosts, trees and bugs.”

Paz rolled his eyes, “That ain’t right, ya numb skull. Ghosts? Sure. Trees? Nah-uh. Bugs? No way. The elements kid. We commune with the whole flippin’ world.” Shaking his head, he pointed towards the red metal machine dug into the stone near the pool, “That’s my water totem. I’m a shammy extree-fuggin-ordinaire. And that’s why you’re with me instead of the goof troop back in the sand bunker. Horde is uh.. Horde is good people sometimes, but bad people to they’s enemies. I diden want’cha involved with them until I talked to yous first. The Earthen Ring, remember I told ya I work for’em? They’re all shaman. They all got different ways of talkin to the elements, maybe even some of them sing, heh. Me, personally? I write contracts, with a small exception for my favorite breath of fresh air. Anyways, yeah, I’m kinda hopin to recruit yous. You got talent, kid. Not just singin, which was great. Like, dream big, you could make it as an entertainer. But communin’ with the earth the way ya did? It was casual, natural even, right? Folks don’t just pick up a totem and use it. Magic don’t work that way, the elements don’t work that way. So the way I sees it? You got shamanism in ya blood. Or mayhap ya just an elemental bard or some shit and you’s singin is all magickal and whatnot. I dunno, but I think with a couple of years learnin from the Earthen Ring, yous could help repair the planet. Maybe. Shamanism is hard as fel. Anyways, Azeroth needs all the repairs she can get. Whether you know this or not, this bitch is about to flip on it’s back and flat out die. Dead. D.E.D. Dead. You unnastand the words what’re comin outta my mouth?”

Omru folded his arms over his chest as he stared at the metal totem. It was nothing like his own mystical treasure. His was a small wooden vulpine carving attached to rawhide. This thing was ten to twenty times bigger, metal and blinking. Weird. Shamanism wasn’t a foreign concept, he had seen a shaman or two. Some of the Vulpera even. Honestly though? He had no idea where he would even start with such an offer, but, he did owe this guy. “Uh. I’m getting like every other word. Cultural differences and all that. You want me to be a shaman and meet your friends? That’s- Not in the stars, my friend. Sorry, I just don’t see myself putting on religious garb and becoming best friends with the clouds. I can help in other ways, though. I mean, I owe you my life. Oh and where are we? You didn’t say. Not many sources of water out here.”

Paz grinned, his sharpened goblin teeth akin to a baby shark’s, do doo do doo do doo, “Shame. It ain’t for everyone, and for all I know, yous got lucky with the necklace. Anyways, far as where we is? We’re only a hop skip anna jump from where I snuck into the Slitherfucks nest to save yous. The pool comes from ocean water, my friend. I got it flowin through the ground, donatin it’s salts to the earth. This shit is clean as a night elf’s moonwell. It’s purity yous can taste. I oughtta bottle it up and write that on tha label, yeah?”

Omru’s eyes widened further, “You can do that?”

“Kid, stick with me and you’ll see that ain’t much ole Paz can’t do.”

“Okay, how? I’m listening, I’m curious to learn.”

Paz interlocked his fingers together, pushing his hands out until the bones made a light popping noise, “Alright, first one’s free, aha.” Grinning, he walked over to a small leather backpack, taking just a minute to open it and rummage about to eventually pull out a glowing golden scroll, “This here is a contract. They ain’t always so pretty, but I like ta get all fancy. You can’t read it, don’t ask, but I’ll give yous tha jist of it. I made peace witta Water Elemental over in Stranglethorn once upon a when. The Elements, you see, can grant folks boons. Make us all magickal an shit. The mo betta ya elemental friend is, the stronger you get an all that. But they always ask for somethin’ in turn. Some folks take it by force. We call them fat heads and punch’em in tha junk. Anyways, sometimes the elementals want somethin specific, sometimes it’s just a code to follow or a pledged oath. This contract was written up, enchanted and I got that there totem to really help me harness her watery goodness. Like, I could mend some minor flesh wounds wit just a little stream nearby or somethin’. But out here in the desert, I needed to pull out the totem to get a good source flowin. It won’t last forever, but trust me, that’s powerful magic to make that lil puddle. Speakin’ of powerful totems, iffens you ain’t intressed’ in shammin it up in the maelstrom, how bouts you offer me that thing around ya neck and we’ll call us square”

At the mention of his own totem, Omru pinched the wooden figurine between two furry fingers, “Oh. You, uh, don’t have enough of your own?”

Paz changed to a more sombering expression, “I can’t just eyeball a totem an know it’s history. I dunno where ya found this thing, but if that elemental is bound to it, that ain’t right. What is you doin for her? Nothin cause ya don’t speak tha lingo. She’s a prisoner, bud. Just like you was.”

Om slipped the little strap of rawhide over his head, momentarily getting it caught on a large fuzzy ear. “I didn’t know that, sorry. Just.. found a magic item and put it on. Can’t blame a guy for his love of loot, right?” Sighing, he handed the necklace over. He hadn’t had the thing for too long, but twice now that elemental had saved his bacon.

With no flash or incantation, Paz simply twirled the totem between his fingertips, summoning the earth elemental to his side. The rocky creature was large enough to almost fill the entire little nook, ducking it’s head and forcing the fox boy to take a few steps back. “Heya girl. You’re a good egg, okay? Ya diden hafta save this boy, but ya did. Want me to see yins free?”

Omru watched as the elemental moved about slowly, as if fidgeting. He couldn’t hear a damn thing, but apparently Paz did.

“Is that so? Yo, Omen, did you find this necklace on somebody’s dead corpse?”

Om’s eyes widened, “What, no! And it’s Omru.”

“Chill, I’m just makin sure tha owner ain’t died. This lady right here belongs to someone named Keyi. Ring any bells?”

Om nodded once, “Yeah, I know a Keyi. She’s a bit of an odd bird.”

“Good, take me to her when you’re back on ya feet, kay? We’ll get these two reunited.” Paz extended four little greeny wigglying fingers towards the Elemental, who in turn extended a few floating pebbles from what might be a limb? Hands were touched, for the briefest moment, before the elemental was taken back to her home plane.

Omru just watched the whole scenario, fascinated. “Uh.. Yeah, I can think of a few spots she might be. We don’t exactly have permanent addresses, ya know?”

Paz shoved his hands in his pockets, “Yeah, I heard that about yous all. Kindy like the Tauren that ways. Oh and you’ll get a kick outta this. Ole gal thought you -was- Keyi. Says all you Vulpera look the same to her. Plus she thought ya singin’ was perty. Cute, huh?”

Omru smiled at that. It wasn’t the first time he had accidentally wooed someone through song, likely wouldn’t be the last. Heh. “Cute.”

#vulpera #wowrp #warcraft roleplay #wra #wyrmrest roleplay

1 note · View note

cardavem · 5 years

Text

The Wolf and the Rabbit AU

Into the slammer, again. Who would of thought that the smooth talking rebel would find himself behind bar after his encounter with the detective. In his defense, he never laid a hand on her, but my god what a pain-in-the-ass situation he was in. This is why he hated dealing with the cops. They just don’t have enough respects to honor his alibi. His eyes tossed to the back of his head with a major headache pulsing against his temples. He quietly sat on a stainless steel opposite front a kid who sat on the concrete floor with his back against bars. He was dark skinned who wore baggy jeans and a Pink Floyd shirt. HIs converse shoes were practically peeling from his feet as if he walked for miles. Rocking back and forth, hands quaking with discomfort, this teenage boy pricked Ace’s curiosity to poke at the kid.

“What are you in here for?” he spoke just above a whisper, clasping his hands together before leaning slightly forward from his chair. Boots pattered softly as he reposition his elbows to his knees and spiked his eyebrows upward. At first, the kid was hesitant to answer. Dark olive eyes scanned the blond from the crown of his head to the emblem crest that dangles from his neck. Ace did look sketchy; perhaps he robbed a drugstore, got pulled over for DUI, or maybe even killed somebody for that matter. But the little boy didn’t have room to talk. A grin crinkled at the blond’s stunning features as he attempted to pinpoint his reason behind bars. “Ah so a run away, huh? It must been a shit home, then?” The boy’s mouth open to protest, but instead he was interrupted by a guard who fidgeted with the cell door. Ace faintly stirred, glaring daggers at the jailer. He almost debated on whether if violence would be his best tactic out of confinement. He decided against in and just watched him cuff the little boy.

“Alright, Micheal, we contacted your father. Unfortunately, your mother had passed away due to head trauma a week prior,” the gravity of the situation began to come to complete circle. This kid problaby ran away from home to get away from something and it problaby got to his mother first. The boy was like an open book and Ace can read him as if he was the writer projecting his downfall. Fat tears began to roll off Micheal’s olive eyes and he shriveled at the attack of words.

“No... No, I can’t go back. Not to that man!” his skin flushes with utter dejection as he shouldered himself into the corner. “I-I can’t go back! He was a monster! He’s going- going to..” He screamed before thrashing against the jailer’s further advances. All this negative emotion pelted from Micheal's clamming roars was incredibly intoxicating. Ace reveled at the spews as it awoken the beast that sleeps. Whatever this monster that resides within him, it forced him to adopt this corrupt character. He was reckless and selfish all while being cunning, but if this maddening emotion continued to erupts and fueling the animal inside, Ace just might have plan to manipulate the situation quietly.

“Hey,” steadily, Ace raised up to his feet and took a few steps forwards before placing a hand on the jailer’s shoulder. “...cut the kid some slack. He’s just lost his mother, for crying out loud,” as the guard to face the other inmate, Ace made immediate eye contact and locked eyes with the holder. It was all within one touch and a single glance, and Ace compelled the guard into being his prey. At first, the guard seemed uncomfortable starring down the devil all while dealing sniffling kid, but soon he fell into the trance, he dropped his arms to his sides and obeyed. “Let the kid, be. Honorably discharge us from the cell and we won’t be any more trouble. Comprende officer... ?“ Ace scanned his uniform for his badge before flicking it with his index. “...Officer Rodriguez?”

Still under the spell, man obliged and tweaked out a smile. “I’ll just get those paperwork in order then,” he replied. “Let me get those cuffs off there, Micheal,” he turned to the whimpering teen. “Just give me a moment to get the discharge paper.” “Thank you so much, Officer Rodriguez. And if you can do me a favor and get me the address of Detective Alexandros? I’d like to send her flowers for her speedy recover!” Ace mocked before quickly stopping him in the doorway, and the officer agreed with a huge spanking smile and big thumbs up. “You got it!”

After a few moments of silence, he turned to the Micheal all while pulling out his wallet. “Here. This a card that can get you some help. I was orphan, just like you. She will help you and take you under her wing.” If only was that easy. Mother was a despicable person, and all Ace can hope for is that she can grant this young boy the same opportunity at life like she had did for himself. Micheal rubbed runny nose before accepting the small card. “Arecia Al-Rashia?”

“Yep. Her address is at the bottom. She’s not to far from the station.” he swung his arm around Micheal’s head before walking him. “If your dealing with that kind of problem that I’m thinking of, please contact her. It won’t be easy, but it should find you justice.” he carefully advise and pointed him into the right direction. “I’ll take care of the paperwork...Oh, and you should probably keep salt on you at all times when meeting with her.”

---

A few hours later, Ace had found himself snooping inside her apartment. It was getting cool in the apartment complex as sunlight splashed inside cozy layout. It was a bit warm for his taking, but it was most definitely an inviting space. He dallied around living room, rummaging through paperwork, mail, and any small details to get a better understanding of this mysterious women. She knew exactly what he was, but some how there was a haze in her eyes which boggled him beyond all meanings. Eventually he made way into her bathroom and examine all the products she had in her keep. The scent of lavish soaps and perfumes wafted to his nostrils and overall made his nauseous of all the girly items. Ace had almost gave up on the hunt when something caught his eye. Her medication bottle.

On the label, it was prescribed for headaches and night terrors. But when he opened up the bottle to observe, he notice a faint scent of sulfur. He wonder if this could be the doing of the supernatural who is just masking her abilities. His suspicion spiked when he read who had prescribed her these pills. As he was her bathroom, he heard keys jingling at the front door and he knew he was busted once again.

@avaliantqueen

#the wolf and the rabbit au #It's so lengthy and I feel so out of it T_T #So what I got from the previous thread is that Garnet was attacked #Ace came to rescue with his supernatural abilities and fled #and revisited Garnet and partly shown his gifts before she collapsed and Alec basically beat the crap out of Ace for it lol #ANywho #here is rough reply lol #garace #Also Micheal will play a huge part later on

2 notes · View notes