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midasinc · 3 years

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les amis and toxic traits (affectionate and derogatory):

-courfeyrac has a bad habit of being on his phone when he's with friends. he's mostly either just swiping through his dating app or texting someone on his dating app and he isn't aware that it's really rude. he's also really bad about borrowing money and not giving it back. if he asks for a couple euro for the metro, you will never get it back. he comes from a rich background and money is something that he forgets not everybody has. feuilly is the only one who holds him accountable for it because "i bought you a drink at the pub two weeks ago and you still owe me and i need to pay rent this week :/"

-enjolras is a pen clicker. oh. my god. he clicks pens at the speed of light and if someone asks him to stop, he'll apologize but then start again like thirty seconds later. it is so. fucking. annoying. also i love him but he's really self-righteous and won't admit when he's wrong. when someone has an opinion that differs his own, he can only see things in black or white. you're on his side, or you're wrong. this also applies to other's and their choices in what they do. he always donates the extra euro when he's checking out at a store for whatever donation project is going and if you don't he will give you the stink eye and publicly ask why you won't. no recyclable grocery bags? he will call you out and badger you until you buy one. you accidentally left the light on when you exited the room? oh my god. he has such good intentions but he forgets that not everybody might be as financially secure as him and not everybody is thinking about it at all times. he wants what's good for the world but it really gets on other people's nerves sometimes

-joly is really similar to enjolras in the sense that he calls people out for their health choices without thinking about their situation. he's getting better about it, but he has criticized grantaire to hell and back about all of his bad habits and not in a nice way. he's really harsh when someone is self-destructive or literally just picks like a soda at a restaurant over water. he wants his friends to be healthy but jesus fucking christ dude. no one asked for your opinion, now is not the time.

-feuilly only eats frozen meals. he only lives on lean cuisines. JEHBJWEHRWJH but also this dude smokes cigs a lot and forgets that smoke and tobacco makes some people feel sick or nauseated. he smokes in his apartment even when people are over and doesn't really think it's that big of a problem. enter: enjolras, who has asthma, and just walked through a cloud and starts hacking. anyway, he also gets really defensive when people call him out on it. it's his choice to smoke and whenever someone is like "hey maybe you might want to cut back" when he's buying a new pack of smokes after buying one three days before, he'll get super snappy and rude because it feels like an attack on him

-speaking of nicotine! jehan vapes and i have no room to speak on this subject bc let's not talk about my juul but they are in denial that it's also a problem. they're like "it's healthy shut up" but will go through pods so fast that it's genuinely comparable to feuilly's same bad habit. they started juuling bc they thought the flavours were yummy and it was cool and oh my god. jehan is also really blunt with their sense of humour and doesn't realize that not everybody thinks its funny. walking into a room and just being like "lmaoooo grantaire you look like shit today" and everybody is kind of like "...hm". combeferre is actually good about calling them out on that sort of stuff, though. if jehan realizes they're in the wrong, they'll apologize

-combeferre is. such. a fucking. movie talker. he just has so much to say at every minute of the movie and it's the worst (this is also me so self-roast). nobody likes to watch movies with him because "dude we just want to watch the fucking movie oh my god". he's also really pretentious and a gatekeeper. if you like the same band as him "oh really? well name three songs-" in a way that makes whoever he's feeling to feel stupid. combeferre really prides himself on his intellect, but it goes too far most of the time and it just comes across as super condescending and a lot of people get annoyed talking with him because it just feels like he's talking down at them the whole time

-marius is also super blunt but not in a way that's meant to be funny. he has absolutely walked into a room and gone "oh enjolras your haircut looks so bad im so sorry :(". and similarly to courfeyrac, he forgets the value of money. he's definitely asked people to go somewhere and has said like "yeah! the concert tickets are like 250 euro which is actually super cheap :)" and feuilly is just. dying inside. he intends to be nice, he just says so much stupid shit. he isn't purposely being a bad guy.

-bossuet never re-fills a roll of toilet paper if he's the last to use it. you do not know how annoying it is to room with this guy. grantaire has absolutely shouted "HOW HARD IS IT TO GRAB ANOTHER TUBE???" from the shitter and bossuet just denies it because it embarrasses him. he's also bad about cleaning dishes and will leave a cup in the sink for weeks if it isn't cleaned by someone else or threateningly left in front of his bedroom door. i love u bae but please clean up after yourself

-grantaire is the fucking worst. i love him but he is the worst. he is so self-deprecating to the point where a lot of people just won't be around him because you can only take so much self-pity before it becomes annoying as hell. he's never accepted a compliment and is one of those "omg no my art is so fucking ugly i hate it so much" when someone says they like a sketch or a painting he did and it is just. so annoying. he's also just super bad about caring about him self. baby forgets to shower and wash his hair and wear deodorant and it's like babe. baby. listen- we are not 13 year old boys anymore, we are men and we need to shower. take your zoloft and let's clean up your room <3

-bahorel is a babe but he's too rough with people. he'll slap someone on the back so hard that they choke on their drink. he's also bad about jokes going too far and just being kind of an asshole he'll snatch up something courfeyrac is holding and hold it up high and courf is 5'5 and bahorel is 6'3 and it is just unfair and unfunny and courfeyrac is not laughing and it just gets old so fast. he thinks people are having fun with him but baby they r not. everybody here is givin you the stink eye, just let the bit die

#let's pretend some of these dont extend from me #les mis #les miserables #les amis de l'abc #les amis #modern era #modern au #enjolras #courfeyrac #combeferre #jehan prouvaire #jean prouvaire #jehan #feuilly #bahorel #joly #bossuet #grantaire #les mis headcanons

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mochegato · 3 years

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Jasonette Protection Program

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Marinette pulled her coat closer around her as she made her way from the bus stop to her apartment. She had made the brilliant decision when she moved here not to get a car because… Gotham. The likelihood that it would get damaged or destroyed in some kind of attack was ridiculously high. The likelihood the bus would get blown up or taken over, while definitely still present, was significantly lower.

But today she was regretting that decision. It meant she couldn’t isolate herself like she wanted to. It meant she was exposed to anybody and everybody at the bus stop and on the bus and on the sidewalk and any one of them could have been the one to drug her. She eyed the people around her as she walked. Okay, maybe not the woman who looked like she was in her 90’s and could barely walk… and dropped her knitting out of her bag.

Marinette rushed over to her and paused right before reaching her. She twirled around and scanned the faces around her. She could feel somebody watching her. She could feel their eyes scrutinizing her every move. She studied the shadows and the windows, but couldn’t find anyone watching her. She frowned slightly and shook her head. She was getting paranoid. She was seeing and feeling things that weren’t there.

She sighed and turned back to the woman, crouching down to help her put her knitting back in her bag. The woman smiled in appreciation, which Marinette returned with a shaky one of her own. She walked the remaining few feet to her apartment building and took a cautious look up and down the dark street before turning into it. She made sure she heard the click of the door latching before continuing up the stairs, not that it would do anything. Logically she knew that, but her anxiety still demanded it.

She kept her eyes on the stairwell as she made her way up to her apartment on the top floor, eyes hyper vigilant for any movement, her ears hyper sensitive to any sounds from the stairs. She got to her floor and paused for a few moments waiting to see if any sounds or movement indicated someone behind her. She let out a relieved sigh when there was no noise and turned to her apartment before letting out a muffled screech.

Jason jumped, dropping his phone he had been scrolling on, in his rush to hold up his hands in a placating motion. “Just me. It’s okay. It’s just me.” He watched her for a few seconds. She was starting to breathe hard, her eyes were boring into him. “Although I just realized you may not remember me. So this was actually an incredibly stupid plan.” He took a few steps away from her door, his hands still held up to let her know he wasn’t a threat.

Marinette continued to stare at him for a few more seconds, forcing her breathing to slow. “You… you’re Tim’s brother, right? You… you were…” she squinted at him, “you were in my bedroom?”

Jason grimaced and looked down to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah… that doesn’t make me sound too good, does it?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

He perked up slightly and gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I wanted to check on you and see how you’re doing today. It can hit a day or a few days later sometimes. And I’m a security expert. I consult on it for people and companies. I wanted to offer to check your security for you so you’d feel safe, at least when you’re at home.” He turned to her door and knocked on the doorframe. “I can already tell that you need better locks. I could have broken in easily, but I didn’t think you would appreciate finding me in your apartment.”

She raised an eyebrow at him but let out a quiet chuckle and looked away after a few seconds. “You would be right.” She looked back up at him and tentatively walked over closer to her door. “But, I don’t think I can afford to hire you.”

Jason waved off her concern. “I wouldn’t let you. I’d charge Tim for it. He can afford it and he’s worried enough that I’m actually kind of surprised he hasn’t contacted me already, but I suppose that has something to do with him not wanting you to meet me in the first place.”

Marinette quirked her lips to the side and studied him. The longer she watched and talked to him the more memories came back and the clearer they became. She was slowly starting to get bits and pieces of the night before, not enough to create a coherent picture, just incredibly short scenes, a word here, a smile there. Regardless of what she could remember though, this was Tim’s brother and although Tim didn’t want them to meet, he trusted him, not that she would ever be allowed to say that out loud to either of them.

She finally nodded and pulled out her keys. “Well, I can at least offer you dinner while you’re here. If you’d like.” She gave him a small smile as she passed him into the apartment taking off her coat and dropping her bag on the small dining room table.

Jason raised his eyebrows in surprise. After the way she had reacted when she saw him, he honestly didn’t think she would talk to him let alone let him into her apartment. He was starting to understand how she could have gotten drugged so easily if she was that trusting. But then again, Tim had said they all were being careful. Her even more so than the others. So why was she so trusting now? “I would never turn down free food,” he said slowly.

He closed the door behind him with a quick glance at the inside part of the lock, confirming his original suspicions. Standard issue, not particularly secure. He could have picked it in all of three minutes when he was only eight. He didn’t have to lean down to study the doorknob to know it was in worse condition. One good kick and the door would be wide open. He sighed. If anyone wanted to get into her apartment, it wouldn’t take them very much effort.

He turned back to the apartment, letting his frown morph into a smile. Her apartment was cozy and lived in and very much her. There were touches of her everywhere along with some touches that he wouldn’t have expected. He shook his head at the condition of the apartment. It wasn’t terribly messy but it also wouldn’t count as anything close to clean. He could see why she and Tim got along so well. Neither could clean up after themselves to save their lives.

There were bits of fabric and half completed sewing projects scattered around along with random pages of scientific reports. He raised an eyebrow at that. Odd combination. His eyes caught on men’s shoes by the door. He scrunched his forehead in confusion. If she lived with someone, where were they? Where were they last night? Why hadn’t Tim mentioned him? “You live with someone? A boyfriend?”

Marinette looked up from the refrigerator. “No. Well, yes, but no. I live with my best friend,” she explained quickly, “but he’s visiting friends this week.”

Jason nodded. That was good at least. She wasn’t living alone. There was someone else with her usually. That makes it less likely someone could just break in and attack her. He moved over to the window and sighed again, more deeply this time. It was worse than the door. “No curtains. You should probably get some, preferably lined ones. This lock is ancient too. It wouldn’t take much to jimmy it. We’ll get you new locks for your windows and your door.”

Marinette looked at him wide eyed as she set a bunch of grapes and a jug of filtered water from the refrigerator on the counter. She hadn’t been expecting the locks to be that bad. She knew it wasn’t amazing, but then again, she hadn’t really been too concerned about being specifically targeted here. Nobody really knew who she was, or rather used to be. She was just an average citizen here.

She stared at the window for a few seconds, her head cocking to the side and her eyes unfocusing as her mind wandered through the possibilities of what could have happened and what still could. She was no longer safe, not even in her own home. But then again, she never really had been had she? She had just thought she was. She thought she was safer after they’d defeated Hawkmoth, but she’d just traded one danger for another.

Jason watched as her face morphed from one expression to another, her eyes distant. Her face clearly displaying each and every emotion she was going through, no matter how flitting. Jason could guess where her head went. When her eyes started shimmering, he opened his mouth to bring her out of it when her phone rang. She jerked back violently, knocking over the jug of water.

She cursed as she tried to stop the jug’s descent only to knock it further away, further spreading the water. She gave a defeated groan and grabbed a towel from a nearby drawer to start sopping up the water. Jason jumped to grab a few more towels to help. It took a few minutes, but they were finally able to clean up the water with a minimum of damage to papers left on the counter. Luckily, none of Marinette’s sketches were on the island anymore but Adrien was definitely going to have to reprint some of his papers for research.

Marinette gave Jason an appreciative smile and threw the papers in recycling and the towels in the sink. She let out a deep frustrated sigh as she leaned against the counter. After a few seconds, she ran her hands through her hair and laughed. Jason frowned at the sound. It was short and mirthless and sounded utterly wrong coming from her. He could see her starting to spin but didn’t know her well enough to know how to help. God, he really hadn’t thought this through.

Jason very slowly started reaching for her so she could see his hands coming. Shen she didn’t shy away, he set a hand on her arm to ground her. She looked up into his eyes, panicked eyes meeting concerned eyes. They both jumped when her phone started ringing again. They both chuckled quietly at their reactions.

“Sorry…” she started but was cut off by another ring. She shook her head at herself. She hadn’t even noticed the original call had dropped. She checked the caller id and smiled at the phone. “Hey Tim.” She paused to listen to him. “No, I’m fine. I just… I knocked something over and was cleaning it. Sorry for scaring you.”

She gave Jason an apologetic smile as she listened to Tim. “I’m doing okay, I guess. I think I’m just jumpy… and getting paranoid. I could have sworn someone was watching me walk home, but when I looked nobody was around or rather nobody was paying attention to me.” She missed the slight grimace Jason shot toward the floor. “No, thank you though. Actually, your brother is here already.” She smiled at Jason again and put Tim on speaker.

“…that so. That’s very thoughtful of him,” Tim quipped in a clipped tone.

“Yeah, he’s checking my locks,” Marinette continued, seemingly oblivious to the tension in his voice, or attributing it to his concern. “Apparently my door and window locks are pretty bad,” Marinette frowned at the thought.

“Uh huh. Well it’s just so great that he came over then,” Tim gritted out.

Marinette did a double take when Jason’s phone dinged repeatedly with an extended series of text notifications. She blinked at it a few times before looking questioningly at Jason. He rolled his eyes and turned his phone off. He met her eyes with a shrug and a wink as he sat at her island.

“Tell him I say hi and remind him he has plans with Bruce soon,” Tim continued tightly.

Jason huffed. “Tell him to tell B, I'm not going on patrol until Demon Spawn calms down. And tell him I’m sending him the bill for this.” He motioned vaguely around them.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Tim conceded easily before his voice turned harsh again, “And tell him…”

“You two do realize you can hear each other and you two both know you can hear each other and I know you can hear each other and I’m not an owl!” Marinette admonished them sharply.

The room was silent for a few seconds before Tim started chuckling. “Sorry, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She nodded at the phone even though he couldn’t see her.

“Hey! That makes me Ron? What the fuck?” Jason objected raising up from his seat in offense.

“Oh come on, you’d look good with red hair,” Marinette teased him lightly.

“You better fucking not be Ron,” Tim growled. “You’re more like Draco anyway,” he continued flippantly.

“Fuck you, Pretender,” Jason growled.

“Yeah, this is making me feel better,” Marinette sighed, leaning against the counter.

There was a guilty pause as the men took in her words. “Sorry,” Jason finally spoke up after a while.

“What?” Marinette gave him a curious look until realization set in. “Oh! No, I was serious. You two remind me of my friends. It feels comforting, normal.”

Tim waited a second before speaking up cautiously. “So… you’re okay for tonight? You feel safe?”

Marinette smiled at the phone again. “Yeah, Tim. I’m okay. Thanks for checking on me.”

“Of course. Let me know if that changes. I’ll be over in three minutes flat,” he promised.

Marinette grinned mischievously. “Do I get a free pizza if you take longer?”

Tim huffed out a laugh. “Absolutely.”

“Sweet. I might test it just for that,” she teased him. “Night, Tim.”

“Night. And tell Jason to turn his phone back on before I do it for him.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Still not an owl,” she singsonged before she hung up. She looked over to Jason with a concerned smile. “Do you have to go? It sounded like you already had plans?”

Jason waved her off and took the battery out of his phone before leaning against the counter near her. “I have plenty of time. Like I said, if I show up now De… Damian is going to attack me.” Marinette’s eyes widened in concern but Jason waved her off again. “It’s fine. He isn’t as tough as he thinks he is. He wouldn’t be able to hurt me, but Bruce would yell at me for it and Dick would give me his disappointed in you lecture. It’s better for everyone if I stay away for a few days.”

He grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tim just doesn’t want me stealing his friend away with my superior looks and charm.”

Marinette scowled lightly at him. “Tim is very handsome and charming,” she insisted defensively.

Jason shot her a devilish smile. “But not as much as me, right?”

Marinette scoffed at him and rolled her eyes. “You certainly seem to think so.” She rinsed some grapes and set them in a bowl between the two of them. “But he’s the only reason you’re here right now. If you weren’t Tim’s brother and we hadn’t met last night when you were fairly respectful of me in my… state…”

“Fairly!?” Jason squawked.

“I’d have called, well, not the cops, but Tim, to take care of you,” she continued over him. She grabbed a grape and chewed on it while she watched him appraisingly as she leaned back against the counter opposite him. “Do you make a habit of stealing his friends?”

Jason shrugged and grabbed a few grapes. “No, we generally move in different…” he searched for a nice way to phrase it, “circles.”

She hummed in response. “And yet here you are, willingly entering in a circle with one of his friends.” She eyed him pointedly. She quickly broke their eye contact to look down and cross her arms over her chest protectively. “Thank you for breaking into this particular circle to help me out. Last night spooked me more than I want to admit.”

“Did you want to talk about it? Or pretend like it never happened. I can help with either,” Jason offered.

Marinette stared at the grapes for a while without talking. Jason was certain she was about to start spiraling again when she spoke up quietly. “I was keeping an eye on my drinks. I only took my eyes off of them when I was around people I trusted and we weren’t exactly close to other people for someone to just slip something in.” She frowned and looked at nothing in particular. She poured herself a glass of water and held the rim of the glass against her lips without drinking it as she remembered the night before. “I don’t know which scares me more, that someone was that good to get it in with all of us there or…”

“That one of the people you trust might be responsible,” Jason finished for her after a few seconds of silence. When she looked up to meet her eyes, she looked so shaken and uncertain, he wanted to pull her into a tight, reassuring hug, but after the night before, he wasn’t sure a virtual stranger’s embrace would be the most reassuring. He settled for moving to lean against the counter next to her so their arms were almost touching, but she still had her personal space.

“Yeah,” she said wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing her arms.

“You think you were the intended victim?” he asked curiously. He and Tim had already discussed the night and decided that she had to be, but he was curious what her thoughts were. “You don’t think it was just opportunistic. You think whoever was with targeting you.”

She shook her head and looked down, frowning at the floor. She gripped her arms tighter. “I don’t know. I was never alone and I only drank with my friends at our own table away from other people. I mean someone at the bar could have drugged it before it was brought over when the waitress brought drinks but…”

“How would they know who it would go to,” Jason finished again. “Seems unlikely they’d risk the drug like that if they didn’t know who it would go to. If they didn’t have a plan to get the person out.”

Marinette looked up at him anxiously and nodded. She studied him for a few more seconds before she shook herself out of her daze. She looked up at him with a fake smile. “So what are you feeling for dinner? I can make some pasta. I can do stir fry. I can whip up a casserole. What do you want?”

“I’ll be happy with whatever you feel like having tonight,” he assured her with a smile.

“I don’t… really… feel like eating,” she mumbled, looking away again. “This is more something for me to focus on instead of last night.”

Jason gave her a gentle smile and lowered himself to her level, trying to gain her attention. “Look, I know you don’t know me but why don’t we order take out and we can watch a movie, or if you want to be alone, I can leave.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” she answered quickly, instantly looking over to him with a desperate look in her eyes.

Jason nodded slowly and gave her a gentle smile. He rested his hands lightly on her arms to reassure her he was there and not going anywhere unless she wanted him to. “That’s understandable. I wouldn’t want to be either. Do you want me to call Tim over? I know you probably feel safer with him and when he can’t be here in three minutes, you get a pizza.”

She gave him a wan smile. “No, I trust you. And I’m not really feeling pizza right now.”

Jason smiled back. “I want to joke and say that’s a terrible decision, but now doesn’t seem like the best time.” She gave him a deadpan look that made his grin widen. “I’ll save that for later,” he finished with a wink. His expression quickly turned serious as he watched her. “You should eat though. What kind of food do you want to try? There’s a good Indian restaurant around the corner.”

She looked away. “I don’t want to order out. I don’t want food that I…”

Jason nodded and moved closer again. “Yeah, that’s reasonable. Let’s make something together, yeah? I saw some eggs and milk in your refrigerator and there’s bread on the counter. How do you feel about breakfast for dinner? French toast sound good? I think you call it Lost Bread? And how do you feel about Clueless?”

“The movie?” she asked confused.

“Yeah, adaptation of Jane Austen’s Emma.”

“Fan of Alicia Silverstone or Jane Austen?” she teased weakly.

“Both,” Jason answered with a wink.

Marinette snickered and nodded. “That all sounds amazing.” She moved away to start getting the pan and bowls out, watching him while he got the ingredients prepared. “Thank you, Jason. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“No problem. We’ll get things figured out so you can feel safe, or at least as safe as you can feel in Gotham,” he assured her, and himself. They were going to find who drugged her and make her feel safe again. Whoever it was messed with one of Tim’s friends, one of the few he really trusted, that means whoever it was messed with his family and nobody messed with their family.

Tags:

@jasonette-july-event @maribatserver @aespades @demonicbusiness @read-fantasy-to-escape-reality @jayjayspixiepop

#maribat #jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #prompt - night #Jasonette Protection Program

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justafewsmallsteps · 3 years

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Drabble Part 2 for the Reversal AU, now featuring some flirty Adrien and Not Having It Marinette. You can read Part 1 if you like.

Title: The Other Way Around, Part 2 Pairing: Lovesquare (Adrinette) Rating: G+ Word Count: 1147

Adrien Agreste was sweet, but way too much of a flirt for her tastes.

Marinette could deal with it just fine, was perfectly happy being friends with him, but she definitely never took him seriously despite how Alya insisted that he gave her special treatment. Pfft! As if.

He was the kind of boy who could get anything that he wanted because of three things: 1. His status 2. His money 3. His looks.

He wasn’t manipulative or anything, and truthfully it was hardly his fault. People just went out of their way to do things for him, and he was used to it. He knew he could get away with things with a pretty smile, and while he didn’t take advantage of it for anything sleazy he certainly smiled a lot. If things just so happened to go his way then so be it. Ah, the perks of being beautiful and wealthy.

Still, there was a lot that Marinette liked about the boy who sat in front of her, so she could definitely see why so many people were drawn to him. Objectively Adrien was extremely handsome though it hardly mattered to her. As an aspiring designer, she was more interested in the clothes he modelled than the blonde hair and high cheekbones everyone else seemed to go gaga over.

Being a celebrity he was charming in every interaction and dealt with being the spotlight very well. Marinette thought it was admirable, especially when she knew she tended to clam up in front of cameras-- well, at least without a polkadot mask on. Who was she kidding? Mask or no mask, cameras were intimidating! She gave him props for handling attention so suavely.

The bell rang, signalling the end of class.

“Good morning my Maribell,” the boy greeted, turning in his seat to face her with his model perfect smile. “You’re looking lovely today as usual.”

She rolled her eyes, the bluebell color his reason for the nickname. “Good morning, Adrien. Thank you as usual.” She got up to pack up her stuff and head outside for break, knowing he’d pester her more soon enough. Just as she expected, he made sure to beat her to the door to open it for her and hold it for everyone else as they passed.

What a gentleman, Marinette thought sarcastically as she walked past. He had that knight in shining armor kind of appeal. Chivalry wasn’t dead, but it was probably an act. It wasn’t super fair. Adrien was a nice person at heart, but the way he made a show about it was the issue. The rest of the class all thanked him cheerfully, asking about what he’d been up to lately. Something or another. A fragrance, if she remembered correctly (and she usually did when it came to her friends).

She and Alya took a seat on the bench. There was an upcoming youth designer competition with a deadline coming up, and Marinette was on the precipice of inspiration.

When Adrien inevitably jogged up next to her in the courtyard, she was ready with a question. “How was your weekend?”

He feigned a sigh. “Spent the whole time missing you.”

While Marinette shook her head and took out her sketchbook, Alya snickered next to her. She was a big fan of them getting together, much to Marinette’s confusion. They got along well, but that wasn’t anything special. Adrien got along well with everyone. Besides, why would he bother with her when he had hoards of fans willing to throw themselves at his feet?

He doesn’t want just fans, a voice reminded her. Adrien did want real friends--he’d admitted as much the first day they met. It was why she put up with his silly act. Deep down she knew he genuinely wanted to make connections to people.

Adrien thrived on attention, but for some reason he wanted hers often. It was a friendly joke between them now to see just how much he could push her buttons until she cracked a smile. It was all in good fun. She’d never tell him, but his corny humor was endearing.

“Missing me aside, did your cologne ad go well?”

He beamed. “Maribell, you remembered!”

Her face scrunched up as she sketched. The design had to incorporate recycled materials. Plastic and paper seemed the easiest to work with, but the sheen of metal and glass kept dancing in her mind’s eye. “Isn’t the fragrance literally named after you?”

“It is.” He stood next to her, distracting her enough with his proximity as he leaned in closer. “Do you think that’s cool?”

She took her pencil and tapped it up against his nose. “Nope,” she answered with a pop.

He flashed her a big smile.

They stared at each other for a few seconds before she snorted down a laugh “It’s ridiculous! What do people expect? Ah, the scent of my favorite teen idol! Are you going to magically appear whenever someone sprays it?”

He just grinned. “It wasn’t my idea, I’ll have you know. The company comes up with names and for some reason they thought it’d sell better if they literally used my name along with my face.”

“Oh yes. People are dying to smell like Adrien.” She put her hand over her forehead for added drama.

“What’s that even supposed to smell like?” Alya asked.

“Marinette’s dream boy?” he guessed with a wink.

It made her laugh harder. “It should smell as cheesy as your pick up lines!” She stuck her tongue out and kept giggling to herself as she sketched out new ideas. Now the image of a cologne bottle began to take shape--pretty colored liquid suspended in a lovely form. What did people do with those bottles once they were done? What about the boxes or the plastic packaging? Her brain filled with a slew of imagery.

“Can I see what you’re working on?” Adrien asked in meek curiosity, not wanting to distract her. He always showed an interest in her work. Sometimes he even offered to connect her to someone in the industry, but she never took him up on it. Maybe one day when she actually earned it then she would allow it. For now she was content to keep her head down and keep producing on her own terms.

Marinette smiled and patted the spot next to her. “Of course you can, Pretty Boy.”

“Pretty Boy would be a cute name for a perfume,” Alya commented.

“I’ll make that suggestion next.”

Marinette shook her head and clicked her tongue with a smile, “Nuh-uh, that’s my idea, Agreste. No stealing.”

“Marinette, you know that only thing I want to steal from you is your heart.”

She rolled her eyes but was unable to stop the wide smile stretching her cheeks up high as Alya was set into another fit of laughter. “Spare me.”

#miraculous ladybug #love square #adrinette #adrienette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #jelly art #jelly fic #justafewsmallsteps #reversal au #the other way around #alya cesaire

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years

Text

A Hand in the Matter

Chapter 12: Adopted by Strays

"So tell me about Garrett.” Silas said as he settled onto Richard’s couch. It was one of his rare days off and for once he wasn’t spending it at the theater, “What’s he like?” Richard rolled his eyes at the protective lilt to Silas’s voice, ‘Gavin.’ He corrected, ‘He Is Kind. Different From You And Connor. Rough Edges. Noisy.’ “You don’t normally like loud.” Silas remarked as Richard brought the drinks into the living room. ‘I Know.’ Richard agreed, ‘Something About His Noise Brings Comfort.’ “He brings liveliness with him.” Silas said, and then more absently, “Like Allen.” Richard paused. He hadn’t heard this name before, and he didn’t think he had been meant to now. Silas had let on that he made a new friend at work, but had never given a name. There was something in the way he said it. A reverence to it that he normally only reserved for Daniel. ‘Who A-L-L-E-N?” He asked. Silas froze for a moment, “Shit.” He scrambled to recover, “He’s just a friend from the theater, a new security guard. No one important.”

Richard stared at Silas over the rim of his mug. There was more to it than that. “No.” Silas responded, “Don’t you look at me like that. I’m here to talk about your newly acquired problem, not mine.” ‘Who Said He Was A Problem?’ Richard replied and Silas let out an annoyed huff. “Okay so I might be projecting a little.” He continued, “Anyway Gavin. Tell me about him. Starting why he was here for a whole fucking weekend.” Richard gestured to his now decorated apartment, ‘We Redecorated. He Is Friend From School. Very Kind. We Met At Cafe. He Has Cat.’ “There it is.” Silas said with a laugh, “He has a cat, that’s why you like him so much.” Richard rolled his eyes, ‘So Who A-L-L-E-N?’ “Fine.” Silas said with false annoyance to his voice, “I suppose it’s only fair that I tell you about my new friend since you told me about yours.” Richard nodded and waited for Silas to decide what things about Allen he wanted to share. There probably wouldn’t be much, but he clearly left an impression on Silas.

His brother was a private person. Both of them were really, but Silas did it oddly. Where Connor would avoid the topic or politely decline; Silas would give non-answers or selectively give information. Even though he didn’t typically say anything that helped to make it so someone understood the situation, they would feel like they did. He gave the illusion of transparency. It was the reason so many people thought they knew him well without actually knowing anything about him. There was a quiet sigh that marked Silas as being ready to talk, honestly, “He’s just a guy, there isn’t anything remarkable about him. Tall, brown hair, and eyes to match. You could lose him in a crowd without even trying.” He stopped and looked down at his tea, “But I always know he’s there. Even when I don’t see him. I’m hyperaware and I hate it. He’ s nice though, before you worry. Concerned for me not too unlike Daniel, but different at the same time.” ‘He Sounds Interesting.’ He didn’t really know how to respond. He wasn’t good with emotions, that was more of Connor’s thing. “He’s great.” Silas said it like a confession and Richard smiled.

‘I Happy For You.’ Richard said. Silas hummed, “Thanks.” They stayed like that for a while. Silas was back in his own thoughts and Richard let him be. He knew his brother had plans with Connor later so it was better if he got this out of his system now, otherwise Connor would go full big brother mode and that never ended well. “If you ever feel like it, you could introduce me to Gavin.” Silas said eventually, “I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.” Richard smiled, this was a small gesture but it meant a lot since he’d never had a friend of his own, ‘After Finals.’ Silas nodded and placed his empty mug on the coffee table, “Sounds like a plan.” He looked at the time on his phone, “I’m gonna head home for a smoke and a shower. Connor wants to go out and do something now that we both have the time.” Richard could understand that. He needed time to decompress before going out as well, ‘Have Fun.’ “I’ll try.” Silas remarked as he stood, “I’m sure it will be fun once I’m ready.”

He walked Silas to the door and they hugged before Silas left. He did the dishes and put the mugs away so he wouldn’t have to do it later. Richard took out his phone to see if Gavin wanted to hang out. His most recent message was from Gavin letting him know he had plans with friends tonight. Gavin talked about them a lot. Chris and Tina, he seemed to like them and Richard wondered what they were like. They had borrowed Tina’s truck when they took his closet doors to be recycled but that was the closest he had come to meeting her. Richard was perfectly content with just Gavin, but he would like to meet the people he thought so highly of. The people who responsible for that stupid shit eating grin that always meant that he caused trouble and had gotten away with it. To thank them, he supposed, for making Gavin so happy. He put his phone away and went into the room that served as his office. He could draw for a while and then he’d probably go to sleep. He and Gavin had plans to study tomorrow and one of them had to be in a good state of mind. He figured Gavin would probably have a hangover from drinking more than he should have.

The sketch unsurprisingly turned into another drawing of Gavin. He looked up sports bar interiors so he could do the piece justice. Gavin was leaning on the table in his usual manner, with one forearm resting on it to prop it up the other elbow resting on it with his free hand gesturing in the air as he spoke. It took Richard a while to decide what the drink would be, but he eventually decided on beer. Gavin didn’t seem the type to do fancier drinks. When he checked the time again it was two in the morning. What was meant to be a sketch was now inked and flatly colored which wasn’t anything that he planned on doing. It was in his personal sketchbook so Gavin wouldn’t have to see it. He didn’t want to run the risk of creeping him out. He sat back and stretched with a sigh. It was time to call it a night if he wanted to be able to concentrate while they were studying. He picked up his sketchbook and put it in its place on the shelf. Away from his other sketchbooks so he didn’t run the risk of mixing them up. After that he got ready for bed.

He woke up his usual time. He rolled to turn of his phone alarm and found he had a few messages from his brother.

Connor: Hey. The cafe is going to be closed for a while. Connor: A pipe burst last night and there is a ton of water damage Connor: You’ll have to have your study dates somewhere else for a while. Me: Don’t worry. Just be safe. Me: They aren’t dates

Richard knew it would be a while before Gavin woke up. He had gotten a couple of drunk texts he still hadn’t been able to decipher. He finished getting ready for the day and deiced it was late enough in the morning to text Gavin and see if they could figure something out.

Me: The cafe is close for a few days because a pipe broke. Me: Is there another place we could meet?

About an hour passed before his phone chimed with a reply from Gavin.

Gavin Reed: There’s a place near me called Pawsome Coffee. It’s a cat cafe if that’s okay. Me: That works. Can you send me the address? Gavin Reed: Sure!

The cafe was a little out of his usual walking range, but it was nice out so he figured he could try. If he left now he could make it there by their meeting time. The walk was pleasant and he had caught his breath by the time Gavin made it. He was a little late, but that was normal. The cafe wasn’t too busy when they walked in, but it wasn’t long after they had opened. They ordered their drinks and settled at a table by the windows. He was barely able to get his things out before he was buried in cats. It started with a weight settling across his shoulders and he looked to find a short haired white cat lounging there like it was normal. Two more hopped onto the table. They grey one pawed at him and the rust colored one seemed content to just watch him. A black one settled in his lap and he was officially buried in cats. Gavin took sympathy and went to get their drinks once they were up. “Well aren’t you Mister Popular.” He joked as he set the drinks down and grabbed the rest of what they would need since he was significantly less trapped, “Normally it takes them a few visits for them to warm up to new people.” ‘I Not Do Anything Special.’ He said then pet the grey cat that was still persistently pawing at him.

Gavin settled in at the table, “I think you just have that effect on cats and some people. Are you even going to be able to study like that?” ‘Yes.’ He replied as he stopped petting the now sleeping grey cat, ‘S-I-L-A-S worse.’ Gavin laughed, “There is that I suppose.” ‘Will You.’ He pressed. “Yeah.” Gavin said as he opened his textbook, “I used to study here all the time before I adopted Franklyn. She doesn’t like it too much when I come home smelling like other cats.” ‘Dirty Cheater.’ Richard signed in a deadpan. He wasn’t ready for Gavin to start coughing. Richard hadn’t seen him pick up his drink. That had been bad timing on his part. Gavin laughed as he caught his breath, “God damn it Richard, you can’t just say things like that when a guy is drinking his coffee. You could have killed me.” Richard rolled his eyes. He was being just as dramatic as ever which meant he was fine. They finally began studying, and Gavin had fewer questions than Richard thought he would. He was glad that Gavin had made so much progress. Especially since midterms started on Monday.

It only took him two hours to give in and pet the cats that were on and around him. Gavin had done well today and they both deserved a break. It was a stretch to justify his distraction, but it was the only way he could do this without feeling guilty. “Hey. So I have a question.” Richard looked up when Gavin spoke, he looked almost uncomfortable, “Chris and Tina were wondering if they could meet you. Apparently I talk about you a lot and they’re curious. Obviously if you don’t want to, just say so and I’ll let them know.” ‘Not Today.’ He didn’t have the spoons, ‘This Weekend Maybe? If You Not Busy?’ Gavin nodded, “How does Saturday sound? That’s Chris’s day off.” ‘Saturday Works.’ Richard said, ‘Can We Meet Here? Hand Brewed Hope Not Open.’ Gavin agreed an spent a little more time telling him about his friends. It was nice to know what he was in for. They sounded like fun and Richard was actually looking forward to it. They parted ways with plans to meet back at Pawsome Coffee on Saturday. He didn’t have the energy to walk back so he hailed a cab.

With meeting Gavin’s friends on the horizon Richard didn’t worry about his midterms at all. He was too busy worrying about making a bad first impression. He was a little odd according to most people and a lot of people didn’t take his being nonverbal very well. They always assumed that he was being rude. Gavin didn’t seem to mind it so he hoped his friends would be the same. When Saturday rolled around Richard wound up at the cafe before it opened. The walk had helped to clear his head but anxiety still bubbled beneath his skin. When the cafe opened he settled at the same table as last time. The same cats as before made themselves comfortable on him again. Chris was the first to show up. Richard noticed he had hearing aids and some his anxiety melted away. His being nonverbal wasn’t going to be a problem it seemed. He introduced himself and they went up to order their drinks. They signed to one another until Tina slid into the booth, then Chris began to interpret for him. It was nice. Gavin was the last one to show up, late again, but no one really cared. He set his drink on the table and picked up the cat that was beside Richard so he could take its place, “I swear you keep treats or some shit in your pockets.”

‘I Thought You Said I Have Captivating Personality.’ Richard teased. “With people as well as cats apparently.” Gavin remarked as he rolled his eyes. “Captivating personality huh?” Chris laughed. “Oh shut up Chris.” Gavin said with no real anger to his words. Tina looked a little bit lost, “So am I the only one that doesn’t know Sign Language then?” “Yeah.” Gavin shrugged, “But I’m still learning so don’t worry.” ‘I Teach You If You Want.” He offered. Gavin spoke for him, “He said he would teach you if you would like. Or we could add him to the group chat.” “Why not both?” She replied, “But it really sounds like he has enough on his plate with tutoring you so Chris can teach me instead.” She gave Chris a gentle shove, “Lord knows we have enough time with all the hours we spend on patrol together or at our desks.” “Thanks for asking T.” He responded dryly, “But we aren’t here for that.” “True.” She agreed, “We’re here to have coffee and a good time.” The conversation picked up some after that. It was a lot of reminiscing, and despite not having been there for any of it, he still felt included. He learned a lot about Gavin and it was nice.

“We go out for drinks at a local bar on Fridays if you ever want to join us.” Tina offered as they got ready to leave. ‘Sounds Fun.’ Richard replied and Gavin let out a put upon groan. “We can cab together then I guess.” Gavin said with a slight smile. ‘Thank You.’ He was looking forward to it despite the fact that he didn’t drink. They went their separate ways outside of the cafe. Richard flagged a cab and felt his phone buzz.

Chris added Me to: Oh No! Its the Cops. Me: Thank you for today. I had a lot of fun. Tina: Of course! it was great to finally meet you. Chris: See you Friday! Gavin Reed: I’m in danger. Me: Only if you don’t take care of yourself. Tina: I like him Chris: Same

Richard smiled at his phone. For once he wasn’t nervous about having plans. He supposed he belonged to a group of friends now. It was funny how fact things could change. He still had his brothers, but now he had a group of friends of his own. There would be no more being passed between baristas and actors. Better yet, this time he wasn’t afraid. Even if he was, he had people he could turn to now.

#A Hand in the Matter #AHM #reed900 #dbh Gavin #dbh Nines #dbh fic #dbh

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arya-skywalker · 4 years

Text

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure (Sanders Sides Oneshot)

Soulmate September Day 3 - You have an animal that only you and your soulmate can see.

@tsshipmonth2020

Ship: Dukexiety

AU: generic human soulmates AU (the animal companions here communicate telepathically with their human, but not their human’s soulmate)

TW: spiders, oversized spider, tentacles, unspecified tentacle creature

~*~

Virgil turned up the volume of his music as he wandered to the docks, drawing his jacket close to ward off the brisk sea breeze. The seaweed stench was stronger than usual, but he couldn’t resist the allure of the mist rising from the water.

Except he wasn’t alone. The young man scowled and took off his headphones, turning to look at the source of splashing.

A weird dude was throwing fish at the end of the dock. “Eat up buttercup! Yeah there you go!” he cheered.

Virgil blinked, then walked closer, curiosity overcoming caution for the moment. He had heard rumors of the village idiot— that the man would eat anything, that he was a werewolf, that he had a basement full of bodies, that he talked to ghosts....

He froze once he saw what the man was feeding. There was terrifying tentacle creature catching the fish. Octopus? Giant squid? A kraken? Cthulhu? Virgil’s jaw dropped as he stared. And the creature waved.

The man turned and grinned. “You see him too, huh? Guess I’m not crazy after all! C’mon, he doesn’t bite. You can help feed him if ya want.”

“I... you.... crazy, right,” Virgil stammered, shaking his head. “Uh, no thanks. I’ll stay back here.”

“Well, I’m Remus! And if you can see Duke, then I’m pretty sure that means you’re my soulmate!” He stuck out a slimy hand to shake, his grin broadening.

Virgil blinked. “Wait... what? He’s your....?” He took a small step back. “No, no, no... fuck no!”

Remus shrugged. “Well, where’s your buddy? Your animal companion? If I can see them, then the bond goes both ways, right?”

“Uhh.... I guess....” Virgil ran a hand through his hair, then sighed. “*Ara? You wanna come out?*”

“*Coming!*” her voice chimed in his mind. A rather large but fuzzy spider skittered over and stopped by his side, nuzzling his hand. “*So he’s the one?*”

“Oooh a spider! That’s rad, dude!” Remus bounced up and down.

Virgil groaned and dropped down to sit on the edge of the dock, guiding the cat-sized spider onto his lap. “Soulmates are a flawed concept anyway,” he muttered, stroking Ara’s bristles. “Some ‘higher power’ playing match-maker for us poor mortals.”

“Well... I’m not strict or anything.” Remus sat down a few inches away. “A lot of people don’t really like me. So if you don’t, I don’t blame you. And if you wanna leave, I won’t stop you. But, well, something wants us together so that’s gotta mean something, right?”

Virgil didn’t answer, staring out at the waves. He never wanted a soulmate. He never tried to find his. And yet... here they were. Stuck together forever.

“*Breathe. In for four seconds, hold for seven, out for eight,*” Ara’s voice chimed in his head, one of her legs tapping rhythmically on his arm to keep count. Virgil closed his eyes, grateful for her grounding presence as always. The soft roar of the sea and distant call of gulls were the only sounds to break the silence.

Eventually, Virgil looked back at his new-found soulmate. Bright green eyes stared at him, concern and curiosity shining through. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s weird,” Virgil grumbled.

Remus shrugged. “Well, you got a name? Or should I just call you emo?” He giggled a bit.

“Emo is fine.” He hesitated a moment, then blew his bangs out of his face. “But my name is Virgil.”

“Virgil eh? Cool name.” Remus smiled and stuck out his hand again. “Nice to officially meet my soulmate!”

Reluctantly, Virgil shook the weirdo’s hand, then quickly wiped his hand off on his pants to get rid of the fishy slime. Shower tonight, definitely. “So.... I guess if we’re stuck together for eternity, we might as well get to know each other,” he said after a few minutes.

“Ask away! I’m an open book.” Remus grinned and lay on the dock. “We can take turns asking stuff if you want.”

Virgil rubbed his arms. “Uh.... alright.” He glanced around for ideas. “So... what do you do? Like for a job.”

“Fisherman mostly,” Remus said with a shrug. “Duke helps.” He smirked and sat up. “And I pick up trash and stuff, then turn it into art. Wanna see?”

“Guess it couldn’t hurt.” Virgil grunted and stood. “Is that your question?”

Remus giggled and hopped to his feet. “Nope! But either way, you asked a non-question too, so we’re even! C’mon, c’mon!” He jogged down the dock.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a rather run-down shack overlooking the bay. Buoys were tied to netting along the walls and a chipped sign read, “Kraken’s Grotto: tack, art, and treasure”. Remus held the door open, bouncing up and down again. Virgil rolled his eyes and stepped inside, then blinked and looked around.

The place was a mess. But on closer inspection, it was an organized mess. Sculptures made of scrap metal in one area. Other recycled art in another. Shells and sea glass by the window. Bait and tackle and other fishing gear near the counter. Virgil stopped by a metal dragon with eyes of sea-glass. “You... made all this?”

“Yepper-doodles!” Remus grinned. “All from stuff Dukey and I find around the area. You like art?”

Virgil shrugged. “Uh, yeah. It’s cool,” he said. “Sometimes I sketch stuff. Doodling helps me focus.”

“Doodling is the best, man. What kinda stuff do you doodle?” Remus sat on the counter, kicking his legs out.

“Just... stuff. It’s stupid.”

“We don’t like using that word here,” Remus said, suddenly serious. “Nothing is stupid. Just different.”

Ara bumped up against Virgil’s leg. “*I like him. Give him a chance.*”

Virgil reached down to pet his animal companion with a sigh. “Whatever. Not stupid.” He looked back at the sculptures, noticing that most were monsters of some sort— skeletons and tentacle creatures, grotesque mutations, grim reapers. “Umm... you like horror stuff?”

“Hell yeah! The darker the better!” Remus hopped off the counter. “What’s your favorite monster?”

“I’m a sucker for vampires,” Virgil said, then blushed heatedly and coughed. Stupid pun. Terrible. Corny...

But before he could stammer out an apology, he realized Remus was laughing. Full on belly-laughs. Pounding the counter with his fists and crying tears of mirth.

Virgil swept his bangs out of his face. “You... uh.... like puns and stuff?” he asked tentatively when it seemed like Remus had gotten himself under control.

“Dude I love that kind of humor!” Remus giggled again, then looked down at the spider. “Hey, can I pet her? I promise I won’t be rough.”

“*I don’t mind,*” Ara said, nuzzling Virgil’s hand.

“Uhhh.... sure. But go wash your hands first! They’re gross, dude. And I’ll show you how to pet her without hurting her.”

“Yay!” Remus clapped his hands, then ran off, presumably to the bathroom.

Virgil lowered himself to sit on the floor, running a hand lightly against the worn wood slats. Ara curled up on his lap, chittering softly.

It wasn’t long before Remus returned, sitting across from with a grin. “Squeaky clean!” he said, holding up his hands.

Virgil rolled his eyes, then sighed, stroking his spider gently. “Alright, so, you need to stroke along the bristles. If you try to go against them, you’ll get pricked and it might hurt her. Got it?”

Remus nodded excitedly, then reached out and repeated the motion, as if afraid he’d break her. “Like this? Is this good?” he asked.

Ara leaned into their touch, making happy purr-like sounds. “*Tell your soulmate he’s doing well.*”

Virgil coughed. “Uh, yeah, that’s right,” he said, feeling a ghost of a smile. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

#tsshipmonth2020 #soulmate september #dukexiety #virgil sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides fanfic #aryaskywalker writes #sanders sides #tw spiders #tw tentacles

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secretgamergirl · 3 years

Text

Here’s me starting the rumor that Street Fighter 5 spent a good chunk of its development actually being Dark Stalkers 4

OK everybody, strap on your tinfoil hats, because I’m going to pullan idea partly out of my own butt but also back it up with some solid physical evidence. I put to you the following premise: In 2015 or so, Capcom had a team working on a version of Street Fighter 5 which never saw the light of day, seen here:

while another, smaller, less experienced team was working on finally releasing a 4th game in the long dormant Dark Stalkers series, which was to finally make the jump to 3D. For whatever combination of reasons, the plug was pulled on both these projects, with the more ambitious and presumably costly Street Fighter 5 being cancelled outright, and the mostly finished but supporting a basically dead IP Dark Stalkers 4 getting a hasty last minute retrofit to become the Street Fighter 5 we have today.

So what do I have to base this on? Well, the cancelled version of Street Fighter 5 is plenty well documented. It’s technically speculation on my part that they scrapped everything they had and picked up a partially completed game they had sitting around to retrofit instead, but well... the alternative is that after reaching the level of polish seen above, someone decided it was imperative that they scrap all those art assets and that engine and switch over to a visual style of uh... this:

Which to me feels decidedly less “stylistic choice” and more “hastily modeling characters and sketching out plot scenes at the 11th hour in a different engine designed to light stuff in a cartoonier style that doesn’t work here.”

More importantly though, this guy here, F.A.N.G?

He was originally designed as a new character for a scrapped Dark Stalkers game according to this, at least to go by this thread’s translation:

So, that just on its own makes a ton of sense. Cartoony design, really stylized proportions, weird poison hands gimmick. Doesn’t fit in at all with Street Fighter, but he’d make perfect sense in Dark Stalkers as some kind of like... plague doctor? Additional jiangshi type? So, he got recycled. Also his cartooniness works a whole lot better with the general visual presentation of the whole game.

But wait, there’s more. Because see as soon as Halloween rolled around, Street Fighter 5 came out with a new costume pack for everyone, which included a whole slew of Dark Stalkers homages... and by that I mean full on models of Dark Stalkers characters bearing new resemblance at all to the Street Fighter characters ostensibly wearing them as costumes.

youtube

Well, really, it’s more of a mixed bag. But, Morrigan there is 100% Morrigan, nothing from Chun-Li, ditto Lilith-Juri (which is decidedly telling as the former has... complex gender things going on I don’t want to label with how sketchy I am on the exact backstory, and... flattening the chest and broadening the shoulders of Juri, specifically, is rather antithetical to how that particular character is treated. Also Khaibit is a deep lore cut who had never been a playable character but would have made sense to bring in as a new playable character if they were, you know, making a new game.

The other thing with these is that they, you know, don’t look like weird gross distorted lumps of clay, like all the normal characters do. They look like they were actually designed for this game’s lighting and palette and general visual style. Meanwhile new characters and new costumes (which for the record as a rule otherwise do NOT do this sort of full body and face model replacement) would otherwise take until the last couple of DLC seasons to stop looking so very very off.

A friend who plays way more fighting games than me says this would also explain a thing or two about the whole V-Trigger mechanic. Something about the uniformity of it feeling a bit Dark Stalkers-y or the way pre-existing moves are forced into it feeling odd for something organic to Street Fighter. I’m not fluent enough in Fighting Game to have fully followed.

What I do know though is that all of this would explain a whole lot of otherwise baffling things. Why did Capcom spend several years hyping up a new game that never materialized?

Why does Street Fighter 5 have this weird cartoony shading that doesn’t match the model detail?

Why was that prototype of a much nicer looking SF5 scrapped for this?

Why does the latest game in one of Capcom’s big tentpole series seem like it changed hands a lot mid-development?

Because for most of its development life it was gonna be Darkstalkers 4, that’s why! Probably. I mean again I’m just speculating here, but it all fits together weirdly well, right?

#street fighter v #dark stalkers #game dev #conspiracy theory

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willow-salix · 3 years

Text

It’s here, Virgil’s FabFiveFeb

A nice little bit of Virg fluff for @gumnut-logic

"I think he'd like someone that has an interest in creative pursuits," Gordon mused, poking one of the boxes to tick it.

"And someone that likes to go for walks, you know what he's like for wanting to wander and take in the scenery, maybe even snap some pictures to paint later," Scott added, touching another box to tick it.

"More of a home body than an adventurer, he gets enough of that with work," Gordon added it to the list. "And they definitely have to believe that family is important, he can't have someone that won't understand his commitments."

"OK, next, all about him," Scott scrolled down to the next section. "His interests…"

"Classical music, obviously."

"Enjoys visiting art galleries and concerts."

"And eating out."

"Don't we all?"

Gordon nodded at that, there was nothing they liked more than picking up some tasty food.

"Ideal date? What's that movie he likes? The one with the lake house?"

"Oh, I know the one you mean, with the…the…" Scott's brain failed to make the connection, romantic comedies were not his thing, that was what Virgil watched with Selene, not him.

"Doesn't matter," Gordon assured him, brushing it aside. "He liked the date so I'm putting it down. A relaxed stroll along a lake side at sunset," he murmured to himself as he quickly typed it out.

"That's the one," Scott nodded. "He-"

"Allie! Have you seen Scott?" The sound of Virgil's voice floating up from the kitchen made them both jump guilty.

"I think he's in the lounge," Alan shouted back.

"Shit!"

"He's coming!"

"Quick, submit it, submit it!" Gordon smacked at the submit button, growling in frustration when a flashing red 'incomplete field' warning mocked them.

The sound of steel capped boots thumping up stairs spurred them on.

"Just tick anything!" Scott yelped, fingers flying as he randomly poked boxes in between Gordon whacking the submit button like it had personally offended him.

"Yes!" Gordon sighed as the 'congratulations' sign appeared in green. "Done!"

Scott just had time to hit the x and pull up a report before Virgil strolled his way in.

"What are you two doing?" he asked suspiciously, stopping dead in the doorway when he was greeted by the sight of the two brothers least likely to be discussing a report seeming to be doing just that.

"Nothing!" Gordon yelped just as Scott yelled "Reports" which was definitely upping the suspicion levels. He didn't believe them.

"I don't believe you," Virgil told them firmly, attempting to give them the kind of 'don't lie to me' eyebrow raise that Selene or John managed to pull off but knew he had failed. Damn the fact that he was the nice one and they both knew that any and all threats he might issue would go unfulfilled.

"You doubt me?" Scott gasped in mock outrage. "Me? Your big brother? The one that always has your back?"

"And me, your wingman? The one that always fixes your hairdryer fuse?"

"One time Gordon! That was one time! And it wasn't my hairdryer!"

"I don't know, you bought it, you keep it in your bathroom and you warned us all that we couldn't borrow it on pain of death, so that evidence all points to it being your hairdryer…"

"I won't stay here to be insulted," Virgil sniffed indignantly, "I'm gonna go find Kayo and see if she'll help me with the inlet manifold, at least she can take instructions and won't lie to me."

They watched him stomp away in a huff, breathing a sigh of relief when the sound of his boots faded into nothing.

"Damn, that was close," Scott gulped, clicking back onto the dating website to check it had worked. His eyes widened when he looked at the screen.

"What? What's wrong?"

"He's got three inboxes already."

"Seriously? Already, it's been what, five minutes?"

"Yep."

"We’re gonna be spoilt for choice."

"I guess that just means we have more chance of picking him a good one, he needs to get out more."

"He'll thank us for it in the end."

***

"I don't understand, why do I have to dress up?" Virgil groaned. "I'm tired, I've had a long day, why do we need to go to the mainland just to pick up pizza?"

Gordon glanced at Scott for help. None was forthcoming. He nudged him for emphasis.

"Fine," Scott sighed, admitting defeat. Honesty was always the best policy anyway. "We arranged a blind date for you."

"You did what?" Virgil exploded. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"We thought you needed to get out more," Gordon shrugged. "We were trying to help."

"I don't need your help, I didn't ask for it."

"Not like you were going to meet anyone on your own, was it?" Gordon continued to needle.

"John did! So did Scott. I am perfectly capable of getting my own dates."

"John is an enigma that none of us understand and Cat's my ex, I was recycling, that doesn't count."

"Do not let her hear you say that," Gordon laughed.

"My point still stands," Scott insisted waving away the worry about his girlfriend, "we don't have a normal job or the chance to socialise much, and unless fate decides to be nice and throw someone at you like it did for John or you have an ex hidden away somewhere, you can't use us as an example."

"You don't want to let her down, do you?" Gordon tossed in, knowing that his softie brother would feel guilty as hell if he upset anyone. "How would you feel if you got dumped before you'd even met the person?"

Virgil wanted to argue the point some more, but honesty and his vow never to lie to himself stopped him. They did have a point, a small one, but still pointy and therefore he was unable to ignore their logic. He decided to give in, although he refused to do so gracefully or with any forgiveness of their plotting. Plus, they were right, he wouldn't want to be responsible for anyone feeling like they weren't good enough in any way, shape or form.

"Looks like I don't have much of a choice…" he started only to be interrupted by the victorious cheers of his brothers. "Do you have a picture of her?"

"Nope," Scott grinned. "We signed you up with that new site where pictures aren't allowed, you pick based on shared interests and compatibility, not looks."

"That's…actually a nice idea," Virgil acknowledged reluctantly. He wasn't one to judge people on looks, he cared more about personality and morals.

"See, we knew you'd approve," Gordon grinned, slapping him on the back.

"I didn't say I approved of this-"

"Come on, hurry up, you don't want to be late for your date!"

***

Virgil waited nervously on the picnic bench, clutching the single sunflower Scott had thrust at him like it was a weapon, ready to fend off anything if his blind date turned out to be some kind of psycho.

They couldn't be too careful, they were far too used to people trying to find out details about them or to trick them in some way. No one was ever as they seemed.

Scott had assured him that they hadn't used his real name and that no one would associate it with him but he couldn't help the little nagging doubts that gnawed away at the back of his mind.

Plus he still hadn't forgiven them for pulling this stunt on him. Did they really think he was that bad at dating that he needed such help? He wasn't bad at dating, he got plenty of offers for a hook up, they all did. Well, not John but he was hardly ever out on rescues and Selene was common knowledge now but, to the rest of the world, him and his "single" brothers were all fair game.

Butt gropes and comments about their hard muscles were a common occurrence, so much so that he often felt like a piece of meat being squished and tested before purchase. Another reason why he rarely managed to meet anyone that he could actually see himself wanting to date.

Maybe their idea, while badly executed and heavy in trickery and taken liberties, hadn't come from a bad place. He'd worried the whole way to the meeting spot that they might have picked the worst candidate they could, but he firmly forced the thought out of his head. His brothers might like to indulge in mutual pranking and to push the limits sometimes but they would never do anything to hurt or embarrass someone, especially not a stranger. The thought had calmed him down enough that he hadn't had to make use of Two's on board bathroom facilities for an emergency freshen up because he'd stress sweated through the nice shirt and jacket they had forced him into.

He'd managed to relax a little but, now that he was sitting here alone, waiting and looking out for someone he had no clue about, he was starting to worry again.

Seeing an abandoned pen on the picnic table he snatched a few napkins from the dispenser and let his eyes roam the scenery.

It really was a gorgeous place, something often referred to as a little slice of heaven in the city. The urban park, man made in the center of the mass of concrete and steel, sported a carefully constructed lake that was home to a teeming ecosystem of endangered species that exhaustive conservation efforts had made possible.

The sun was just beginning to lower towards the horizon, painting the sky and the surface of the lake with the most beautiful colours. Virgil's fingers itched to paint them but he settled for snapping a couple of pictures on his phone.

Trees of all types surrounded the lake, creating an attractive backdrop to the whole scene and before he even realised he was doing it he was deep in concentration as he sketched the lake area on the napkin.

The process was calming, helping to soothe his nerves and slow his thumping heart, allowing him to stop and breathe for a second, helping him to resist the urge to cut and run.

"Are you Virgil Grant? You have a sunflower."

The voice behind him made him jump and drop his pen.

"Yes, yes I am," he admitted as he turned around to face his date.

***

"So, how did it go?" Scott asked when they arrived to pick Virgil up, less than half an hour after he'd text for a ride. "Did you have a good time?"

"I had a great time," Virgil smiled.

"You were gone a long time," Gordon grinned, nudging his older brother playfully with his elbow. "Did you go back to her place or something?"

"Yeah, we did."

"You did? You dog you!" Gordon leered with an exaggerated wink. Virgil just smiled, taking the teasing with his usual good grace.

"You gonna see her again?" Scott asked, pleased that their plan seemed to have gone so well.

Virgil nodded. "I told her I'd drop in as soon as I'm free."

"Come on, give us all the juicy details, tell us all about, Emma, wasn't it?" Gordon pushed, desperate for gossip.

"Nothing much to tell," Virgil shrugged. "She's sweet, we had a nice time hanging out, she gave me her number."

"That's it? That's all you can tell us?" Gordon groaned, disappointment evident in his voice.

"No, that's all I'm going to tell you," Virgil corrected. "You've interfered in my private life enough already, thank you."

"Oh, come on, Virg," Scott pleaded. But the big guy wouldn't budge, staying smugly silent the entire journey home.

Gordon and Scott had given up by the time they eased the little jet back into the hangar, going off to do their own thing, hopefully to remove his dating profile, leaving Virgil alone.

Selene and John were cuddled up together on one of the couches, watching something on the holoscreen when he made his way into the lounge.

He hadn't meant to disturb them, especially when they were actually getting some time alone for once, and was about to make his excuses but Selene had other ideas. She patted the couch beside her, shifting over to make room for him.

He accepted the offer, sitting down and getting comfortable. He didn't know what they were watching, possibly some kind of documentary.

"Cookie?" he offered, pulling a baggie of what looked to be pretty decent cookies out of his jacket pocket.

Selene glanced up from the screen, looking first at the bag of cookies and then at Virgil, her eyes widening in surprise.

"You're all dressed up."

This got John's attention as he reached for a cookie. "Have you been somewhere?"

Selene selected a cookie and took a big bite. "Oh, damn, these are so good, where did you get them?"

"My date made them for me," Virgil grinned, consuming almost half a cookie in one bite.

"Wait, wait, back up, date?" Selene actually paused the documentary, something about William Shakespeare by the looks of it.

"You had a date? That wasn't on the calendar?" John frowned. "Were they cleared by security?"

"The romance is strong in this family," Selene drawled, rolling her eyes.

"Scott and Gordon decided that signing me up to dating sites is their new hobby," Virgil sighed.

"They arrange the date? What were they like? Did you have a good time? Witchy needs details," Selene gently shoved John's face away from her as he chewed loudly in her ear and leant closer to Virgil.

"We actually had a nice time. Emma, my date, is a local, lived there all her life. She's been a bit lonely so her friend set her up on the site. We wandered around a lake for a bit and then we went back to her place."

"Awww, so romantic," Selene sighed dreamily before mock glaring at her husband. "Why don't you take me on dates any more?"

"Because we only got back off our honeymoon a few weeks ago and we live on an island?"

"No excuse."

"Dinner on the mainland next week?"

"Thought you'd never ask," she stole a quick kiss as he rolled his eyes in defeat. "Got any pictures?"

"Of the restaurant? Are you needing to inspect my reservation making skills now?"

"I was talking to Virgil."

"Oh, then carry on."

"Virg, pictures?"

"I did take one, yes," he pulled out his phone, scrolled through for a couple of seconds then turned the phone to show them the screen. "I took a selfie of us at the lake."

Selene and John blinked, unsure if they were seeing the right picture.

"Erm… not to be a judgey judgerson or anything but…" Selene trailed off.

"But she has to be older than Grandma," John finished for her, blunt and to the point as always.

They both looked at the picture again, showing a goofily grinning Virgil next to a sweet older lady, her blue rinsed hair set in a helmet of curls, her half moon glasses perched on her nose.

"Again, not with the judging, you do you, but does she have to watch her heart? She needs to be careful if she's going out picking up handsome young men."

"Stop, please stop," Virgil groaned. "She didn't know how old I was. Gordon and Scott set it up and apparently they somehow, and I choose to believe it was unintentional, managed to upload my profile to the over 60s side."

"And you didn't correct her?" John had to ask. He knew his brother was the nice one of the family but that was a little ridiculous.

"Of course I did, but we were there and she hadn't been out in a few weeks. Her grandson moved away for work and her husband died a few years ago so I bought her dinner and we had a nice walk around the park. She wasn't actually looking for a romantic date, she just wanted a companion, someone to chat to, go for a walk with and maybe see an exhibition or two. Her friend at the widows club set it up for her."

"So you were both set up by others?"

"Yep. She's a really nice lady."

"And that walk around the park turned into cookies at her place?" John's fingers snuck into the bag again to take another.

"And banana bread. She mentioned that she was going to hire a handyman to fix her sink because her daughter was too busy and she didn't have any help now."

"Ahhh," Selene could see exactly where this was going.

"And so I offered to unblock her sink for her."

"Of course you did," John sighed, hiding his smile against Selene's shoulder.

"And while I was there I put up some new shelves for her and took her trash cans out to the kerb and retuned her TV. She made me cookies to say thank you."

"She sounds lovely," Selene cooed, already in love with the thought of her. She could take or leave it when it came to little kids, usually leave if she was being honest, but she was a complete suckee when it came to the elderly.

"She is, smart too. I complimented some of the paintings she had on her walls and she told me she'd painted them, her and her husband met at art school and used to go on vacation to different countries to visit galleries and take classes. I showed her a few pictures of some of my pieces and it turned out she'd seen one of mine in a gallery in New York, you know that one of the Sphinx I did from that picture I took after that rescue?"

"Do I take it that our darling brothers don't know any of this?"

"Nope," Virgil grinned. "I'm letting them stay curious, they asked me all sorts of questions on the way back but I stayed quiet. I'll tell them eventually, once all the cookies are gone." He picked another out of the rapidly depleting stash.

"I have never heard a more Virgil story in my entire life," Selene laughed, shaking her head. "So when are you seeing her again?"

"Gonna try and visit next week to mow her lawn," Virgil admitted, looking somewhat sheepish.

"Hey, no," Selene grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight. "No looking embarrassed. You're amazing, it's a totally you thing to go on a date, not get what you were expecting and still come away with an old lady best friend and having had a great time. That's one of the many reasons I love you, because you're just so you."

"She's right," John added, patting his brother's shoulder. "One thing I've learnt the last few years is that you shouldn't make excuses for who you are or try to change. Don't belittle the fact that you have probably made her happier than she has been in months just by giving her some time and treating her with respect. Don't undervalue that."

"Yeah," Virgil acknowledged. "I know I did the right thing, it doesn't hurt to help someone and I had fun too."

"And that's all that matters," Selene said, patting his hand one last time before she let it go.

"Yep," he smiled, settling back against the cushions, munching on his cookie, his cheeks bulging like a hamster's, muffling his words. "That and the fact that her granddaughter is a nurse and she's going to introduce us next month."

#Virgil Tracy #fabfivefeb #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirdsarego #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

Text

August Contest Submission #18: The Concrete Rose

Words: ca. 5,500 Setting: mAU Lemon: No CW: Angst, brief Hansanna

October 12, 2019

From the second Elsa saw her roommate, she knew she would become her muse.

Douglas Academy of the Arts produced hundreds of graduates every year already with an astounding, artistic reputation. Anyone that had a future in the arts ran through Douglas Academy first. But that prestige came at a price, success at all costs meant that almost everyone was cold and cutthroat; no one was a classmate, everyone was competition.

It was a mantra that all the students bought into except for two people: Elsa and her roommate Anna. From a simple handshake and a peace offering in the form of a chocolate bar (“The vending machine accidentally gave me two, how lucky is that?!”), Anna stood out from everyone else in Elsa’s eyes.

They became quick friends despite how drastically different they were. Elsa was reserved and stayed in her head a lot, Anna loved people and spoke every thought that came to her. Elsa was constantly second-guessing her decisions and had a keen eye for details, Anna was more impulsive and loved seeing the bigger picture. Elsa was a sculptor who kept her works secret until they were finished, Anna was a dancer who would always post videos of her practicing for her latest performance.

The one thing they had in common was their need to support the other.

One day well into their first semester, Anna barged into Elsa’s room with a flyer that she’d gotten in almost all her classes: an advertisement for the 3-D Art Showcase in three weeks. “You’re doing this, right?” she asks, pushing the flyer in front of Elsa’s face. “You’re entering a thingie into the thing?”

Elsa plucked the flyer out of Anna’s hands and turned back around in her chair, “Not a chance. I heard first years get eaten alive at these showcases, I’ll wait until next year.”

“Oh come on! You’d kick so much ass if you entered something. Remember that clay canary you made me?” Anna pressed her palms against Elsa’s shoulders, which almost knocked the pencil out of the unexpecting sculptor’s hands.

Elsa shook her head, “That was different. I’d have to make like… something fancy and intricate if I want to even be considered for the showcase.”

“Well, can’t you at least try? Please?” Anna slid her hands down so she could wrap her arms around Elsa’s shoulders from behind. “I can help you just like you helped me while I was rehearsing my first interpretive dance.”

It took a while for Elsa to get used to Anna’s touchiness, but she learned to accept it. This was just another thing that added to Anna’s eclectic personality, and besides Elsa was a big fan of the rosemary body wash she was using. “Anna, all I did was press play on your speaker.”

“Which helped out a lot!” Anna assured her. “You know how much energy I could have wasted doing that myself?”

“… not a lot?”

“Just think about joining, okay? Knowing you, I bet you probably have like five ideas running through your head and when you pick one, I’ll do whatever I can to help turn that idea into something concrete.”

Well if thinking about it was all that Anna was asking her to do, then Elsa could do that. Less commitment that way. And she was right, of course, there were five ideas floating around in Elsa’s mind but none of them she could latch on to and say that that was the one to work on. “Alright fine,” she said after a dramatically heavy sigh, “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s my girl! Oh shit, I’m gonna be late for rehearsal!” Anna sprinted out of Elsa’s room to grab her dancing shoes. Before slamming their shared door shut, she said, “If you eat my spaghetti, I’ll kill you!”

November 5, 2019

There was something that Anna told her that day which stuck with Elsa much more than she thought it would.

Turning an idea into something concrete.

What if she sculpted something out of concrete? It was a near guarantee that a lot of the sculptors entering the showcase would be using clay, recycled metals, or wood; using concrete would probably help her stand out and better her chances of being picked. After a researching how to make this work, and some choice words of encouragement and dancing from Anna, Elsa set to work getting everything she needed for her crazy idea.

There was still, of course, one glaring problem: What was she going to sculpt?

Her answer came to her during Anna’s first performance of the semester. It was an interpretive dance that told the story of a young gladiator fighting for the freedom of his sister who was enslaved by a vindictive landowner. Her ability to tell this story without words (not even in the song she chose) wowed the audience and inspired Elsa as she waited for every beat of the story she’d seen Anna tell maybe a hundred times in their dorm.

Elsa decided to recreate one of the poses Anna did where she jumped in the air and punched her arm out like she was thrusting a spear into an unseen adversary. It was a painstaking process that tested her dexterity and her patience even more so, she shut herself in her room until it was finished. In the end, the sculpture was much smaller than she wanted it to be because she underestimated how much concrete mix she actually needed. And a piece of Anna’s skirt chipped off because it refused to stick to the wire mesh. Still, overall she was very impressed with herself.

And so it seemed was the showcase committee, because she was given one of the last remaining spots on the showcase floor.

Elsa somehow found a way to keep Anna from seeing it beforehand, so when she went with her roommate to the showcase, her reaction was genuine.

Anna gasped, “Holy shit, is this me?! She’s so pretty!”

Everyone in the building looked at them with judgmental glares, especially the judges. Elsa didn’t mind all that much, she wasn’t expecting to take a ribbon home, this was more about proving she could hang with Douglas’ best and to thank Anna for supporting her these past few months.

“I ran out of time to add details to the face, so I kept it blank,” Elsa explained. “I hope it doesn’t look too creepy.”

Anna shook her head, “No, I love it! It’s like… it fits so much with Henry’s character, the gladiator I mean. He presents himself as this nobody that could be anybody, like Henry is just a faceless idea, but he stands for justice and integrity, which can speak to anyone.”

Elsa smiled, her heart fluttering from the feeling of being understood. “I’m glad you were able to see that. I think I’ll steal that explanation when the judges come over.”

“Fine, but if you win a ribbon then you’re buying me dinner. For believing in you and for being your muse.”

“Pssh, you are not my muse.” How in the world did Anna already know that?

Anna squeezed Elsa’s shoulders and smiled, her eyes seeing right past Elsa’s thin resistance. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Michaelangelo.”

The judges came around a few minutes later to ask her some questions and write notes on their clipboards. Anna wanted to talk her roommate up so badly but settled on providing moral support right next to Elsa as she answered the questions concisely and with the professionalism that got her into Douglas Academy in the first place.

She didn’t win a ribbon, but decided to take Anna out to dinner anyway.

December 26, 2019

“I think concrete should be your thing,” Anna said before taking another long sip of her hot chocolate.

“My thing?” Elsa asked.

“Yeah, like the thing that makes you stand out from everyone else. The thing you’re known for. Da Vinci had his inventions and paintings, Degas painted ballet dancers, you could be the concrete rose.”

Elsa chuckled, “Concrete rose? That sounds more like you than it sounds like me.”

Anna gasped, “Why Ms. Elsa, you best be careful or I might just take that as a compliment.”

“Uhh you should because it was.” Elsa gently kicked her foot forward to keep the front porch swinging. They drank their hot chocolates in silence, relishing in that post-Christmas bliss. Elsa’s family was always a little more dysfunctional around the holidays, but when Anna told her she’d be spending her Christmas in the dorms she knew that couldn’t happen. Her best friend deserved a real Christmas for the first time in forever.

When their mugs were empty, Anna spoke again, “Thank you for letting me come with you. I… maybe I would have felt a little lonelier this Christmas. And I’m happy that I’m not.”

“Anna, you’re my best friend- heck, you’re like the sister I never had. I can’t leave my sister hanging, you know?” The confession is so raw and unusual for Elsa that it doesn’t feel right coming from her lips at first, but the more this moment sat the better it felt.

She looked to Anna, her red cheeks were a sign that the cold was finally getting to her. “I had a lot of foster siblings growing up… none of them liked me all that much.”

“Well that’s their loss.”

“Thank you, Elsa. Really. Everything you do means a lot to me, I hope you know that.”

Elsa smiled and tapped her shoe against Anna’s, “Everything you do means a lot to me too.”

Anna brought the empty mug back to her lips. “So, if we’re sisters, does that mean I get to steal your clothes and burst into your room to tell you stupid nonsense?”

“You mean you don’t already do that now?” The force that Anna pushed her with almost sent Elsa off the porch swing.

October 21, 2020

Elsa and Anna complemented each other’s strengths in a way neither of them ever expected. The 3-D showcases happened four times a year, and Elsa entered every one of them with the support of Anna. There were also four major dance performances throughout the year, and Anna entered every one of them with Elsa’s support.

Anna had taken second place for interpretive dancing at the last competition, but Elsa was still looking for her first major win. She felt confident, however, in her entry for the upcoming showcase.

“I mean I love it of course, but it’s ambitious,” Anna said while looking over Elsa’s sketch. “How are you gonna carve out the bird and the cage at the same time?”

“I was thinking of making the cage and bird separate, and then putting them together,” Elsa answered. “If I get the dimensions right, I can hammer some nails underneath the cage so it stays put.”

“Hmm, alright well you sound like you know what you’re doing.” Anna handed back the sketch. “And I’m gonna support you a hundred percent. No matter what.”

“I know you will,” Elsa said while putting her arm around Anna’s shoulder. “… I think this is the one.”

“I think so too,” Anna said proudly. “And when you come back with a ribbon-”

“You’re buying me dinner.”

Anna gasped and wriggled out of her best friend’s arm, “Rude!”

Elsa rolled her eyes, “Oh please, half my budget is spent feeding you. I’m sure you can afford to buy me dinner one time.”

She saw the gears turning in Anna’s mind, trying to come up with a rebuttal, but in the end she groaned and said, “Fine, I’ll take your bum ass out for dinner, sis.”

Elsa worked harder than she ever had before, inspired once again from seeing Anna’s latest performance. It was a soliloquy in dance form, about a bird who’d spent their entire life on the move and in the hands of many owners, but never once being allowed out of its cage. It paralleled Anna’s life story: the foster child from New York who was only getting her first taste of freedom now. She paid special attention to the bird’s eyes, wanting them to emulate the longing and ambition she saw in her best friend.

The process resulted in a lot of tiny cuts and a couple of sleepless nights, but it was all worth it in the end. She won second place at the showcase.

True to her word, Anna took her out for dinner that very night on the condition that Elsa wear the obnoxiously huge, red ribbon. They had to stick it on her shirt with a safety pin. “Alright, where does Madame Second Place want to go for dinner?” Anna asked, dressed in an adorable skirt and blouse combo.

“I was kinda joking, you know?” Elsa said. “You don’t actually have to buy me dinner.”

“Oh please, you can’t get cold feet now. I mean you’re already wearing the ribbon, that’s like… I don’t know, it’s like when your high school prom date puts the corsage on you. It’s official, no backing out.”

Elsa raised an eyebrow, “What so you’re my prom date now?”

Anna pursed her lips, “Well maybe not for prom, it’s too late for that. But I’ll be your date if you want me to.”

That answer leaves Elsa speechless.

“Ooh, I know where we can go!” Anna added before Elsa could finish catching up to the millions of thoughts running through her mind. “There’s this really good Mexican place downtown. I heard they sell this burrito that’s the size of your forearm, and I have long forearms so I wanna see that. Sound good?”

Elsa blinked and said absently, “Yeah, let’s go.” They walked side by side to Anna’s car, all the while Elsa pretended she wasn’t seeing her best friend in a brand new light.

May 15, 2020

It’s a scary feeling to know that you’re in love with your best friend. Even scarier when you’ve considered them your sister for almost two years now. It’s like being strapped in to the world’s best roller coaster against your will. Sometimes it’s exhilarating and you think maybe this isn’t so bad, but most of the time you’re screaming and want to get off.

Elsa’s been on the same damn ride for months now and it hasn’t gotten any easier. But she’s accepted it, which is something she never expected.

All of Anna’s errant touches, her smiles and glances, and even just the way she says “we”… Elsa has second-guessed each and every single one of her behaviors. And yes, she would probably stop overthinking if she’d just talk to Anna but she doesn’t know how. It’s hard enough trying to have a regular conversation with her now, it’s nearly impossible approaching her with a talk about their feelings.

And even so, she’s accepted the fact that she’s fallen in love with her best friend. For the past two years, they’ve been nearly inseparable, there’s no one in the world she knows better or cares about more than Anna. Falling in love with her felt almost inevitable.

But did Anna feel the same way? Well, she’d find out soon.

For the last 3-D showcase of their second year, Elsa had been working on a particularly special project. It didn’t have to do specifically with Anna’s last performance, but it was dedicated to her nonetheless.

Rising from a slab of concrete, she sculpted out a finely detailed rose, complete with a realistic crack where the stem breaks out and defined petals spiraling into the rosebud. It represented Anna’s ability to grow and flourish from a life of a constantly uncertain home life and rough nights on the streets.

At the base of the concrete slab, she wrote ‘For Anna, for everything’. When Anna notices the inscription, that’s when Elsa would tell her how she feels.

She shut herself out from the world for a particularly long time; Anna only saw her when they were walking to classes together, and even then Elsa remained tight-lipped so as to not spoil the surprise. Her patience had to be rewarded, she figured, or else this would have all been for nothing.

When the showcase finally arrived, Elsa waited anxiously for Anna to show up. She said she would be running late because she needed to meet someone, but that was fine because it gave Elsa more time to figure out what she’d say to the judges. Which in turn helped keep her from pacing around the showcase floor like a lonely, lovesick puppy.

When the judges came, she defended the lack of complex expression and vibrancy of her piece by quoting Henry David Thoreau’s opinion on simplicity. And she covered the etching with her hand because that was one question she’d rather not answer just yet. At least not to them. The judges looked impressed with her answers and one of them even mentioned that she had a knack for giving life to her sculptures. The high from that compliment should have lasted her throughout the entire day, but it was shot down almost immediately.

When the judges left, she saw Anna walking towards her. But she wasn’t alone, she was with a guy.

And they were holding hands.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I was waiting for this guy to get his fucking shoes on.” Anna patted the guy’s chest with a coy smile. He was tall, proper, and with fashionably thick sideburns. The way he wore his t-shirt and jeans looked awkward, as if he was ripped straight from a 19th century portrait and was forced to wear modern clothes to blend in.

“Hey in my defense, I didn’t know I was going to the showcase until you texted me like half an hour ago,” he said while wrapping her arm around Anna’s shoulders.

“Lies. And propaganda.” Anna turned to Elsa with a softer smile on her lips, which was just another hit to Elsa’s already bruising heart. “Again, I’m sorry I was late but I figured it was time for you two to meet. Elsa, this is Hans. We’ve been dating for a month now.”

A month?

A… a month.

Elsa’s doing her best to remain polite and cordial, but it’s hard when her entire body feels like it’s crumbling onto the floor. She extends a hand out anyway, wincing when Hans takes it with more strength than she’s expecting. “It-It’s nice to meet you, Hans. Anna’s lucky to have you around.” The words come out of her mouth like a rejected poison.

Anna talked some more, so did Hans, and maybe Elsa nodded and smiled when she needed to, but for the life of her she couldn’t tell you what the hell they talked about. When it came time for the… couple to examine Elsa’s sculpture, Anna beamed at her with that same pride that was on her face since day one and Hans said she did a good job. Elsa kept her hand over the inscription the entire time.

She won another second place ribbon. When Anna noticed the inscription, Elsa said it was a thank you for being a wonderful friend. Each word felt like pulling teeth.

September 4, 2020

They met at the campus coffee shop while Elsa was isolating herself. Ironically, Anna was going there to get a hot chocolate to surprise Elsa.

She brought Anna and Hans together.

It was a very lonely summer for Elsa. Since Hans lived in New Jersey, it wasn’t that hard for him to visit Anna whenever he wanted, which is exactly what he did. They spent almost every moment of the summer together, and while Elsa pretended to be happy with getting texts, the occasional phone call, and a surprise weekend visit from her best friend, none of it could stop the constant ache in her heart.

Move-in day for their third year was especially brutal, she unpacked absentmindedly while listening to Anna and Hans joke around and kiss when they thought she wasn’t looking. She tried all summer to let go of the feelings for Anna and to just be happy for her, but it felt like the more she tried, the more she held on.

“Alright, that’s the last box.” Anna wiped her hands on her jeans and looked at Elsa and then at Hans. “Let me just change out of this gross, sweaty shirt and we can get something to eat?”

“Of course, babe.” Hans kissed her and walked out of the girls’ dorm, Elsa finally let go of the breath she’d held since they started moving their stuff in.

“You’re coming with us, right?” Anna asked.

Elsa wasn’t expecting her to to talk to her, and she had to take a second for her mouth to catch up with her mind. “Uh no that’s okay,” she finally replied. “You two enjoy yourself, I want to unpack all of my stuff before I eat.”

Anna raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure? If you’re worried about being a third wheel, trust me it’s not gonna be like that.”

Elsa tapped her fingers on the stacked boxes in front of her. “No, I’m just not hungry yet. That’s all.”

“Well… alright, but I’ll bring you back some food and I won’t take no for an answer.” Anna peeled off her shirt and disappeared in her room to find a new one. From somewhere inside the room, she added, “We’ll hang out sometime soon okay? Just the two of us.”

October 1, 2020

'Sometime soon’ turned out to be nearly a month later. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but with the third year at Douglas being notoriously difficult, they needed to spend a little more time adjusting to the bigger workload and busier schedules. And any free time Anna did have was taken up by Hans…

Elsa continued to pretend to be okay, and she actually relished how busy their third year was going to be because it gave her something else to think about. A six-page essay on contour ate up time she was going to spend thinking about the sexual innuendo Hans was 'accidentally’ adding to him and Anna’s conversations.

The busy times couldn’t last forever, though, and Anna and Elsa finally found some time to spend together- just the two of them- one night on top of one of Douglas’ parking garages. It was a place they’d gone to many times just to get away from the staunch air of pressure and competition in every corner of every building underneath them. This was a place for them to breathe, a home away from a home away from home.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much lately,” Anna said, breaking the silence from their lack of conversation. “It’s just that this is the first relationship I’ve been in and… I don’t know, it’s exciting and new. Not that things aren’t like that with you, it’s just-”

“Anna, you don’t have to apologize. Whatever time I get to spend with you is just fine.” Elsa bites her tongue before she can say that she still wishes she had more time with Anna.

“I just don’t want you to feel like I’m neglecting you, that’s all.”

“Well, you’re not, so it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Okay…” Anna scooted closer to her, their bare elbows touching made the nerves in Elsa’s arm tingle and send shockwaves through her entire body. “Sooooo, you want to know what I’m doing for my next performance? You know, so you can start figuring out what you’re gonna do for the showcase.”

Elsa looked away, “I don't… I think I’m gonna skip the showcase this time.” She wanted to say she was going to skip the showcase this year, but that would have set off too many alarms in Anna’s head. She could deal with the one alarm she saw going off behind her best friend’s eyes.

“How come?” she asked.

“It just looks like it’s gonna be a real busy year, and I think I need to focus on getting through it. Once I can do that, then I can start thinking about sculpting again.”

“I… see.” Anna looked out across the campus. “And that’s the only reason?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Elsa wondered if there was something she said, or some visible part of her full of pain that she’d forgotten to cover up.

Anna shrugged, “No reason. Just wondering.”

Elsa didn’t have it in her to pry, so she also went back to looking at the buzzing nightlife of Douglas Academy. With luck, they wouldn’t have to address this ever again.

November 30, 2020

Luck remained on Elsa’s side for nearly two months, and then they returned from Thanksgiving Break. Anna had declined her invitation to spend Thanksgiving with her, and instead she spent it with Hans’ family. Who, as it turned out, was exceptionally rich.

Anna spent a good hour gushing over their massive house with the hot tubs (plural) and rooms as big as their whole dorm, and then talked about all the people that were there for Thanksgiving dinner and how amazing the food was. Knowing Anna’s struggles, Elsa tried to remain supportive while she gushed over Hans and his family and his really nice house. And then she said something that should have remained a thought.

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet not joining me for Thanksgiving.”

Anna pounced on that out-of-character remark immediately. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gosh, what could she say that wouldn’t sound passive-aggressive? Elsa decided on, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m really glad you had a good time on break.”

For a second, that looked like it would work. And then Anna closed her eyes and sighed, “Oh god… you don’t like Hans.”

Elsa didn’t say anything, which is the worst thing she could have said.

“Elsa, we’ve been going out for months now. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I…I guess I…”

Anna sighed and waved her hand, “Never mind, I guess it doesn’t matter. Look, I like you both so I don’t want things to feel awkward or whatever. What can I do to help? I want you to like Hans so that things don’t suck between us.”

There’s nothing Anna needed to do, this was a problem that Elsa had to deal with on her own. That’s what she wanted to say to her best friend. But instead, there was another disconnect between her brain and her mouth and she said something that was bound to make things worse, “You don’t even know why I don’t like him.”

Anna nodded, “You’re right. So why don't you like him?”

Elsa wrung her hands together, “Anna, we shouldn’t talk about this.”

“What? But you’re the one that brought it up.”

“I know, but it’s just not… this won’t end well.”

“Is this one of those things where the protective older sister hates every guy her sister dates and thinks that no one’s good enough for her?”

“No,” Elsa replied. And under her breath, she muttered, “I wish.”

“Elsa, we’re the only two people in your room. I heard that.” She scooted across the bed to get closer to Elsa, their fingers nearly touching were enough for Elsa to feel like her arm was on fire. “Just… tell me what’s wrong. Please?”

Though it felt like the wrong thing to do, Elsa pulled her hand away. “I don’t know if I can,” she replied. “Can we drop it please? For now?”

“… okay.”

December 13, 2020

This was the longest time Elsa and Anna had gone without talking to each other. Sure, they were polite and fake when Hans was hanging out in their dorm, and they still said good morning and whatnot to each other, but they hadn’t made an effort to really talk to each other in two weeks.

Knowing this was her fault, Elsa set out to craft an apology to Anna. After deciding on recreating the canary she made her during their first year, this time in concrete, she went to work quickly on creating the mesh outline for it. One night, during this process, she heard a knock on her door. A knock that could only belong to one person.

She took a deep breath and then opened her door. “Hey Anna,” she said far too generically.

“Do you love me?”

Elsa tensed up so much she almost tore her doorknob off. Any answer would have been a good one, but instead she remained frozen in silence.

“Hans and I had a fight and he said…well I mean he thought that… areyou in love with me?”

Still as a statue, much like the concrete rose Anna’s holding in her hand, Elsa somehow found her voice long enough to say, “Anna, I didn't…”

Anna nodded, and in the darkness of their shared loft Elsa could finally see that her best friend had been crying recently. “I should have known. I’m sorry.” She walked away, pressing the concrete rose closer to her chest, and disappeared into her room.

January 20, 2021

Though their relationship had hit an all-time low, Elsa felt it was wrong not going to Anna’s performance. She still very much wanted to support her best friend even if they still weren’t talking all that much. But Anna smiled at her the other day and that… gave Elsa hope somehow? Either way, it was enough to get her to stop being a coward and show up to the performance.

She arrived at the auditorium just in time to see Anna walk on to the stage, but not with enough time to find a seat. So she stood by the entrance awkwardly as the music began playing through the speakers. What conspired for the next five minutes was the most poignant expression of heartbreak and longing that Elsa had ever seen in dance form.

It started off as a simple ballroom dance, and though Anna had no partner you wouldn’t realize it in the way she moved. But her mystery partner continued to pull away no matter how many times Anna chased after them. When the partner disappeared, Anna continued to dance alone and while her moves were perfect and calculated, she let her posture slump with every break in the song. By the end, she’s nearly dragging herself along the floor hoping to make it to the end of the song, all the while reaching out for someone. Something. The song ends with her laying on the floor breathing heavily and the audience erupting in applause.

And for the first time in a very long time, Elsa felt a jolt of inspiration.

February 15, 2021

Elsa sat by the base of her sculpture. The judges had come to talk to her long ago and spectators were slowly trickling out of the building, but she couldn’t leave yet. In fact, she’d wait all night long for Anna if she had to. The note she left underneath Anna’s door even said so.

This had to be the fastest yet most detailed sculpture she’d ever created and there were no doubts as to what inspired her. Time continued to tick away, and Elsa continued to sit.

Finally, after an eternity, she saw the familiar silhouette of her best friend walking through the door. She was wearing the same skirt and blouse that made Elsa fall in love with her in the first place.

Quietly, Anna closed the gap until they were a couple of feet apart. “I got your note,” she said softly.

Elsa nodded, “I watched your performance.”

“Oh, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

“I was in the back of the auditorium. But it was beautiful, I’ve never seen anyone move like you do. I’ve never seen anyone express heartbreak like you did.” Elsa wrung her hands together, “I’m sorry if this is inappropriate, but did you and Hans…”

Anna nodded, “A couple of months ago, actually. But my performance, it… wasn’t about him.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No, it…” Anna took her first glimpse at Elsa’s sculpture and it completely threw her off. “Oh my god.”

Immortalized in concrete was Anna in a stunning ball gown, her face content while she swayed in the arms of her dance partner. Except unlike the gladiator sculpture, Anna’s partner was completely visible.

And it was Elsa.

“I know it’s a little forward, but it didn’t feel right having you dance alone,” Elsa replied. And with much less confidence, she added, “Is that okay?”

Anna looked at her, confusion settled on her face. But then that confusion chipped away slowly but surely until a beautiful smile was seen in its place. “It’s perfect,” Anna replied, “Y-you did it again.”

Elsa blushed, “Well, I do have a pretty wonderful muse.”

“Well, I think that muse owes you dinner. What do you say?” Anna reached out her hand, eyes telling her that this was what she wanted.

“She doesn’t owe me anything.” Elsa took her hand and a lovely, warm feeling enveloped her. “But I’d be glad to go with her.”

Anna squeezed her hand and said, “Then it’s a date.”

Elsa’s sculpture won first place that day.

#elsanna #submission #august 2021 contest #prompt: flowers

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dreki · 3 years

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How do you keep up with tdptober prompts to finish and post them (more or less) on time?

I wanted to post (for the first time ever) drawing for the "human" prompt that was precisely one week ago, but I still haven't finished it 😢 I don't even know if I should post it once I finish it, or wait for next year's tdptober

Hi there anon!

I'd say you should definitely post your piece once it's finished, even if it's late or if October is over! People will enjoy looking at your art regardless of when you post. 😊

To answer your question, I opted to not do the entire list because I know I can't manage it, time and energy-wise.

I pick the prompts that inspire me the most and try not to be too ambitious or perfectionistic -- for example, I'm extremely slow with coloring, so I often keep things in greyscale. Or, on some days, if I really want to draw something but have little time, I'll just draw a bunch of quick sketches.

(I still often misjudge the actual time I need to draw something and often end up finishing it the following morning, though. 😅)

I also "recycle" some stuff -- for instance, before drawing my piece for day 21 (Ez and Callum), I needed to get familiar with their faces, so I drew a bunch of sketches -- I reused the Callum ones for day 22 and will post the Ez ones tomorrow.

But most importantly, like any art challenge, try to see it as an incentive to draw and share art, but don't worry if you post late or miss some days!

Drawing one piece a day is definitely not easy, nor is it for everyone, but art challenges are meant to be fun, so don't be afraid to adapt things to your liking, needs, skillset or situation. 😊

To be honest, I see this challenge as an encouragement to draw more, and if it inspires you to make one artwork in the entire month, that's still one more piece of art in the world and that counts as a win!

Good luck and sorry this got a bit long!

#replies and stuff #tdptober #inktober #artober #dreki.txt

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dontjudgemeimawriter · 3 years

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Excerpt/Sketch Scene: Ardisci

I shared lines from this recently but in looking it over I remembered how much I love it so I decided to share. From Ardisci’s POV, Ardisci is the god of knowledge and is living sort of in-hiding on Earth.

---

Alright. So we’re here: Kaitlyn is lying on the couch, reading chapter 3 of her textbook on cultural anthropology. Netalia is lying on the floor, her book— a thick book with thin pages that’s a survey English literature— open above her. It’s open to Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth, but I’m not sure if she’s reading it— Buttercup, her golden retriever, is licking her face, and she’s laughing and pushing her away. I’m taking notes in my notebook. My reading, Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, is open as a pdf on my laptop, though that’s mostly for show, since Netalia is here. My notebook, which Kaitlyn insists is technically a journal (but it’s not my place to say it is or isn’t— language and labels aren’t my responsibility to determine), lies in front of me, and I’m scribbling in it with a recycled water bottle pen that I got at freshman orientation that Netalia always marvels that I haven’t lost and Kait and I then share a knowing look about. If Kait (and the collective’s) definition of “journal” is a place for writing out one’s own thoughts, rather than simply noting facts for studying purposes, then yes, it is a journal. I don’t have much need for notetaking— even without the constant stream of direct-and-all-encompassing knowledge, simple information—what’s part of the collective knowledge—is provided to me automatically. But that’s why I love philosophy classes. In the science class I took I did find it interesting what aspects they taught or what they knew, but still, so much of it was known information, simply a method by which to integrate that knowledge. It didn’t excite me the same way. But philosophy? No answer came to me automatically. I know how others have answered the question before, yes, but there’s no collective answer, and I can listen to classmate’s opinions and thoughts and I actually feel like I’m learning.

Focusing. I’m journaling on the allegory of the cave. I won’t be able to bring what I write up in class, but thoughts—my thoughts, my own!—are coming tumbling out. Because I know the outside world, the sun, all of it, I am the regular people in this metaphor when everyone around me are the prisoners who know only shadows and can but squint at the sun. Because not knowing and a limited perspective isn't something I was ever able to to really have. Because not that long ago I didn’t even have an “I” through which to narrate. Google doesn't have an “I” and never has a choice in knowing that these are shadows, not the extent of human existence, but maybe I could know only that. And who would feel jealousy of prisoners chained up in a cave with only a fire casting shadows to quantify as real— and since when has jealousy been a thing I feel?

Kaitlyn had been the one to suggest I write, to journal. She’d given me a look that she told me later was frustration (which I don’t feel bad about not recognizing— psychologically speaking, most people don’t recognize the facial expression “frustrated” as they do “happy” or “sad”—it’s not a basic emotion) and said in a very calm voice that as much as she loved listening to my rants, not everyone had the collective knowledge at their disposal—she actually had to study. And she later suggested writing out my thoughts, telling me that writing could be helpful in self-discovery, which got a green-light from the collective knowledge, so I agreed to try it.

Netalia pushes Buttercup’s nose away. “Buttercup, go-lie-down. I gotta read this.” Buttercup harumphs and trots over to me, pushing her nose into the space between my arm and my waist. That’s something I never got to appreciate—the simple joy of an animal burrowing into you. Of loving you. I suspect that’s something few gods get to experience—at least, outside of the Nature domain. And to have that physical form in which an animal can burrow into.

I can’t write with Buttercup there, so I finish the sentence, put my pen down, and turn to Buttercup, taking her face in my hands and scratching behind her ears. Buttercup starts panting, her tail wagging loud enough to slam against the carpet.

“Did the good doggie get snubbed?” I coo to Buttercup. It’s lucky humans developed a way to communicate thoughts, or I may never have had access to even the concept of thoughts and emotions, just behavior and knowledge of consciousness. At least a person can tell me what they’re thinking and feeling, even if it’s not always true— or all I’d have is what I can tell about animals, what their behaviors indicate.

“It was not a snub,” Netalia said. “I have to read this.”

I quiet, just smiling at Buttercup and scratching behind her ears. Kaitlyn’s looking at me. I know what face she’s making without looking up, but I look up anyway because sometimes using the human eyes helps me interpret it better. There’s a slight smile. I think it’s in reference to “Some of us need to actually read the assignment.” Just because that’s usually what Kaitlyn likes to tease me about.

Kaitlyn closes her textbook and sets it down on the table. “Talia, can we take Buttercup outside and play with her a bit? I think Addie’s getting antsy.”

Addie’s not really my name—my god name is Ardisci, and before going into hiding, Kaitlyn called me Ardi, which I love—never had I been close enough with someone for them to need a shortened way to refer to me. It felt affectionate. But going into hiding I needed a name-name, something not quite my god name. Kaitlyn had actually said that Adelaide felt too close to Ardisci to her, but once I’d picked it it had felt comfortable and I couldn’t pick another one, so we went with it. Plus, “Addie” and “Ardi” sounded similar, which made the transition easier.

“Sure,” Netalia sits up, folding the book over her finger for a moment. “Her toys are in the basket next to the porch.” She stood and sat down on the couch Kait had been lying on.

I stood, giving Buttercup a tug towards the door. Buttercup lept, realizing what we were doing, and ran to the door, barking when it didn’t open for her.

“Hold on, girl.” Kaitlyn followed us over to the front entrance and grabbed her jacket off the hook, then handed me mine. Now out of earshot from Netalia, she said to me, “The rest of us need to actually read the assignment.”

“I know,” I said. My jacket was thick, zippered, and knit, with cables curling up the sleeves. I wanted to try knitting sometime, to see if it was as easy as the information of “how to purl” came into my mind. Kaitlyn had said she’d knit when she was younger, had described how she’d learned to spot the difference between a knit stitch and a purl stitch and how to make a cable or bauble. When I look at it I know, but I have a feeling that that knowledge is different from recognizing it.

Kaitlyn takes a moment to adjust the collar of my jacket, which wasn’t folded properly. “I know you know,” she smiles—me saying “I know” is ironic, she’s said, just as anyone saying “do you know?” is to me. But “know” doesn’t, in my case, always mean knowing, it means understanding, and that (I know) is a different thing.

Buttercup bolts out the door as soon as I turn the handle to leave—it’s into Netalia’s family’s backyard, where Buttercup has previously been allowed to roam freely, so I’m not concerned—and Kaitlyn shouts to Netalia’s mom that we’re taking Buttercup out. Her mom, Lynette, tells us alright, and that she’s heating up some hot apple cider for us. Lynette was horrified my first year living as a human that I’d never had hot apple cider, and had filled me up on it ever since. I’d told Kaitlyn how I knew what apple was used, the origins of the drink, different versions, what was considered the best mixture.

“Alright,” Kaitlyn had said. “But the drink you’re drinking right now. Do you like it?”

I’d been confused at first. I’d taken another sip— not really familiar with the concept of myself liking things. I knew it was generally accepted as good, but then I really absorbed the flavor, the heat, the spice, the sweetness. “Yes,” I’d said finally. “I like it.”

I bound outside, running to the basket under the porch and grabbing a frisbee. “Wanna catch?” I ask Buttercup. Buttercup jumps side to side, ready. I swing my arm, try to snap my wrist, and let go. Buttercup runs after it, but the frisbee curves, making about a 60° angle away from where I thought I’d aimed. I laugh, and Buttercup, who started running straight, looks around in confusion.

“I gotta get better at that!” I shout to Kait, and run over to where the frisbee landed. Running is nice, a feeling I’ve gotten used to. The exertion, adrenaline, my lungs pulling in air, my heart beating, lactic acid starting to flow through my muscles (which’ll make them sore later). One of the things I can’t know, I have to feel. I get to feel. I scoop up the frisbee and toss it again. This time Buttercup knows to watch it, and runs after the very curved path it follows. I run back over to Kait, meeting Buttercup halfway as she trots back with it. Kait takes the frisbee.

“Here,” she holds it out, but instead of letting me take it, guides my hand to hold it. She takes me through the motion of throwing it, of the flick of the wrist. “And here you let go. Eyes on your target.” she says.

I know how to on an instructional level, but when Kait releases my hand for me to try, this time I pay attention not to the collective knowledge, but her instruction. I follow through, and this time it goes straighter, only curving a bit at the end. Buttercup races after it, then picks it up from the ground.

“Better,” Kait observes. She’s staring at Buttercup at first, but her eyes don’t follow the return, so she seems to have spaced on the trees. “Russell never quite figured out how to throw one,” she said.

I take the frisbee from Buttercup, spinning it in my hand for a moment. I don't look at her, knowing she won’t notice me averting my eyes.

I still haven't told her. I should tell her. It’s my obligation really, to our friendship and to my role as god. But really, just because I am the god of knowledge, did that mean I have to tell her? I’m trying to escape that role.

She’ll find out eventually. And maybe I can say I just hadn’t thought of it— I’d been shutting down the constant stream of information, and one person's death isn’t collective knowledge. If I hadn’t wondered, I still wouldn’t know, not actively.

But I do know actively. I’d checked in and realized. And decided not to tell her.

Her brother had died two years ago. That’s why he’d never found her, never shown up. I hadn’t known him, not really, but I knew him somewhat through Kait, though her memories and relationship.

Maybe it’s a bit selfish, too. I don’t know how she’d react, but I have a feeling (that was new too, having a feeling) that knowing might change things. It might lead her back to her family, and yes perhaps I can stay in hiding without her, but I don’t want to.

A part of me has always longed to do this. Live as a person, learn, experience. Not be the source of all knowledge for once. And part of why I finally had was the pressure had gotten worse—but really, a large part of it was meeting Kaitlyn. Kait, who never used me, who never asked questions I wouldn’t know if I wasn’t god of knowledge. Who actually got to know who I was, with enough patience to handle me. Who’d believed I even got the chance to be an I.

I throw the frisbee again. It arcs a bit, but Buttercup jumps up and catches it midair. “Whoo!” Kait cheers.

I bend down, clapping and then petting Buttercup. “Good job!” I tell her.

“Good job to you,” Kait says, tousling my hair the same way I’m tousling Buttercup’s ears. I grin.

#ardisci #second chance #crossed lines #Again need a series name #Been thinking about the overaching theme and like ik what it is I just don't know a way to cover it #I know I want an actual series name and not just 'Second Chance 2: Crossed Lines'#Because Second Chance is only significant in that it's where we start and the route in it's not inherently more important than the others #Like Chrys is hardly in the later books #/will be #Anyway. meet my favorite character wo write who probably will ever be a main #who*#Kait might. maybe #*gasp* just remembered picrews exist. Gotta make Ardi's human form

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hazelandglasz · 3 years

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Tin-Tanium, A Klaine Advent Calendar

Hi! Yeah, I decided to write all of the Klaine Advent prompts in one story going back the steps of a ten-year anniversary.

Merry Christmas, happy holidays everybody, and I hope you’ll enjoy this compilation!!

Abashed

Over ten years, there are many opportunities for a couple to embarrass themselves.

Kurt has plenty of memories that fit in that category, Blaine too.

Blaine and Kurt together, too.

Whether it’s from their early days (Kurt still can’t believe he used an entire notebook sketching their hyphenated names around hearts) or from the most recent years (Blaine prefers to hide his face in his hands rather than face the recollection of “Glitter Vampire”, no matter how many times Eliott tells him that it’s still a fan favorite), they have managed to feel abashed more often than not.

It’s not like they mind, though.

Being abashed only lasts a moment--the memory, the joy of it, that lasts forever.

Brake

Slow and steady wins the race, doesn’t it.

So, sometimes, even though neither of them wants to slow down, one of them has to pull the brakes.

Oh, it’s not always when they are tearing each other’s clothes apart, get your mind out of the gutter.

(... they do have to slow down their loving romps sometimes, but it’s rarely because they want to and more because of coitus interruptus.)

They learned how to brake to keep their paths aligned; slowing down in their own rush to get all they want out of life in order to get there together.

And winning the race of life together is the only win Kurt and Blaine are interested in.

Careless

Kurt listened attentively, when his father told him to always be careful about his husband’s needs.

Blaine listened too, when Burt told him that though Kurt doesn’t always say it aloud, he has a way of communicating his emotions that Blaine has to “listen” for.

They do care for each other, throughout the years.

But.

But as careful as they are, or try to be, they can also behave in a careless way.

Though they always try their best, neither Kurt nor Blaine can avoid letting their worst lashing out.

Eventually, though, they learn the real lesson behind Burt’s words:

It’s not about never hurting each other--it’s about being able to heal from that hurt together, to talk about it and grow from it, together.

Dispensable

Every Spring, Blaine has the same problem.

Well it’s a problem for Kurt, anyway.

The moment the weather turns for the slightly better, Blaine turns himself into a white tornado, cleaning the apartment from floor to ceiling.

And, without fail, he always tries to hunt for the Dispensables.

“Why, pray tell, is this pile entirely composed of things from *my* side of the closet?”

“Because *you* have almost everything in duplicates.”

“They are collectors! If I ever use them or damage them, I will have a replacement.”

“They are taking too much room!”

“Not as much as your collection of cameras!”

“How dare you.”

Blaine pauses, holding a scarf in one hand and an empty cardbox in the other, before bursting into a fit of laughter.

“Maybe I overdid my impression of Marie Kondo.”

“And maybe I do have a hoarding problem.”

“Maybe we could do that sorting together.”

“Maybe we could find something else to do with all that free time.”

Blaine drops the box on the floor and carefully folds the scarf on the back of the couch.

“I like the way you think.”

“You even put a ring on it.”

Event

One lesson the Hummel-Anderson household always applies: make an event out of every possible situation.

During the first years, it does make sense. They celebrate their successes, their achievements, as one does.

Then, it grows into something almost like a private joke between them: every little source of happiness becomes the reason for a party, a true event, even if it’s just opening a bottle of champagne while they sit on the floor, munching on a bag of chips, just because there is a Golden Girls marathon.

Because when you find things to celebrate with the person you love most, the sad things are just a little bit less sad.

Farm

Blaine wakes up in a jolt, something pulling at his unconscious mind to pull him from his dream.

Maybe it’s the cold spot in the bed next to him, or maybe it’s the grumbling sound coming from the living room.

“Kurt?”

“...”

“Kurt what are you doing?”

“Nothing?”

Blaine comes closer, and Kurt is sitting on the couch with his laptop on his bare knees.

“Are you watching porn? ‘Cause you know you wouldn’t have to hide it from me.”

“Not porn.”

“Okay?”

Kurt closes his eyes before looking away, turning the laptop’s screen toward Blaine. “Don’t laugh.”

“Why would I--oh.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t expect that.”

“I know.”

“Farming Simulator 2010, that’s …”

“I know.

“... vintage, is what I was going to say. Any particular reason you needed to play that game at 2.14 AM?”

Kurt sighs, leaning his head into Blaine’s torso, now that Blaine stands closer. “It relaxes me.”

“Okay.”

“And I have been very tense.”

“Don’t need to tell me.”

“I know; so I wanted to unwind on my own to be a better husband.”

Blaine bends over to press a kiss to the top of Kurt’s head. “Farm away, darling.”

Grey

TW: anxiety

Most of the time, with the help of his therapist and different techniques he has developed over the years, Blaine can keep his anxiety at bay.

But some mornings, it’s not as easy.

Some mornings, the anxious little voice telling him he’s not worth the space he occupies is the loudest in his mind the moment he wakes up.

Some mornings, the sighting of grey skies without even a spot of blue can send him into a downward spiral he can’t seem to shake out of.

But with each passing year, Kurt becomes more attuned to the little physical signs Blaine’s anxiety lets out.

The tension in his shoulders, even as he wakes up, to which Kurt responds by closing his arms around Blaine’s upper body, forcing him to breathe with him until the tension melts away.

The way Blaine doesn’t say a word and doesn’t look directly at Kurt, to which Kurt responds by putting a cup of coffee in front of him and by kissing his temple.

Yes, Blaine’s anxiety is always around.

But with Kurt’s help, Blaine can keep it at bay.

History

Though they share a love for musicals, Kurt and Blaine don’t always have their obsessions in sync.

Unfortunately, it sometimes clashes.

Fortunately, the married couple has found a solution to keep from fighting over songs.

Medleys meet the Exquisite Corpse.

“I don't wanna talk

About things we've gone through

Though it's hurting me

Now it's history”, Blaine sings.

“History has its eyes on youuuu,” Kurt responds.

“You can dance

You can jive

Having the time of your life

See that girl

Watch that scene

Dig in the dancing queeeeeeen.”

“Hey not fair, there is no queen in Hamilton!”

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps insisting that Eliza is Queen!”

“True.”

Inconclusive

Around the seventh year mark, they wonder if they should … well, expand their couple’s horizon.

It’s a secret to none of their friends that the Anderson-Hummel have insane chemistry with one Starchild.

One evening, using the pretext of celebrating the comeback of the cronut on the foodie scene with one too many bottle of champagne, the three of them end up in bed together.

Some lubricant, condoms, giggles and panted names later, Kurt looks over the stunned figure of their friend to brush his fingers through Blaine’s sweaty curls.

“So?”

“Inconclusive.” Blaine sighs. “Yet.”

Eliot snorts between them. “Round number …?”

“Who’s counting?”

Join

A good way to keep the spark in its first meet glow is also to surprise each other.

One evening, Blaine comes home to Christmas lights suspended in the whole apartment.

“What the …”

“Welcome, sir,” Kurt says, wearing the Ringmaster’s outfit from his run as Barnum in Broadway’s Greatest Showman. “Would you join me for a very special evening?”

“I would,” Blaine says, smiling as he puts his hand in Kurt’s, and feeling his cheeks burning when Kurt brushes his lips against Blaine’s knuckles.

The evening is very special, Blaine tied to the armchair while Kurt takes off his whole outfit and feeds him bits of cheese and fruits and toasted bread.

Knit

“I’m bored.”

“I know. Why don’t you learn a craft?”

“Remember the last time I tried to learn a craft, like you put it?”

They both turn to the potter’s wheel they recycled into a coffee table. “Right. Maybe something less …”

“Space consuming?”

“Complicated.”

“What about knitting?”

“There’s an idea.”

Two days later

“Wha--”

“What?”

“Mon chéri, when we said knitting, I thought it would involve a couple of yarn balls and some needles.”

“This is yarn.”

“No, it’s not.”

Yes it is.

Learn

In a couple, some things come naturally, as easy as breathing.

Loving each other, for example.

For Kurt and Blaine, it’s knowing that whatever the storm, the tide will always bring them back together.

And some things are learned, through time and Life lessons.

What to cook as comfort food, for example.

For Kurt and Blaine, it’s finding out that they needed to be apart to be better for each other.

Some lessons are hard-learned, but eventually, they feel like they have always been known.

Meet

Dan is ready to slip under the table to take his ritual Christmas nap when Cecilia asks the question.

“How did you two meet?”

Now, all Dan can do is groan. “Nooo,” he moans, “why did you ask that?”

“Excuse you,” Kurt says, ruffling his son’s hair. “Don’t you like the way we met?”

“I heard that story at least 221 times,” he says, dropping his head to the table. “Besides, it’s just weird, when you think about it.”

Cecilia cocks one eyebrow at him. “Now you have to tell me.”

“Let me--”

Dan holds up his hand to stop his father in his tracks. “Nah, nah, nah, let me, because they will tell you that it’s so romantic, but in reality, Dad went to spy on Papa and Papa lied to Dad about a shortcut …”

Nip

“What is that thing sitting in that... thing?”

“That is a cat and she is sitting in a basket I knitted, thank you very much.”

“Since when do we have a cat?”

“Since Mrs Gimm’s had a litter and this one picked me.”

“Ah.”

“She went for me like she always knew me.”

“Aww.”

“And then she nipped my fingers.”

“That explains the band-aids.”

“Maybe.”

“So you decided to bring a feral cat into our house with a newborn because the only thing you knitted is that basket?”

“Feral, come on, maybe that’s an overkill, look how sweet she--Ouch!”

“Here, another kitten band-aid. Let me try.”

“Oh right, you’re a big beast tamer, right?”

“...”

“Is that her purring?”

“Either she’s purring or the neighbor just started a plane engine.”

“Oh yes, you’re purring, you little princess you …”

“Ahem.”

Opinion

Any couple counsellor will tell you this:

If you want a relationship to last, the most important thing to do is compromise, to make sure that both parties are happy.

Any couple will tell you this:

Some opinions are better than others. The only thing you can do, before choosing a hill to die on, is take a step back, breathe in and out a couple of times and--

“That’s so stupid it’s a wonder you can still breathe and talk at the same time!”

“I can’t believe you actually think that! What’s between your ears, lukewarm water?”

--start World War Three over the importance of the Beatles versus the Rolling Stones, I guess.

Possible

More seriously though, finding a middle ground is important, in any relationship. And the way to that middle ground can sometimes be summarized in one word.

“Possibility.”

Do you think you could agree to let me cook tonight, even though you say I burn everything?

Maybe.

May I buy regular milk instead of almond, because it gives me stomach aches?

You may.

Isn’t it your turn to change Kitty’s litter?

...Possible.

In just a few words, you can save your relationship from self-destructing, isn’t that something?

Remarkable

Over the years, through thick and thin, through storms and easy flows, the relationship formed by Kurt and Blaine only strengthens.

A fact that seems remarkable for a lot of their friends.

Their New York friends, I should say, since their Ohioan friends are not surprised to see them growing only stronger and more in love as time passes by, leaving them more united than they ever were when they were younger.

Is their relationship remarkable? Of course.

But not because they still look at each other with sparkles in their eyes, especially when they think nobody is watching.

No, it’s spectacular because it reminds everyone lucky enough to be with them that Love does exist.

Sisters

Over the years, Kurt and Blaine consider that they are the ones lucky enough to have been graced by the many women who entered their lives and remained there as chosen sisters.

Mercedes, Tina, Santana, even Rachel, of course, soul sisters who were meant to support them and challenge them to become better men.

Marley, Unique, Kitty, Jane--younger sisters who help both men to grow into mentors and future parents for Cecilia.

Lissa, Annie, Agnes--sisters of all ages who learn from them and teach them in return what they learned during their own lives until they met the couple.

Glee Club had taught them that family didn’t have to be born from blood, but life brought them a constellation of sisterhood that surrounds them and protects them, in a way, from themselves, from ever thinking they cannot get better.

Tub

“Blaine, I know that you’re really going Method for that role, but could you stop with the 1980, 1990 lingo?”

“As if!”

Kurt sighs before deciding to move on. “Do you like that ice cream? It’s from the new shop down the block.”

“It’s da bomb, hubby.”

“‘Da bomb’, really?”

Blaine has the decency to look slightly bashful. “Overdoing it?”

“Just a tad.”

“I’ll keep it to the theater, then.”

“Tubular.”

Ugly

When one uses his body as its professional tool, one is very peculiar about the way they see themselves.

And sometimes, as strong-minded the individual may be, societal expectations can become too heavy.

“Now I get it. I don’t get parts because I’m ugly.”

“Who said that?”

Kurt slams the bathroom cupboard closed, shaking his head at his own reflection. “I don’t need anyone to say it,” he seethes, “it’s obviously why none of the directors I auditioned for ever called back!”

Blaine comes to lean against the bathroom’s door frame. “Kurt …”

Kurt bends his head. “Blaine, don’t start. I know, deep down, that it’s not the reason, and that I’m not ugly. But right now,” he adds, turning his head toward Blaine without meeting his gaze, “that knowledge is buried deep, deep down.”

“Okay.” Blaine stretches close to Kurt, pecking his cheek. “Take all the time you want. But if you need my help digging for proof that you are quite the opposite of ugly, I’m right here. If you want to mull over it in silence, I can let you do it, and just stay here by your side, or walk around the block.”

“No. Stay.” Kurt finally looks up, leaning his forehead against Blaine’s. “I don’t feel so bad when you’re around.”

Vanish

Sometimes, when you are a couple of married actors, you have to accept that your husband is going to get a job when you don’t.

“I got the job!”

“See, I knew you were going to get a break! Which job?”

“The ad one!”

Blaine cocks his head to the side. “Which one? The one for the hotels?”

“No, the one for the detergent. You know, the pink one?”

“Vanish?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Kurt chuckles. “I should try and remember it before the shoot!”

“I’m very proud of you,” Blaine says, pulling Kurt against him for a kiss. “Want to rehearse your text?”

“I would, if you weren’t unbuckling my be-hey!”

“Look, I can make your pants just … vanish.”

“You’re terrib--oh, wow.”

Worthless

Along the years, along the moves, along the different steps in Life, people gather things.

Not necessarily the most expensive things in the world, just mementos.

Little things, really, that most people would discard as just worthless junk.

But for Blaine, for Kurt, those little things are more precious than any of the things they bought once they started to get financially comfortable.

Like ticket stubs and Playbills from the shows they saw together.

Or like a ring made out of gum wrappers.

Yard

Speaking of financial comfort.

Once they became a household name, and once their student loans were reimbursed, both Blaine and Kurt agree.

If they are to be a family, if they are to raise a kid (or many), they need to buy a house.

It takes them a while, but they manage to save enough money to put the down payment on a cute little house in Jericho, a house with a luxurious yard where Kitty Cat can pretend to be the tiger she once was, and where their babies will be free to climb the trees and run around and drive their little bicycles or whatever.

“Quite the white picket fence, Hummel.”

“Anderson Hummel, and yes, so what.”

Santana rubs her very round belly. “Not complaining, nor criticizing. Just observing. I didn’t picture you as Wisteria Lane-adjacent.”

Kurt shrugs. “Nothing Desperate about wanting a good environment to raise a family.”

Zealous

As they reach their tenth year anniversary, Kurt and Blaine feel like they have reached a point in their relationship where their ship is sailing on its own, so to speak.

They have found their groove, they can still surprise each other while knowing each other’s habits and needs, and they have their baby.

Who cries every night.

Blaine is at his wits end looking for a solution to soothe his son’s teething pain, but nothing works.

Or so it seems.

“This here's a tale for all the fellas

Tryin' to do what those ladies tell us

Get shot down 'cause you're over zealous

Play hard to get, females get jealous …”

The sound of the song is the only sound around the house.

No cries, no whimpers.

Just Kurt, apparently “bursting a move”.

“Kurt?”

The song stops, along with one of Dan’s hiccups that announce a storm.

“Keep going, keep going!”

Kurt hesitantly returns to the song, coming into view as he bounces Dan in his arms.

“Young MC, really?”

In the same melody, Kurt replies between his teeth. “I don’t know what came over me, but I just started singing while he was crying and he sto-opped.”

“Magic.”

“Quite.”

“We need to give our thanks to Shuester, uh?”

“Over my dead body.”

#sometimes i write #klaine advent #todaydreambelievers #klaine

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gingerhulksmash · 5 years

Text

The sketchbook.

Hazel has gotten used to throwing away little scrap bits of paper bearing any marks of her boredom during senate meetings, but she’s beginning to regret it now, as she’s bundling old meeting notes into a recycling bag. They never contained anything vital to the meetings, just stickmen blowing rude speech bubbles, games of hangman and tic-tac-toe, Jason’s chicken scratch scrawl asking did she want to get donuts after the meeting? She can’t remember if she’d said yes, or if she’d smiled, or if she’d told him she had drills to run.

She hopes she’d said yes. She hopes she’d scribbled yes, I would love to get donuts with you, so he had known for sure that there was nothing else she’d rather have done that day. If she’d known what was coming, she’d have asked him, after every meeting, and stretched out what should have been a longer friendship. What should have been more time with her first friend in Camp Jupiter. What should have been more time with someone she saw as a—

As a—

She’s getting distracted, and her eyes are starting to prickle. With a shuddering sigh, Hazel goes back to gutting Jason’s old desk. Purging it of all traces of it’s former occupant, though she’s fighting the urge to have it towed towards his funeral pyre. Whoever sat at it next wouldn’t be quite so deserving, not of the title, not of the office, not of the desk so covered with the imprint of his late night work and coffee spills, she begins to wonder if they couldn’t conjure Jason’s soul from out of the grainy wood itself.

But, she reminds herself, it’s just a desk. No more a part of Jason than the office, the chair, the pages and pages of work scattered around. As she plucks the sheets from the drawers, her fingers brush the soft leather spine of an old sketchbook. She gasps quietly, fingers jarring with uncertainty — as if she’d found a diary, some private relic that Jason would have forbidden her to touch if he’d been there.

He is not there, and Hazel pulls the book from it’s hidden corner of the desk drawer, glancing around to make sure she is completely alone.

Inside is a comfortingly familiar mess of writing, and drawings. Almost every page is stained with coffee or ink — after the Giant War, Jason’s hands had developed a slight tremor, and she sees it in the unsteady lines in the details. The pages are dated, signed, almost pedantically. Habits of a boy whose life had been pulled out from under him, once, twice, thrice. An ache in her chest tells her that he was making sure he forgot nothing, that he had something to fall back on to remember himself, if no one else did. Then, as she turns the pages, loose pieces begin to fall out. The first one she picks up again knocks the wind out of her a little.

She’s looking at her own face, sketched clumsily in blue ink. He’s not the most articulate artist — the eyes are uneven, the light seems to be coming from all directions, and not a shadow or crease in the clothes visible — but the light strokes of the pen, the careful curve of her nose and every stray hair, speaks volumes. Signed, dated, and labelled with her name, he has captured a moment she can’t remember at all. More loose sheets contain faces of friends, Frank, Reyna, Gwen, Bobby, Dakota — it goes on, and on. The sketches get better the closer they get to his last visit. She makes more appearances, as do their new friends. She gets misty eyed over drawings of Leo and Piper, passages written about Festus and how to repair him, just the way Leo taught them in case he couldn’t do it himself.

The margins are full of birthdays, important dates, minute sketches of New Rome and Camp Halfblood, flashes of scenes from quests. He has not travelled far, and the places he has been allowed were chained to danger. But to anyone who had not known Jason, it read like a How To Remember Your Friends guide. Like a memoir. He’d even kept all the little notes that they had traded in senate meetings, wedged in between loose sheets and sometimes glued to the pages. He’d kept the ridiculous drawings as if they were precious photos. It’s getting harder and harder to keep a straight face.

The last piece she picks off the floor is an old drawing of Thalia. She’d recognise the face anywhere, even with Jason’s haphazard drawing; blue eyes overlined so vividly, the blue ink had seeped through to the other side of the page, the hair an inky splash, and freckles dotted across a rakish grin. It was not signed, or dated, but it had one sentence scratched across so messily, he must have written it in a fit of something.

She’s real, his writing reads. She’s real, her name is Thalia Grace. She’s not imaginary. I’m not the only one. My sister is real.

Something wet splatters on the page, and the ink bleeds blue down Thalia’s face. Hazel forgets to clean the rest of the desk, forgets she is surrounded by scraps of paper, and dust, and cobwebs. She sits on Jason’s chair, rests her head on her arms, and bawls.

——————————

Waiting for Nico to appear sends her back to her first days at Camp Jupiter. Hazel doesn’t know if she’ll see him, if he’ll warn her of an absence or a visit. Today of all days, she does not blame him for hiding a little. They grieve the same loss in different ways, but she needs her brother here, too. She needs the reassurance, and the understanding, and the presence to prove to her she’s not on her own.

Just like in old times, when her stomach is in knots about Nico not showing up, it’s a Grace who approaches her with a kind hand on her shoulder. But when Hazel turns to face Thalia, her heart leaps to her throat.

Thalia looks like she’s been quietly rusting the past few days. Pale, shoulders slack, her hair dripping down her face. She is not wearing her circlet, her eyes look bloodshot and grey. If someone told her that grief could rob a soul of it’s immortality, Hazel would have believed it from just one look at Thalia.

But there she stood, with a strained smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, looking through Hazel.

‘You wanted to see me?’

Suddenly, Hazel feels like this is the worst idea she’s ever had. Jason’s sketchbook sits heavy in her bag, weighing her thoughts down until there is no room for words to form. All she can think to say is how are you, but it is the silliest question in the world right now.

‘I did,’ she sits as she speaks, gently prompting Thalia to do the same.

Thalia remains standing for an awkward minute, wondering perhaps if Hazel has worse news for her. She seems to decide it isn’t possible, and sits, avoiding eye contact all the while.

‘Will you be leaving soon?’ ‘Don’t know. We have some business to attend to while we’re here,’ Thalia’s voice is brittle, too.

Hazel has seen every sign of crying except the tears, and she can’t help but wince internally at how similar that was to Jason. The closest she’d ever come to seeing Jason weep was the night he had told her about Mount Othrys, and even then, he had held his composure for her sake. He did not like to make others feel obligated to comfort him, and she understood. If Thalia was anything like that...

‘You can’t take a few days off?’ Thalia makes a noise that might have passed as a laugh. ‘Hunters don’t get sick days, Levesque.’

It’s eerie. He’d almost said the same. Praetors don’t take sick days.

They fall into silence. Hazel wishes Nico would appear soon, so that someone who knew Thalia better could deliver the book. So someone who knew Thalia better could handle the fallout. So someone who knew Thalia better could talk about her brother, and not make Hazel feel stupid for ever thinking of Jason as her own family, when Thalia had more right to cry and scream and break down than she did.

But that didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel fair. And the anger hits Hazel as soon as she’s thought it. If rifling through that sketchbook had shown her anything, it was that Jason had been as desperate for family all his life, as she had been desperate to not feel alone when she reached camp, too. Nico and Thalia could come and go as they pleased, but Jason and Hazel — they had been the ones left behind, they had been the ones to pick each other up again. They had been the ones to reach their hands out, with every fear of rebuke and rejection, to any other lonely soul who might be in need.

Just as she starts to think, I should keep the book myself, Thalia sighs.

‘If I don’t do my job, someone else suffers,’ she says, after a long pause. ‘What would I do with my days off, anyway?’

To this, Hazel has no answer.

‘Are you taking any days off?’ Thalia continues, finally turning to look at her. ‘No. I... I can’t,’ ‘Why not? He’s like a brother to you, too.’

Again, her eyes prickle. A lump in her throat makes it hard to speak for a few more seconds, and in lieu of an answer, Hazel reaches a shaking hand towards Thalia’s. Thalia squeezes her fingers back weakly, and sniffs.

Slowly, Hazel reaches into her bag, and draws the sketchbook out. It feels heavier than anything she’s ever held before, but she holds it tightly, for fear that a second of slack grip would send all the pages flying into the air, never to be seen again. Gingerly holding it in her lap, she pulls the hand holding Thalia’s to rest on the cover.

‘What is that?’ ‘It’s Jason’s,’ immediately, as Hazel says it, Thalia stiffens. ‘We used to draw together, now and again, when he had time. He, um. He kept a lot of the things I drew for him, and — and drew some of his own,’

Thalia is looking at the book as if it’s going to bite her, but before she can pull her fingers loose, Hazel closes her hand over them, too soft to constrain, but quick enough that Thalia might understand it as a plea to hold on.

With a shaking voice, Hazel finishes. ‘I want you t — I think you should have it.’

‘What am I going to do with it?’ The rasp in her voice tells Hazel she might cry, or yell. Maybe both. Both might be good for her, for Hazel, too. ‘Look at it. On your days off,’ Hazel offers. ‘Look at it now.’ ‘I can’t. I didn’t even know he liked to draw,’ ‘That doesn’t matter,’

She peels the cover open, blinking furiously to ward away any tears, and lets Thalia try. When she doesn’t move, when Hazel can hear her breathing become difficult and tight, she turns the pages for her, shows her the friends and adventures scribbled there, the notes, the reminders. Her hands shake as she shows Thalia all the drawings of her, her eyes begin to blur.

‘He loved you so much. It doesn’t matter if you didn’t know this about him, he’d have wanted you to have it,’ her voice cracks, at long last. ‘He barely knew me at the start and he loved me, he wouldn’t have cared if — if you didn’t —’

Thalia’s hands on her face, wiping away her tears, are what alert her to the fact she’s crying. Through her hazy vision, she can make out Thalia’s stony expression, fighting valiantly to not break. How like Jason; these are the habits of someone unaccustomed to having the space and permission to feel. She was no older than Hazel, something she remembers with another swoop of pain — Thalia had died at thirteen, too. She understood the gravity of a second chance, and now the pain of having that blessing tainted by loss, by grief, by danger.

Before she knows it, Thalia has pulled her into a hug, one arm tight around her shoulders, the other hand at the back of her head. She lets Thalia hold onto her, until it feels like she is being leaned on in turn, until she hears the quiet shudder of a sob that gets louder and more heartbroken.

The book, still in Hazel’s clutches and pressed to her front, is forgotten and unimportant for the moment. But when this is over, she knows Thalia will take it. When this is over, Nico will come home to Hazel. Tyson will go home to Percy. The cohorts and cabins in both camps will close in on their loved ones, and Thalia will vanish into the wilderness with nothing but this book, and it will be all she has of him. Paper, ink, a leather back that will slowly but surely break apart over the years as it’s yanked open to bring Jason back to life, for a moment or two.

Hazel holds Thalia until her sobs subside to a tremor, and thinks, maybe, she doesn’t have to be alone. Maybe after this, when this is all over, Thalia will visit, they’ll get donuts, and pore over the book together. Maybe she’ll teach Thalia to draw, and they’ll draw together. That would have to wait — for now, she will make do with the comfort she is being offered and has the chance to give back. She’ll hold onto Thalia, and Thalia will hold onto her, and as he should have been there in person, Jason was there between them, with his family.

#jason grace #hazel levesque #thalia grace #drabbles #This was a rush job but god was I angry #Mostly about Reyna but #I'm saving THAT rage for a better fic.#this isn't proofread at all oh gosh

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mintchocohip · 5 years

Text

sub!bts ＋ their lazy day kinks

↳ How the OT7 play with their domme when it’s a tired morning, or the evening after a long day. [[Of course, what qualifies as “lazy” play varies from member to member...]]

cr▹

⊣ pairing: member x reader ︱ rating: explicit ︱ genre: domestic, smut, a lil’ fluff

⊣ kinks and any relevant warnings can be found with each member!

︳ 𝙏𝘼𝙀𝙃𝙔𝙐𝙉𝙂╍ kink: 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺

Taehyung doesn’t need accessories to play puppy. All he needs is imagination. You buckle the black pleather collar around his throat, anyways. A pat on the edge of the bed tells Taehyung he can come up. The tags on his collar jingle as the two of you roll around on the bed━you rub Taehyung’s stomach, and stroke his hair. Taehyung’s nose nuzzles your throat and the side of your waist, as his happy whines mix with your giggles. A few “good boy”s and cutesy coos of nonsensical endearment make Taehyung beam. Taehyung is too tired not to give in to his instincts. The fact that his current instincts seem to be nonsexual means you're careful not to push things in that direction. When the puppy’s done playing, you kiss his stomach, and stroke his back. Soon, he’s curling up at your feet contentedly.

︳ 𝙔𝙊𝙊𝙉𝙂𝙄╍ kinks: 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨/𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨

Overwhelmed senses sprawl you over the sheets. Yoongi is sprawled out next to you. A soft mattress has trapped the two of you all morning. Neither of you said anything, before you decided not to leave bed. If you did need to communicate, it would be through zombie grunts. Running a hand over your forehead, you take a deep huff of breath, and glance down the bed at the tent in Yoongi’s pajama pants. He’s made a penny-sized wetspot in the pastel blue fabric. You glance up at his face. His eyes are closed, and his chest is rising and falling slowly. You glance at the clock. It’s been a few minutes. He can take a little more. When you roll onto Yoongi’s body and press your thigh down against his stiff cock, your own soaked pajamas find the soft curve of his thigh, and start to ride. Edging him isn’t your intention. The sensitivity of clothed grinding means you both need to take breaks. Closing your eyes, you listen to Yoongi’s quiet, gasping moans, and get off slowly. When a twitch of your hips makes the thigh between Yoongi’s legs press down a little too hard, he gasps louder, but the tiny, tiny movements of his hips just get faster.

︳ 𝙅𝙐𝙉𝙂𝙆𝙊𝙊𝙆╍ kinks: 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ╍ 🇼🇦🇷🇳🇮🇳🇬🇸: 𝘰𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴

Jungkook doesn’t fall into subspace. He dives into it. His body is your plaything. And right now, you feel like uncapping a permanent marker, and sketching out random thoughts and feelings regarding the cute little sub pinned facedown in the sheets. A blindfold and gag keep him docile. Flexible cords keep his hands close to the headboard, and sweep his arms out of your way. Sitting on his ass, you lick your lips, and contemplate where to start. ♡∽cute baby∼♡ scrawls out over one shoulder. ♡∽pathetic slut∼♡ marks the other. Little love notes cover him up down to his calves, before you’re rolling him over, and getting started on his chest. After doodles dot down his abs, you slide out measuring tape from the toy toolbox below the bed. Angling it against his stiff cock, you draw out lines and mark measurements, before you wrap the tape around his thick thighs, and fascinate yourself by keeping track of just how thick they are. When the front of his body looks like a graffitied alley wall, you cap the pen, and gaze down at your artwork lovingly.

︳ 𝙃𝙊𝙎𝙀𝙊𝙆╍ kink: 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘺/𝘮𝘥𝘭𝘣

When Hoseok is at his laziest, he’s also at his subbiest. He sits on the floor below the couch and hugs your legs, as a movie flashes over the television. You give him excessive kisses on the top of his hair when he brings you a cup of coffee. The quiet and calm of Hoseok slipping into baby boy mode means he trails after you and does nothing in particular, until he seems to exhaust himself, and disappears. It’s been a few hours. You find Hoseok on the patio. He’s curled up on the chaise longue, fast asleep. Gilt sunlight is spilling over his sleeping form━shadows from the orange trees have shifted, and exposed him to the falling afternoon sun. Sometime between sunscreen sliding down his arms and sunscreen sliding up his ankles, Hoseok wakes up. By the time you’re delicately dabbing sunscreen below his eyes, he’s flushed. Taking care of Hoseok is a quick way to fluster him, and the way he’s scooting up the chair is unmistakable. You agree. The chaise longue is the perfect place for a cuddle.

︳ 𝙅𝙄𝙈𝙄𝙉╍ kinks: 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘣𝘢𝘬𝘶, 𝘵𝘰𝘺𝘴

It requires little effort on your part. Muscle memory ties the knots. Soon, Jimin is bound in navy blue rope, and the egg vibrator shoved up his ass is snapped on with a flick of your finger. Leaving him tied up like that on the floor of the living room, you go about your business. You water the plants, and repot a cactus in the kitchen. The controller flips off and on, whenever you remember it in your pocket. You browse your phone, and take out the recycling. One of your cacti is blooming. You pick the frilly white flower, and set it down in Jimin’s bellybutton on your way over to the yoga mats, weights and resistance bands. Doing your routine while Jimin is tied up a meter away from you is barely distracting. Loud bass thumps through your headphones. The vibe control in your pocket flicked to off, before you started. As you wander towards the bathroom to take a shower, you unzip your pocket, notch the switch up to its highest setting, and smile when you hear Jimin’s exasperated whine rolling from the living room.

︳ 𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙅𝙊𝙊𝙉╍ kinks: 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺

A dozen tiny, juicy, bright red wild strawberries pile up in a small ceramic bowl next to the kitchen sink. You know Namjoon is proud of his harvest━you’re proud, too. “Can I try one?” You settle by Namjoon’s side, and slide a hand onto his elbow. He tops off the bowl with a particularly spherical strawberry. “Oh━wait.” Namjoon glances down at the bowl, before swiping his hands off on a towel. Pink juice leaves matte stains his fingertips, from where he was pulling off calyces. “I want to feed them to you,” he concludes. “Feed them to me?” You slide your arm away, and give him a knowing smile. “You know━” as Namjoon suggests it, he matches your smile, though his head nods down almost bashfully━“as an offering.” Fighting a shy smile of your own, you raise your eyebrows, lean forwards, and kiss the side of Namjoon’s throat. Cool light sliding over the fresh strawberries makes them look enticing, but you’re more than happy to take the bowl into the bedroom, and let Namjoon handfeed them to you between kisses and surprisingly delicate fingertips worshiping every centimeter of your body.

︳ 𝙎𝙀𝙊𝙆𝙅𝙄𝙉╍ kinks: 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 ╍ warnings: 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥

He’s turning into jelly. Seokjin is cradled against you in the tub. His neck leans back over your shoulder, his stomach shakes, and the hand on his cock has slowed as you rub a loofah down the inside of his thigh. “Mistress━” it’s a moan and a whimper. Seokjin arcs his back, and spreads his legs wider. Hearing mistress when you aren’t using Seokjin’s blood to paint a landscape across the backs of his thighs curls a smile onto your lips. Right now, scrubs, aromatherapeutic scents and shimmering water means you’re being as gentle with Seokjin’s soul as you’re being with his body. You can spend hours refilling the tub, petting Seokjin, jerking him off slowly, and speaking quiet compliments and affirmations into the humid air. “You really give the world your best self. Don’t worry about what anyone says. It’s worth it to try, Jinnie.” Afterwards, you’ll wrap him up in a soft towel, and make both of you some tea. When Seokjin wants something soft, the healing power of these sessions brighten him up for days. It also means he won’t really be horny for days━if it’s for Seokjin’s sake, that’s a price you’re willing to pay.

#sub!bts #domme!reader #member x reader #ot7 post #sub!taehyung #sub!yoongi #sub!jungkook #sub!hoseok #sub!jimin #sub!namjoon #sub!seokjin #mch #scenario

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

Text

An excerpt from GONE TO SEA, a novel in progress

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to the World of Sea

CHILDREN’S PLAY

An excerpt from GONE TO SEA, a novel in progress

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

3688 words in this excerpt

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What Mecat told Kurin was basically true. The fundamental discoveries of glue in Strong Skin was made by children wanting to make toys. They even made some boats and some ships. Over time, their arts got lost and Mecat had to show the scattered men on Sea how to do again what the children had learned.

The original colonists to Sea were all picked for being, among other criteria, quite bright. Somehow, nobody paid attention to the fact that many bright people have bright children too.

When Adults get too busy, they often put the concerns of children last. In an environment like Sea, that may be a mistake of sorts . . .

Chapter 04. Children at Play

As is the case everywhere that there are children, they play. In some of their playing, they imitate their elders. They also do another thing that children have done since the dawn of time. Because the only toys that the adults thought to bring or make were educational, they raided the trash for fun things to play with.

Cora Halyn dug the pan out of the waste stream dumpster. Grinning, she held it up for the others to see. “What good is that?” asked Mikal Novotnoy.

Cora grinned some more and threw out several used twenty centimeter air filter disks made from the dried skin of the Strong's shark. She said happily, “I was there when the cooks made this mess out of some Moreson's eels. They tried to soak it out, scrape it and even chip it loose. Since it melted once, I don't know why they didn't try to melt it again. If it will melt, we can squish it into these disks and make Frisbees!”

Jason Torres asked her, “Did they chuck out any of the Shark's teeth or bones?”

Cora promptly dove back into the dumpster. The sound of things shifting and thumping about followed. Several large pieces of bone and some ten to fourteen centimeter long razor sharp and naturally serrated teeth cascaded out of the trash bin. Cora vaulted out after them.

“Why did you want the teeth and bones, Jase?” she asked curiously.

Jason cut a finger as he gathered up the teeth and bones that Cora dug out for him. He paused long enough to suck the cut a moment before commenting, “Those teeth are sharp! I thought that it might be fun to try doing some scrimshaw with them. Maybe even make my dad a present that he can use, like a paperweight or something.”

The children gathered up their booty of trash and went to the recycle center. Mister Makle looked over what the children wanted and asked, “What do you want with the pan? The rest is no problem but that pan is aluminum. We can remelt it and make new things from it.”

Cora grinned and pointed out, “True, but we already get all of the new aluminum that we want by processing seawater. What we really want is the goo in the pan. I think that we can melt it and work it into the used filter disks. If I am right we can make Frisbees out of them! Those eels are pretty common so we can make lots of toys like that if it works.”

Shrugging and smiling, Mister Makle signed a release for the children's salvage and said, “Be sure to let me know if that trick works! I'd like a Frisbee too!”

The next day, Cora and the rest of her crowd brought Mister Makle a home-made Frisbee.

Cora proudly explained, “The goo by itself was way too brittle when it hardened in the disks. We fixed that by mixing in some oil that we got by rendering the waxy stuff. Now it is strong and somewhat flexible. Here, try it!” She expertly flipped the disk to him.

Mister Makle caught the disk with a delighted smile and did try it. He flexed it some and then tossed the disk so that it bounced off a wall and examined it again. He smiled even more as he said, “Keep me and the rest of the waste management and maintenance team in Frisbees and you can have anything that you want from the trash if it isn't dangerous. OK?”

Jason grinned back and said, “Sounds easy enough. There's lots of those used filter disks. We have another idea that you might like.”

Interested, Mister Makle asked, “What is that?”

Seeing that there was an adult who wasn't too busy to pay attention, the assorted children of Cora's crowd gathered around and said, “Fishing! When we saw how tough that Strong's skin and eel goo is, we made a pole out of some of it.”

Mikal added, “We figured out that if you cut a big mussel loose and just set it in some seawater, it will put out the attachment foot to start making new holdfast strands. We put a little chunk of bone near where the foot comes out. As soon as it stuck the holdfast thread to the bone, we started to pull real gently. We got over five meters of line from it.”

Mister Makle said, “I'd like to see that. What are you going to use for a hook?”

Cora said, “We are going to try several things to see what works best. The dense bone from the Strong's shark will be the base for most of them. A few will be carved out of shell from the mussels. Got a piece of paper? Mala'klea will sketch them up for you. Her folks were in the Polynesian Back to the Ocean movement. She's learned all sorts of neat stuff from them.”

Black haired little Mala'klea silently took a pen and began sketching quickly. It only took a few moments for her to hand Mister Makle the paper with a half dozen different hook designs on it, complete with notes about materials and the glue applications where necessary.

While she was sketching Mister Makle asked Cora, “Doesn't she talk?”

Cora gave a half grin and replied, “Yes she does, when she has something to say. It is worth listening when she does speak because it is always good.”

Mala'klea did suddenly look up at Cora with a smile and said, “We can overlap disks to make laminated planks. We could make a sailing canoe from them.” She fell silent again and took another sheet of paper.

Her nearly flying pen sketched rapidly. A simple dory built design for a long, deep keeled and moderately wide canoe-like boat took shape. It had a large outrigger or secondary hull and a deck on struts between the main hull and the smaller one.

Mister Makle looked at the paper and commented, “Sweet design. This is all done with equal angles for the ribs. That will make the fabrication easy. You kids will need a formal adult supervisor for a project this big. How long do you actually plan to make it?”

Cora grinned in relief that their idea wasn't just being blown off by a man whose department was critical to building it. She replied, “We thought that about twenty meters should make it safe from Strong's sharks and most of the other big fish that we know of.”

Mister Makle studied the drawing and sections seriously for a moment and said, “That will be way too large to manage easily with paddles. Will it have a sail?”

Cora agreed, “It will have two masts and three sails. Mala'klea has that all figured out. Her mom was the captain of the Mona Loa. It was a sailing ship of the Polynesian Back to the Ocean Movement.”

Mister Makle grinned widely and said, “You do know that this boat is as big as the two ships that the station engineers are planning to build, don't you?”

“Sure we do,” Cora replied confidently. “Size is a relative thing. Theirs will be wider and deeper in the hull and have two masts. Those round ships will be able to carry a lot more than our voyaging canoes and will have a longer range. We figure that these will be way faster, though.”

Mister Makle asked, “Would you be willing to practice on a smaller boat or two using the same principles, just to test your ideas before you commit to building the big one?

“I know that the maintenance crew would be willing to do the supervision in their off time. They want a chance to play about with boat building but the shipyard is being a real prat about it ever since Mister Angerson got put in charge. This will be a big job because of all of the Moreson's eels that you will have to catch. I can set the recycle folks to salvaging all of the filters that come through.”

Cora got a faraway look and then suggested, “That would be great. We could use a test boat to catch the eels that we will need. If everything works as well as it should, we could even help the maintenance team to make some boats for their own use.

“I think that Pele Barant would be our best senior supervisor. Not only is she Mala'klea's mom, she knows all about primitive tools and things because she was in the Polynesian Back to the Ocean movement. She's also a top flight mechanical engineer.”

Mister Makle promptly placed a call through his computer. “Mrs. Barant, this is Mister Makle down in the Waste Management office. Your daughter and some other children are down here.

“What? No. There is nothing wrong. In fact, I think that they want to do something very right. It will need a senior supervisor who understands so-called primitive tools and materials.

“They told me that you were in the Polynesian Back to the Ocean movement on Earth and that you might make a good person to supervise their work. Oh, did I forget to say what it was? They want to make a surprisingly large sailing canoe based on a Polynesian voyaging canoe.

“Yes, I thought that you might like to see how they plan to do it and the materials that they have found. Recycle has turned up a few other native things that might be useful in the project as well.

“So, we will see you in a few minutes? Excellent! We will be waiting.”

He turned back to the children and told Mala'klea, “That really got your mother's attention. Do you kids know that this is the first proposed project to use only things and materials from Sea?”

Cora grinned and held up one of the flying disks. “Not quite. We made these first. To do them right we had to make a knife that would cut that Strong's shark skin. It is really tough stuff.

“Jason, do you have those knives that you and Mala'klea made? If you have them handy, we could show them to Mrs. Barant. Mister Makle might like to see them, too.”

Mister Makle leaned back in his office chair and said, “I would like to see them. My department got stuck with making those filter disks and you would not believe how fast that skin will dull a knife. Thing is, Pele is on her way down. Save the knives and show them to both of us at once. She is the expert on things like this.”

Several of the maintenance crew came into the office. One of the women exclaimed, “Boss! How did you get Frisbees? I applied to engineering to make us some for recreation and they turned their noses up at the job. Said that they had more important tasks than toys!”

Mister Makle grinned and tousled Cora's hair as he replied, “They turned me down too, Molly. The kids here made these out of old air filter disks and some sort of glue that they made out of Moreson's eels. They work really great. Here, Molly, catch!” He flipped a disk at the woman who had spoken.

Startled, Molly reflexively caught the disk. She paused long enough to examine the disk carefully. She said quietly, “This looks like it was press molded. How did you guys make it?”

Cora smiled in delight at the recognition of their work and replied, “We made one that worked really well. We used it to make a form that we do press them into. All that we need to do is wax the form and our hands. Then we work the glue into the disk and push it tightly into the form by hand. It needs about twenty minutes to set up and then we can pop it out and make another. That's about all that there is to it.”

Molly happily flipped the disk to another of her crew, even though the range was short. It never got to him. A small Black haired woman dived in from the door and caught the disk before he had a chance at it. She bounced energetically off one of the office walls and stood, examining the disk intently. She flexed it and said, “Here, Klea! Catch!”

The disk sailed across to little Mala'klea who did catch it expertly. Beaming, she said, “Thanks, Mom! This one is for Molly and her team. We have more and can make them for anyone else that wants one!”

Mister Makle observed, “That is more than I have heard you say even when you were drawing up the boat plan.”

Mala'klea, cringing like she expected to be hit, looked about fearfully, and went silent. Pele crouched beside her daughter and pulled her into a hug. Mala'klea hugged back fiercely, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

Pele spared a look for the shocked Recycle and Maintenance people in the big office. Still holding her daughter, she told them, “Klea was one of the children that Mister Angerson was caught beating for refusing to pray to his God during their schooling time. Instead of teaching them math, he was trying to force the children to follow him in his suicidal mania that he calls a religion.

“He was particularly brutal to those kids that he called pagans. Since my little Klea follows our family's polytheistic beliefs, he beat her the worst of all. The station's doctors found two cracked ribs and a hairline fracture of the right radius.

“Mala'klea refused to give in to his assault but he did manage break her trust in most people.

“Mister Angerson has been formally required to surrender his teaching duties and stay away from the children. He has been forbidden to ever touch or speak to any of them. His own wife and two children moved into our apartment to get away from him. Trisha has filed with the station's Executive Committee for a divorce.”

One of the men from Molly's Maintenance crew said, “I know about the schooling problem. I was on the jury. What Angerson did sickened us all. He claimed that God Himself ordered him to discipline the children for their unbelief and that God's orders override the Colonial Charter. We all disagreed. The verdict was unanimous.”

Molly volunteered, “That idiot Marcus cornered me once and tried to convince me that we are doomed. God sent us all here to die by slow starvation for our sins. Seems that we are all to be the Sacrifice For The New Covenant to preserve all of mankind's colonies in space.

“He seems to forget that both the thymine and lysine that are our last real stumbling blocks have been spotted from orbit, even if they haven't been isolated to any particular organism yet. In the meantime, the plants and animals that we brought along are filling the gap. We will find what we need someday, probably soon.”

Pele nodded to Molly then gave her daughter another hug and asked her, “Do you have any sort of plan or working drawings for the boat that Mister Makle mentioned? What are you thinking of making it out of?”

Everyone watched silently as Mala'klea went fearfully to Mister Makle's desk and, darting glances all about, brought her mother the pages of sketches. She took one of the flying disks from Cora and wordlessly handed it to her mother as well.

Pele's eyes lit up and she sat cross-legged in front of Mala'klea and patted her lap. Looking meaningfully about at the other adults for silence, Pele said, “This is a wonderful start, Klea. Please tell me about it.”

Mala'klea began almost inaudibly, “We can use old filter disks and rectangles to make the planks. See, Mother? The big side planks are the same width all along their length. By keeping the angles of the side to bottom planks the same, it is just a long four plank dory, the same way that the old Polynesian voyaging ships were built.”

Mother gave daughter a quick hug and prodded, “How will you make the planks out of the smaller pieces, Dear?”

Mala'klea answered more confidently, “To make the flying disks we had to make a glue out of Moreson's eels. Because of the messy way that they come apart when we heat them, we call them Goo fish. We had to try several ways to get the glue right. We had some of the disks stick together by accident. That gave me the idea for laminating the parts.”

Pele nodded in happy seeming approval. “Very observant, Klea. How will you hold the planks and ribs together?”

The other children of Cora's Crowd almost bit their lips to keep quiet. Cora stopped one of Molly's crew from speaking by whispering, “We have seen this before. This is how Pele helps Mala'klea to stop being scared. Let Klea answer for now.”

The man nodded understanding and held his tongue.

Mala'klea almost eagerly told her mother, “We can get strings from the mussels that grow almost everywhere on the Station's docks. Cora figured out the glue and filter thing but it was Jason who thought of the string. It was Matty that thought of making a boat. I put their ideas together.

“We can use string that we make from the mussel threads to tie the parts together. Once we are ready, we can laminate more skin over the joints to waterproof them. We can lock the ribs into place the same way. It is only a little different from the way that you were putting together the latest big Polynesian ship that you and your friends were building back on Earth.”

Pele grinned at her daughter, and looking her in the eye, pointed out, “Those planks and parts will need to be trimmed to shape, and many holes drilled in them to tie them together. How will you manage that?”

By now, Mala'klea was answering eagerly and openly again. “Jason and I made some knives and other tools out of Strong's shark teeth! Jason brought them down here to show to Mr. Makle. We can cut and trim the glued skin with them. We made an awl that can make the holes. When you were making that big canoe, you had a bow drill thing to make the holes but I couldn't remember how to make one.”

Jason silently handed a roll-up of knives and other tools to Mala'klea who unrolled it to show her mother. Pele took the time to examine each knife and tool carefully. She thoughtfully tested edges and checked the orientation of the natural serrations in the fangs that the knife and tool edges and points were made of. One tool was made from a piece of flat bone with fairly coarse teeth carved into it for spreading and forcing glue into the skin. The tool had the sheen of a waxy coating worked into the bone. They all had handles formed of many layers of the skin and glue. Each handle was carefully formed to fit the hands of the children. Pele even examined the leather of the roll-up.

Nodding with a smile as she felt the softness of the leather, Pele asked Mala'klea, “Is this made out of some of the Strong's skin with your oil from the Goo fish worked in to soften it?”

Mala'klea smiled at her mother and said, “Yes, mother. Mikal Novotnoy thought of doing that. We all worked on different parts of it. It is stitched with the mussel string. We needed something that would keep the tools sharp and save us from getting cut on them.”

Pele gave Mala'klea another hug and stood up, holding the child's hand. She said, “This is a really well thought out project, Klea. I especially like the way that you gave credit for ideas to the others. I think that this ship will make a great project.

“It will need you children to do a lot of math to figure out the details. You will need good language skills to present what you figure out to the rest. We can use this project for a big part of you kid's schooling. It will make a perfect demonstration of the relationship between what you are taught in class and the real world. It will also be more fun than any lessons should be.”

Mr. Makle thoughtfully consulted his computer, accessing the Public Announcements. Looking up he said, “You kids don't need to worry about Mr. Angerson any more. He is forbidden to even come near to any of you, including his own family or your projects. If he tries, we can lock him up. The Executive Order implementing the jury verdict of child abuse was posted about four days ago.”

Pele looked over at Mr. Makle and asked him, “How can we keep him away from this project? It will need a lot of room to build it and, because of their time in the classrooms, the kids won't be able to work on it all of the day.”

Mr. Makle looked cheerfully at the children of Cora's Crowd and said, “Maintenance will contribute building space for it down on Maintenance Dock C. Its access ways all lock. As soon as you are ready for the actual building to begin, let me know and I will formally reserve it for you. Due to the suspicion of sabotage to the Reverse Osmosis Desalination plant, we have been given the authority to forbid access to ANY unauthorized personnel. We can arrest trespassers if necessary. C Dock is already equipped with surveillance cameras and alarms.

“We installed the locks, alarms and cameras because we are storing those new fiberglass boats that you have been making for us down there. If we do have a saboteur, those boats could become a prime target.”

The End of Chapter 4

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to the World of Sea

#CHILDREN’S PLAY #excerpt from GONE TO SEA #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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