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theunholygrails · 3 years

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Foolish Games Part 2

Masterlist

A/N: Introducing new characters and some drama! Percy is still sexy as ever :'(.

Warnings: BJ

I woke up to a door slamming so hard it joined the symphony of my pounding headache. I groaned, hoisting myself over the back of the couch to investigate to intrusion. A brunette head of long sweeping hair rushed through the foyer, barreling towards the kitchen. A familiar mop of black hair hurried after.

Reyna was speaking so fast in Spanish my brain scrambled to keep up. I noted lots of curse words followed by a series of sentences too fast I was surprised she even knew what she was saying. Percy was answering in slow measured words, probably fighting a hangover of equal measure. I ducked behind the back of the couch, reaching for my phone plugged in on the coffee table.

It was noon. 2% battery and a couple messages from friends. Nothing from my ex thank gods. Five from Annabeth being nosey. I opened my uber app, squinting in the sunlight breaking through the cream curtains. I managed to get my driver secured.

A door slammed and I winced, peaking to check that they were in another room. I did not immediately spot my dress in the chaotic. I grimaced remembering the midnight swim. When I sat up I finally noticed the white tshirt I wore and the basketball shorts. And then I went rigid remembering what happened after the swim.

“Motherfucker,” I whispered.

Now I really had to get out of this house. I checked the arrival time of my driver. Three minutes away. Great. I made my way on shaky knees to the large wooden front door. My keys were still in the collection dish. I grabbed them quietly and turned the door handle a fraction of an inch before another door slammed open and Reyna came barreling back into the foyer, brown eyes landing promptly on my guilty ass. Behind her, Percy pursed his lips into a thin line and raised both of his hands to lay on top of his head. His biceps strained nicely against the thin t shirt.

“The fuck is this?” Reyna whispered.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” I babbled.

“It’s just Noa, Rey. Gods,” Percy said.

“I can see that, Percy!” She snapped. I was glad her spear was not strapped across her back this morning. “Why is she sneaking out of my house in your clothes?”

“People were swimming last night. Her clothes got wet.”

“I’m sure the fuck they did.”

“Zeus, Rey! You ended it with me. Why does it even matter?”

“Because I still fucking love you! I’m sorry, okay?” She burst out crying and Percy instantly pulled her against his chest. The memory of being in those arms drove me out the door like a nest of hornets.

~~~~

“I’m just saying. You have nothing to feel sorry for,” Annabeth paused to sip her iced coffee. “Unless they get back together and then you sleep with him. But as of right now, you’re good. Trust me. Been on the Percy train. We’re still friends. You’ll get over it. Just a harmless rebound for both of you.”

I groaned, laying my chin on the cool metal table parked outside our favorite coffee shop positioned between our New York apartments. Just two Manhattan women enjoying their Sunday afternoon. The air was cooling as fall neared. I pulled my baseball cap closer to the top of my sunglasses.

“Should I call him?”

“Maybe tomorrow. Let him deal with his relationship drama. Reyna is a lot to deal with. Still nothing from fuckface?”

“Nope and that’s fine.”

“Good for you. We will hydrate you, get you a good dinner, hit the gym before work in the morning and then get back on our bad bitch mental track. Agreed?”

~~~~

“Good Monday, yogis,” I chirped from my desk at the corner of my studio.

The third class was beginning to trickle in and I was settling into my rhythm. Hot yoga was next and hopefully I would sweat out all the negativity I’d allowed lately. I was in the middle of emailing back a potential client when someone rapped at the wood of my desk. I glanced up to a blonde male who waved gently.

“Heya, sansei Noa,” he said.

“That’s karate. Can I help you?”

“Do you do trial classes?”

I hit send on my email and closed my laptop. The guy was built like a poser with the defined muscles and chiseled jaw but his voice was soft and tempered. He was clean shaven and dressed like a basic gym bro.

“Normally you have to schedule them beforehand because of class size,” I gave my standard answer.

“Right, my bad. Sorry. I was just passing by the front and it looked like the kind of place I needed right now. Can I go ahead and pick a date then?”

I was staring too long into his pale blue eyes, honed in on the polite response. A nice change from the daily demanding consumers. “You know what? Ive got space right now if you like? Have you ever done hot yoga?”

A brilliant white smile showcasing sharp canines. “My favorite.”

“Perfect. I just need a name, number and email to get you a file started.”

He leaned large hands on my desk. “It’s Luke Castellan.”

Before he could give the contact information, I cut him off. “Wait. I know you.” His tanned skin paled significantly.

“I…”

“You’re supposed to be dead!” I blurted out.

His eyes skated around the room and he leaned in closer. “That’s not supposed to be public knowledge. I assume you’re a demigod?”

“Luke, you trained me. We took fucking sculpting together. The Apollo table was right next to the Hermes one for fuck’s sake.”

He winced. I heard a murmuring from the rest of my class I was disturbing with my volume. I collected my shock finally. “Take a seat if you want. We should talk after class. I need to start.”

“Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry Noa.”

I waved him off and walked over to my yoga mat. I sat cross legged and drew in an even breath to smooth out my emotions.

It was a slow 30 minute class. Each pose and movement dragged on. Finally, I dismissed the group and nodded Luke outside. He was waiting on the bench outside of the studio I split renting with a few other instructors. I sat next to him, wiping sweat from my face with the towel slung over my pink sports bra.

“Alright, talk,” I said.

“Not much to say. I was given a second chance at my hearing. Here I am. Starting over.” A shrug of well-defined shoulders. The muscles flexed beneath his gleaming sweat. His red tank top stuck to his chest and stomach. “I wish I remembered you, truly. That time is such a blur in my life.”

“It’s ok. You were a lot older than me and to be honest I had a massive crush on you so I probably hid most of the time.”

A surprised smile slipped across his lips. “I’m assuming the betrayal helped you get over that?”

I laughed outloud, slapping his knee. “No shit! So where are you staying these days?”

“Just around the corner actually. Got a job at the local gym.”

“Yeah I bet the fuck you did.” I squeezed his forearm between both of my hands. I wanted to roll my eyes at me falling back into my school girl giddy at him. Betrayal of the gods aside. He was even more gorgeous than ever. The scar down his face gave him a dark sexy vibe. Like a bad boy even though he claimed he was rehabbing himself now.

“So how, did you feel about the class?”

“I mean, I’d like to sign up for it a couple times a week, that’s for sure. And I’d like to take you out to dinner to make up for not remembering a beauty like you.”

I almost bit my cheek biting out the response of “Yes!”

“You’ve got my number,” he said, chuckling quietly. “I’ve got to get to work.” He shouldered his gym bag and excused himself.

The bike back to my apartment was spent reliving my tween fantasies about bad boy Luke. I opened my apartment door and screeched seeing a man sitting at my kitchen counter. Percy turned to face me.

“You know you live in New York? You should really lock that.”

“It was!” I snapped.

A quick grin. “Yeah. But it was easy to break into.”

I dropped my bag onto the floor and brushed past him to get a protein shake from the fridge. “I have to shower and get prepared for my night classes.” I told him.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t either.”

He paused, studying my face in the shitty lighting of the single bulb hanging between us over the counter. “Are we good, Noa?”

“Of course. What’s a little head between friends?”

“Okay…I can’t read you. Can you not play tough just for a minute?”

I chugged the shake and set the bottle down between us. I leaned my arms on the chilled counter, bun knocking against the light. “Honestly, Percy. I’m fine. We are good.”

“Reyna moved back in.”

“You’re engaged again?”

I drank from the empty bottle to give myself something to do. He watched me with those green eyes. He’d known me for far too long. He was nearly impossible to deceive, but I was determined today. The fact that I had dreamt of fucking him two consecutive nights was irrelevant if he was off the table. Even if his lips did look incredibly juicy tonight. Even if they had done near illicit things to me just nights ago.

“I don’t know. She said she wanted to work on things. And it’s her dad’s house, so I can’t ask her to go and I don’t want to go to my mom’s and admit defeat.”

“You know you could stay here, Perc.”

He worked his jaw silently, then rubbed his hands over his face. “Thanks. I do know. Even if we aren’t officially back together, I think we should work on it…” he trailed off.

“And not tell her about you eating me out?” I leaned closer because I was mean to both him and myself. Because I knew this top combined with this angle gave him a simple opportunity. And he took it.

His tongue slid out between his lips as his eyes flicked down, stayed, then dragged deliberately back up. “Probably not,” he agreed.

For a long moment neither of us said anything. He had more to lose now than me. We were no longer on equal playing fields. So, I left the ball in his court. “I’m going to go shower.”

I was done washing in the first ten minutes. The second ten was giving him a little wiggle room to decide. I had my hand on the faucet to cut off the water that was beginning to go cold when I heard the door creak open. I watched through the fogged glass, catching a hold of my breath. I watched as he tugged his shirt off. My stomach flipped over itself when he reached for his jeans. What had I done?

The opening door let in a rush of cool air, perking my skin to attention. My eyes raked unapologetically over his naked, aroused body. His dark hair quickly slicked against his stubble covered jaw. His eyes were no longer the sea green but murky like the deep water of the ocean.

“Hey,” he said quietly, cautiously.

“Hey,” I giggled, reaching out to touch his rough jaw. He winced, catching my hand with his. “We probably shouldn’t kiss again.”

“Sure, whatever you want, Percy. What can I do to you?”

He groaned, turning his mouth into my palm, scraping teeth against the vulnerable skin. “Touch me,” he said.

My free hand instantly planted against his chest, scraping at the muscle. His eyes fluttered closed, head tilting back to expose his throat. I slid my other hand into his thick hair, tugging it tightly between my fingers and pulling to grant myself more access to the strong column of his neck. I bit it first, backing him into the tiled wall when he shuddered. I kissed over the reddening skin and moved my hands to his flat stomach, feeling the shuddered breaths beneath my touch.

“Like this?” I asked.

His reply was unintelligible. I kissed down his chest, moving my hand lower still as I went. When my fingers brushed over the v-line of his hips, I shifted my route away from the center and to his thighs. An annoyed grunt escaped his lips. “Hush,” I scolded, getting my knees under me. The now cold water was hitting the back of my neck and flowing down my body. I placed my hands on the inside of both his thighs, trailing them upwards and upwards until he nearly contorted when I gripped him. He let out a scandalous string of curses that quickly turned to moaning silence when I took him into my mouth.

He unraveled in minutes and I let him cum all over the breasts I had teased him with earlier. I rose in front of him, my own rosy cheeks mirroring his. “Now we’re even.”

#percy jackson smut #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson #logan lerman smut #logan lerman fanfiction

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ny-3aets · 3 years

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Alright, so I might lose some followers for this, but I don’t care. This is the blog where I get to be honest about my views, so I’m going to be honest about this, too:

“Fatphobia” isn’t fucking real.

Yeah, some people treat others like shit human beings because they jump to conclusions about their circumstances. I’m not denying that. It sucks. However, it doesn’t reach into the territory of some kind of epidemic of oppression because not only is being fat something objective, it’s also not something people are born with and it’s absolutely something that you can change.

”Diet culture“ is only as harmful as you allow it to be if you take everything given to you at face value and don’t do any of your own research or contact someone like a nutritionist or a personal trainer to figure out what specifications work for you. The reason there are hundreds of different diets is because there are hundreds of different people that wrote each of them, and for each of them that specific method works, and it may not work for you.

With that in mind, nothing’s gonna fucking work if you do not commit to it for months or even years. A diet isn’t something you do for a month or two like you’re an actor prepping for a movie and then you get to go back to whatever you were doing before. Maybe if you’re already at a moderate shape and it corresponds to the needs of a new sport you‘re pursuing, it might, but for overall change at a casual pace, this isn’t how it works. You pursue a diet as in, that is your diet now. That is what you eat, period.

Your unhealthy codependency on unhealthy foods because they’ve trained your brain into assuming that they are vital in bringing you comfort and joy is exactly that — unhealthy, codependent behavior. No diet is extreme for asking you to give up desserts or extremely calorie-rich foods — being able to do this means maturing enough to understand that food is just that — food. It’s an energy source, nothing more, nothing less. Whether or not you choose to still eat unhealthy food “every once in a while” is entirely your choice because it’s your body and you can choose what you do with it, but in potentially compromising a diet you‘ve selected, you have absolutely no place to say that a diet does or doesn’t work.

When you start pursuing any diet specifically in order to lose weight however, you need to be at a calorie deficit. This, once again, takes some independent research as well as arithmetic to understand how much of a calorie deficit is right for you, depending on how active your lifestyle is. This isn’t me taking the high ground and pretending to be something I’m not. This is just a fact.

Not all forms of exercise work for everyone. Either go into the gym and obsessively (although safely) try everything for a two-week period at a time, or do intense research, and, if you can afford it (and I’m positive that there are online ones that will offer their services for free or discounted prices from an in-person gym) hire a personal trainer. Hiring a trainer doesn’t negate your research, however — question everything she says, look it up at home, see if there are opinions of other trainers online (YouTube has an entire hub of these guys).

Yes, there are cases in which people have genetic disorders which make it nearly impossible for them to lose weight. Those are A) rare and B) vary in degree of hinderance, meaning in certain circumstances there will absolutely be tons of research right at your fingertips to find a way to maneuver around it.

Yes, the BMI rating is a joke, specifically for people with extreme amounts of muscle mass (as muscle is heavier than fat), but I think you know if you look like Dwayne Johnson or you can achieve some of the same shit as a Sumo wrestler or a Siberian grandma. Either way it’s a mostly arbitrary number, although it can be a rough guide of where you “should” be.

Yes, there are people out there that are fat by societal standards but are more than capable of achieving extreme physical feats. Most of the people competing in throwing events at the Olympics or Strongman events look very different from the hypertrophied Greek statues of bikini competitions. I don’t have to tell you that this requires an extreme amount of training and dedication (and perhaps a winning ticket of the genetic lottery), but if it’s something you achieve, more power to you; I don‘t care.

I am not calling fat people lazy. Anyone can be lazy.

I am not calling fat people selfish. Anyone can be selfish.

I am not calling fat people terrible or disgusting or worthless or whatever the fuck else you want to extract from this because I decided to look you in the eye and tell you that your excuses suck.

Whether or not you’re fat doesn’t determine your worth as a human being, however, being fat, 9/10 times is something you can control and something you can work with. Finding a way to lose weight safely and effectively is something that takes years and years of trial and error and the negative psychological effects of what you see online are no one’s problem except your own — take everything with a grain of salt and do your own research instead of pretending that the world is out to get you. If you feel that people’s posts promoting something that works for them just fine is somehow a personal attack on you, I think it’s time to evaluate your relationship with the online media sphere at large, methinks.

I’m not a personal trainer, I’m not a nutritionist, I’m not going to tell you what to do, I’m not gonna look up and evaluate every single diet plan and workout regimen known to man — I already did it for myself, I spent the sweat and tears on it for the last five years of my life, and I know what works for me. I cannot tell you what is going to work for you and I cannot tell you that losing weight is something you must do but I can tell you that there is something that will work for you, if you want to lose weight. You just aren’t looking hard enough.

While at the end of the day, I don’t care what people do because it’s not my place to control their actions or their words, but I do care when people fucking lie. When they regurgitate the same “diets don’t work!” over every insinuation that maybe there needs to be some kind of change in their food intake, when they so boldly say that they can’t lose weight, that they’ve tried everything, that diet culture is “toxic” because they can’t take the time to impersonally and carefully evaluate whatever is being peddled to them, or when I want a friend or a significant other to support me on a lifestyle that I’m pursuing and they throw me the: “Oh, but you’re so beautiful regardless!” because that shit doesn’t fuck help me, that shit doesn’t make me feel any better and is a worthless statement when I want to approach something objectively and it’s clear that there are set goals with visible obstacles to overcome.

Yes, yes you can lose weight and the people telling you that you can do not wish any kind of harm upon you.

Yeah, we‘re all gonna die in the end anyway, but I don’t want to get there absolutely winded after every staircase I’ve climbed.

#radfem safe #although unrelated #fatphobia I guess #pro fatphobia even?#im sure as hell scared of being fat what the fuck #unpopular opinion 🥳#crucify me ladies #some people cite shit costing more when they’re fat like clothes or whatever as fatphobia?#well yeah homie you need twice as much fucking fabric what do you think it’s gonna cost #this is a hill I can and will die on I don’t care #approach the topic of your physical health objectively or perish

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thatrandomwriter · 3 years

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Returning the favor

Merle x female reader, reader saves Merle’s life after he cuts off his hand

Warnings: sexual language, slight gore, cursing

A banging at the door made me jump awake - I never slept deeply anymore, and I spent most of my nights in and out of what could barely be described as sleep, easily woken and constantly exhausted.

My first thought was a particularly persistent walker. But then I heard a voice, raspy and southern “I saw you through the window. Open up. Or I swear, I’ll kick this damn door down.” It was most likely a looter. Opening the door to him seemed immediately like the stupid option, but if he was serious about knocking my door down then I would have to find a new place to hide out, an extra risk I could not afford to take. My best bet was to overpower him at the door. He’d seen me through the window and probably assumed that I’d be easily threatened, but what he hadn’t seen was the pistol I kept hidden by the door, or the knives I had stashed under my mattress and around the small room.

The banging on the door got more persistent. I grabbed a knife, and ensured my gun was easily in reach. It wouldn’t hurt to have extra weapons he didn’t know about.

I swung open the door. A tall, broad man stood in my doorway. One arm was pointing a gun vaguely in my direction, the other dripping so much blood it almost looked black. His hand had been cut off.

“Get out. All your shit is mine now, don’t think I won’t shoot you just cuz yer a girl,” He sneered at me, feigning confidence, but his skin was tinged grey and sweat was beading on his brow. He was weak and there was no way he could physically overpower me in this state, despite his muscular frame.

I raised a sceptical eyebrow at his threat. Then, in one swift motion, I knocked the gun from his hand and pushed my knife to his throat, firmly enough for a small bead of blood to gather on the edge of the blade. He opened his mouth, probably about to say something stupid, before the full weight of his body collapsed into me and he lost consciousness.

Somehow, with strength I hadn’t even known I had, I half lifted, half dragged the man’s body over to my mattress on the floor. It was clear he had lost far too much blood. I knew it was stupid, but some part of me wanted to help him, even though I knew he had come here to rob me blind, and possibly to kill me after he had taken all of my possessions. I told myself it was because leaving him outside would attract walkers. But really some part of me was still weak and soft, and somehow I had sympathy for a man who could not give less of a shit about me.

Minor medical training from books I had scavenged and stolen told me that he was in desperate need of stitches, and likely had a severe infection from his wound, and that it needed to be treated fast or there was no way he could survive without a hospital, which, for obvious reasons, was not an option. The building I had set up camp in was a small convenience store in the city which I used to run, and decided to stay in when the dead started walking. Unfortunately, the store had tempted many thieves in the early days, but as time went on, less and less people braved the city. The man must have seen that my store was the least damaged for several blocks, and identified it as his best bet at survival. He was right - behind the counter were antibiotics and just enough first aid equipment for me to have a chance at saving him. Even if he had stolen my supplies, it was unlikely that he would have managed treating his own wound.

The stitches were the worst part. I had never liked needles, and as far as facing my fears went, this was seriously hands on. It was messily done, probably a laughable job compared to professional standards. And I was sure that the amount of blood on the floor, my hands and staining my clothes was biologically impossible. But somehow he was still alive, something I still hadn’t decided was a good or bad thing. At least he was unconscious for now.

Two days passed. I was getting used to sleeping with him around, trying not to think about what he might do if he awoke while I was asleep- waking up to a gun in my face was a real possibility, but one that I had to risk. I slept on the floor next to the mattress he was occupying, uncomfortable enough to be exhausted but easily woken if he or the walkers became an immediate threat.

I sat next to him on the mattress, cleaning his arm, checking that the infection was fading and that the stitches were holding like they should be. It was strange looking after someone who had barely spoken two sentences to me, those sentences being delirious threats after severe blood loss. I often found myself wondering what he would have been like if we had met before the world had ended, at a bar maybe, where he could have bought me a drink or two. I like to think that he would have been the type to hit on me shamelessly and I would have been cynical but secretly loved his advances. I cut myself off in my head. It was ridiculous to think like this. With some effort, I focused back on his arm and began to change his bandage, but my eyelids were growing heavy and I had forgotten how comfortable the mattress was. Every time I closed my eyes, sleep tried to pull me down. I just had to keep them open, just had to focus-

I jolted awake. It almost pitch dark, if I had to guess a time I would have said an hour or two before dawn. There was a hand around my mouth and an arm was around my waist, holding me still against the warm, hard body behind me. He had woken up. Immediately I struggled against him, biting his hand and elbowing him in the stomach. He swore under his breath, but his grip only tightened around me.

“Stop wrigglin’. There’s walkers in here, I’m tryna figure out how many, so for fuck’s sake stay still.”

I nodded. He removed the hand from my mouth, but the arm around my waist stayed. Probably a precaution in case I tried anything again.

“Sorry,” I whispered back. “How did they get in - and when did you wake up? What’s your name? Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Now wasn’t the time for questions, but I was desperate for answers. For all I knew, the only reason he hadn’t killed me yet was to keep me as bait for the walkers.

He shushed me. Then, he finally let go of me and stood up. “Wait here.”

He walked off in the direction of a shuffling noise, and seconds later I heard the thunk of a knife through a skull, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. The sound, quiet as it was, caused another walker’s movements to become frenzied. I heard snarling and then the sound of a second body hitting the floor. There were no more walker sounds, just the sound of the man walking back towards me.

I jumped to my feet and reached for the knife normally hooked through my belt. It was gone, as was the knife under my mattress. I had no defence against the stranger that I had so stupidly taken care of.

“Window’s broken, s’what woke me up. You were out cold. Hope ya had a nice nap.”

I stood up, trying to read his face in the growing bit still dim light.

“Name’s Merle. And you, sugar tits, are exceptionally lucky that I believe in returning favours.”

So he didn’t plan on killing me after all. I shook off the lingering fear caused by both him and the walkers getting so close.

“Thanks. And you’re welcome, I stitched you up good. And don’t call me that, or I’ll chop of your other hand,” He smirked at me, knowing my threat was entirely empty.

“Oh yeah? I’m not so sure you wanna do that, sweetheart, you haven’t seen the half of what I can do with this hand,” His smile was suggestive and I could feel my face getting hot.

“I’m gonna board up the broken window,” I attempted to ignore his last sentence, but it was clear he could tell I was flustered as he stepped forward, closing in on me.

“Don’t ya think we should get to know each other a little first?”

#merle dixon x reader #merle dixon #twd #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #imagines #oneshot

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demonslayedher · 3 years

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do you think the village where Uzui was born and raised is not on that kind of map because the location of a ninja village has to be hidden? I know it's a bit silly question but when I saw that in that map there were all the places where the other columns live and not the position of Uzui I thought wtf maybe it's because the position of a ninja village is hidden and unknown to the common people (???) from the last official databook we know that there really is a ninja village

In general, yes, I think it's because the ninja village location was kept totally secret from the general public. The "unknown" almost seems like a joke on the readers, like, "duh, THEY'RE NINJA, they hiiiiide."

But while we're on the ninja topic, hey! Uzui's Dad! What in tarnation were you thinking!!? Not gonna go that in depth, but let's talk about how Tengen's experience is not the ninja norm, and being hidden was probably a huge matter for the Uzui clan.

First off, let me break your heart: THERE WERE NEVER ANY REAL NINJA.

(Yes, go ahead, cry. Just two days ago I learned that the use of short swords with square hilts to set against walls and kick off of to start climbing was only fiction that got accepted as the ninja-loving public’s collective headcanon. I was....... naive............)

Or at least, it’s complicated. There is a sort of fanon image of ninja which took over the public consciousness throughout Edo and Meiji popular culture, long after (as Daki pointed out) there weren’t really any ninja villages left. Besides purely “wouldn’t that be badass” ideas and “hey, let’s make the Kabuki stagehands the ninja, that’d be theatrical” conventions, it’s also a matter of different specialized roles and skills having been spread out across wider groups of people who worked alongside or against the local warlords in the Sengoku/Warring States era, and they all just wound up getting clumped together into the idea we hold so dearly today of the ninja badass.

But, accepting that the super-awesome-special-cool ninja is not quite reality but the standard in most ninja-related lore and culture, let’s think a bit more about the people who most closely lived up to the ninja image.

While not the only ones, the most notable ninja villages were in Iga and Koga (in modern day Mie and Shiga prefectures, close enough to each other that you can wake your friends up early and announce that you’re taking them on a surprise day of ninja training and hit both spots before the museums close). The goal of these villages was to survive as local jerklords like Oda Nobunaga were raising hell and saying, ‘yeah, I want all these Warring States for myself. While they did enact guerilla work tactics that made their territory difficult (but ultimately not impossible) to take over, they also worked with enemies of their enemies by working as spies to collect and pass on information. And sure, yeah, maybe assassinations were helpful sometimes and it helped to have tools ready to defend yourself if you ran into anybody in the dark.

But they didn’t go on these missions all the time. Most of the time, they had to eat. They had to farm. They spend a lot of time farming. And since the whole village needed to eat, they spent a lot of time farming together.

And yeah, the fact that they just looked like normal farmers was their greatest cover, and they did it well because they were farmers.

So then you get Mr. Uzui’s “only the strong eat” ideas and I’m like, “...sir???”

We can very, very easily place the Uzui clan’s ninja background in the realm of OUT AND OUT TOTAL FICTION OF SUPER-AWESOME-SPECIAL-COOL style ninja, the stoic ones who an inspiration to us all when we need to pull off a smooth kill. But, I question, what is their clans’ motivation for continuing to exist? If he’s fine with killing off the majority of his potential heirs, despite the callous culture of having lots of wives for the sake of producing many, many heirs, then pure and simple clan survival is not the goal. If it’s to be the strongest among other potential rival ninja clans, then having a bunch of your strongest members kill each other off is also not a way to do that. Also, if (again) clan survival is the goal, and your clan is doing so poorly that you can only afford to feed a small number of your members, you’re not farming right.

So where did the Uzui clan go so wrong?

Let’s keep roughly the same timeline of close-knit villages trying to survive when harassed and slaughtered by samurai warlords and having to go underground throughout the entirety of the Edo period, but look at a different group: the Christian converts.

The same might had happened in the Uzui clan, warped by centuries of direness to stay hidden, and nursing some regrets of not having been strong enough in the past, or perhaps, for having been too soft and affectionate and humanitarian and everything Mr. Uzui hated and wished to quash in his surviving children.

Although Christianity was gaining popularity in the time (what we now think of as) ninja were active, it was pretty effectively outlawed and squelched in the early Edo period, but pockets of it stayed alive. Often the villages would all make the choice together whether to be martyred or to deny their faith and keep it underground, and those who kept it underground retained it with a remarkable degree of fervency, so much so that when missionaries were later allowed back into Japan they were impressed with how well the Jesuits’ teachings had been retained.

However, the “Hidden Christians” had also grown into their own culture, and gained an identity somewhat warped by the experience of being so hidden, and for carrying the shame of their ancestors for having been cowardly and publicly denying the faith. This unique shame-shaped denomination of sorts is small, but can still be found in practice today.

Tengen grew up in a fanatical cult, albeit one with less straightforward motivations that the cult Obanai was born into. While Obanai had a clear understanding of how physically escaping was his only means of physical survival, Tengen and his wives needed to break free of the mindset. As the women in their clan are not supposed to value themselves over their husband, they are dumbfounded when Tengen tells them their lives are the top priority, because this is so contrary to everything they’ve ever been told. The fact that Tengen would assign value to the lives of people who require assistance to protect themselves is also a major affront to everything they’ve grown up knowing, in which their leader (in this case, Mr. Uzui) tells them to kill, then without a second thought, they kill.

With this perverted system of not valuing lives apart from their leaders, it’s unsurprising that core ninja skills like farming would have been lost.

And hell, if Tengen had to completely turn everything he had ever known upside-down in order to escape it, then HELL YEAH, TIME TO DO ANYTHING BUT BE HIDDEN. Maybe he didn’t have it in him to kill his father and remaining younger brother and eliminate the rotten cultish clan for good, but being HELLA FLAMBOYANT is the second best option he’s got to stick it to him.

----

So anyway. Two more thoughts:

1. I’ll bet Zenitsu reads popular fiction and feels like he’s a know-it-all about ninja. But any time he starts to spout something Tengen’s like, “ugh, no, that’s not real, if ninja used swords with square hilt guards they’d jab themselves in the ribs.” and Zenitsu would be like, “...... >: [ “

2. When Tengen presents himself to be in the Demon Slayer Corp’s service, he probably divulges ninja secrets by offering his wives’ expertise in ninja memorization, encoding, and communication techniques for passing super secret spy info.

And Ubuyashiki smiles and says, “That’s nice, but we have birds. ^_^” and Tengen is like, “......>: [ ”

#Uzui Tengen #KnY fandom theories and meta #Kimetsu no Yaiba #Demon Slayer

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ssa-babygirl · 4 years

Text

Out of My League [Part 3]

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Single mom!Reader

Word count: ~4.5k

Summary: Nothing brings two friends together like a bit of grief with a side of daddy issues. (Mixed POV, includes flashbacks)

Warning(s): As the summary states, angst, grief and daddy issues, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of cancer, a few swear words, i think that’s it??? i use the word “smile” like 138407894 times i’m so sorry i hate noticing my crutch words

Author’s Note: I am SO sorry how long this took I honestly have no excuse, this chapter isn’t even that great but this is only two thirds of what I actually intended this part to be so GUESS WHAT I SPLIT IT UP!!!! the next part shouldn’t take too long (I say that but watch it’s gonna take like another year) and it’s gonna be super fluffy so DON’T Y’ALL WORRY IT’S GONNA BE FLUFF CENTRAL FOR THE NEXT COUPLE OF CHAPTERS

[Previous Part] [Series Masterlist]

WASHINGTON D.C., 2007

(Reader POV)

You had only been to D.C. a few times before to visit your dad, normally under happier circumstances, such as him getting sworn in for another term, but this time was not the case. You got the phone call from your mother the evening before when you quickly packed yours and Jamie’s bags for the flight that left later that night. The few hours you had spent in D.C. already felt like long days. You were physically and emotionally exhausted. Jamie had never been on a plane before and was grappling with the effects of jet lag.

You needed a bit of a pick-me-up yourself, so you ran over to a coffee shop for a bit of a change of scenery. It was about eight o'clock in the morning when you heard your name being called, but not by the barista making your drinks, but by a familiar voice that you had only heard over the phone for a couple of months since his last visit home. You turned around to face the source and locked eyes with Spencer.

“Hey!” You smiled, trying your best to not look like you had just had the longest 24 hours of your life.

“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you say you were gonna be in town?”

“I didn’t know I was gonna be in town until last night!” Spencer could see right through you. He pursed his lips, not asking what was wrong yet, but still opting to check-in and make sure you’re okay.

“How are you feeling? Jet lagged?”

“Some profiler.” Your chuckle came out more annoyed than you would have liked it to.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, just getting some coffee--”

“No, like, are you okay?” He knew something was wrong, he wasn’t stupid, quite the opposite, by a long shot.

“I’m fine, Spence,” you lied through your teeth.

“Then who isn’t?” Panic and worry flashed across his face, “Is Jamie okay?

“Yes! He’s fine!” You couldn’t help but smile at the relief Spencer displayed that your son was safe and well, his hand coming up to rest over his heart. You hesitated for a second before giving in and telling him why you seemed so off, “My dad’s sick in the hospital.”

“Oh! Do they know what’s wrong with him?”

“Yep. Stage 4 lung cancer.” Your dad had been a smoker for most of your life. He tried to quit after Jamie was born, but the damage had already been done.

Spencer looked genuinely heartbroken as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to think of what to say next “Do you know how much time he has?”

“Couple of weeks if we’re lucky.”

His eyebrow furrowed and his golden eyes softened to an impossible degree, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. This wasn’t sudden, we’ve been expecting it, but when the doctor says eight to twelve months, and you get through month eight, you start hoping it’s gonna be twelve.”

“Are you going back to the hospital now?”

“Yeah-”

“I’ll come with you!”

“Don’t you have work?”

“I don’t have to be there for another hour and,” he checks his watch, which was pulled over the sleeve of his dark gray cardigan, “fifty-six minutes.”

“The hospital’s out of the way and you hate being late.”

“I hate the thought of you going through this alone even more.” You tried to ignore the warm and fuzzy feeling that gave you but ultimately failed. Those big brown eyes refused to stop studying your face, analyzing any signs that you needed him, which to be fair, you did.

“I’m not alone, I got Jamie and my mom.”

“Even more the reason for me to want to go with you.” He finally dropped the solemn frown and took up a bright smile instead. You swore his grin was contagious because, by the time you both got your coffees, you were smiling just as wide.

You drove back to the hospital in comfortable silence. Walking back to your father’s room felt easier with him by your side. Jamie looked up from his drawing as he saw you approach, beaming at you and his favorite federal agent.

“Doctor Spencer!” He came running up to him and hugging his legs.

“Hey, little man!” Spencer ruffled his hair and grinned down at the tiny human squeezing his arms around his thigh.

Your mother looked up from her book, “Doctor? Spencer? Wait. As in…”

“Yeah, mom.”

She stands and wraps him in a hug, “Oh my goodness, sweetheart, you got so big! You’re all grown up! Oh, and you’re cute, too!” She pinched his now pink cheek as his face twisted into a bashful smile, “Right, Y/N? Spencer got cute!”

Now you were blushing a little.

Why am I blushing? I don’t blush over Spencer!

You pursed your lips and looked him up and down. His striped tie was crooked under his cardigan. His long hair was a bit shaggy, as if he rolled out of bed, showered, and decided to go to work. You just laughed nervously as you met Spencer’s eyes. God, those eyes. “Yeah… I’d say so.”

“You definitely grew into your looks. Honey, this is Spencer. Remember the boy that used to tutor Y/N?”

“Oh, nice to finally meet you, son, I’ve heard a lot about you.” Your father shifted in his bed, managing to sit up slightly.

“You too, sir, I just wish it could have been under better circumstances.”

“Don’t give me any of that ‘sir’ crap, I got enough of that working on the Hill,” your father chuckled but his hearty laugh quickly devolved into a coughing fit. Your mother sat back down on the bed next to him and fed him some ice chips to keep him hydrated.

“So, Spencer, Y/N says you work for the FBI now?” She turns her attention away from her husband and forces a smile.

“Yes! I do.”

You took a seat and sipped your coffee, “He was on the team that helped save Jamie, remember?”

“What division are you in?” Your dad asked.

“The Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“I got some buddies in the bureau, who’s your supervisor?”

“Aaron Hotchner?”

“Oh, I knew him in his prosecutor days. Helluva lawyer, he got some of my clients put away.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, they were guilty, weren’t they?”

Spencer’s phone rang in his pocket, “Speaking of which, I have to go. Got a case.”

“Go! Don’t be late!”

“Go catch the bad guy, Doctor Spencer!”

“Will do, Jamie.” He ruffled his hair before turning to your parents, “Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. L/N, it was great seeing you.”

“Bye, sweetheart, don’t be a stranger!”

“I’ll walk you out, return the favor.” You walked quietly with him.

“Listen, I don’t know when I’ll be home from this, but I’ll let you know when I get back, and if you’re still here just give me a call, okay?”

“Of course, Spence. Now go catch the bad guy!” You grinned as you parroted your son’s words. He returned your smile and pulled you into a hug. You could feel tears brimming in your eyes, but you fought it off best you could. Spencer could still sense your pain and hugged you as tight as possible. You were the one to pull away first, patting his back and forcing your pursed lips into a smile. His phone started to ring shortly after.

“Don’t let me keep you.”

(Spencer’s POV)

The case went on for too long. Two whole weeks passed before we were able to come home from Minneapolis. A man was strangling women with short black hair between the ages 30-40 because they reminded him of his mother, it’s standard stuff, it should have been a pretty cut and dry case, but the guy was almost impossible to find, he was completely off the grid. It took Garcia days to just get us a name, let alone contact information. He killed two other women while we were there. One of them was a mother, she had three kids all under the age of 10. Cases like these were always tough, but Gideon had seen enough to talk us all through it. I still wasn’t used to him being gone.

I couldn’t get any sleep on the jet. The nightmares have been coming back with a vengeance since Gideon left. He was like a father to me, my protector, my mentor, and now I have no one.

That’s hyperbolic; I do have the team, and they miss him too, but I’m pretty much alone out on the field. I know I can go to them, but it doesn’t feel right. I don’t like to rely on others because when they leave, I’m by myself.

Which is exactly why I am the only one awake on the jet home.

I suppose I wasn’t totally alone, I could call Y/N, but I wouldn’t wanna bother her if she was with her family. She only has so much time left with her dad. I took my phone out of my pocket anyway and saw a missed call from her last night, I hadn’t seen it before because of the case. If she wanted to talk she probably needed to, right?

I mulled it over in my head, and before I could even come to a decision, my fingers worked on autopilot, dialing the same number I had memorized years ago, and hit call.

Las Vegas, 1994

I picked up the book from the top of the pile she set down on the counter, “You’re reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“Yeah, for class.”

“If you need any help with that, my mother was a classics professor, I’ve read most of Shakespeare’s works.”

“Really? That’s cool. I’ve read the basics in other classes, Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Macbeth, all that, but this one is definitely my favorite so far.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! I don’t know why, but the idea of falling in love with the wrong person just sorta… I dunno… resonates, I guess.”

“Yeah, same here.”

She snorted, “You’re like 12, how would you know about that?”

I bit my lip before explaining, “Reminds me of my parents. They loved each other at one point, obviously, but not enough to stop my dad from leaving us.”

She cringed to herself as if she realized some horrible mistake, “Jeez, I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

“How long ago did he leave?”

“Two years ago.”

“So it’s just been you and your mom?”

“Yeah.”

She stared at the pencil as she twisted it in between her fingers. Her eyes refused to meet mine. “My dad has worked in D.C. pretty much my whole life, and a lot of the time it was just my mom and me. He was always home for Christmas and birthdays, he came to all my recitals as a kid, but he was gone the rest of the year. I see him maybe… fifteen days out of the year?”

She finally looked up, if only for a second. Seeing her eyes, at last, I took note of the sadness behind them, “Which is fine, it’s better than nothing, but I don’t really have a dad the other 350 days of the year, you know? I could call him, but I don’t, it’s always ‘Sorry sweetheart, I’m a bit busy right now.’”

“Yeah, my dad was always too busy too.”

“I know our situations are still really different, and you probably already know this after two years, but it does get easier.”

Present Day

(Reader POV)

You click the button to answer the call, “Spencer?”

“Hey! We’re landing soon, you still in D.C.?” His voice is scratchy like he had just woken up, or like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in a couple of hours.

“Y-yeah! I’m still staying with my mom.”

“How’s your dad?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to, your silence answered his question well enough.

“Oh, shit…” Spencer groaned, “God, Y/N, I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be, you didn’t know.”

“How long ago?”

“Last week, the funeral was yesterday.” You could hear him grimace over the phone.

“Y/N I am… so sorry I couldn’t be there for you—”

“Don’t be! You had to work, it’s okay, Spencer.”

“I should have called sooner.”

You almost laughed at his tone, “Spencer, you were catching a serial killer, it’s not your responsibility to make sure I’m okay.”

“I know, but—”

“But nothing. I’m fine.”

“How’s Jamie, god, how’s your mother?”

“She’s holding up. I’m helping her out for a while, I don’t want her to be in this house alone.” You decided to leave out the part about you putting a downpayment on an apartment a couple of blocks away from your mother’s house for now.

“How’s Jamie doing?” He asked with perfect timing as Jamie flopped onto the couch behind you.

“Wanna talk to him? He’s right here.”

“Can I? Please?”

“Jamie, baby, wanna talk to Doctor Spencer?” He didn’t even say yes before he leaped up from his seat and grabbed the phone from your hand.

“Hi, Doc!”

“Hey, little man! How’s it going? How are you?” You could still hear his excited voice even though it was nowhere near your ear anymore. It brought a smile to your face as you saw Jamie light up at the sound of your friend on the other side of the call.

“I’m okay. Did you catch the bad guy?”

“Yes, Jamie, we got him. How’s your mom?”

“She’s saying she’s fine, but she’s still really sad.”

“Well, can you put her back on with me?” Jamie hands the phone back to you and runs off to return to his coloring book and crayons.

You sighed before putting the phone back to your ear, “Don’t worry about me, Spence—”

“Come to the BAU.”

He said the words so fast you almost needed him to repeat it, “What?”

“I mean it, I’ll call you when we land, come visit. Bring Jamie and your mom.”

“Won’t you have a ton of work to do when you land?”

“I couldn’t sleep, I did all my paperwork on the jet.”

“Spencer—”

“Please. I need to see you guys.” He was practically begging. It tugged at your heart in a familiar way, but there was a pit in your stomach that you couldn’t place.

“What happened on the case?”

He sighed, “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Just come in like, an hour.”

You tried to lighten the mood just a little bit, “My mom’s been obsessively baking, want us to bring you your favorite?”

“Did she make her famous oatmeal cookies?” You could almost see his face and the way his brown eyes lit up, even while he was on a plane hours away.

The image brought a soft smile to your face and sparked a tiny bit of light in your heart, “Yep!”

“Y/N L/N, if you bring me some, I will be forever indebted to you.”

“You owe me nothing, Doctor Reid.”

Security waved you through to the elevator, Spencer had cleared you for entry already. One guard hit the button for the sixth floor and sent you up, one hand holding Jamie’s and the other holding a Tupperware of your mom’s cookies. When the doors opened, you saw the entrance to the bullpen, desks filled with paperwork, and busy agents trying to get it all done. As the three of you crept through the hall to the glass doors, your eyes locked onto Spencer, who was sprawled out in his office chair with a thick book, legs propped up on his desk, and glasses balanced on the ridge of his nose.

“Hi! Who are you here to see?” A chipper blonde with purple cat eyeglasses and curly ponytails waved at you from down the hall.

“Spencer Reid?”

“Oh! He mentioned he’d have visitors, you must be Y/N! I’m Penelope.”

“That’s a pretty name!” Jamie beamed up to the woman, who clutched a hand over her heart and returned his smile.

“Oh! Thank you, sweetheart! What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Jamie!”

“Oh you are just precious, he is precious, Y/N, good kid.”

You laughed at the pair’s enthusiasm, “Thank you, can we just go straight in?”

“Yep! Go ahead!”

You walked up to his desk and placed the cookies next to his computer, pulling his attention away from his book. He turned to look up at you, closing the book and throwing it where his feet rested before he jumped up to wrap his arms around you. Jamie hugged his leg and your mother pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Hey, how are you guys doing?”

“Spencer, we’re fine.”

He didn’t say anything, just examined your face for any sign of a lie. The frustration on his face said he didn’t find one.

“Stop profiling me, I’m okay.”

“Mommy, can I have a cookie now?” Jamie eyed the container like a hawk; he shared Spencer’s love of oatmeal cookies, especially from your mom.

“Right! You brought your cookies, thank you so much, Mrs. L/N.”

“You’re not a kid anymore, honey, you can call me by my first name.”

“No, I absolutely cannot,” he laughed.

“Y/N?”

You turned around and saw the woman who hugged you while you cried when you thought your son was gone: JJ.

“Hi! Good to see you again!” You brought her in for a hug while Spencer continued to catch up with Jamie and your mom.

“You too! Jamie got so big!”

“Yeah, he’s starting 3rd grade soon!” You reached around to ruffle Jamie’s hair.

“When does he start?”

“A few weeks! We gotta go back to school shopping!”

“Ooh, that’s exciting! So you’re heading home soon?”

“Um…” You glanced at Spencer and your mom, who was pestering him about whether or not he had a girlfriend, “Actually, I just thought it would be best for us to stay close to my mom. Jamie likes it here, so we’re actually going to be moving here before school starts.”

“A new school! Are you excited, Jamie?”

“Yeah!”

Spencer, still a blushing mess thanks to your mother’s nosiness, sputtered out “Uh… Excited for what?”

“To move to D.C.!” You raised your hands in a little “Surprise!” motion.

“W-what?” He couldn’t stop himself from looking delighted even if he tried.

“We’re moving here to stay close to my mom.”

“She’s been such a good help,” she gestured to the cookies, half gone over the course of the conversation, “I’m not really ready to give her up just yet.”

“Spence, you should show her around!” JJ’s face had an unreadable look, but I guess that’s what profilers are for “Take her sightseeing. Jamie, have you been to the Washington Monument yet?”

“Nope! Doctor Spencer, can you take us?”

“Sure, little man, you want your mom and grandma to come with?”

“Yes!”

Spencer grinned at him, ruffling his curls before smiling at you. His eyes were scrunched into thin lines from his cheeks, but there was still something behind them. Something you couldn’t quite read. His smile softened slightly and you finally got a clear view of his hazel eyes. His lips parted like he was about to say something, but Jamie cut him off again.

“Ooh! Ooh! Can we go to the Smithsonian?”

“Oh, honey, you’re gonna wish you didn’t say that,” JJ joked.

“The kid knows everything, you’ll be there for hours,” a deep voice said behind you.

“Morgan!” You smiled and stretched your arms out to hug him.

“Good to see you again, Y/N.”

When you turned back to Spencer, his warm grin was gone, replaced by a glare directed at Morgan. Had something happened with them? Last you heard they were best friends. Maybe that’s what happened on the case? Maybe that’s why he was so upset on the phone? Whatever it was had to be bad because he barely spoke for the rest of the visit.

A few weeks later, after you were all moved into your new apartment and Jamie was settled into his new school, you called Spencer. He owed you a trip to the Washington Monument. On your little day trip, there was no such thing as silence. Even in the quiet museum, Spencer’s voice filled the air, spewing facts about the monument, the memorial, the exhibits, and everything in between. Jamie loved to learn, so he hung onto every word that he heard.

“Plans for the monument’s development actually started in 1783, before Washington was even elected president. D.C. wasn’t even the capital of the country yet. Washington was actually against the monument because he didn’t want to use public funds for it, but after his death, Congress wanted to build him a mausoleum--”

You didn’t mind the rants. You still loved to listen to him ramble. Even if you didn’t understand what he was talking about sometimes, the sound of his voice was just soothing, especially after the stress of moving across the country.

Jamie got tired after walking around all day after the tour of the National Museum of Natural History and the Washington Monument, so your mom offered to take him home. You planted a kiss to his forehead and ruffled his hair, hugging your mom goodbye as Spencer high fived him and waved as they went off in the direction of home.

“You know, you didn’t have to stay with me. If you wanna go home too, you can.”

“No. I wanna stay with you.”

A small smile crept across his lips, blush rising to his cheeks. He bit his lips and looked down at his feet as he started walking off to the next stop on his little tour.

“Where to now, Doc?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Come on, tell me, tell me!”

“No, ‘cuz then it’s not a surprise!”

“I’m aware of the definition of surprise, you don’t need to have an eidetic memory to know that.” You would just have to rely on your less refined profiling skills to figure out where you were going. You were on foot, so it couldn’t be too far.

“Why aren’t we taking a cab?”

“Because I wanna walk with you.”

Just hail a cab, it takes way less time than--

Oh.

You walked side by side for the remainder of the distance. He did most of the talking, telling you stories about the team. You took notice of the softness in his voice when he talked about Morgan. He wasn’t bitter anymore.

“--And then Garcia answered the phone.”

“Oh, god, what’d she say?”

“‘Talk dirty to me.’”

“No!”

“Yep!”

“She said that to your boss.”

“Morgan was mortified, you should have seen his face.”

You looked at him while he grinned at the memory. It was the most at peace you’d seen him in… well, a while.

“So… you guys are cool now?”

The peace was replaced with confusion, “What do you mean?”

Your pace faltered, but you kept walking, “Didn’t you guys…? Weren’t you fighting?”

“No? Why would you think that?”

You pursed your lips and furrowed your brows, “No reason.”

Why else would he have been mad at Morgan when I went to visit? You thought, There’s no other reason! Unless…

Oh--

“We’re here!” Spencer stopped in his tracks, looking up at a large white structure with tall windows and stone carvings decorating the walls. You turned and saw the sign out front that read: “Folger Shakespeare Library.”

“Spencer…” You gaped at the sign, a small, awe-filled smile tugging at your lips.

“I remembered how much you loved Shakespeare in school, I thought you’d get a kick out of this.”

“Spencer, this is… This is wonderful!”

“Good surprise?”

“Great surprise!”

You grabbed him by the arm and tugged him up the front steps as he digs through his pockets for his wallet. Once inside, he bought two tickets for the next show: Midsummer Night’s Dream. Your favorite. It didn’t start for another half hour, so he led you to the reading room.

The room was beautiful, to put it lightly. Three ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The furniture and accents were all done in a dark wood, shelves packed tightly with books. The setting sun shone through the breathtaking stained glass windows. An unlit fireplace rested against the wall. Spencer led you up to the second level, a balcony wrapping around the border of the room.

“Thank you for today,” you beamed, “I haven’t seen Jamie that happy since…”

“I know the feeling. I haven’t felt this okay since…” His gaze dropped to his feet, trying to swallow the words that came out too soon.

“Since what?”

“Since uh...” He glanced back up to your face, “Since Gideon left the team.”

Spencer never told you he left. Agent Gideon kept tabs on Jamie after his rescue. For the last three years, he got a card in the mail on Christmas and his birthday. He always checked in and asked how he was doing. When you went to visit Spencer at the BAU a few weeks ago, you wanted to say hi to Agent Gideon and thank him for his consideration, but you hadn’t seen him. You thought he was just taking a personal day, he worked too hard anyways from what Spencer told you.

“Spence, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d care.”

The words were like a spark that shocked your heart awake from a lovely sleep, and now it was upset to be so rudely awoken, “Of course I care! What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t wanna know the reason you’ve been so… off.”

“What do you mean ‘off?’”

“You don’t have to be a profiler to see you haven’t been yourself in… when did Gideon leave?”

He played with a loose thread on the sleeve of his sweater and looked back down at his feet, the toe of his converse nudging at the emerald green carpet, “Couple of months ago.”

“You could have told me.”

“You’ve had your own stuff going on. It’s not that bad.”

“You don’t have to convince yourself that you aren’t having a hard time just because I am. You don’t always have to be the hero.”

“Neither do you, you know.”

“I really am fine.”

“Y/N, he was your dad, you’re allowed to be upset.”

“I am, okay?” You snapped, “I miss him like hell! He was always just one phone call away and now…” One hand carded through your hair as you inhaled deeply, placing your other hand on the banister beside you to steady yourself.

“I’m not going to pretend that our situations are the same because they aren’t, but I’ll tell you the same thing you told me when we were kids.” He placed his hand close to yours on the banister, your fingers almost touching. Almost. “It gets easier, not seeing him every day. But just ‘cuz he wasn’t around doesn’t mean you can’t feel bad.”

You force a smile, “Thanks, Spence.”

“Of course.” He wrapped his arms around you and held you tight. The hug wasn’t particularly emotional. Neither one of you felt like you were about to cry, it just felt nice to be in each other's embrace.

“Show’s starting soon.” He muttered into your ear before pulling away, walking off towards the theater with you following close behind.

Taglist~~~

Lmk if you wanna be added! Some names didn’t work so if you don’t see your name as a tag just dm me a url and I’ll try to fix it

@lawnmoa @ellvswriting @baby-pogue @rottenearly @confused-and-really-hungry @thatsonezesty13 @deni-gonzalez @irjuejjsaa @randomfandomshitposts @bisoner @moonstarrnghtsky @smurfflynn @eldahae @t0xicllama @undeniablyyou @staplernpaper @theweirdobella @sammypotato67 @k-k0129 @helloniallslovelies

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg smut #mgg fanfiction #mgg imagine #Matthew Gray Gubler #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler smut #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #CM #cm fan fiction #cm imagine

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sabraeal · 3 years

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A Home Between Two Breaths

[He Who Fell in the Sea | Read on Ao3]

The snow starts just out of Luidas– big, thick flakes. A dusting, at first; they settle on Miss’s hair like fine lace, melting before she can brush them off. But now the horses wade through the drifts, nickering with displeasure when snow crumples beneath their hooves. His own coat sags, a thick, wet film against his skin, but Miss–

Well, Miss sits snugly beneath a bridled pelt, one hand absently brushing along the edge. His chest tingles with every sweep of her fingers, a shiver trembling down his spine that has nothing to do with the cold. Her heat’s been his constantly companion these past few hours, keeping him warm and wary long past when his own coat abandons him. But the colder he gets, well, the more he’s tempted to stop, to haul up to one of the inns they pass and see if they can’t generate their own heat between them.

His teeth grit down, jaw aching. If only he could bring himself to love a woman whose heart wasn’t already spoken for, given to a man who could keep her warm with far more than just the pelt off his back.

Still, taking shelter isn’t a bad idea, not when there’s no telling how long the storm will last. Lamps burns brightly in the distance, up the hill but not too far. He remembers the place; it’s not one of their usual stops– too close to the checkpoint to bother with, mostly made more for lords with carriages and delicate constitutions to care for. Pricey, and with the weather, the innkeep will be sure to wring them for more than two beds are worth, but, well–

He’s going to go crazy if she doesn’t stop petting him like this. Obi tugs at his reins, bringing himself up alongside Miss. Their knees don’t knock– he’s too careful a rider for that, even if she’s not– but he’s close enough to be heard over the howling winds. “We should stop.”

A contemplative pout settles on her cold-stung lips; she’s doing the complex calculations he’d mulled over moments ago. It’s not quite dusk– on a fairer day, they’d be on the road for another hour or two at least– but with the storm only growing stronger at their backs…

“It’ll get worse before it gets better.” The darkening sky hangs heavy overhead, only adding a more dire edge to his warning, but Miss’s jaw still sets stubbornly, the I can keep going loud in her silence. “We should think of the horses.”

“Oh!” She frowns down at her mare’s mane, snow tangling in the long, frozen ropes its settled into, and nods. “Of course. Is there some place near?”

His cowl is raised, covering his lips, but he smothers his smile, just in case. Miss might press on past wisdom if it were only herself she had to worry about, but bring the horses into it…

“Just there.” He points, voice struggling against the wind. “Up on the rise. Hopefully they’ll have two rooms ready to go.”

Miss coughs, ducking her head to cover it. Her next words are mumbled, lost in the wool of her scarf and the roar of the storm, but the winds twist and turn as they press on and he could swear–

Well, he could swear he hears, “We could do with less.”

“Two rooms,” Miss says, trying to raise her voice over the din. They’re far from the only weary travelers escaping the storm; the common room is packed wall-to-wall with boisterous custom, their coats damp but spirits as warm as the brew in their mugs. “If you please.”

“I do.” The innkeep’s round-faced, cheery, but with enough height to convey that she could, if pressed, handle rowdy customers right to the door. The kind of woman Obi would like, if her smile wasn’t already saying exactly what he didn’t want to hear. “But I’m afraid we’ve only got the one left. Busy night, you know.”

“Two beds?” he asks, already knowing the answer. If Master had been with them, three would have appeared from thin air with rooms to keep them. But with just a court herbalist and a knight, the only title between them a friendship to the wrong crown–

“One.” The innkeep’s kind enough to offer a sorrowful smile. “A nice one, though, if I do say so myself.”

A slender finger traces down his chest, as if there were not three layers of clothes and a safe distance between them, and he yelps out, “A cot?”

“‘Fraid not.” The innkeep brushes some flour off her apron, brusque yet strangely sympathetic at the same time. “All spoken for. You’re hardly the only ones who’ve had to make due with less than you came in wanting.”

Still that finger runs, collar to breast, following the length of his sternum. It should be lulling, comforting, but instead he just– “Maybe there’s space in the barn?”

Miss’s hand stills, eyes too wide, too green as she peers up at him. He can’t bear to look, not when he’s in danger of losing himself in them. The last time they’d been in the room with a bed–

Well, there’s a reminder twitching right against his thigh about that. “I’m not above a good night in the hay.”

The innkeep’s brows lift in amusement. “Full up to the manger.”

His sigh hollows him out, leaving him to slouch over the remains of his chest. “I could–”

“We’ll take it,” Miss says, stepping up in front of him. The dir glitter in her palm as she lays them on the counter. “The room, that is. And the bed.”

Obi lets out a plaintive whine, lost in the noise. “Extra blankets?”

The innkeep smiles at him, wide and wry. “Now that I can do.”

After all his years on the road, Obi considers himself a connoisseur of lodging. A adept of accommodations. A man who knows what a coin might bring him, greasing the right palm. Someone who speaks the lingo, one might say.

So when a proprietor of sleeping arrangements says one bed, he knows there’s a connotation to that. One bed, of course, but enough mattress to be shared between two. The sort of thing where one could divide between the pillows and trust that, without a very adventurous sleeper on the other side, he could expect to wake up undisturbed.

This is not that.

“Well,” Miss murmurs, taking a ponderous step into the room. “There certainly is…one.”

He’s seen bigger in the garrison. It’s only a little wider than a standard cot– meant to fit one and half maids, if only so the help might feel kingly for a night as well–

“Ah, isn’t that just our luck, Miss.” Obi lets out a noise that is somewhere between a laugh and a swan song. “In an inn full of lordly accommodations, we get…the servant’s quarters.”

Another room might have a sofa, a chaise, or, failing that, a hard-backed chair that he could at least make a credible attempt at sleep in. But this– this is a room meant for sleeping, not entertaining. At least, not if he wasn’t planning on doing it horizontal.

Which he isn’t. Not at all. That’s not what’s happening here. Between them. Ever. No matter what happened before. Master may not be here now, but Obi won’t forget him.

Again.

“It’s fine,” Miss blusters, as if he can’t hear her voice squeak up at the top of her range. “We’ll make do.”

She draws herself up, utilizing every scant inch, and officiously scurries over to the edge of the mattress, giving it the sort of calculating stare generals leveled on fields of battle. With a steeling breath, her shoulders lift, and in a smooth motion, toss his pelt wholesale onto the covers.

The wind knocks out of him, for more than one reason. “I was going to use that.”

“You are going to be using it,” she agrees primly, letting her own cloak fall, sopping, in to her arms. “In the bed. Tonight.”

His mouth works as she crosses to the one ladder-backed chair that the room provides, spreading the wet wool across it. “I was going to sleep on the floor.”

The gaze she turns to him may be wide-eyed, but it’s knowing too, braced. This isn’t a misunderstanding, it’s a negotiation. “Why would you do that? It’s freezing, Obi.”

Again, his mouth can only open and close, words picked up and quickly abandoned in his search for something other than, don’t you remember? Or worse, how could you forget?

He couldn’t, not when he’d spent the night staring up at a ceiling he hardly remembered the pattern of, listening to the soft lull of Master’s breath and wondering why, why he has to ruin everything he touches. It would be better if he listened to the songs of his sisters, letting them guide him back to the sea, pelt wrapped around him and life brought back to the simple sensation of the water against his fur–

But he’d miss her. And he can control himself just fine, as long as there’s some space between them. Which there won’t be if they’re in that bed together, his skin covering them as one body.

“I just–” he flounders under her inquisitive confusion; it doesn’t help that she’s taken off her dress as well, left in only in her underthings, every shapely curve bared to him– “it would be best.”

Miss’s fingers still on her stays, head cocked, considering. Her gaze sweeps from the pelt on the bed to her own state of undress, hesitating a moment before she takes in his position against the door.

With a long, thoughtful breath, she exhales a very firm, “No.”

“No?” His mouth works, at a loss, and she takes the opportunity to place a single, bare leg on the mattress, right along his spine. Hell, that is making it a little hard to breathe, let alone think. “That is my skin, you know.”

“And you’re going to be using it,” she informs him, unimpressed, as she drags another tantalizing calf beneath her, warmth radiating along his back. It’s the last thing he needs when she’s got that stubborn pout on her lips. “You can’t sleep on the floor, Obi. Even with seal skin, you’ll freeze.”

He’s lived in water colder and darker than nights like these, dove into deeper currents than the Lilias’s winds could ever drop, but it’s impossible to explain to that to Miss, who has only this one, soft skin. The kind that is begging him to touch it with his own, to press her between his pelt and his body, and–

“I have extra blankets,” he mutters dumbly, thrusting them out in front of him like they might ward off her arguments. It’s a weak volley, a desperate measure to avoid the inevitable rout, and she deflects it with barely more than a dubious glance.

His shoulders slump, wet fur sopping around his neck. By the victorious glint in Miss’s eyes, she doesn’t miss the moment of his defeat.

“Your should take off your coat, at least,” she tells him, so innocent. “It’d be no good for you to come to bed wet.”

Obi can’t, unfortunately, argue with her logic. He lays his shield down, the thick quilts the innkeep pressed on him falling in a slumped pile against the footboard. And with a sweep of his arms, the first of his armor falls as well, arranged flat on hearth’s screen.

It’s a relief to be rid of its damp weight; warm as it is, another creature’s fur sits strangely on him, as if his body wants to take its shape as well. And when it’s almost clinging to him, dripping sweat and ice down his spine– well, it’s a new layer of discomfort.

His boots follow, stockings soon after, though their removal is another battle, the wool sticking to every inch. When his feet finally press bare to stone– ah, the cold seeped through him more than he’d thought. For all his talk, his soles stretch against its ambient warmth and, oh, how they burn. Maybe Miss was right about sleeping on the floor; as a seal, his blubber would protect him, but as a man–

Well, he certainly lacked a certain sleekness over these bones. It was easier to forget now that he was allowed both.

Obi hesitates, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants. They were wet too– damp at the knees and clinging to his thighs at parts– but still…

“Are you coming to bed?” Miss inquires, muffled. He glances back, and there she is, smothered in blankets, radiating warmth along his back. “It’s warm in here.”

The smart thing would be to take his blankets and suffer as best he could by the fire. Or take the invitation but keep the clothes, hoping they would dry in the warmth of the blankets. But Obi–

Well, Obi hadn’t ended up on shore by being more clever than bold. He strips down to his skivvies, laying his clothes beside Miss’s on the stone. It left him far from naked– his woolens might leave little to the imagination, but they were still as thick and warm as his pelt– but the way Miss watches him–

Maybe he should risk the floor.

He shakes himself. Too late to change his mind now.

Soft fur tickles his hands as he slips into bed beside her, Miss extending from a pleasant, abstract warmth along his back, to a present, insistent heat along his side. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

“Beneath?” he manages after a moment. “I thought you enjoyed it as a blanket.”

“We have plenty of those.” Her eyes glitter guilelessly in the dim, fingers stroking the pelt in mindless, soothing circles. “Having it under us will stop any heat from escaping through the mattress. Like a little oven!”

“Oh,” he murmurs, watching her fingers carve runnels through his fur. “Smart.”

“I thought so,” she says with no little pride. “Blow out the lamp?”

He nods, reaching over to turn the wick down, watching the flame gutter behind the glass. Even when it’s out, the fire keeps a low, merry glow, and beneath his shirt–

“Oh!” The cord lies tangled in his chain, tag and stone knotted together in a way that takes a good moment of patience and another of dexterity to sort out. Still, it’s easy work, and with a few quick loops he lifts it over his head, stone pulsing gently in the dark. “Here you go.”

He’s seen his miss in firelight, but the stone’s glow does something to the shape of her face, to the round of her eye. In her hushed awe, it’s as if he’s never seen her before. “This…?”

“Sorry I borrowed it for so long.” Her gaze darts to his, and he can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking the same. “Thanks for lending it to me.”

“Ah!” Her fingers reach, plucking the cord from his grasp, an infinite amount of stones glittering in her eyes. “The stone! Did you–?” She hesitates, mouth rounding around words she doesn’t say. “Did you use it for something?”

He’d hung it on a darker night than this, moon blotted out by thick, reaching branches, but as it swings in her grip, a slow, pendulous spin– well, it’s hard not to think of the shadow that approached. How confidently the assassin had slipped through the trees, fleet and sure-footed as any night creature. And then for him to pull up short, surprise writ large in those dark, fearful eyes–

“It would be a good reference point,” Miss presses, breathless. “For the future.”

He huffs out a laugh, head dropping onto the pillow. Ah, yes, he can see it now. Uses: luring assassins out of hiding. “I don’t think it’ll be much help to any of you scholars, but it worked perfectly when I used it.”

The crystal sets her face into harder angles; her cheeks sit sharp, carved from marble, and her jaw settles into a contemplative pout. It’s not answer enough, he knows, not for her, but she’s never been one to push, not even when she held a pelt in her hand.

“I’d say it was thanks to that thing that I made it to Master’s side in time.” Her eyes turn to him, wide, but it’s the least he can give her, when she’s put both his freedom and her trust into his bloodied hands. “And I was also able to pass on Mitsuhide’s message.”

“Because of this?” She cradles the stone in her hand, tender, but it’s him that she turns to, satisfaction curling her lips. “So it was helpful? I mean– it was worth having?”

“Of course.” If his grin is easy, it’s only because he’s so practiced at giving it. At least, instead of kissing her. “It would have been worth having just because it gave it to me. The rest was gravy, Miss.”

Her sigh is heavy, contented, the tension eking out of her shoulders with each second that passes until she’s settled fully into the pillow’s soft down.

“Obi?” He almost doesn’t catch her soft hum, muffled as it is. But one of her hands has dropped between them, fingers gently stroking in those small, soothing circles, and even part of him is attuned to every molecule of air in this room, if only because there doesn’t seem to be enough. “Come over here?”

He rolls up onto his elbow, so close a deep breath might make them touch if he weren’t careful. But he is. Always. “Hm?”

In a single, smooth swoop, she loops the cord right around his neck. “Eh–?”

Her smile is too much, mischief honing it sharper than any other knife he’s taken between his ribs. He hardly even feels the stab. “I bequeath this to you.”

“Eh?” he tries again, fingers plucking at the leather, since she clearly didn’t hear him the first time.

“I want you to have it.” Her gaze settles where it dangles between them, and he’s not ready for how his chest tightens with the softening of her smile. “If it was helpful to you at Sereg, I’d like you to keep it.”

He stares. But it’s precious, he nearly says, but it’s no use, not when he can’t survive her inevitable answer, the one clear in her eyes already–

So are you, Obi.

“Miss.” His voice doesn’t sound like his own, stilted and too low. “A while back, you asked about this scar.”

The neck of his woolens swoops low enough for a ragged edge to peep through, stark white against the shadow of his skin. He hooks a finger round it still, pulling it lower until he can feel the meat of that gnarled ruin against the tip of his fingers. In the pale light of the stone, he can see the way her eyes fix to it, body tense beside his.

“I never cared about getting injured.” The dark loosens his lips better than any bottle. “Or coming back. There wasn’t–” he licks his lips, only a wry smile left behind– “there wasn’t any point.”

Why worry about this strange skin when no matter how well he performed for them, his masters would never yield his reward. His pelt always laid under lock and key, a carrot and stick both: a well done job held the hope of seeing a glimpse of it, a chance to snatch it from their grasp; and a failed one–

Well, there were so many accidents that could happen to a beautiful pelt like this one. Fire. Scissors. A blade.

Obi might not have cared what happened to this body, but he could never return to his sisters with the proof of this life etched upon his skin,

His fingers clench in his fur. “Didn’t really see it as a drawback.”

The stone’s glow isn’t enough to illuminate the whole of Miss’s face, so he doesn’t so much see her jaw work as feel it, her restraint dragging her teeth down with a soft click. Her urge to speak is palpable, drawing the space between them to a taut thread but–

But Miss has always had that sense, the kind good healers always did, of when a wound needed salve or stitching, and when it just…needed to breathe. Which is what she does, muscles melting into the mattress beneath her, her fingers picking up those slow, soothing circles over his fur. If all this feeling is a festering poison, well– he needs to get it all out himself.

“I lived like that for a long time.” The words leave him on a sigh, back stretching into her touch, wrong skin as it is. “But then when I came back, and I saw your face…”

The memory burns brighter than the stone in his eyes; even now he can picture the way she stood, half turned toward him, fingers flexed in disbelief. The way steam had rose from her rounded mouth, clouding the air between them. How she had run, falling just short of being in his arms–

– and how she’d just narrowly missed the same later, her nails dragging through his pelt, jaw slack–

Ah, that’s really not what he should be thinking about now. Not when she’s pressed so tight against him.

“All I could think,” he rasps, meeting the dark evergreen of her eyes, “was how glad I was that I didn’t get seriously injured. So I could…”

Come back to you. He can’t make the words leave him; it’s too much, too far, but Miss–

She hears them anyway. Her breath catches, hand flexing flat on his pelt, a brand against his spine.

“So,” he breathes, heart pounding in his throat, “I guess I’m– haah.”

His hips jerk hard as his miss rakes runnels slowly down his spine. Every inch of his skin shivers, hair and teeth on edge, and it’s definitely…good. Too good for what he’s trying to say.

“You’re being distracting.” The warning rumbles out of him, and even to his own ears, it sounds more promising than scolding.

Miss hums, too innocent, too interested. “Should I stop?”

She does, as a demonstration.

“No!” He coughs, glad there’s no possible way she can see the heat slapped across his cheeks. “I’m just trying to–” have a serious conversation– “and you’re–” making it hard– “it’s hard enough, talking like this, when we’re on…”

Me. He can’t say that either, not when she’s looking up at him so guilelessly, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

“I think,” he grits out, finally, “that maybe I haven’t properly explained the, ah, connotations of touching…that.”

Her eyelashes flutter in the dark. “You like it, don’t you?”

“Yes.” It hisses out of him, not enough but also entirely too much. “A lot. More than I think you–”

“I almost made you…” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, and oh, how he wishes that were him. “Ah…come?”

He jerks, hands clenching in his fur to keep him still, keep him grounded. More than ‘almost,’ he nearly says, but even he isn’t so foolish. “You did.”

“Obi.” She squirms dangerously close, near enough that his cock, already hard, twitches like a mutt on a leash. “I am laying on it.”

Obi blinks, confused, but it comes to him– either keep your hand on the pelt, or lay on it.

Now his face burns. He’d said that, control hanging by a thread. Broken so effortlessly by her fingers in his hair.

“I…” His mind is blank, every thought static, but he manages, “I just wanted…”

She really, really doesn’t need to look so invested in what he wants. Not when he’s already flirting so closely with the shore.

He clears his throat. “I just wanted to say, I’ve come back.” To you is too dangerous to say. “I’m…home.”

Her chest rises in a long, hopeful breath, gaze fixed to him.

“Obi,” she breathes, laying her hand on his cheek. “Welcome home.”

He watches as her eyes flutter, heavy-lidded to half-mast, as her lips just barely part, chin angling upward, and– and on any other woman he’d know what that means. On any other woman he’d close this space between them, show her just what this man’s body could do, if he asked it, but with her–

It’s impossible. How can he fill the place Master already occupies?

He should move; he should roll back onto his side and leave her to do the same; he should know better than to have let them get this close again. “Miss–”

Her fingers sliding from the angle of his cheek into the bristle of his hair, and static sparks over the surface of his skin, chasing through his veins, curling his toes, filling him up until there’s nothing left but to ground himself at the source. He’s never been able to resist her, anyway.

He reaches for her, palm gently cupping the back of her head, but she reaches for him too, pulling him to her, and when their lips meet it’s not gentle. It’s no princely kiss, oh no, but hungry mouths needing to devour, tearing a groan from him that belongs to neither of his bodies but a different animal entirely.

She’s not close enough, not even when she rises up on her own side, pushing their bodies flush together, only cloth keeping them from the delicious friction he craves. He wants her, the proof of it obvious and hard against her hip now, but she doesn’t shy, only bucks into it, making sparks trail up his spine, behind his eyelids–

“Miss,” he tries again, but there’s nothing more to say, not when she squirms up him, pressing her lips even more fully against his. Nothing more to think when she scrapes her nails so deliciously over his scalp, moaning into his mouth.

His palm grips her hip, hard enough for him to swallow a gasp as he rolls her under him, aligning them the way they both want– at least, Miss doesn’t seem to be complaining, not when her legs wrap around his his, dragging him to her. She doesn’t complain when his tongue tests the gap between her lips, when he slips it inside her mouth entirely, and–

It’s not close enough, not when it’s never felt so right, when her body molds to fit his to perfectly. When even now he can feel her both above and below, his own skin calling to him in a way that it never has before, like he might wrap him and her in it both–

“Miss,” he moans, twisting his head away. It’s the only thing that keeps her from following him. “We should–we should stop.”

She blinks up at him, and even in the glow of the stone between them, her eyes are dark. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No! No.” He can’t imagine how she could think that, with his cock twitching against the curve of her hip. “I…you’re perfect.”

He can feel her breath catch beneath his ribs, as if it were his own, and oh, they are too close to be having this conversation. Still, he can’t bear to pull himself away, not when she bites her lip so anxiously and asks, “If you tell me what to do, I could–”

“No, Miss, it’s not–” he coughs, glad she can’t see his face– “I’m very, very interested in continuing…this.”

Her head tilts, curious, as are the fingers creeping beneath the hem of his shirt. “Then why do we have to stop?”

That’s becoming a more pressing question with every stroke of her fingers. “I’m just…” He licks his lips, mouth dry as they drift closer to his spine. His actual spine, not just…by proxy. “Maybe this isn’t something we should jump into this with both feet.”

“Ah.” Her smile is soft in the stone’s light, playful. “Do selkies get cold feet?”

A laugh huffs out of him. “We get nothing but.”

Her palm presses like a brand against his spine, drawing a low groan from his lips. “But you’ve always been so warm, Obi.”

“You are making a good case, Miss,” he admits, his hips rolling without his permission. It takes a concerted effort not to try to get Miss to repeat the noise she makes. “But I– I don’t know how this works.”

She stares, incredulous.

“I mean, obviously I know how to light fires. And tend to them,” he rumbles, pressing a kiss to her neck. “But I mean, the rest. With my…” He lets out a huff, frustrated. “I wasn’t old enough when I was…”

When he was taken from his sisters. It seems like the wrong time to be bringing up family when Miss is rubbing her bare leg against his. “I don’t know what this means, when I feel like this.”

“Obi?” Miss blinks, still beneath him. Her fingers trace the scar across his chest. “What do you feel?”

“A lot.” The admission bothers him more than he would like. “More than with…anyone else.” His breath hisses between his teeth, and finally he manages, “It’s never felt good when someone touches my pelt before.”

“Oh.” Her mouth rounds, and oh, how he wishes that were more of an invitation than it was. “Only…?”

He nods, cheeks burning. “Only you.”

“Ah.” Her palm flexes against his back. “So maybe…slower?”

“Yes,” he sighs, relief making his body sag. “ I just don’t know–” what this means– “what I can give you.”

“Obi…” He fingers trace those smooth, soothing circles, only this time on his skin. “You’re more than enough for me.”

“But I…”

“Don’t borrow trouble, Obi.” Her steady hands guide him beside her, fingers fanning out over his expanding ribs. “We don’t need to worry about tomorrow until the dawn. As long as I have you, we’ll take the days as they come.”

Miss squirms close, head resting on his chest, arm thrown tightly over him. “Goodnight, Obi. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

A breath shudders out from him. “Goodnight, Miss.”

Her breath evens into sleep, so quickly he might laugh, it not for–

For the way his pelt tempts him, for the way the night wind calls. Even now, Miss in his arms, he hears the song of his sisters, smells the salt of the sea.

As long as I have you.

That’s exactly what he’s afraid of.

#obiyukimadness21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #only one bed #my fic #citrusy #selkie au #LISTEN i had some fun tags #but tumblr decided to spit this out a day ahead of time #but rest assured we are really earning the 'inappropriate use of pelts' tags

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edie-k · 3 years

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Looking Out (Romione, PG-13)

Title: Looking Out

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: Ron/Hermione, implied Harry/Ginny, Harry & Hermione friendship vibes

Summary: Harry Potter is always going to look out for his best friends - even if it means an awkward conversation or two.

Notes: I think some of this story was inspired by too many “he looked at me” TikToks. A big thanks to cheesyficwriter for her beta help on this. And I swear, I don't lowkey hate Harry but if you have read my last few pieces and think that, I don't blame you. Not owned by me, characters are not mine. Hopefully, you all get zero Harry/Hermione vibes from this. Hermione is just a little sensitive to be perceived as uptight and Harry does not want to think about Hermione in any way BUT uptight.

Link to AO3

“Stop!”

Harry tapped his fingers on the wooden table and glanced at the closed door.

“Ron! Quit!” He heard Hermione’s muffled voice shout from the other room. Ron responded but it was too mumbled for Harry to understand. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Go. Now,” Hermione stated and he heard Ron’s low chuckle before the door swung open and the two of them strolled into the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

“Apparently I have drawn the short straw and I will be fetching the pizza,” Ron sighed.

“Oh.” Harry furrowed his brow further and frowned. “Can you do that?”

“Yes!” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “Harry, he’s had you completely snowed this entire year. He is quite capable of managing Muggle money now, he’s just been pretending to be incompetent.”

Ron shrugged. “The only downside of having you home for good is that I’m busted. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Margherita, please,” Hermione requested.

“Piles of meat, you’ve got it,” Ron replied and gave Hermione a kiss that lingered long enough that Harry almost looked away. Before he could, Hermione put both hands on Ron’s chest and pushed him away.

“Get going! You know what it’s like if your sister gets here after practice and there’s no food!”

Harry heard the front door close as Hermione pulled out the chair across from him and picked up the copy of The Daily Prophet she had been reading that morning at breakfast. “Didn’t you already read that this morning?” he asked, glancing up from the training manual he was reviewing.

“Mmm,” she said. “I got down too late to really read it in-depth, just scanned it. I wanted to go back and read this feature on a new non-profit that’s a combined effort of a Muggleborn witch and a Squib.”

Hermione settled into her reading and Harry tried to resume his reviewing. After a few minutes of silence, Hermione broke the quiet. “Harry? Is there something on your mind?”

“What? No, I’m fine,” he said nervously.

“Then why are you looking at me every thirty seconds?”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Another minute of quiet reading went by before Hermione spoke again. “Really, Harry. What’s going on?”

Harry let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, look, this is awkward. Ron’s my best friend. But so are you.”

“I’m familiar with our dynamic,” she replied, an amused look on her face.

“If you ever need my support or me to talk to him or something… I don’t want to but I would do it. If he’s bothering you or-”

“Bothering me?”

“Yeah.” Harry squirmed in his seat. “Like earlier.”

“What, you mean the pizza toppings?” asked Hermione, looking confused.

“No,” said Harry. “Just… you know.”

“I do not know.”

“Earlier when you were in the kitchen.”

“Harry,” said Hermione, the frustration clear from her face and tone. “Stop dancing around and tell me precisely what is going on.”

“You were telling Ron to stop bothering you and he wasn’t!” Harry blurted out.

“What?” asked Hermione, looking completely bewildered. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes you were!” Harry insisted. “I heard you tell him to stop and quit twice before you came out here.”

“I don’t - oh,” Hermione stopped abruptly and then her cheeks turned pink.

“And you told him again as he was leaving. Look, I’m not, it’s fine if you don’t want him... touching you all the time and if he’s not taking the hint, I would very awkwardly tell him to -”

“No,” Hermione interrupted. “Harry, that’s just, that’s flirting.”

“Huh?” asked Harry, looking in her direction. “But you don’t flirt!”

“Of course I do!” Hermione insisted.

“I have never seen you flirt,” insisted Harry.

“Well I do,” she stated indignantly.

“Since when?” demanded Harry.

“For a while but I suppose it was a bit more blatant after Ron’s birthday in sixth year,” she replied, blushing a bit.

“He was still dating Lavender!”

“Oh, and you weren’t flirting with Ginny while she was with Dean? It wasn’t as though we were snogging! It was just…little comments. Brushing hands. Lingering glances. That type of thing.”

“No way,” said Harry.

“We typically didn’t do it in front of you.”

Harry stopped for a moment. That response sparked a whole slew of other questions in his mind but he shook his head and kept to the topic at hand.

“So Ron’s not bothering you?”

“No, my boyfriend, that I have been separated from for ten months, is not bothering me,” she replied, rolling her eyes yet again. “On the rare occasion that I’m not in the mood and I want him to actually stop, I say, ‘Ron stop’ and he always does.” Harry recognized that voice as her standard no-nonsense tone.

“How is that different from what I heard?”

Now Hermione gave him a look that he did recognize - the one that she used when she thought one of her friends was being an idiot. “The tone should be a big giveaway.”

“So what’s the flirting sound like?”

“It sounds like what I said earlier.”

“It was too muffled for me to get the full context. Please Hermione?”

“I’m not doing it for you!”

“How am I to know the difference?”

“You don’t need to!”

“Hermione. I feel like such a git. I was really just trying to look out for you and instead, I accused my best mate of treating you terribly when I know how much he loves you. I just don’t want to make that mistake again.”

Hermione just shook her head.

“Come on! Do it for Ron. Ron can’t know I doubted him and I’ll just feel better when I know the difference!”

Hermione exhaled sharply. “Fine. I say ‘Stop, Ron.’”

The words were spoken in a light, giggly, and sultry tone that belonged to someone else but came out of Hermione’s mouth.

Harry stared at her.

Hermione stared back.

“What the hell was that?”

Hermione now gave an angry snort that sounded exactly like her.

“No, really,” said Harry, shaking his head. “I don’t know who that was but it wasn’t you.”

“Just because you haven’t witnessed it before doesn’t mean it’s not me.”

“Hermione, outside of last year, the amount of time we’ve spent apart is measured in weeks at most. There can’t be an entire chunk of your personality that I’m missing.”

“Well apparently there is.”

“So you’re just an entirely different person with Ron when I’m not around?” Harry asked.

“No,” insisted Hermione. “I’m the same person but with some additional traits that you aren’t familiar with. I know there are things that Ginny sees that Ron and I don’t…” Harry grimaced. “Not - oh gross, you know what I mean.”

“Apart from that, Ginny sees the exact same things you two do,” Harry proclaimed.

“That’s impossible. I was there at the end of our sixth year. Ginny had fun Harry and we got the other version.”

“Well, damn Hermione, I’m so sorry that I wasn’t a delight to be around when I was being hunted by - ”

“Ugh, Harry, now you’re being impossible. The whole thing with Ginny at that time was brand new and fun. It’s the same thing with Ron and I. It still feels new to be open and vulnerable with him in a way I never could before and it’s fun. All I meant was that Ginny makes you happy in a way we don’t but it’s the same with Ron and me.”

“Except I don’t try to be some sort of weird sexy version of myself.”

In that moment, Harry realized just how much he had matured since he was 15 and that he was definitely getting better at recognizing other people’s emotions. Because after only five seconds, he realized that he made a terrible mistake with no clear path to redemption.

“Hermione, I don’t mean it’s weird like, weird-weird. It’s just for me, you aren’t or you, um…”

“Not only do I have pizza, I found this one wandering about so I brought her in. Looks rather ragged, figured we should feed her up,” said Ron, bursting into the room with two pizzas and Ginny trailing him, rolling her eyes at his lame joke.

It was a close second for the happiest Harry had ever been to see him.

Ron set the pizzas on the table and looked between Harry and Hermione, who were still glaring at one another. “What’s going on?”

Hermione turned her gaze from Harry to Ron and her eyes darkened. She crossed the room in three steps, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him down to meet her lips. Harry looked away from the two of them while also carefully avoiding Ginny’s eyes. He could feel her staring at him with questions written across her face.

Hermione let the hand gripping Ron’s collar trace down his chest to right below his belt before she grasped his hand and turned. “Upstairs now,” she ordered, pulling him behind her. Ron followed her wordlessly, looking gobsmacked but ecstatic.

“What the fuck was that?” asked Ginny, watching them go, amusement in her voice. Harry opened the pizza box, ignoring the question.

“Harry?” asked Ginny, now looking more curious.

“I’m really not sure,” Harry said. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Uh, okay,” said Ginny. She watched Harry grab two beers out of the icebox. As he slid one across the table to her, a thump and a moan came from overhead.

“Ugh, did they not do a silencing charm?” said Ginny, crinkling her nose.

“In fact, I wouldn’t put it past her to have used an amplifying charm,” said Harry. “I believe I may have offended her.”

“Oh Ron, don’t stop!”

“Correction,” said Harry. “I am now certain that I offended her.”

“I don’t even want to know,” Ginny shook her head, taking her wand and silencing the kitchen.

An hour later, Ron came back in the kitchen in his flannel pajama bottoms. He shifted the leftover pizza into a single box and closed it up before opening the icebox and grabbing two beers. He pushed the door open with his elbow and started to back out but stopped short when he saw Harry and Ginny still seated at the table.

“Harry,” Ron said with a lopsided grin. “I have no idea what the two of you were talking about before I got back but thanks for looking out for me, mate.”

#romione fanfic #ROMIONE #Ron and Hermione #ron x hermione #hermione granger #Harry Potter #trio friendship #hp fanfic

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beauty-and-passion · 3 years

Note

Heya!

So I remember reading your post about Eurovision a while ago, and since I'm now hooked on a certain collection of songs, I was thinking...

Would you think 'Zitti E Buoni' by Måneskin could be a Remus song, and 'Voilà' by Barbara Pravi a Roman song? Or do you have some ideas on any other Eurovision songs that would fit the Sides?

Just wondering whether you'd like to share some thoughts on this, but no pressure of course! As always, I absolutely love your theories and posts, it always brightens up my day to read :D

This will be a very self indulgent post.

First of all: “no pressure”?! I am HYPED to share my thoughts on this! And this is why it took me so long to reply to this ask: I’ve spent the whole time thinking about which song could fit which Side, going through the last editions, reading the lyrics, searching among my favourites...

So yes, this post will be a bit long. But hey, there is also good music and maybe, by listening to it, you will find something you haven’t heard before! :D

(Of course, in order to make this post understandable, I will translate all lyrics, but the songs aren’t all in English. In any case, every song has a link, so you can hear it on Youtube.)

And yes, I know there are billions of other Eurovision songs, but for the sake of “not making this post endless” (as if it won’t be already), I will stop at Eurovision 2014. If you all have other songs to propose for a Side, please feel free to add them and explain why! :D

And now...

Which Eurovision songs would fit the Sides

_____________________________

EUROVISION 2021

Måneskin - Zitti e buoni

(Here the Eurovision performance because it’s just this good)

This song is PERFECT for Remus and I was a fool for not realizing it sooner. It's all about showing how different you are, embracing your uniqueness despite what others may think. Everything about this song screams “REMUS” so thank you, my dear, for opening my eyes and making me realize it.

They don't know what I'm talking about You are dirty, bruh, of mud Cig's yellow in between the fingers I'm walking with a cig Pardon me, but I really do believe That I can make this jump And even if the street is uphill I'm training for this now

The first line is already 200% Remus: they (aka the other Sides) don’t know what Remus is talking about. Remus is impossible to understand. Remus is weird, strange, dangerous - according to moral standards.

However, despite the other people’s thoughts, Remus still shows a high self-esteem - just like in his playlist. The others may not have faith in him, there could be obstacles on his way, but he still believes he will achieve his goals.

And good evening, ladies and gentlemen Bring out the actors You better hold on to your balls You better keep quiet and be good Here people are weird, like drug dealers Too many nights I've spent locked outside Now I'm kicking these doorways Staring up like climbers So sorry mum if I'm always out, but

“You better hold on to your balls” is a translation of the original italian line “Vi conviene toccarvi i coglioni”. This sentence is a more vulgar form of the English expression “knocking on wood”, something you preventively do to un-jinx stuff.

However, “knocking on wood” isn’t as strong as the italian expression, so I chose this translation that is more literal, but also more vulgar. It kept the original vibe more, it fits Remus more and it gives a stronger meaning to the whole thing. The singer isn’t just saying “beware of what you’re doing”, but he’s saying “get ready, shit if about to hit the fan”. It’s more powerful - and well, Remus would love this. It’s his time now, so the audience (the other Sides/Thomas) should "keep quiet and be good”.

I also really like the “Here people are weird, like drug dealers”, because it can refer to the dark sides in general. This is Remus’ show, so the Core Sides and Thomas should shut up. They are now in the Dark Sides’ territory, full of weird, sketchy people, morally gray villains. All things he loves, enjoys and that he definitely considers as compliments.

“Too many nights I've spent locked outside / Now I'm kicking these doorways” is another great line, because “being locked outside” is the perfect metaphor for Remus’ situation. He IS locked outside, he has been kept far away from Thomas, stifled by him, unable to fully express himself. And so he releases his frustration by kicking the doors that are shutting him down. That’s just so Remus I. LOVE. IT.

I am out of my mind, but I'm not like the others And you are out of your mind, but you're not like the others We are out of our minds, but we're not like the others We are out of our minds, but we're not like the others

This chorus is PERFECT! First of all: “I am out of my mind” is basically just like this line from DWIT:

[Patton]: Imaginative sure is a- a kind word for him. [Duke]: I agree! How about... DEMENTED?

But also: Remus doesn’t give a damn. He’s not like the others and he’s SO DAMN PROUD of it. Just like he is in canon and in his playlist.

He goes even further, by saying that “you” are also out of your mind. And who this “you” might be, if not the big man himself?

[Duke]: If I am awful... then so is Thomas.

Just like in DWIT, Remus welcomes Thomas’ weirdness with open arms. If he and Thomas are both insane and different, why hiding it and not embracing this difference? They are unique.

I've written pages and pages I've seen salt, then tears These men in cars Don't climb the rapids I've written on a tombstone "In my house there's no God" But if you find time's meaning You'll climb back up from your oblivion And there's no wind stopping The natural power From the right point of view You feel the intoxication of the wind With wax wings on your back I'll go look for that high If you wanna stop me try again Try cutting my head off Because

Woah, this part has a lot. There is:

Remus' creativity as a flow ("I've written pages and pages")

Remus seeing how different he is compared to others ("These men in cars / Don't climb the rapids" while he was ready to “make this jump” despite the obstacles on his way)

Religion because of course - and especially Remus rejecting it ("I've written on a tombstone / "In my house there's no God".")

And, most importantly, there is a nice reference to Icarus' myth. According to myth, Icarus escaped from the Labyrinth of the Minotaur, by flying on wax wings. But he flew too close to the sun, his wings melted and he fell to his death.

This has multiple meanings. First of all, it shows how stubborn Remus is: he could use simpler, more stable ways to reach his goals. But he's Remus, he's creative and he's different, he would rather use wax wings (aka more complex, unordinary means) to reach his goal. Also, it's a proof of his resolution: just like Icarus, his wax wings could melt and he could fail. And yet, he's so set in his decision, he's ready to do anything to succeed.

This last point is particularly evident in the following lines: "If you wanna stop me try again / Try cutting my head off". It's impossible to stop him, just like it was impossible to send him away or stop him from talking in canon.

Everything in this song is just HIM.

Unfortunately people talk They talk, they don't know what they talk about Bring me where I float Cause I lack air here

Once again, the people are the Core Sides: they talk about how he's evil and dangerous and useless. But they don't know what they're talking about. They're (metaphorically) suffocating him with their prejudices, that's why he asks "bring me where I float": he wants to express himself freely, to escape these biases.

Also: water. And with the whole octopus as his animal, it’s just even more fitting.

Moral of the story: this song is perfect for him, Remus should know Italian just to sing it - and he would love the glam rock style of Maneskin as well.

_____________________________

Barbara Pravi - Voilà

I don’t know how you did it, dear, but these two songs are PERFECT. Zitti e buoni is perfectly Remus, Voilà is perfectly Roman. I feel blessed.

Listen to me, me, the half singer Talk about me, to your loved ones, to your friends Tell them about this little girl with black eyes and crazy dreams What I want is to write stories that you will hear about That's all

Roman, is that you? Because this is you. This is ALL you.

Roman is a "half singer": he cannot sing like he want, he cannot express himself in full. He has rules, laws, morals that forces him to quiet down and bent his creativity.

And, just like a tragic hero, Roman asks that his story will not be forgotten, that others will know about him, his unfortunate life, his "crazy dreams" and especially his passion: writing stories "that you will hear about".

This line in particular reminds me of this part from Recipe for Me:

And still, I continue to write because I have more dreams to fulfill Tales I hoped to tell when I was younger Ideas that I haven't made yet, but I will I'll find my way with my will

The concept is the same in Voilà. Roman is a "controlled" Creativity, surrounded by rules and morals that shut him, but he wants to be heard, he wants to tell stories.

And that’s just it. This is what creativity is all about: talking, puring out its ideas, as loud and freely as possible.

Voilà, voilà, voilà, here is who I am Here I am, even if I'm scared as I'm naked, yes Here I am in the noise and in silence

I love how this song is a way for Roman to express himself, to show himself despite everything. He's like this, he's a "half Creativity", he's scared, he's not perfect. But here he is, "in the noise and in silence". Because your creativity is always here with you, no matter where you are or what you are doing: it will never leave you and it will never stop asking to be heard.

Look at me, or at least what's left of it Look at me, before I hate myself What can I say that another hasn't already said? I don't have much, but I place here what I do have Voilà

Aaaah, yes, I like to wake up with the strong smell of Roman's angst in the morning.

Roman seeing himself as something broken? Perfect. We want more of the angsty boi. Even the fans of King Creativity may read this line as Roman seeing himself as “half of a whole”!

And, again I love how despite feeling broken and hating it, he’s still ready to give everything he has. This is the true essence of the concept of creativity.

Also, why not adding a little more angst?

I want to be loved, because I don't know myself how to like the shape of me

This is perfect, because it reconnects to the first episode, when Roman said his goal would be to love himself first. He never reached this goal after almost 30 episodes - and this line might offer an answer on why: because Roman doesn’t know how. He hates himself so much, he doesn’t know how to love himself.

And that’s probably why he needs another person to love: because it’s easier to love someone else, rather than himself.

Voilà, voilà, voilà, here is who I am Here I am, even if it's the end as I'm naked Here I am in the noise and in rage too Finally, look at me and my eyes and my hands All I have is here, it's my face, it's my scream Here I am, here I am, here I am

This last chorus is awesome: the quintessential of Roman’s desperation, of showing himself, of screaming hoping to be heard by anyone. Unlike Remus who is unstoppable and doesn't care about others, Roman cares. He needs a public, he needs to be heard, otherwise he would lose himself.

And I seriously love how these two songs both have the same idea (embrace yourself and your uniqueness), but talk aboout this theme in such different ways - and yet so fitting for the twins... they are just GREAT.

(On a side note: this song is so dramatically French Roman would love it and sing it with the same passion Barbara used and I would love to see that.)

_____________________________

EUROVISION 2019

Bilal Hassani - Roi

Come on... Roi. Roi. Considering that "roi" means "king" in French, who could possibly be the Side I would associate this song with? Maybe the Side who already has a King in his playlist?

Nope, this song is for Remus.

Why Remus? The reason is very simple and you can just notice by reading the first verses:

I am me And I know I will always be I am free Sure I am inventing my life Don't ask me who I am

I am The same since I was very little And in spite of looks, opinions I cry, I go out and I laugh

You put me in a box Want me to be like you I don't follow the codes People are disturbed a lot At the end of the day You canno change me, boo! So, let me fly

This song overflows with confidence, the lines talk about someone who is free to be whoever he wants, who has always been the same since he was a child, who is rejected by others and doesn't give a damn, who doesn't "follow the codes" and refuses to be changed by them.

This isn't Roman, but this is the quintessential of Remus. This song is everything about him, from his confidence to his desire to be free.

And the chorus is even clearer:

I'm not rich but i'm shining bright I can't see my kingdom now When I dream, I am a king And I know o-o-ow Even now o-o-ow You try to take me down You cannot break me nah nah

That's him, that's Remus.

On a side note, if Remus also has his "King song", that would strengthen the connection with Roman, since they both would have a song about "being/feeling like a king".

And this song is Roi, king in French. Since I think Remus would definitely know French, this makes Roi an even more fitting choice, doesn’t it?

Who are we ? When we hide, when we fight for free Only god can judge you and me We did not choose what we are

Not only there is a nice religious reference, but these lines are a also a reference to the LGBT community: they hide, they fight, they didn't choose to be like that (no matter what idiots might think) and only God can judge them, not other, very flawled (and, honestly, very pathetic too) humans.

So, if we consider it, there is also a hidden "fuck society" and a "I am gay and proud to be" and those are both very Remus things.

_____________________________

EUROVISION 2018

Saara Aalto - Monster

I would associate this song with Thomas. And, specifically, to Thomas at the end of the series. Why?

Here's why:

So tonight I'm making friends with all the creatures That are hiding there under my bed

I ain't gonna hold on to these monsters anymore Now I'm gonna let in all the light Tear down the walls At my worst, I found my army strong All the demons are gone You can try and scare me now But I ain't scared no more I ain't scared no more

At the end of the series, Thomas would have befriended all the Sides, especially the "monsters hiding under his bed", the dark bois.

The "final Thomas" will tear down every wall between him and his Sides and will stop hiding/rejecting them. This will make him stronger, because the Sides will be his helpers, parts of him, his friends. He won't be scared anymore by Remus, suspicious towards Janus, afraid of Virgil or terrified by Orange.

"All the demons are gone": the dark sides won't be villains anymore, but friends. And they would help him be stronger.

It's my life I'm ready to lead it I'm gonna roll the dice You better believe it

This part is great as well, because it proves another interesting detail: that Thomas is growing up. He's taking life into his own hands, he's leading it. No more "Oh no, I don't know what to choose between callback and wedding!". He's more confident, he's stronger, he's more mature.

_____________________________

Hovig - Gravity

Honestly, I think this song can be something all Sides might sing to Thomas. It's basically a testament of how much they care about him:

Let me be your heart and your company I'll let you be the one who can lean on me I'll catch you when you fall When you're falling free Let me be, be your gravity

But the imagery just screams "ROMAN" so much, I can't help but think that yes, this is a great Roman song and it's all from Roman to Thomas.

I mean...

I can be your hero I can be your fantasy Oh, I can be the cure Yeah, let me be Your remedy

He IS Thomas' hero, so how can I ignore this? And he's also the embodiment of Thomas' fantasies, he's the wings that make Thomas fly.

Let me be your wings When you're flying high I'm gonna raise you up 'til you touch the sky I'll catch you when you fall When you're falling free Let me be, be your gravity

It's just pure love for Thomas and it begs me to being a Roman song, so... here it is. A Roman song dedicated to Thomas.

_____________________________

Eleni Foureira - Fuego

Listen, not only Roman would rock this song, but also dance like a maniac while singing it just like Eleni and no, you can't change my mind.

Just look at how this woman sings and dnaces without never losing a beat until the end. And please consider that on the Eurovision stage there is no autotune: this was her voice and he delivered a great performance without cracks.

So yes, I want Roman singing this.

But the lines are great for him as well! I mean...

Take a dive Into my eyes Yeah the eyes of lioness Feel the power They ain’t lying.

and

Coz I’m way up and I ain’t comin’ down, keep taking me higher Ah yeah ah yeah ah yeah yeah ah yeah ah yeah Coz I’m burning up and I ain’t coolin’ down, yeah I got the the fire Ah yeah ah yeah ah yeah yeah ah yeah ah yeah

Fuego

Someone fiery and passionate, powerful eyes, pride... yep, this is definitely something Roman would sing. Especially because of the fire. Roman is a fiery guy, so fire is very him.

______________________

Yianna Terzi - Oniro Mou

I actually already talked about this song in an old post and I still haven't changed my mind: this song is all about Janus telling Thomas how much he cares about him.

If you look into the depth of me You revive my dream And if you look into my heart I will take you into my arms How would you like me to say this I would die for you I would give my life for you End and beginning, you are everything

Not only the "take you into my arms" reminds me of Change (" I’ll be able to be honest, capable / Of holding you in my arms without letting you fall"), but the last three lines are so incredibly loving and honest I can't think of anyone else but Janus while reading them. Thomas is his end and beginning, Janus would literally die for Thomas and give his life for him.

So, well, it's just very fitting. And I love how dramatic this song is. It doesn't have the jazzy vibe Janus loves, but the drama is all here.

______________

Francesco Gabbani - Occidentali’s Karma

Do you remember how hard it was to analyze Algorhythm from Logan's playlist? Every line has a meaning and explaining every single one of them took me an eternity.

Well, this song is basically like Algorhythm, but with more philosophy and billions to references. You see the performance on the stage and ahahah, there's a funny dancing gorilla, what a cute song. Then you read the lyrics and BOOM.

I will not analyze this song here, because every line would require at least two paragraphs to explain it. And this post is already long enough as it is, but please, search the meaning of this song: there are references to Shakespeare, Heraclitus, buddhism, Andy Warhol, Desmond Morris and his book "The Naked Ape", Marx, Nietzsche and so on. Basically every line is a reference, a play on words or both at the same time.

What about the main theme? The main theme is the human and especially the contemporary human. In fact, "Occidentali" (Westerners) does not refer to the geographical place, aka Europeans/Americans, but to the western cultural model.

So the title “Occidentali’s Karma” (Westerners Karma) is an insight on contemporary society, on our values and on how, despite how many things changed, we are not so different from our ancestors after all.

This song might seem a perfect choice for Janus. There's a critique of society, there are philosophers and plays on words.

But I’m not too convinced, because even if Janus likes all those things, the number of references is just SO HUGE only a real nerd can find, recognize and appreciate them all.

So yes, this is a Logan song. A song he would probably listen and analyze, enjoying the whole process of knowing more things, finding out all the hidden meanings, the plays on words (we all know you like puns, ya big nerd) and the critical insight. After all, Algorhythm WAS a critique of society, so Logan should appreciate it.

_______________

EUROVISION 2014

Twin Twin - Moustache

Not only the band is called Twin Twin but, as if this wasn't screaming "Creativitwins" enough, the title of the song is "Moustache".

Come on, you know who is the Side perfect for this song.

Psyche! It's both Roman and Remus.

Something is missing, but what? I want this, I want that When I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming in dollars, every day I'm wearing a different suit.

This is very Roman: Roman wants everything (let's not forget Primadonna from his playlist), Roman’s dreams are big. And Roman is Creativity, so he "wears a different suit" every day - aka he directs his creative flow in different stories/songs.

I want this, I want that there's never enough for me it's like this, it's like that there's always something I don't have

This part strongly reminds me of Primadonna. Roman wants everything, every day. He's never satisfied.

And then, Remus busts in and...

I wanted a moustache, a moustache

So my headcanon is that this starts as a Roman's song, all about wanting everything because "there's always something I don't have", until Remus pops out during the chorus and says all he wants is his gorgeous moustache.

*chef’s kiss* Perfection.

But I know what you want, dear audience. You want some angst, don't you?

Fine, so what if the "I want a moustache" line is Roman's subtle way to say that he wants the same freedom his brother has? After all, Roman has "everything one could ever dream of", "I have friends too / even some who like me". All he needs is more creative freedom and the moustache is a subtle way to say that.

_______________

Aarzemnieki - Cake to Bake

This is the ultimate song for all Patton's fans, because it combines Patton's love for baking to Patton being an absolute disaster at it.

Also, it's an incredibly cute song.

I melted the ice of the polar caps Found the raiders of the lost ark Solved a case for the genius from Baker Street Helped to clean the Central Park I created the plan for the Chinese wall Went to desert, made it rain Swam through a shark tank bloodily Found Atlantis, by the way But today

The first verse is already awesome: Patton did a lot of great stuff, even impossible stuff ("solved a case for the genius from Baker Street" is a very nice reference to the Losing My Motivation episode).

But today, he has to face the most difficult task of them all:

I’ve got a cake to bake, and got no clue at all I’ve got a cake to bake, and haven’t done that before Don’t be proud, mate, please, don’t bother Go, come on and ask your mother How to bake, how to bake, bake that cake

Not only this makes me smile every time, but I can perfectly imagine Patton in a kitchen, with all the ingredients in front of him, everything ready and set... and he’s just absolutely lost. Should he use a spoon to stir the flour? And how can he open the vanilla beans? He doesn’t even know how to turn the stove on.

And so, he decides it’s time to ask someone else to help him. Bonus points if the mother is Janus. Also because he is a mom AND a witch, so

Also, this line:

Mix some dough, add some love, let it bake, wait for it

It's SO Patton, because the main ingredient of his recipes IS love! And cumin. And sometimes spit, depending on what he's making: pasta for Roman or some toasts for his angsty teen son.

_____________________________

Carl Espen - Silent Storm

At first, I thought this was a Logan song: someone who feels empty and alone, who has a storm inside but it's a silent storm, because Logan would never express his feelings in any way.

But there are these lines:

And there’s a silent storm inside me Looking for a home I hope that someone’s gonna find me And say that I belong I’ll wait forever and a lifetime To find I’m not alone There’s a silent storm inside me And someday I’ll be calm Someday I’ll be calm

And maybe it's just me, but this reminds me so much of Virgil. He has a storm inside, his own symbol is a storm. He's searching for a home, after leaving the dark sides. And he hopes someone will say he belongs - Thomas will say he belongs, that Virgil is part of him and of the famILY.

And he's willing to wait all the time, just to get that tiny bit of recognition and acceptance. And, who knows, maybe when he'll get it, the storm inside him will calm down and he will finally be at peace.

____________________

Tinkara Kovač - Round and Round

I don't know if I'm insane (or just extremely self indulgent), but this song is basically Janus during the wedding/callback saga.

Uncertain between worlds Circle after circle, we're trapped in time When you're already familiar with every storm You're playful, and yet you're alone

The first verse sets the time and situation. Thomas is living an uncertain life (just like every actor), trapped in the same cycle, with nothing new coming: same job, same opportunities, no big chances, nothing stable. He's "familiar with every storm", aka Virgil has been accepted. Thomas is happy, but he's alone. No one is actually on his side, not even the Sides themselves. He's not taking care of himself enough, he's too ready to drop everything for his friends, he's spreading himself too thin.

And now I'm gonna show you how to breathe I'm gonna show you how to live I'm gonna hold your heart in hand I'm gonna make you understand

This can be a declaration from Janus: he's tired of working in the shadows, he wants to step up and help Thomas in person. And these lines make me think of him, because of how "firm" (and kinda villain-y) they sound.

He wants to show Thomas how to live, aka what are the best decisions to make). He's going to "hold your heart in hand", aka to have Thomas wrapped around his fingers, to take control and steer him with a strong, confident grip, away from the decisions he considers bad, into making him a lot stronger than before.

And, finally, he wants to make him understand. So if the lines before sounded more like a villain’s plan, this last line adds something more. Janus wants to explain to Thomas why he's doing this, why his decisions are better, why Thomas should trust him.

If we think about it, this is everything Janus tried to do since CLBG: he wrapped Thomas (and the other Sides) around his fingers and made them play the courtroom scenario he built, he tried to steer Thomas away from the selfless decision of going to the wedding. And he tried to make him understand why, with the pinata metaphor.

You don't know you don't know Is it love is it hate What are we changing (What are we doing) You don't know you don't but Can you feel it inside Feel the roses Feel the pride (Can you believe it)

Thomas doesn't know a lot of things. Does he really know what love is? Or hate? Or what he's actually doing, by listening to his Morality? What is Janus doing?

[Deceit]: What am I doing here right now, Thomas? Am I the snake come to trick you into sinning, or have you had your mind made up since the moment you received the news about the callback? (SvS)

Thomas doesn't know a lot of things. But deep down, he knows what he wants to do. He should "feel the roses / feel the pride", both things associated with Roman. He is the one Thomas should listen to. And Janus is hinting it.

Is a moment just a circle Just a song you play on repeat? If we can't change how we're living Isn't life just a lie that we feed

Janus is expressing his frustration here: is Thomas' life doomed to always be the same, a cycle, a "song you play on repeat"? Can't he really change his life because of his selflessness? Will he really miss all the opportunities life offers him, in order to always be a good person?

What's the point of living, then? This wouldn't be life, but "a lie that we feed": instead of living his own life, Thomas would submit it to what others want/need, in order to always be present for them.

This is basically a huge warning from Janus: don't fall into this cycle, break free, I can make you free, listen to me and I will make you understand what is wrong about it.

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

Text

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

Popcorn ceilings were simultaneously the worst and the best. The crumbs and clusters that fell from above when the upstairs neighbors stomped around or dropped a heavy textbook, shaking the room, were annoying to constantly pick up, especially when they covered the bed. But on mornings like this when you were wide awake at an unfathomable hour, you could stare at the patterns hidden in the ceiling to occupy your mind. You found faces and animals and even the occasional word among the speckles. The game did wonders to occupy your thoughts, letting the time tick by without you constantly checking the hour. However, the nervous churn of your stomach never fully disappeared.

Saturdays were supposed to be fun. A day of relaxation. Even if you were finishing up a project or homework, there was no rush to it. Each step could be taken at a pace that kept you calm and under control. Afterwards, you were free to do whatever your heart felt drawn towards. You could see a movie, take a walk in the park, or even stay cooped up in your dorm to binge the latest TV show. But today would not be one of recreation free from stress. Today, you were meeting up with Minseok. And there was an excitement to that, an anticipation, like you were standing in line to go backstage to meet your favorite band. But there was also a less joyful feeling underneath. Though surely your stomach was empty by now, the nauseated roared on, threatening to overspill.

“(y/n)?”

Flipping over to your side, you looked over at the other bed in the room. Willa had awoken and sat up, her hair sticking up in all directions like a cartoon. One hand rubbed the sleepiness out of a still closed eye while the other stretched out into the air as far as it would go. A long yawn stopped any other words from escaping so you waited it out. “How long have you been awake?”

You shrugged with your one exposed shoulder. “I don’t know. A while.”

“Yeesh. It’s Saturday. It’s like the holy day of sleeping in.”

You smiled at her exaggeration. “My brain just decided it was done resting.”

“Plans you’re looking forward to, perhaps?”

The question was innocent enough, if a little cheeky. It was Saturday, after all, and you did have the tendency to get so worked up over things that you couldn’t sleep, like a child on Christmas Eve unable to dream in anticipation of the next morning’s surprise. But that didn’t stop the swift panic that made your heart jump.

“Just a project I really need to get started on,” you lied smoothly as you sat up, turning so your legs now dangled off the edge of the bed. Well, it wasn’t really that much of a lie. But wasn’t it a lie when you omitted part of the truth on purpose? Fingernails digging into the cotton sheets that covered the standard dorm mattress that made your back ache, you contemplated spilling the beans ricocheting in your stomach. You were spared making a decision.

“Speaking of projects,” Willa yawned. “I’m stuck in another group where I’m sure I’ll be doing most of the work.”

You raised an eyebrow, knowing your friend’s history all too well. “And why do you think you’ll be doing all the work?”

“Because no one seemed interested in what I had to say and trying to get a time to get together was nearly impossible.”

Definite warning signs, but not unusual in a college environment. “Okay. So, make sure you get your work done. Anyone who doesn’t get their part done, take they’re name off of it. No one learns if things come easy and are done for them.”

Willa frowned. “So, you’re saying worry only about myself?”

“Sort of.” You sighed. This was your big issue with group projects. Yes, they were supposed to teach you to work with others (because there wasn’t enough of that in secondary school, apparently) but some professors didn’t care if you tried to get the others to work when they didn’t want or care to and the group suffered for it grade-wise. College in the classroom wasn’t supposed to be about life lessons – it was supposed to be about the material. “Continue to try to get them to cooperate, but if you see after a few times that it’s pointless, drop it. I’m sure someone else in your group will help out, too.”

The pout on Willa’s lips told you that she wasn’t completely on board with your suggestion. “Yeah, okay. I guess I’ll wait it out.”

“Good. In the end, it’s up to you, though.” Jumping out of bed, you headed over to the bathroom you shared with the room next door. After conducting your morning business, you went to the tiny closet and got dressed. “Want to get breakfast?”

“I can’t,” Willa said regretfully. “I’ve got other plans.”

“Okay,” you said, not the least bit hurt. You had offered out of simple politeness. The more time you spent in your friend’s presence, the more tempted you would be to let out the incoherent thoughts that refused to organize themselves in your head. Yanking on a sneaker, you grabbed your keys and bag, waving to Willa as you hurried out the door.

The student union was nearly deserted. Most who lived on campus were spending this weekend morning logically, which meant the corporate food choices were closed. Thankfully, the university-sponsored coffee shop was open. Already you were being hit with the smells of fresh pastries and dripping espresso. The cashier greeted you with a sleepy smile and waited patiently for you to make a decision. Once that was settled and you’d paid the tab, you walked over to an empty two-person table and sat down. It was only a minute or so later that the barista brought out your coffee and a warm scone. The berries baked within the dough were soft and juicy, leaking onto the surrounding pastry, which in turn soaked up the flavor in an addicting manner. You smiled to yourself with each bite.

Pulling you out of the bliss, however, was your phone screen lighting up from your peripheral. With a squint, you picked it up and read the message as you chewed. It was from Minseok, once again confirming your ten o’clock meet up time in the library. According to the digital clock located at the top of your screen, you still had about thirty minutes before you needed to head over to the library. You set the phone face down on the table without replying. The thought of seeing him again in a mere few minutes was surging you more awake then the caffeine ever could. But you knew you shouldn’t be feeling this way.

The thing was, nothing was wrong with your relationship with Erik. He was sweet, supportive, caring. He listened and paid attention to you. He was a relationship dream. But it suddenly didn’t feel like enough anymore. Were you simply getting bored? Had you peeked over the fence and seen a greener field? It felt more complicated than that, but you couldn’t put your finger on the cause. Shaking your head, you sat back in the chair and sipped on the cooled off coffee. Maybe you should cancel, make up some excuse that you were sick or that something else had come up. Or maybe you should just tell him the truth that it was a bad idea to spend time with him and his child-like laugh.

You were absolutely and utterly weak. In a flash, you were picking up your phone and sending a text that you would see him there. You lasted about five more minutes sitting in that shop before you were guzzling down the rest of your breakfast and heading out of the union to the other side of the courtyard where the library sat. It was still early, but it didn’t feel like a bad idea to go ahead and get started – or, at least, look like you’d gotten started. However, you were beaten to the punch.

Sitting in one of the old donated chairs by the front windows of the library, Minseok flipped slowly through a book, engrossed in its pages. You couldn’t read the title to know what it was about, but the athlete on the front gave you a clue that it might be about soccer. He saw you the second you stepped inside, closing the book and tossing it in his bag. “Hey, you’re early!” The smile spread quickly across his face, letting you know that your arrival well before the allotted time was not discouraged in the slightest.

A strange, gripping warmth shrouded over you. Like a hug in the middle of a harsh winter, you melted, feeling safe and comforted. An invisible rope made of steel cable was reeling you in closer to Minseok. No saw or knife in the world could sever it, you were sure. Coming here to the library felt like a final choice. Turning back would no longer be an option to you. A dark sea lied before you, but on the horizon, a possible promise of Treasure Island.

“Are you ready?”

You blinked, having gotten lost in your own metaphor. “Yeah,” you said with a smile. “Ready to learn about math. Yay.” There was absolutely no enthusiasm in your sarcastic cheer, but it made Minseok laugh. The two of you found a round table near the back of the second floor where the reference books were housed.

“So,” he beamed at you as soon as you were all unpacked, “to finish my thought from last time….”

“Yes! You had an idea!”

“Unless you were able to come up with something you wanted to do?” he offered. You snorted as your reply. He laughed. “I had a feeling.”

“So, then what’s your idea?” you challenged.

“Marketing.”

You frowned, confused. “Marketing?” You didn’t see the connection.

“Yeah.” Looking around, Minseok motioned with his head. “Come on.” You followed him away from the table, through several aisles of books until you came to a small corner where worn and peeling covers gave clues to the context between the pages. The titles you could read talked about marketing statistics and “eye-catching strategies”. Pulling a book off the shelf, he held it out for you to see.

In the Masses Eye.

“What’s this?”

“It��s called old fashioned research.”

You rolled your eyes. “I understand that part. I meant marketing... and this book in particular.”

“I think marketing might be your best angle to go with on this project,” he explained. “There’s a correlation between what people see and what makes them buy a product. A bad picture that isn’t well thought out can deter sales. According to statistics, at least.”

The hinges in your jaw came loose, leaving the bottom half of your mouth hanging open. “How did you come up with that?”

A pink hue flushed on his cheeks. He even seemed to shrink in on himself as his shoulders rose and he leaned up against the shelf. “I like things like this.”

You erupted in giggles, covering your mouth and hiding your face with the book. What was he doing to you? Collecting yourself and searching for a distraction, you pulled a few more books out of their spots and flipped through them without purpose. But soon your eyes caught on to what Minseok was originally saying. Certain pictures stuck out to you, making you stop and take a second look. It was exactly the effect you tried to achieve with your own shots. You smiled, delighted.

“See what I’m talking about?” Minseok said quietly. He didn’t say it with a cocky tone or snark, just simply inquiring.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Yeah, I do. In fact-” A blaring song rang out from your pocket. “Shoot!” You struggled to pull your phone out, having forgotten to put the ringer on silent. It was Erik calling you. “Hello?”

“Hey, babe!” Erik greeted cheerfully. “I know I said I was going to be busy all day, but we’re taking a break so I thought you might want to grab an early lunch.”

“Oh, um.” You looked up at Minseok. He waited patiently during your conversation, lips sucked in and his gaze set on you. But there was also a tension in his stance that you couldn’t understand. It was only now hitting you that you never had that conversation with Erik. You never told him that you were even doing this extra credit, never mind who was helping you. Right now did not seem like a good time to go into those details. “I… can’t. I’m kind of already knee-deep in this project and if I stop now then I’ll lose traction. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I understand. Maybe we can grab something tomorrow?”

“Um, sure. I’ll let you know.” You hung up without saying goodbye, needing desperately to end the awkward exchange. Quickly turning the ringer to silent, you clumsily shoved the device back in your pocket. An odd tension hung in the air between you and Minseok, neither sure of how to continue the earlier conversation.

“So, was that your boyfriend?” Minseok finally asked in a quiet tone. He made “boyfriend” sound like a curse word.

“Erik,” you confirmed with a nod. “He’s an artist. Right now he’s working on the sets for the theatre department.” You weren’t sure why that information needed to be shared, but it was out before you could think.

Minseok bobbed his head, but you had a feeling he was only half-listening. “You guys been together long?”

“A few years.”

“Ah.”

Something along the lines of defeat seemed to glaze over his eyes as they shifted to the floor. You didn’t like seeing him in this state. A pain manifested itself in your chest. You certainly preferred the happier, more enthusiastic Minseok who bounced on his feet in constant excitement and tilted his head to amplify his attention. That constant feeling of guilt had done a one-eighty on you. Now instead of feeling it towards Erik, you felt it for the person in front of you. On their own, your fingers reached out. They hovered in the empty space, unsure of the right move. You longed to caress his face in comfort. But that would be inappropriate; crossing a line that should have been a mile wide. Yet stepping over it seemed as easy as stepping over a shallow creek.

You willed the power to pull back and let your hand drop to your side. Minseok, however, still managed to take some contact, brushing his fingers against the back of your hand as he took the books from you. An electric shiver ran up your spine. When his skin was gone, you almost whimpered. You questioned how well your fingers would fit in the spaces between his own. And if that electricity would go on forever at the prolonged contact.

“We should get back to the project.”

“Right.” You cleared your throat. Hiding in this back corner was giving your brain ideas and following down paths that were clearly unmarked, dangerous even.

Back at the table, the two of you worked on the project, bouncing around ideas of how to use the statistics of marketing that the resources gave and applying it to your own photography. A few hours later, you had the full back bone of your project completed. All you needed was to break down the expressions and equations that would back your claims. But your brain was done for the day. However, that didn’t mean you were done with Minseok.

“You know, I just realized I don’t know much about you,” you said as you packed away your things.

Minseok shrugged as he gathered up the books to put back in their homes. “I’m not sure if there’s much to know.”

“Everyone has something worth knowing.”

“Touche.” The smile was coming back. Good. Perhaps it was selfish, but you were feeling lighter due to his own lifting mood. “But I don’t know where to start. I mean… I’m a math major-”

“That I already knew,” you laughed.

“Right. Um….”

“Do you live on campus?” you offered as a starting point.

He shook his head. “No. I live out of town, a ways out. My friends and I live in a farmhouse in the woods.”

“A farmhouse in the woods!” you exclaimed. That sounded like a dream. Or the setting of a YA novel. “How many of you live there?”

“Including me? Twe- Nine.”

You were confused as to why he suddenly changed numbers, but the sad look that was here and gone in his eyes made you think it was best not to ask. “Nine? Wow. Isn’t that crowded?”

“Sometimes. But really, it's more comforting than anything. We’re like brothers so it doesn’t feel as overwhelming as it sounds. Although, sometimes I do really need the quiet.” The Minseok from before the phone call was nearly completely back. The weight was dropping from your shoulders as you saw the tension leave his.

“Where do you go then? When you need quiet?”

He smirked. “I go for a run. In the woods.”

The wolf from the clearing flashed in your mind, as well as the campers who were attacked. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Minseok shook his head. “Not for me. I know those trees pretty well.”

You scoffed. Boys and their confidence.

Standing up and throwing your bag over your shoulder, Minseok walked you out of the library, telling you more about his roommates, mostly about Jongdae, his hot headed best friend. In turn, you told funny stories about you and the shenanigans Willa dragged you into. So lost in the conversation, you stayed standing in the middle of the courtyard. You should have said goodbye, but you kept putting it off, bringing up new subjects to keep talking.

“Minseok!”

The two of you turned to see a small group of students coming your way, one waving their arm in the air with extreme enthusiasm. Minseok cringed as they came up, scratching the space behind his ear. He gave off the air that being caught like this was the last thing he wanted, even if the scene was innocent enough.

“You didn’t tell us that you were going to be here today,” the tallest boy said. He had a jolly, lopsided smile and ears that stuck out.

Minseok shrugged. “I forgot.” His eyes flickered over to you. “Oh, um, guys, this is... (y/n). (y/n), this Chanyeol, Baekhyun, Sehun, and Jongin. They’re some of the friends I live with.”

“Oh!” You lit up at being able to meet a few of the roommates. “Hi! It’s nice to meet you!”

“You, too!” the one who Minseok pointed out as Baekhyun said. He eyed Minseok suspiciously, a sly grin on his face. “We were going to get some lunch. Do you guys want to join us?”

You opened your mouth to accept the invitation, but Minseok beat you.

“Actually, we were just saying bye.”

You looked at him, confused. Sure, technically you were done working on the project, but you were enjoying this down time after the fact. He hadn’t seem like he wanted to part either. At least, before his friends showed up.

Jongin seemed to catch on to the contorted expression on your face. “Are you alright?”

It took you a second to absorb his question, but when you did, you slapped on a fake smile. “Yeah, of course. I’ve got to meet up with my boyfriend, but thank you for the invite.”

“Maybe another time.”

“Yeah, maybe. It was nice to meet you, though.” You gave a slightly less enthusiastic expression to Minseok. “Thanks again for your help. I’ll see you later.”

He gave you a small wave. “I’ll see you later.”

You walked away, shoulders drooping. The switch that happened before your eyes made your head hurt, like whiplash. Was Minseok… embarrassed to be seen with you? You didn’t think there was anything particularly shameful about you. But what else would make him not want you around for lunch with the very people he was talking about mere minutes before with joy and laughter? It didn’t make any sense. All you could focus on was the shut down. As you headed for the theatre, you tried to tell yourself that there was no reason to be upset. He was not your close friend. He was merely a… tutor, for lack of a better word. And that’s all he would be, apparently.

You approached the theatre doors, unsure of where else to go. If you thought your feelings were stirred up this morning, now they felt like they were stumbling off the world’s most twisted roller coaster, unable to even stand on their own. Just how bruised would you be when you finally fell down?

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #minseok x reader #kim minseok #xiumin #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #exo supernatural au #exo series #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #The Untamed Universe #Catching Rain

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ellie-e-marcovitz · 2 years

Text

Year 1, chapter 8

Part 1 - new year, same problem

The New Year arrived relatively quietly. Rowan, Rose and I all welcomed said New Year of 1985 in our dorm with a small celebration, before promptly crashing in our beds a handful of minutes later. As I drifted off, I could’ve sworn I saw the bright glitter of fireworks and the occasional distant boom as they exploded into the dark sky above the valley.

The teachers gave us the first week of January to relax before classes started up again, with everyone else either floo’ing or taking the train back on the fourth.

It was during the first few days that one of the older students managed to procure a movie reel from one of the cinemas here in Scotland.

Which happened to be Ghostbusters. I had been wanting to see it since the news broke about it during our vacation in America, back in June. I even clipped an ad for it from a newspaper, more like part of one, that mum had sent me back in September.

They set up a showing the Saturday before classes resumed. Somehow, I managed to talk myself, Rowan, and a good part of the returning lower years into being able to watch it. Even a teacher or two watched with us.

It wasn’t necessarily my brightest idea, but it was one I had very few regrets about. One, really, and that was because we watched it pretty close to curfew. The dreams I had were really weird.

Classes started again on the seventh.

The teachers spent the first week or so going over the lesson basics. It was during this time that Flitwick decided to go over Flipendo again. I could tell Flitwick was reluctant to have me in the review, but allowed me to stay.

I figured there were a couple of reasons why: 1. It was clear that I had learned my lesson the first time around, and 2, that I hadn’t duelled anyone since learning it. I could still feel the aches from the duel with Merula and her flipendos.

Class passed without an issue, with me successfully flipenoing the dummy Flitwick had set up in the open area. I managed to push it to the end of the benches, funnelling some of my frustration into the jinx.

“Good work everyone!” Flitwick cheered, a few minutes later as the bells sounded. “Now remember, no using this outside of class sessions!” I felt this was a callout to me, and the duel now several months behind me.

“Nice work, Ellie,” Rowan muttered, as we packed our bags. I shrugged. I still felt Flitwick was still a little frosty over the duel between me and Merula, and how far I managed to push the dummy probably didn’t help.

We exited the classroom, before Rowan brought up what was on her mind.

“I’m thinking flipendo will help us escape the locked room, if we have to, not to mention, help defend ourselves if there’s anything dangerous inside.” she rambled, as we made our way down to the dungeons. “We just need to keep working on our plan…”

I glanced around us. “Not so loud…” I muttered. “Don’t need the whole school hearing this.” I wasn’t looking forward to potions, as Snape was in a much more sadistic mood as classes resumed.

Potions class went as smoothly as it could with Snape setting impossibly high standards and Merula being even meaner since the snowball fight over break.

It was as we escaped to the Great Hall from potions, that Rowan brought up the quest to get pass the locked door again. I wasn’t in much of a mood to talk during lunch, especially considering we still had Defence this afternoon.

She at least waited until we’d both eaten some to bring up the task ahead of us.

“So how do you want to tackle this?” she asked, and I looked up, and paused.

“I’m not sure exactly how…” I started, trying to find my words.

“I mean, now that you’ve returned yourself to the good graces of Angelica, and, y’know, all of the teachers that aren’t Snape…”

“Your point, Rowan?” I asked irritably, raising an eyebrow. I had a feeling Flitwick would still be watching me, and McGonagall was probably as well.

“Do you have an idea of who you want to bring along? Besides me, of course.”

I contemplated my options. There were only Ben and Penny who I was closest to besides Rowan. A thought started percolating.

“I’ll talk to Ben and Penny. Think I’ve come up an idea to help get through the door. You can help me.”

The rest of the afternoon passed in a reasonable manner, with me spending Defence writing a handful of letters to send. My great-grandmother Eleanor had sent an owl this morning, and I was eager to respond. I also made out letters, curious if anyone had any information on how to handle Filch.

Rowan was equally preoccupied with her notes, pulling from the book instead of what the teacher was saying. She passed me a note halfway through class, though.

‘We should probably learn the unlocking charm, and some way to knock out Mrs Norris.’ it read, before I stuffed it in my bag.

It was a few weeks later, that revealed a puzzle piece in getting Filch to move from the door.

Rowan had gone ahead to the tower to drop her bag before meeting me in the courtyard for a game of gobstones, as I had wanted to ask McGonagall a question. So it was me on my own, going back to the tower when I crossed paths with the chaotic figure of Hogwarts.

Peeves.

Poltergeists had been one of the first topics covered in DADA, considering the school had one roaming the halls. Said poltergeist was currently racing down the staircase I was on, cackling loudly, being chased by Filch and one of his mops, face red with fury.

And heading straight for me.

I managed to leap out of the way, bracing myself against the banister to avoid getting run down. I came away with an idea to get past the grumpiest of school caretakers, and a cracked inkwell.

It was also during this time that Flitwick decided to teach us Alohomora. Ben seemed relieved at learning this one.

“We’re finally learning a spell I don’t find terrifying!” he cheered, as he took his usual spot on the row above us, as the class filed in. I was privately glad as well. It seemed that Flitwick was less concerned with me using this one outside of class.

I idly wondered what his reaction would be if he found out and cringed. No need for him to find out. I was probably one infraction away from a series of detentions.

“Welcome, everyone!” Flitwick greeted the class, as everyone quieted. “Today I will be teaching Alohomora!” Textbooks were flipped open, as everyone started looking. “It’s the very best spell when a wizard forgets his keys. Alohomora is a spell that will open many doors for you!” He continued, cracking a grin as the class laughed.

“Let’s begin with a demonstration of the unlocking charm. Watch me, students!” he asked, raising his wand.

He began with a demonstration of sorts, along with talking about the history behind the charm, and the common uses. Mainly opening doors, windows, trunks (except those specifically charmed against it) and other objects containing basic locks. “Alohomora is a most elegant solution to opening a locked door…”

“I have a feeling Alohomora will come in handy,” I muttered to Rowan, who nodded. “On more than a few occasions outside of Hogwarts.”

“Or even inside,” Rowan added, and I gave a soft snort of agreement. I somehow misplaced my key for my trunk, after stashing what remained of my Christmas candy inside a few days ago. A brief stern look from Flitwick brought our attention back to the lesson.

Flitwick continued on, before one of the boys muttered, “Burglars must love Alohomora…” It took me a minute to recognise him as Jae, considering I rarely saw him in his robes and not the large sweatshirt he’d taken to wearing.

“Now,” Flitwick noted, pulling my focus back to him. “This is the most important part of my demonstration. Pay close attention, please.” he asked, and I watched as he demonstrated the correct motion.

Seemed easy enough.

He then set us to work on our stances for the charm. This charm required a more relaxed stance, compared to several others that we’d been taught. I even did a little practice wand waving, trying to get the best grip I was comfortable with.

“Who thinks they can imitate what I’ve shown you?” Flitwick asked, looking around, before deciding on me. “Miss Marcovitz, come join me in the aisle, please.”

I moved out to the centre aisle, and demonstrated the stance needed. “Well done, miss Marcovitz. Thank you.” Flitwick cheered, pleased with my stance, and I headed back to my spot.

“Now, pronunciation. Many young witches and wizards take liberties in pronouncing Alohomora.” Flitwick directed us, back on his books. “I want you to get it right. To your textbooks!”

Textbooks flipped back open, the chatter picked up, and everyone started grouping up. Ben came down to join us in practices.

We set to work.

“Alohomora does have a fascinating history,” I mentioned, running my finger down a page of famous occurrences. Rowan nodded in agreement. We worked, chatting lightly as class went on.

“I love the scritch-scratch sound of a quill on parchment…” Rowan muttered, carefully taking down observations of our attempts.

I muttered Alohomora to myself, practicing the wand movement over and over. But I kept getting caught on the ‘h’ in the second syllable.

“Pronunciation tips?” I asked Rowan, keeping my voice low.

“Alohomora!” Rowan chirped. “Hello, Amora! Just flip the emphasis. ‘Allo, Hamora!”

Somehow, that worked.

“Who’s Amora?” Ben asked. “She sounds nice.”

“Well done!” Flitwick piped up, and the conversations wound down, as he moved around the room, setting locks in front of people. He returned to the top of his books. “I believe you’re ready to make an attempt at the charm. See if you can unlock that lock in front of you.” He asked, and the attempts began.

I cautiously moved my wand in the right motion, careful not to drop it. “Alohomora.”

The lock on the desk clicked open, as did the one on my bag. And I wasn’t the only one. At least two others, followed closely by Ben and Rowan.

“Well done, everyone!” he cheered, as locks continued to unlock through the classroom. “You’ve unlocked another piece of knowledge at Hogwarts.” There was a mix of cheers and groans at that. “We’ll continue this discussion later. You’re free to leave.” He finished, as the bells started, and everyone gathered their bags.

“And we’re a step closer to unlocking that door…” I whispered to Rowan as we exited.

Further Training

#fic #Hogwarts Mystery tweaked #year 1 chapter 8 #part 1 #hphm Ellie #600th post

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lorelylantana · 3 years

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Savageries of the Heart Chapter 5: Homecoming

First-Previous-Next

Ao3

Chapter rating: T Overall Rating: E

“How did this happen?” she asked, setting the slate down to look at her husband. He looked sheepish.

“It didn’t happen overnight,” Link explained, “After the Sheikah were banished from the Kingdom of Hyrule they came to us for protection after their own military forces were lost, and the other races opted for their own independence. That much is true, and it was for centuries after. The Sheikah don’t really have a desire for leading outside of their own people, so as long as the Zonai reinforced their borders and funded their research they were content to share the fruits of their knowledge.

“We’ve always believed in extending a hand in aid where we could, so on the occasions that the other races reached out for help, we’ve been the first to respond. We built the dam in Zora’s domain and we killed the Lynels haunting the Rito snowfields. When the Gerudo canyon collapsed we’re the ones that cleared the rubble to let them travel safely once again. Bit by bit the other races began to see the benefits of being a unified nation again, so we expanded the railways, the Sheikah streamlined communications, new Wardens were named, and we came whole again.”

“Not completely,” Zelda interjected, oddly defensive. She felt Noodle’s nose bump into her chin, perhaps in response to her racing pulse.

“Not completely,” Link agreed, “But it was a king on Hylia’s throne that fractured the continent in the first place, and the Sheikah have long memories. Even with the countless records locked away, they knew it wasn’t the first time they had been made to vacate Hyrule, so they advised us to keep the royal family in the dark and wait.”

“For what?” Zelda asked. He looked in her eyes.

“For the right Queen.”

Fat chance of that one, considering her uncle sat on the throne and she was the Hollow Daughter of Hylia.

“Tell me more about the Wardens,” Zelda said, uncomfortable at the implied expectation.

Link scooted over, taking the slate in his hand he fiddled with the map settings until Zelda watched the borders she was familiar with reappear. Noodle uncoiled from her spot on Zelda’s wrist to sniff at the screen, her snout tapping on the small region north of Mount Lanayru, if that was indeed it’s name and not another lie told to her people. A box appeared with white text.

The Wellspring

Warden: Dorephan [Contact]

Rising Warden: Mipha [Contact]

“Each region is governed by a Warden,” Link explained, his breath tickling her ear and his arm slipping around her waist, “Dorephan is the current Warden of the Wellspring, but he gave his notice of retirement last year, so Mipha, his daughter is carrying out the majority of his duties until she slays a great beast and takes over his position completely.”

Zelda tapped the harbor their icon was inching towards, highlighting the region that Zelda originally thought to be the entire Zonai nation.

Dragonlands

Warden: Link

Rising Mother: Zelda Lana Hyrule [Contact]

Zelda noticed that the word ‘contact’ was written in green. Curious, she tapped it, expecting the screen to change. Instead there was a chiming from her headdress. Zelda tensed up. Link gave a little chuckle before pinching her translator between his fingers for a moment.

“What was that?” Zelda asked, but he only held up his finger again, shooting her a wink as he got up and left the the observation deck

“Can you hear me?”

Zelda flinched, startled. Her husband’s voice had replaced the mechanical words from her translator.

“Yes,” she responded, walking to the window to see her husband walking into view below. In her ear she could hear the sea breeze until his voice returned.

“A secondary function, though a recent one,” Link said, waving up at her.

Zelda looked at the slate again.

“Why can’t I call you?” she asked, noting the option to contact didn’t appear next to her husband’s name.

“That’s my personal slate, it would be like writing a letter to myself.”

He began walking up the stairs, and she could hear his footsteps, which was a bit disorienting without a stair in sight. They spent the rest of the trip eating their lunch while Link explained the basic functions of a Sheikah Slate. Zelda pressed an icon with a small blue circle, and a glowing blue orb appeared in her hands. Link mumbled something in Zonai that the Zelda’s translator interpreted as a string of curse words that had her ears burning. Link took the orb from her hands, chucked it through a window he’d opened before pressing the ‘cancel’ button right next to the one labeled ‘detonate’.

“That was an explosive,” he said by way of explanation. Zelda’s eyes widened.

“Does everyone else on the continent have access to explosives?” she asked, alarmed. Link shook his head with a laugh.

“Farore above, no. The slates given to Wardens and have greater capabilities than most citizens’. Standard issue slates are much more limited. Identification, communications, and finances only.”

“What does it mean by ‘Rising Mother?” Zelda asked, now holding the slate at arm’s length.

“Being my wife makes you the Mother of the Dragonlands, but since you haven’t officially accepted the title you’re listed as ‘Rising’.”

“How do I accept it?” she asked, Link smiled, bright and relieved.

“I’ll show you when we get home.”

She liked that sentence because of the assumption. There was a warm undertone to the flippant reminder that she had a home here. She was in a foreign country that wasn’t at all like she imagined, but she had a place set aside for her. It was enough to banish the dissatisfaction of her question going unanswered and allowed her to walk hand in hand with her husband with a spring in her step. As they descended onto the dock, she couldn’t help but notice that it was pretty deserted, though she did see a large building at the top of a large cliff. Link led them down into the sand. They came across a strange platform on the ground before Link placed his palm on a screen covered pedestal. After fiddling with the screen Link took out a vial of simmering red liquid she recognized as an elixir and pressed it into her hand. She drank it, savoring the kick that she recognized as a spicy elixir. Link watched as she swallowed it.

“How did I do?” he asked, brow raised. She took another sip.

“It’s a tad overdone,” she admitted, “but effective,”

He nodded, satisfied with her answer. She shook out her limbs, the heat spreading to her fingers and toes like a fever.

“It’s a little warm for a spicy elixir, isn’t it?” she asked, quizzical. He winked at her, resting a palm against the blank screen. After a blue line ran up and down the pedestal chimed and the world faded away.

The world returned in slices, descending bit by bit to create a small alcove tucked in the corner of a much larger room filled with plush chairs and couches facing a strange black rectangle set upon a table. Despite the questions burning through her mind, she found herself transfixed by the opposite wall. Rather than the intricate stonework that made up the majority of the room, the wall they walked along had an almost translucent, iridescent quality to it, orange light shining through that mimicked the sunset outside. She pressed a hand to it and dragged her palm along its smooth, chilled surface, her breath coming out in clouds in front of her. Link showed her a large glass box filled with vegetation and a lamp which, in a notable departure from the standard blue light fixtures around the room, shone with a warm yellow light.

“For Noodle,” Link said by way of explanation, opening the box.

Zelda beamed from ear to ear, reaching into the terrarium to let the serpent climb onto one of the winding branches. She could have sworn she saw some of the blue scales glow, but it was probably a trick of the light.

“Say Noodle again,” she said, tucking her hand into his elbow.

“Why?”

“Because it sounds cute in your accent,” she admitted, cheeks flushing slightly.

He gave her a quizzical look but nonetheless obliged her, “Noodle.”

She giggled, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder as they walked down the hall to a larger, yet somehow more intimate room.

Zelda stepped forward and turned to examine their bedroom. The walls were carved in hundreds of illustrations of plant and animal life alike, each shape crafted with a myriad of stones that must have been gathered from all corners of Hyrule. A fox made from the rich Eldin rock, wolves shaped from the cool blue of Upland Zora, and pigeons carved from Necluda stone. The lush scenes of the wild were dominated by sprawling depictions of dragons lording over it all. She recognized the serpent she glimpsed on their wedding day coiled protectively over their bed which, while lower to the floor than her own, was far wider than any bed she’d ever scene and stacked with silks and cushions.

After the stress of the day, Zelda was ready to lie down, but her husband had other ideas, taking her hand and pulling her to the corner on her left, where another dragon curled around a bath that looked far too big for just the two of them. Nevertheless, Zelda followed him gratefully, glad that at least one of her preconceived notions of the Zonai held true.

Owlan had told her the Zonai viewed baths an intimate affair, which she had understood. The difference lay in that married couples were supposed to bathe together, and often. This practice was apparently so common that newlyweds were not considered fully united until they blessed their marital home with a bath. Thus, when Link’s hands began to unravel the cloth around her chest, she made no comment, only moving to undo his belt.

When they were both stripped down they stepped over the lip of the massive tub. Link took the lead as the welcoming spouse, turning her around so he could run his hands down her back. Despite the spicy elixir having a good deal of time before it wore off, the water felt cool. Not enough to feel uncomfortable, but impossible to ignore. If her elixir couldn’t hold off the chill, she wondered how frigid it must be. Zelda was dissuaded from asking questions by Link’s touch, warm and steady as they started to rub soap into her back. She sighed and felt her head roll to one side. Zelda let her gaze rest on the luminescent stone of the second dragon. Unlike Farosh, the horn of this creature almost resembled a crown, spikes pointing away from the creature’s face.

“I saw Farosh on our wedding day,” Zelda said idly, her shoulders easing under his touch. He hummed and started to work on her arms.

“The gods approve of our marriage.”

This intimacy in the water was softer than what they shared in their honeymoon, but no less potent. Perhaps this gentle caress was one of the unsung sides of love, often overlooked for that wildfire lust that overtook them so many times. And yet, as Zelda grew warmer under his ministrations a deep sense of peace took root, easing away the emotional strain of the day’s revelations. For all the deceit revealed to her, his growing affection for her felt genuine.

Link pulled her to rest against his chest so he could reach around to her stomach. When she relaxed and let her arms rest back in the water it became clear that the heat wasn’t just from his embrace but from the bath, once so cold it broke through her elixir’s protection.

“What happened to the water?” she asked, dragging a hand through the bathwater. It was heated as a hot spring. “Zonai leaders have always drawn strength from the land, wielding magic both consciously and instinctively.” he explained, washing and rinsing her hair, “This flow is strongest in the springs and other sacred sights, giving us enough protection to render even the harshest weather mild.”

Link turned her around to look her in the eyes as he took her leg into his lap, “We swore to each other before our people,” he explained, massaging her calf as he spoke, “we’ve proven this union to one another in our bed. But only here, alone in holy water atop a sacred mountain, do we verify our marriage before the gods. You are Mother of the Dragonlands, and now all the spirits watching over us recognize you as such, and give their power freely.”

Zelda smiled, security pulsing steady in her chest. The feeling was compounded by small, swirling clusters of energy she could now feel brushing against her skin and shielding her from the unrelenting cold of her new home. After pressing a quick kiss to his lips she urged him to turn around. Relishing in the heated water, she took the cloth from the lip of the tub and lathered it in soap so she could start to scrub his back and arms. She traced some of the paint on his bicep before wiping it off.

“What do the markings mean?” she asked. She had watched him apply the paint several times since their wedding, though never as much as he did the night itself.

“It’s less about design and more about location,” he answered, “The paint makes us stronger. We use it to stimulate the muscles we use most in battle.”

She rubbed his other arm clean before moving on to his chest. He smiled lazily, resting his hands on her hips, his thumbs circling idly.

“How’s it made?”

“I’ll send you the recipe.”

Zelda raised a brow, “Just one?”

“The only one that works.”

Now that was an intriguing prospect. Alas, it would have to wait for another day, as Zelda started to yawn when washing his legs and feet and her eyes had started to close on their own accord when they dried off on the steps leading up to the tub. She heard Link give a low chuckle as he pulled the towel from her hands and began to rub the moisture out of her hair, massaging her scalp in the process. His touch put her at so much ease that she ended up dozing off with her face resting against his thigh. Zelda only stirred when he did, sliding off the lip of the tub to take her in his arms. She didn’t open her eyes when she was rocked in his arms as he crossed the room. She felt the cool, smooth sheet covering the bed before it dipped to accommodate her husband’s weight. Zelda reached for him blindly and was rewarded by his arms wrapping behind her back, pressing their bare chests together. She felt Link’s lips on her forehead.

“Goodnight,” he whispered into her hair. She nuzzled his shoulder and kissed what felt like his collarbone.

“Goodnight.”

#zonai link #zonai zelink #zelink #botw zelink #arranged marriage au #botw link #botw zelda

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sword-dad-fukuzawa · 3 years

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my experience reading The Joy Luck Club

I have a lot of thoughts on The Joy Luck Club, most of them uncomplimentary. I had to read almost all of it in one day for school because I procrastinated. That is entirely my own fault, but a mistake nevertheless, because it was not a book I should have read in one sitting. It made me physically uncomfortable and almost ill on multiple occasions, so I had to put it down and take breaks every chapter.

I am still not entirely sure why I had such a visceral, negative reaction to this book when everyone else seemed to have parts they liked. Though, I think I can attribute some of it to the fact that I have a very good relationship with my mother and my culture, and I am very passionate about representation in books.

Before reading, I knew Amy Tan as the Asian American author. She was the one everyone talked about, and JLC was the crowning jewel of her works. I went into this book cynically, however, because I had read Fish Cheeks and Two Kinds and been bitterly disappointed with what seemed like stereotypical caricatures of Asian characters.

I have heard of the “piano-playing Asian” and the “prodigy Asian” all my life, and it gets tiring. Waverly fulfilled this stereotype of the genius Asian child to a T, complete with the accolades, the parental pressure, and eventual burnout. It is a story I have heard about since I was small, with some variation each telling, and it has never failed to make me angry—because Asians are already held up to an impossible model minority standard, and in reading this book, I saw it reflected over and over again.

It was brought up in the discussion that Amy Tan’s characters are not meant to be heroes. They are flawed and human and this is supposedly their selling point. But I have read books with characters who are flawed and human, and I have enjoyed them.

The issue I have with Amy Tan’s characters, then, is not that they were morally ambiguous and imperfect. It was that I could not see myself in any of them. They are miserable people defined by their trauma. So instead, when I read it, JLC was a chronicle of eight unhappy women and their unfortunate lives, because the majority of what happened to them was not even a consequence of their own characters—that would have been compelling. JLC read like tragedy without a message, pain without a point.

And I also understand that JLC was written in 1989 and set in the fifties. It was a different time. I have issues with the cheap shot at gay people taken by Waverly, the racist remarks by her fiancee that go unaddressed, and the crossdressing scene.

With the latter, it is because the revelation that the Moon Lady was supposedly a man all along is reminiscent of a rather transphobic trope: the one that metaphorically equates the discovery of someone's “real” gender with the loss of innocence or as a deception.

I also dislike the way eating disorders were brushed aside and treated as, instead of a consequence of remarks made by her mother, as a quirk of character and a plot device. But I do understand it was a different time, though part of me protests loudly that it is not an excuse for poor writing.

I also find the Chinese mysticism trope to be old and tired. Amy Tan spends the whole book portraying Chinese culture as backward, primitive, and superstitious. A woman cuts flesh out of her arm to feed to her mother. Pithy sayings are recited every few dialogue lines. There is an undercurrent of prejudice to the way the mothers in JLC are portrayed.

This is an old trope, and a poorly used one in a book supposedly held up as good representation. What few “positive” aspects are shown, there are glaring downsides. One of the mothers, for example, spends an entire chapter extolling the virtues of hiding one's emotions and repressing one’s true feelings in order to survive. I do not read about this woman’s pain and empathize with her. Instead, I pity her, because in my mind, she is not real.

I still believe Amy Tan’s overall message is that you cannot be both your culture and American, perhaps because she spent her whole life internalizing racism against her own people. I violently disagree with this, and I think it is a harmful message overall.

Perhaps it is period-accurate. Perhaps it was a different time. Perhaps it was true for people other than Amy Tan. Regardless, the only feeling I got from JLC was that the author, speaking through the characters, greatly disliked her own culture. I did not enjoy reading it. I hear enough disparagement of Asian cultures from non-Asians and the internet, and it hurts to hear internalized hatred coming from one of our own.

Because Amy Tan’s writing reads as if she is disgusted with where she came from. Where are the lovely parts of Asian culture? Where is the enduring spirit that allows people to experience trauma and come out kind, rather than spiteful and broken like the characters in the book? Where are the tender moments of American and Asian culture in agreement? I did find any. Instead, the book reads like an indictment.

Every character in this book has a fraught relationship with their mother. The mothers put down their children at every opportunity, and yet they always come out justified. Perhaps they were right about the state of a marriage, or they gave their daughter a jade pendant to make up, somehow, for the years of neglect and belittling.

I understand that the message is that the mothers never meant to damage their children. I understand that the message is that mothers love their daughters and want the best for them, and the barrier is communication and culture. But the best of intentions cannot make up for the fact that every single one of the daughters went through pain and trauma at the hands of their parent, and that makes me incredibly angry and sad.

I dislike how Amy Tan justifies their actions. I dislike how she attempts to humanize these mothers, who have their own share of suffering, but pass it down to their kids in the cycle of generation trauma. I dislike the message that laughing over Taiwan jokes, or a jade pendant given as a gift, can somehow make up for the utter failure of these mothers to connect with their children—because it is the parent’s job, the adult’s job, to be the mature one in a parent-child relationship. I have heard too many stories from friends of mine to ever believe that putting one’s child down can ever be justified.

My experience with reading JLC was, in a word, painful. I found it difficult to engage critically with a work that made me angry in a way no book has before. I may just be holding it to a higher standard because of how few Asian American books make it into high school curricula, because Moby Dick certainly had problematic themes, but I enjoyed reading it anyway.

All I can really say is that I was disappointed with Amy Tan as a writer and JLC as a book; rather, with Amy Tan as a prominent Asian writer and JLC as Asian-American representation. Asian American culture is not about pain, or about trauma, or about repressing one’s problems—it is not about unbridgeable divides, failed attempts at communicating, or abuse. And yet, the main message I took away from JLC is that the book is about suffering, and a culture of suffering. It was difficult to read.

#the joy luck club #amy tan #aurie reads books and yells about them #book reviews #for context i'm filipino american #long post

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pollylynn · 3 years

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Title: Speak WC: 1500

“Something . . . terrible in his childhood?” — Richard Castle, Hollander’s Woods (7 x 23)

There is a little boy she imagines—a little boy she has no option but to imagine—falling silent. The idea that this little boy has anything at all to do with the man who fills all the empty spaces in her life is almost unthinkable. And it’s heartbreaking in so many different ways.

The heartbreak begins with the part of the story that wounds her, however unfair, however unkind, however beside the point it might be in this current, terrible moment. It begins with the reality that the boy’s silence has not been absolute. This story, this terrible unfolding of a stark event that is so central in his life, is the key he handed over to his captors—to the people who took him away from her—to bar the door once and for all to the truth about where he had been, what he had done, what had been done to him. She—his partner and his wife—can only imagine this little boy, and yet there are ruthless people who know the deepest secret that traumatized child ever held in his heart.

It is undeniably a wound, and the cracks in her heart left by the months he was gone—the months she thought she had lost him forever—are healing still. But she knows the value of scars. She knows that they signify resilience, survival, a future forged in a past that has tested them and found them still standing, more sure of one another than ever. She knows all this, and it is that profound love that takes her beyond the ungenerous moment. It is empathy that takes her beyond.

She thinks of the terror in the eyes of every child she has encountered since she clipped on the badge for the first time. She thinks of the rough treatment she has seen them suffer, even at the hands of the well meaning, because the very procedures exist to protect them wind up too often treating them like adults in miniature. She recalls hanging back—and suffering with it—as more senior officers, detectives, and so on would rattle unthinkingly on through standard interview questions that would double-back, drill down, and sanity check, never registering the building fear each child clearly had of not being believed.

She imagines him, that terrified little boy, bravely defying the monster from the first. She pictures him battling the silence, sweeping aside the threat—Tell anyone what you’ve seen here today and I’ll find you and kill you—the best way he knew how, because leaving that woman in the woods, leaving the monster roaming free, was never an option for him. She imagines him formulating his battle plans.

She thinks of the man who fills all the empty spaces in her life and tries to fathom how he found the strength to go against his every instinct, to hold his tongue with his friend, his friend’s parents, with Martha. Her heart aches as she thinks of that resolve, so far beyond his years, born of the certainty that he was doing what he could to keep them all safe. It aches as she envisions that brave little boy running into who knows what kind of disbelief, what kind of rough treatment that would have made his hands tremble, his voice shake on the the other end of that heroic 911 call.

And to have it end in nothing—to have him fall silent again, this time thinking he’d failed . . . It’s another kind of heartbreak to think of him in those months before the horror faded into something he came to hope had only been a nightmare. It’s another kind of heartbreak to imagine him carrying that weight all those years, when she knows how often he was lonely, how often silence was the only option available to him.

It’s exhausting, this exercise in imagining that little boy—terrified at first, then resolute in spite of the terror, that little boy growing ever more despondent and ultimately silent. It challenges every notion about him she has ever held in her mind or her heart. It seems impossible to find in this silent, imaginary little boy the seeds of her partner, her husband, the man who fills all the empty spaces in her life. But it seems important that she try.

He is suffering with this. His knees are buckling under the weight he has been carrying for more than thirty years—under the new and terrible weight of the reality that the woman whose cold body he reached out to touch was one of who knows how many. He is spiraling as the failure he imagines to be his and his alone delivers blow after blow, and it seems vital that she reach back through time and silence to find that little boy.

This is what he does for her. This is what he has done for her from the very first, when he laid out the story of her life in bold, simple strokes—And you probably could have lived with that, but the person responsible was never caught.

He has, for seven years now, spent his days and nights summoning up the little girl she was, the disaffected teen, the whipsawing young woman who was trying to find a way to rebel against parents who were so eminently sensible, reasonable, approachable. He has never accepted her silence on any matter of the head, of the heart, of the past. He has annoyed her half to death with it, but he has also helped her in countless ways to make sense of her memories, her tendencies, her mind and her heart. He has always celebrated the force for good that her mother’s death has made of her, but he has never settled for—he has never let her settle for—the idea of herself as some kind of reassembled ruin.

It seems vital now that she return the favor, but she is at a loss. She thinks of her own failures in this regard, and that’s another kind of heartbreak. She thinks of Damien Westlake and Robert Weldon—she thinks even of his father, though it sets her teeth on edge. She thinks of the times she has held up his enduring faith in people, his kindness and deep desire to find the good as sentiment, as weakness, as childishness. She thinks of the fang of doubt she let Meredith lodge in her heart. She sees how easy it would seem to be, even now, to shift blame for his silences solely on to his shoulders.

She is at a loss. She falters when he falters. When Van Holtzman is dead and his victims are brought finally, slowly, painfully into the light, she expects him—childishly expects him—to come bounding back, blazing bright with belief, charity, optimism. But instead there is silence, growing ever more painful with each passing moment. Instead there is the aching, complicated reality that with resolution finally at hand, he finds himself deeply uncertain. He finds himself wondering about the road he has traveled to this moment—wondering if his life, his happiness, his entire being has come at the cost of the lives of these women, just coming to light. With the monster slain, he is shaken, rather than reassured, and she is at a loss for how to tend to the terrified heart of the little boy she can only imagine, the wounded soul of the man who fills all the empty spaces in her life.

She wishes, of all things, that she could give him the gift of her mother. She wishes she could reach back through time and nudge her mother into that imagined little boy’s life at just the right moment. She would like to put the two of them on a park bench, in a subway car, atop the highest peak of the Cyclone at Coney Island.

The story would spill out of him. She knows this, just as surely as she knows her mother would have had the perfect words to tell him that he had done the very best he could—that no one, least of all a child, should have had to endure such an experience. She knows her mother would have had the perfect words to tell him that this terrible thing would not define him, that he should never settle for being something reassembled from its ruins.

Something comes over her as the wish pulses through her, heart and soul. He never has, never will make a believer in the mystical out of her, but something comes over her. There is a moment that is stillness, rather than silence, a moment in which she is suffused with her mother’s love, with his love. She finds—or maybe becomes—a more perfect version of herself, the Kate that the two of them have always seen. She finds—or maybe becomes—the grace he needs.

Babe, we’re not here because of him . . .

A/N: Oh, look. That is not 151 things! It’s a little bit bananas, but this is the end again. I thank you all. Once again, I’m at a loss for what I will do with myself overnight without these stories to write. In the short term, I’ll probably toss them up at AO3. Again, thank you all for putting up with my silliness.

images via homeofthenutty

#Castle #Caskett #Castle: Season 7 #Castle: Hollander's Woods #Kate Beckett #Richard Castle #Johanna Beckett #Martha Rodgers #Fic #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Fan Fic #Fan Fiction #Writing #Interrogatives?

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