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writersdrug · 3 months

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Ghost x Reader x Konig: I Don't Need You (Ch. 10)

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Summary: Thankfully, things have been resolved between you and Konig. You start to settle in more with your team, and Roze shares a few thoughts with you over a smoke. The memories are still there, but just like the winter around you, they're cold and unwelcoming. You and Konig open up to each other a bit more, more than you had ever opened up to anyone.

WARNINGS: implications of masturbation, cursing, angst (if you squint?), plot building, graphic depictions of animal torture and death (PLEASE CONSIDER ALL WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME thank you kindly)

Notes: Yes! Hello! I exist!! I've been in a slump, and I really do apologize for that. Many of you have been very patient with me and I love and appreciate you all for it! I had to intake as much CoD literature as I could in the past few weeks to get me motivated, which helped a LOT (not to mention I discovered no fewer than ten works that currently have a hold on my heart). But it's here! I forced myself to write over half of the following chapter so that it would be less daunting to finish up. I also plan to make a wip post for yall, just to share will everyone what goes on in my rat brain.

This was edited at 3 am (god it's 4 am now, i just saw that), so if there are any grammatical or spelling errors you have my full consent to call me out on it! Please enjoy!

(sidenote, I completely didn't research how old you need to be to become a navy SEAL, so reader's age is a bit inaccurate in regards to that. pls ignore lol)

(last sidenote then you can read, does anyone have tips for customizing the layout of their fics? I see so many cool ways to style the font and cute banners and errything but I have no idea how nor what to do)

- - - -

The sky hung low with a blanket of gray. It looked like it was about to snow, although the threat was soon dismissed when noon came around and there wasn’t a single flake. The air was cold and dry, forcing me to zip my jacket up all the way and tuck my nose into the collar. I blew steady, warm breaths into my jacket and tried to soak up the heat into my bones.

It was as if the incident had never happened.

Konig and I ended up driving to the liquor store, which was a blessing, since I had run out of Yeungling (and I didn’t understand enough Turkish to converse with the clerk, nor did I have any of the appropriate money – Konig was graced with both of those necessities). We talked like there had never been a week and a half of silence between us. He talked about how he had nearly forced Ridgeback to drag me out of my room and into the common area, “… but it would have been too early for that.” He commented. That, and I would have rather died.

So life went on as normal: dreary, aside from shooting people and getting shot at. Nonetheless, it was normal, and there was a peace to be found in that.

I leaned against the building to the training room, with Roze to my left. I had intended to come out and soak up whatever natural light I could – when I saw her standing there, possibly trying to do the same, I felt the instinct to play it off as if I was just leaving the building. But she cocked her head in a greeting, and a part of me took an interest in her worry-free aura. Out of everyone, she always seemed to be the least-stressed person in the room, even in the middle of a warzone. It was the balm to my anxious mind that I never knew I needed, but gratefully stood by.

We remained together in a comfortable silence (one I would most definitely would not have been comfortable with a while ago), staring ahead, watching the indecisiveness of the brooding clouds above. I wondered what the rest of the world was doing – if they might have been as calm and carefree as us, or if they were in some kind of peril, and the horrors of it were blocked out by the clouds.

I was drawn back to the present when I heard the click click click of Roze’s lighter. I turned my head and watched as she shielded the weak flame from the wind, lighting the cigarette that hung loosely from her lips.

“You smoke?” I asked.

“Sure do.” She replied nonchalantly. “Want one?” she extended her pack of cigarettes towards me.

I glanced at the box, feeling a sour taste in my mouth.

I lay on my stomach, my muscles still twitching and shaking as I tried to even out my breaths. Ghost had tossed a thin blanket over my lower half. I hadn’t even moved from the position he had ruthlessly fucked me in – my body ached too much to even try, and my mind was still recovering from the past hour.

I watch Ghost as he reclined next to me, pushing the bottom of his mask up to place a cigarette between his lips. It was the first time I had seen any part of his face all day. He grabbed his lighter from the pocket of his pants that were discarded on the floor, lighting the end of the cigarette and inhaling. He tossed the lighter back down to the floor as he tilted his head back, exhaling a long stream of smoke. I watched it swirl in the lamplight, settling in a cloud around us. He continued puffing, staring at the wall across from the bed as I lay beside him, although I felt worlds away from him.

He'd started off the night with a mountain of stress from a mission gone sideways. Instead of the usual slow build, where he would run his hands under my shirt and kiss my lips slowly and tenderly – he had walked in and immediately demanded I remove my clothes while he began stripping out of his. I had assumed tonight was going to be a passionate one, until he threw me onto my stomach and shoved my face into the pillows. It wasn’t the first time he’d been rough with me, but it wasn’t just rough – it felt dehumanizing. An hour of constant, merciless thrusts, and a hand around my neck that restricted both my blood flow and my oxygen, and I had fallen into a state of shock.

But, in the end, I was happy to be caged in by him again.

I was happy.

He turned his eyes towards me, seeming to sense that something was off. He exhaled another puff of smoke. “Everythin’ alright?” he asked, completely void of any genuine concern.

I met his eyes with my own. I felt like I shouldn’t have to answer the question, and it stirred up a bitterness in me. But I didn’t feel like arguing with him, and I certainly didn’t want him to leave – so I nodded my head, slowly blinking my eyes. “Just tired.”

He hummed and faced the wall again. He brought one of his knees up and rested his arm against it. “Want a smoke?” he asked, still looking away.

I shook my head as much as the pillow beneath me would allow. “No.” I replied.

He sighed disappointedly. Apparently, my lack of enthusiasm after being used like an old fucktoy was irking him.

To be fair, I never spoke up about how I felt.

He grunted and rose from his position, snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray by my bed, and picking up his clothes and pulling them on. My heart ached slightly as I watched him slide his shirt over his torso. I felt the threat of tears sting in my eyes as I wished his hands were holding me instead, keeping me warm and grounded. He pulled his jeans on and fastened them, buckling his belt rather quickly; and all while he faced away from me.

“Well, I know you probably need some alone time.” He muttered, sliding the skull attachment over his mask. “So I’ll get going. I’ll see you around.”

He grabbed his tactical vest and jacket and slung them over his shoulder. He paused by the door. “Thanks for tonight.” He mumbled, before finally leaving the room and softly closing the door behind him.

My eyes lingered on the ashtray with the half-smoked cigarette. A thin trail of smoke plumed into the air – I wanted to throw the tray across the room and shatter it. But it was Ghost’s, so I couldn’t; I couldn’t regardless, because it was a piece of him that remained with me, even when he left.

That, and the smell of smoke.

“Nah, I’m good.” I replied, facing the cold, empty base ahead of me.

“Good.” She said, pinching the cigarette and blowing a stream of smoke. “Stay that way. Did you know these bastards give you cancer?”

I chuckled into the collar of my jacket. “Do they, now?”

She hummed affirmatively, sucking another breath in through the cancerous bastard. “Who would’ve thought…”

We fell back into silence. I continued watching the stillness of the base, trying to see if the sky would follow through with its promise to fall. Now that my free time wasn’t spent holed up in my room, it somehow felt like there were fewer ways to spend it. With another mission on the horizon – a simple recon, yet dauntingly close to a heavily-guarded compound – no one was out and about when they usually were. Finding Roze outside and seemingly not worried was usual, however, and a warm sight, compared to how the rest of the team was on edge. Even Askel seemed grumpier than most days.

I hadn’t been seeking out someone to spend time with, no… that I would never do (or admit). But talking to a familiar face provided a comfort I had grown to need over the past couple of months. And, frankly, I felt like Konig might be getting tired of how much I ran to him when I craved social interaction. Though he had never said anything about it, I felt like I needed to branch out to other team members than just my Colonel. One might think I was trying to kiss his ass (I knew the accusation had already crossed Juno’s mind, but the young soldier was good at holding his tongue – when Konig was around, at least).

“You ever think about how ‘little girl’ you would react to this?” Roze asked, and I turned to face her. She had her nose scrunched, and a tinge of pink dusted over her cold cheeks. “Guns, war, no playdates or days at the beach…”

I sighed. “Probably would have cried.” I replied, allowing my freezing nose to poke over the collar of my jacket. “Especially if I had known that being a princess now adays meant spending more time worrying about becoming a hostage than anything else.”

Roze chuckled. “It’s a good thing we didn’t know then.” Her face was mostly blank, but I thought I noticed a hint of bitterness in the way her gaze landed on the ground. I watched her flick her cigarette with a bit more aggression than usual. “I would’ve tried to convince my entire family to run away to Scotland, live in hiding and pretend the rest of the world was a dream.”

“Scotland?” I asked. Soap’s cocky grin and heavy Scottish accent stirred in my mind, but it felt like nothing more than a small cloud of dust.

“Yeah – heard it’s fucking gorgeous over there.” She waved her cigarette in no particular direction. “Now, I don’t know how peaceful it is in terms of politics and war, but it’s pretty spacious. Simple, too. I feel like if I talked about throwing all my shit away and becoming a fisherman for a living, I wouldn’t get people trying to talk me out of it like I would in the States.” She took another drag, and laughed out the smoke.

“Fisherman?”

“Yeah.” She chuckled, a hardened smile gracing her lips. “I don’t know why it sounds so appealing… it just does.”

I hummed and looked back out at the compound. I wondered about Roze’s past; she had never said or done anything to indicate that it was particularly rough, as it was for the majority of us (us – I still wasn’t used to including myself, but it was becoming more of a habit each time), but the weariness in her eyes when she spoke about her younger self made me question what that girl had been through. Maybe it was just nostalgia. A yen for simpler times. Roze seemed to appreciate the simple things in life.

“You know Askel goes ice fishing?” she said suddenly.

I smiled underneath my jacket. “Seems like something he would do.”

“Every winter.” She continued. She dropped her cigarette to the floor and crushed it into the gravel. “He takes about three weeks of leave, if we’re lucky enough to get it, and goes to Norway. Sits on a frozen lake for hours a day, just waiting for a fish.”

“You make it sound like he’s never caught one.” I point out, my eyes lingering on the cigarette.

She shrugged her shoulders. “So does he. Every time I ask him what he caught, he just laughs. Says he’s never expects to get a bite.”

I closed my eyes and hummed in response. It was easy to picture the scene – Askel, sitting on a thick layer of ice, nursing the hoppy beers that he and Konig loved so much and waiting for a fish to bite. I wondered if he even bothered to reel the line in when he did catch something. Or if he even went fishing at all. Maybe he just went out there to get a sense of peace, to pretend that war and death didn’t exist.

The motion of thick, heavy snowflakes falling from the sky caught my attention. They landed on the skin of my nose, resisting the warmth for a few moments, before they eventually melted into trickles of water. A sudden gust of wind blew a flurry of them towards us, making the both of us flinch.

Maybe fishing doesn’t sound too bad.

- - - -

The shooting range was mostly silent, save for the occasional conversation between me and Konig. The lights were low, easily illuminating the gunpowder and dust swirling in the air. Konig and I stared at the paper target as we analyzed my shots. A few hit dead center, although most of them were clustered around the lower left of the bullseye. My lips were pursed into a scowl as I glared at my sub-par aim – it wasn’t typically so awful, but of course it was while Konig had been watching.

“Eh, are you sure you didn’t lie on your paperwork about being a sniper?” Konig asked as he stood behind my left shoulder, taking the target from my hands and looking at it closely. “You weren’t even ten yards from it. This is very poor marksmanship.”

I scowled in embarrassment, taking my pistol to the counter and pulling out the mag. “Rough day.” I answered bluntly as I started packing more bullets into the small compartment. It wasn’t a lie – I had barely gotten any sleep the night before. I was in the middle of a rather interesting dream involving me and Ghost, until my alarm woke me up before anything of importance happened.

“Very bad…” he mumbled to himself. I clicked my tongue in annoyance.

“Y’know…” I grumbled, loading the mag back into the gun and shoving it in my holster, “I don’t like stereotyping, but the boot really does fit you.” I walked past him and out into the hallway, not waiting for him to follow.

“Hmm?” he made an indignant noise, momentarily stuck in his spot, before he came jogging after me. “What does that mean? What stereotype?”

I chuckled. “Haven’t you ever how Germans are extremely blunt?” I asked.

“Austrian.” He retorted. “Do I need to brand that onto my face for you?”

“Wouldn’t do me much good, with the mask ‘n all.” I replied.

He laughed – rather snorted, as usual – “Ah, you’re right. Maybe I am blunt – just as much as you are defensive.”

I stopped at the end of the hall, right in front of the exit. “Defe-“ I turned on my heel to scowl at him. “I am not defensive! Where did you get that idea?!”

He stopped behind me, his eyes widening. He gestured an open palm in my direction. “This.”

I huffed, turning back around to punch the door open. The snow from earlier that day had ceased, blanketing the base in a thin layer of white. The moon seemed that much brighter against the crystalized ground, and the yellow lights scattered across the compound made parts of the snow look like sandy dunes. My nose tingled from the nip of the chilly air, and I pulled my jacket tighter around my body as the door fell shut behind me and Konig.

“Well, what am I supposed to say when you call me defensive?”

“You could agree.”

“But I don’t.”

“Which proves my point.”

I huffed in frustration, despite the smirk curling on the edges of my lips. “So, either I have to agree with you, whether I really do or don’t, or you’ve corralled me into a paradox.”

I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “A what?”

“A paradox, like a – y’know, never mind. It’s too difficult to explain.” I let him fall in step next to me, although he was the one who needed to slow down to match my pace. “We can just agree to disagree, how’s that?”

“Agreed.” He nodded, and I chuckled. “It won’t change the fact that I’m right, you know.” He added.

I bit my lip and tried to keep my smile from growing ridiculously larger. I looked up at him and patted his shoulder – he looked down at me, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled back. A stray, reddish-brown curl poked through the side of his balaclava, and I found the miniscule detail warming my heart through the cold air. He felt real, and in this moment, too human for this kind of life.

“Why did you choose the military?” I asked, turning back to look at the ground as we walked.

He hummed. “Isn’t that every boy’s dream?”

“Well, yes – but most of the time, it never becomes more than that.” I responded.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, mimicking my own position. “I’m not really sure what made me push so much for it. I almost didn’t make it, for obvious reasons.”

I chuckled. “Size does matter, huh?”

He looked down at me with a deadpan gaze, one that I refused to meet. “It almost did, in a bad way. And I almost backed out before they could be the ones to turn me away. But, of course, they knew they would find some use for my size – so they took me in.”

“And what did they do with you?” I asked, looking back at him.

“A ‘human battering ram,’ as my superiors had so nicely called it.” He framed the description with his hands in the air, as if it had been written on a plaque. I laughed and looked back down at my feet.

“Seriously?” I asked. “So they just had you breaking down doors, and then what?”

Konig laughed with me. “Well, I still had a gun, so I was able to shoot, thank goodness. And I had a bit more gear so I wouldn’t break my bones against the doors – I still dislocated my shoulder a few times, however…” he rolled his left shoulder, as if there was still a lingering pain from how often he had thrown himself at doors. “It was actually during a period of recovery when I proved that I could still be a sniper. My shoulder was still healing, so I had to give up being a battering ram for a while. I was sat with Horangi on the side of the mountain to give him cover. Of course, he was ambushed – he had to fight the Arschgiege right when we were given the order to shoot, so I had to take position behind the gun.” I noticed that his chest was puffed out a bit from pride. “That really knocked their pants off.”

I chuckled, choosing to ignore the inaccuracy of his phrase. “Did it now?”

“It did.” He replied, then looked at the ground. “For a moment. I got a good earful for overstepping boundaries that day, but it’s what ultimately landed me here – so I’m grateful for it.”

I nodded and hummed. “What was Horangi picked for?”

Konig shrugged, his hands now back in his pockets. “He never said what he and Commander had spoken about in his office. But, even if he wasn’t chosen – I like to think we come as a package. If I go, he goes, if he doesn’t, I don’t.”

I felt my heart warm at his words. The memory of how Juno had described Konig couldn’t be farther from my mind. It almost felt like I was talking to someone I briefly crossed paths with in my youth – not a war criminal, not the bloody and stiff soldier who had stepped onto the heli after our first mission. I envied his ability to separate his work stress from the time he had in between missions.

“Why did you decide to join?” He asked, catching me off guard.

It was only fair that I opened up to him, since he was so willing to do the same. Always the one to go first, too. But I had to be careful. I didn’t want this to turn into a pity party, and I didn’t want to dig anything up that I had worked so hard to bury deep beneath my subconscious.

“I was… a weird kid. Like you.” I said, making Konig scoff and roll his eyes. “Looking back now, I hate my younger self. I was so sensitive to what people thought about me, and I just wanted to be independent and strong. I wanted to be a ‘different girl.’” I gritted out the words that left a sour taste in my mouth. “I think I just wanted attention at first – of course, when I heard how everyone said they hated how annoying teenage girls were, and how gullible and weak they were, it just – it made me change. I wanted to prove everyone wrong, it wasn’t just about being different anymore. So, as soon as I turned old enough, I enlisted. Didn’t get to Navy SEAL right away, of course… but I joined every program I was allowed in until I could submit my application.”

I sighed, then chuckled. “Thought my family would say they were proud, that I was successful, that I was doing a good job… they were just angry. Said I was throwing my life away for business that didn’t involve our country.” I opened my mouth to say more, but I ended up scoffing and closing it once again. I felt like I had shared enough.

I looked at Konig, expecting him to acknowledge what I said. “That’s how the story goes…” he would say. But, when I met his gaze, I only saw concern. His brow was creased with what I imagined was pity, and my stomach churned. It was the exact opposite of the reaction I had hoped for. I only wanted to share stories with him, and now it was… this.

“I think you made the right choices.” He said, and I looked away.

“You don’t need to make me feel better, Konig. I appreciate it, but-“

“I’m not just trying to make you feel better.” He said, his accent slightly thicker from his exasperation. “You’re good at what you do. Your parents are just probably worried for you, and they don’t know how to show it.”

I bit down on my tongue, my eyes settling on the building in front of us with a hard expression. If only.

“Maybe that’s it.” I muttered, hoping he would drop the subject. He seemed to understand, and turned to look ahead with a disappointed sigh. My heart sank the tiniest bit at the sound, and I internally scolded myself. Still a people-pleaser, apparently.

We continued walking in silence, the buzz of the lights above us mimicking the static of a communication system that had been severed in a time where it was needed most. The edge of the barracks appeared into our view, just around the corner of the arsenal sheds that stood between us and our destination. I continued to stare at the ground, pretending to watch my steps and try to not slip on the snowy asphalt. My heart twisted with each second of silence that sat thickly between us. It wasn’t technically a fight, but somehow, it felt worse. It felt like the first time I had pissed him off, the first time we had spoken to each other – and god, did I already hate myself for the way I had acted towards him during those first few weeks. I didn’t want to drive another wedge between us, not after the ones that had already been worked back out.

I exhaled heavily through my nose. “Sorry.” I mumbled quietly, but loud enough that I knew it reached his ears. “Sensitive topics.”

He flitted his eyes in my direction, but didn’t bother to move his head. He sighed, and I nearly jolted when I felt his wide hand on my upper back. It rubbed back and forth, and it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that he was comforting me. Or, trying to, at least.

“I know.” He said, and his hand rested on my shoulder. “I’m sorry for pushing you.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I was stuck on the feeling of the roughness of his palm, which I could gleam through the fabric of my jacket. How his fingers squeezed gently and released twice. There was no hidden meaning, no forced contact or any kind of attempt to put context into the touch. It was… natural. Warm, comforting, and it spoke a thousand words that I wouldn’t have been able to stomach if he had said them. It broke past my self-hatred and walls of ‘don’t be weak’ that I would have used as my defense if he had tried to verbally convey any sort of consolation. It was the first time I didn’t feel awkward about being so close to him, let alone when he was touching me. I wondered if he did this on purpose, or if he had no idea what he was doing at all.

I let myself stand nearer to him, almost tucked under his arm. I looked up and smiled as genuinely as I could – not that it was hard for me, but because I wanted to make sure that he really knew how much I appreciated the gesture. Although, if he knew that this simple act of comfort would pierce through my outer shell, was it really necessary?

“Thank you, Konig.” I said.

He looked down at me and smiled. That damn smile. I wondered how much more refreshing it would be when he wasn’t wearing his mask. It was already too much for my soul to bear when it was just the crinkling in his eyes that I could see.

“Anytime, Bonnie.” He replied, patting my shoulder before tucking his hand back into his pocket. I grieved minimally at the loss of the touch, but I was happy for what it was. “And I mean it. Anytime you need to talk – or not talk, and do that empty staring that you do – just come find me.”

I quirked an eyebrow in his direction. “Anytime?” I asked amusedly.

“Mhm!” Konig replied, his eyes on the ground as he watched his steps. Then, the realization hit him, and his eyes went wide with panic. “Oh- well, eh- I guess, not anytime-“

“You gonna tell me when?” I joked, and he laughed. “You need an open/closed sign on your door.” I jogged ahead, trying to reach the door to the barracks before he did.

“How about this?” he called out, and I could hear the grin behind his mask. “I’ll nail a chalkboard to my door, and if I’m busy, I’ll draw a stick guy jerking off in his bed!”

My cheeks burned after I heard him. “No!” I shrieked, laughing nervously. “You’ll traumatize Juno!” I quickly tried to pin this on someone other than me.

“Juno, hah?” Konig teased, and I had half a mind to run into the building and leave him on the quad. “I don’t care about him. Kid needs to be traumatized.”

I laughed and threw my head back, turning the corner around the arsenal shed. “That’s not very-“

Immediately, my heart leapt into my throat, and I gasped. Konig nearly ran into my back as he skidded to a halt.

Sick, sick, what the fuck, I feel sick-

“Stimmt etwas nicht?” he asked, concerned. “What- oh, scheisse-“

We both stared at the bird on the ground. A crow from the looks of it, though it was hard to even decipher that it was a bird in the first place, due to the state it was in. Its belly had been cut open, entrails and bloody bits pulled from the abdomen and strewn to either side of the bird. Its wings were stretched to their full capacity and most likely beyond it, crushed and missing a large number of feathers. Both of the legs appeared to have been ripped off and tossed to the left of the crow. Its beak was the worst of it all: pried open, the jaw probably broken from how wide it was spread. A haunting look of terror in the crow’s red, glossy eyes made a violent shiver run up my spine.

I exhaled shakily, my eyes still glued to the horror. “Holy shit – what the-“

Konig quickly walked around me and knelt in front of the crow. I shifted to look over his shoulder, still fearfully curious, but he held a hand out behind him, urging me to stay in place. With his other hand, he pulled at one of the bird’s wings, stiff and heavy. Whether it was frozen from the cold, or this was the effects from rigor mortis, I couldn’t tell.

“How – did a fucking fox do that?!” I asked. Are there even foxes in this area? How the hell did one get on base?

“Nein.” Konig replied, still looking at the corpse. His gaze fell upon it with a sense of… familiarity, maybe? “Not a fox, no.”

“Then what? It – whatever it was didn’t even eat-“

“I’ll take care of this.” Was all Konig said. He stood up and marched past me – I was barely able to catch a glimpse of his furious expression. His eyes were hard and narrow, and as he walked away, I noticed that his shoulders were tense and his hands were balled into fists. I didn’t dare say anything to him; he almost looked the same way he did after our first mission together, except this time, his anger seemed to be directed at something, instead of just a post-mission adrenaline high.

“I’ll see you later.” He said over his shoulder. There was an obvious fury to his words, and although I knew it wasn’t intended towards me, it still made me freeze where I stood – almost as if I might anger him more simply by taking a step after him.

Whatever it is… I thought, watching him disappear into the compound, he’s sorting it out. I can take care of myself. Although, with such an abrupt and tense departure, I was at a loss on what to do next. I looked back at the bird; its terrified eyes locked onto the sky above it, frozen in its last wish to fly away from whatever horror it endured.

A shiver ran up my spine, prompting me to look away.

- - - -

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20dollarlolita · 2 years

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Quick reminder that you're allowed to have fun.

Back when I cosplayed, I put a ton of effort into cosplays. I did a ton of research, fabric sourcing, learning new construction techniques, trying to get everything to look good and be the perfect thing that I wanted it to be. I wanted to win awards. I wanted to be the very best, like no one ever was.

I got into cosplay because I was in a Twilight cosplay group. We would get together, to go Ross Dress for Less, buy new outfits, get together, go to the park or to the mall, and pretend to be vampires. One of the people in the group had a camera and took pictures, and that was what we did. We didn't make any really good cosplays or any really good photos, but I had so much fun going into the park in the rain wearing a sleeveless dress and pretending that I wasn't freezing, while our Bella cosplayer got to be the only person in a jacket and had to pretend she was miserable.

We weren't a good cosplay group, objectively speaking. We never won awards. We weren't interviewed by blogs. We weren't ever the group that everyone wanted to take pictures of at the convention. I got into doing more cosplay, but a lot of people in that group didn't cosplay outside of that group. A lot of them never cosplayed again, once we all went to college and stopped going to the mall and taking tons of pictures in the food court.

(For everyone who wants to imagine this, this was 2008 and cell phones didn't have cameras that could be dumped onto your computer, so there was several high schoolers pretending to be vampires and one person with a full DSLR with a 300mm zoom lens following them around like the whole grous wasn't a total ball of chaos).

And, you know what? We had fun. It's okay to do things just because it's fun.

With so many professionals posting information on the internet about how they do their craft, it's an amazing time to get into a lot of hobbies. Instead of hoarding information, a ton of hobbyists and professionals alike share their work and techniques and tools freely online. Anyone who wants to can learn how to use the same tools and do the same techniques. I applaud every professional who is taking the time to make resources so that new people can learn how to do things and join in their profession or hobby. Everyone who makes a roller skate tutorial on instagram, everyone who makes an instructable on using a soldering iron, everyone who posted a tiktok about the best way to melt cheese over rice, all those long and pretentious youtube videos about picking the best whiskey to go with the best cigars, videos explaining the bizarreness of Edwardian table manners, you all are amazing. You're sharing this information and enabling new people to learn about something that's important to you. This is really cool. I love you.

But, to everyone who is consuming this media that has been created, and find it intimidating, you're not alone. Someone with a functioning studio who is doing a makeup tutorial in a 4K camera with a high quality ring light and a $89 foundation brush, even sharing their technique freely, can make you feel like you won't have good makeup skills until you also have a ring light and a nice brush. You wanted to build a model of an airplane and looked up a tutorial, and this guy makes it look really easy but he has a double-action airbrush and a fume hood, so you feel like you're not ready to make this model because you don't have the right gear.

I know that this intimidation factor is not something that content creators making tutorials want to be there. I make tutorials and I don't want to intimidate people with a big list of tools and techniques, but I'm sure there's people who wanted to get into lolita fashion and found that my blog was more intimidating than helpful.

So I'm not here to tell content creators to stop making tutorials. The open sharing of information is one of the coolest things about the internet, and I don't want that to change.

But I do want to say something to the person who has watched 160 cake decorating videos in the past week and wanting to try it themselves. I want to say that to someone who has gone through 18 years of jfashion blog archives and wants to build an EGL coordinate. I want to say something to people who've built up an elaborate fictional world and amazing characters in their heads and who wants to share it with someone.

It's okay to do a thing without getting into the hobby. You're allowed to make one cake and decide that it's not for you. You're allowed to take the face off a Monster High doll and not like the process of putting on a new one. You're allowed to assemble one EGL outfit and not want to make a full closet of pieces. You're allowed to write down your story and give it to a friend without ever submitting it to a publisher. You're allowed to paint your DND minis with Apple Barrel acrylics and toothpicks. You're allowed to put on your eyeshadow with the little sponge stick that comes with the $9 palette you got at CVS.

Getting into wood carving is cool, but carving one spoon and then never picking it back up again isn't a failure at getting into a hobby. You made a spoon! That's so cool! You didn't fail to make a spoon just because you didn't make a second one. Building one coordinate and wearing it over and over for conventions and photoshoots isn't a failure to wear the fashion, even if you don't make a whole wardrobe with multiple looks. You can buy a $12 guitar at a yard sale and just play Wonderwall on it on Omegle and have more fun than someone who is dedicated to learning a full set and play professionally in front of people. You can knit a single scarf, hammer together a single planter box, DM a single session of D&D, and then not do it ever again. That's creation, not failure.

And you don't need to research everything and follow tutorials and get it right. You're allowed to experiment and have fun and do it wrong, and you're allowed to guess about the right way to do something. You're allowed to bring your outside perspective into something and try a technique. You're allowed to take experience you have from something and try to cross-apply it to something else. That's two of the ways that new techniques are made! And you're allowed to do something and not like it! You're allowed to do it wrong! You're allowed to give up halfway through and say you'll finish it later, and then never finish it later! You're allowed to bullshit your way through things.

You're allowed to not be serious about things. Throwing a Bridgerton party is probably really fun, but so it putting on cardboard top hats from the dollar store while holding shot glasses over your eyes like monocles and shouting "GOOOOOOOD HEEAAAAAVENS, LAAAAARYYYY," in an exaggerated tone while everyone drinks Old Crow and vows to never buy Swisher Sweets ever again. You're allowed to do things that objectively aren't good, don't showcase skills, don't create something impressive. You're allowed to do these things because they're fun, or because you think they might be fun.

Maybe you like it. Maybe you don't. But you don't need to commit to doing things like the professionals in order to find legitimacy in a thing you attempt. Your attempt is legitimate. Go try the thing.

And if you don't like it, your attempt was still legitimate. Good job trying the thing.

#for those of you who were too young to remember #there was a period of time where cell phones had cameras but you couldn't get the pictures off the phone and onto your computer #verizon would charge you 25 cents per picture to email a picture to your computer #kids these days don't know how lucky they are #also don't start smoking cigars just because it looks cool on youtube #haven't you all seen pinochio and shit?#alcohol cw #tobacco cw #20dollarlolita pep talks

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1d1195 · 1 year

Text

Traditional VII

You can read the rest of this series here: Traditional

I've heard lots that we're excited about this part, please keep that in mind as you read and try not to hate me by the end of it. Also, a huge reminder I don't know much about business terminology, concepts, or situations.

“Oh, love?” He said quickly right before she hung up.

“Yes?”

“I’m so proud of you,” he told her.

Can you bring this file in? FYI Harry’s mad. Don’t be alarmed.

:( be right in

She hated when Harry was mad. Nothing made her more nervous than when he was angry. She had only seen it a handful of times. Fortunately, it had never been directed at her. She was hoping to keep it that way. But moreover, she hadn’t been an immediate witness to his temper either. In the six months she had been at Styles Incorporated, she had only heard him yelling through Niall’s phone or from an office she passed. Unbeknownst to her, whenever he yelled or got frustrated, Niall did everything in his power to ensure she wouldn’t be around. He did it regularly because he knew his track record with the interns before. But now he did it because he was Harry’s best friend and as his best friend, he knew how much this girl meant to him, even if Harry wasn’t fully aware yet.

Of course, there was nothing to get mad about outside company walls. So, when he was angry, all she felt was worry and sadness. If Niall needed her help mid-meeting and he was mad, then it was dire.

Taking a deep breath, she glanced at the meeting title on Niall’s schedule one last time. The meeting was held for the last three hours of the workday with the anticipation of finding a solution within the first hour. But they hadn’t so it was now approaching hour two. She grabbed the appropriate folder making sure the name on the meeting in his schedule matched the folder in her hand. She had looked over that file with Niall not too long ago. Like an epiphany, she knew the reason for Harry’s anger. She wished she had told Niall this morning all the research she had been doing before he went about his own business. Or at least asked what his thoughts were on what she had done. Unfortunately, since landing in front of Harry and Niall this contract issue had been all-consuming and there hadn’t been much downtime for her to get a word in to either of them while at work. It was especially too late now. She had no idea what they had discussed up to this point. Grabbing the folder off Niall’s desk she hurried down the hall to the conference room. As she was told on her very first day, she knocked and entered. But her heart was beating out of her chest like she was in trouble. She entered in the middle of Harry’s rant, and she made eye contact immediately with Niall who sent her a quick wink to keep her calm. No one looked at her except for Niall. The idea of even glancing in Harry’s direction made her too nervous to do anything.

“— as I’m concerned we can stay here all night until we figure out a plan!”

The venom in his voice made her uneasy. She was so shocked that the man that previously rubbed petroleum jelly all over her body and kissed her like she was made of porcelain could produce such a sharp tone that it made her almost visibly cringe. There were at least fifteen people seated around the large table. No one looked at Harry. They all typed rapidly on their laptops looking for solutions.

“If someone doesn’t come up with something in the next five minutes, I’m going to start firing someone every 10 minutes until the end of the day,” he growled out.

Naturally, Niall was seated beside Harry at the farthest end of the table from the door. He was the only one who looked calm. She didn’t know how he could sit right next to him so unaffected. Must have been nice to be his best friend. She walked slowly. As if she walked that slowly, Harry might not see her. She didn’t want him to see her. She was worried he would get mad at her reflexively. Which didn’t make any sense because it didn’t involve her at all. But it didn’t matter. His anger made her sad solely because she cared so much about him—whether he knew it or not.

“What if we ask one of them to le—”

Harry turned his head like he was in a horror movie and just possessed by a demon. He spoke toward the person about to say (arguably, even from her perspective as a lowly intern) the dumbest thing she could have ever imagined someone saying at this moment in time. “You’re not about to recommend that one of our biggest clients leaves?” He snapped bitterly. She flinched almost imperceptibly at his tone. “What the fuck am I paying the lot of you?” He grumbled under his breath.

Everyone was avoiding eye contact with everyone else, not just Harry. “Does anyone have a semi-intelligent idea, or should I start firing people?” She couldn’t believe how harsh he was. But that’s why he was the boss, and she was just an intern. “Someone better say something useful in the next fifteen second or everyone—”

At the same time Harry spoke, she handed the file off to Niall. The silence was approaching near deafening. “Thank you, darling,” he whispered.

Without her realizing, her anxiety of Harry’s anger proved to be too much for her. The need to find a solution, offer a solution bubbled out of her mouth without her brain’s consent, she spoke just as Harry was about to fire the whole group. She wanted it to be whispered to Niall but her brain, as always, was so wrapped up in Harry that her mouth bypassed all rational thought. It took her a moment to notice it was her own voice speaking. “Why don’t you just have them partner together so it’s a mutual agreement between them?”

The moment the words left her lips, she slapped her hand over her mouth with an audible smack. She closed her eyes and refused to make eye contact with anyone. “I... am... so sorry,” she glanced finally at Niall. His eyebrows were raised in surprise, lips parted in shock. Like he was just as frozen in disbelief as she was. The outstretched folder in his hands hadn’t even fully made it into his possession yet. If she thought the room was silent before, nothing compared to the ear-piercing quietness now. After another moment suspended in a long pause, Niall turned to Harry.

“That’s not a bad idea,” he mumbled. Harry appeared shocked by her outburst as well. In fact, for the first time all day it seemed, he was speechless. His eyes were scanning her like he had only just noticed she was there. Maybe she was lucky, and walking slowly did make her invisible.

“Go on,” Harry said. She could tell he was still wildly irritated, but he bit back his frustration once he realized it was her. That made her nervous in itself; she hoped no one paid any mind to how he lessened his tone. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“I-I don’t—” She shook her head.

“No, go ahead,” Niall said encouragingly and rubbed his forehead at the same time, so he was covered when he winked at her without anyone else at the table seeing behind his hand.

“Uh...if...you partner them before you ask for what you want out of a merger...then it avoids a conflict of interest,” her voice wasn’t unsure, per se. She was confident she was correct. But she was terrified of Harry. Well...not...her Harry. Not that he was hers...but the version of him that cared for her in some capacity. He would never make her feel stupid or question her.

“Oh, we can’t seriously be taking an intern’s advice,” a woman at the other end of the table said. She glanced at her and could feel her own face warming in embarrassment that she was so thoughtless to say anything.

Harry’s head snapped toward the woman at the other end. Since she specifically did work for Niall, she knew nearly no one other than Harry and a few people from IT and HR. She didn’t even know the name of the woman that somehow took offense to her idea. “I’m sorry, did you have an idea?”

“There’s no way she knows what we’re talking about. She’s not even supposed to be here. This meeting is confidential.”

“Love, d’you have anything to attend to, or can y’stay for the last bit of this?” Harry asked.

“Oh, I don’t have to stay,” she shook her head quickly. Trying to keep Harry, Niall, (and now) this woman happy was her first priority...even if she hated the woman at the other end of the table. The last thing she wanted was for someone to notice Harry treated her differently. “I was going to tell Mr. Horan abou—”

“Niall, is she busy or can she spare a few minutes to stay and chat?” Harry asked, interrupting her.

“Mr. Styles, this meeting is confidential!” She would really like to know what she did to piss this woman off.

“Does anyone have a better idea?” Harry asked. It was silent.

“You should stay, darling,” Niall smiled gently as he murmured the words to her. He stood quickly and gestured for her to sit. He leaned against the windowsill, perched the folder on his lap and flipped through the first couple pages scanning for information.

No one answered Harry’s question. Specifically, the woman at the other end who was glaring at the now empty seat beside Harry. “Then, please sit,” Harry said quietly. But it was really an order. So, she sat uncomfortably. She never left her office without a pen behind her ear, which she was more grateful for than ever. Taking the writing utensil from her ear, she pulled it into her lap and fiddled with the cap opening and closing it quietly so she wouldn’t let it click but still allowed her to fidget awkwardly.

“Please continue,” Niall said from his spot by the window. Harry started pacing the length of the wall across from the window. Near the door to the hall.

She cleared her throat. She wanted to sound confident. Part of her wished she wrote it down. “Well, Mr. Horan had mentioned the dilemma...so I researched some similar cases,” she explained.

She spoke for a couple minutes. People were listening to her intently. She even surprised herself, but she thought of the research she had been doing when Niall mentioned the stressfulness of the most recent contracts and why this one of all things was going to be dire if they didn’t come up with a solution. All she wanted was to help; specifically, she wanted to help Niall the most (ergo Harry as well). Plus, she liked research. A few people had minor questions, curious as to what cases she looked up or how she even knew in the first place of where to look. “Well... one of my professors was big on conflict of interest, so I emailed him to ask.”

Niall and Harry made eye contact from their respective corners of the room. She was too nervous to look at either of them to notice the look that passed between them.

After speaking for so long, she finished her little monologue with a summary. “If my understanding and research is correct, this is definitely more of a legal process and problem we would—excuse me, you would have to go through. What I found, however, if you have the two clients for a partnership on this project, then you no longer have a conflict of interest. You do have to fill out a disclosure form and—”

“And lose a ton of money,” the woman at the other end grumbled. “Why are we even considering this?”

Harry didn’t speak. He was still pacing. He had had his hands clasped in front of his face; his index fingers pressed against his lips. Her heart was racing. Niall put the folder in front of her. On the very top paper Niall had written on a sticky note: you’re doing great :)

She took a deep breath. “Yes, there would be a pretty significant loss...but as far as I can tell by my research, the only other option is to lose one or both of the clients. Which I think would be arguably detrimental,” she concluded and pressed her lips together. She bit the inside of her bottom lip to keep her from saying anything else.

Harry spun on his heel at the sound of her accurate conclusion. For one miniscule moment he held her gaze. It was so brief if she wasn’t so in love with him, so attuned to catching where his eyes were looking, she might not have noticed. “Do you all recognize how this was an actual helpful contribution to our situation?” He asked rhetorically once more.

“Losing money is helpful?” Who spit in her coffee that she had such an attitude? And why was it directed at her idea? Did she not know that a business like this was a group effort? Her heart was hammering against her chest so fast; the idea that someone thought she was stupid made her feel so embarrassed.

“Losing the least amount of money is helpful,” Niall remarked casually looking up from his folder.

“Thank you,” Harry said, and it was a surprised sounding thank you. One that she hadn’t ever really gotten from him. Most of his thank yous oozed with kindness. This one was flat. Like he was trying to not show how truly thankful he was for her.

“Get up,” Niall whispered quickly as he leaned toward her to grab a document out of the folder. He didn’t mean it maliciously and she could tell that. In fact, she was quite grateful he told her what to do because she wanted to run out of there. She would have thrown herself out the window to escape if that meant she could get away from the awkwardness of Harry’s anger and that woman’s anger. She stood and Niall put the piece of paper in front of his mouth and directed his speech against it so it would go toward her ear. “Go get the disclosure form, check your phone. Great job,” his voice was so low, but she didn’t miss how the seriousness emphasized how proud he really was.

She exited around the opposite side of the table as Harry made his way back to his original seat. She left the room and breathed a sigh of relief getting out of there. She could already hear Harry chattering away on the other side. Almost immediately her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was Niall.

HOLY SHIT.

Oh my God...

Oh. My. GOD.

Good or bad?

I’m freaking out!

GOOD. I’M SO PROUD. Bring the form back in, you don’t have to stay, knock and give it to Harry.

Do you want me to fill it out?

Darling, if you fill it out, Harry might not be the only one who falls in love with you.

She was practically bouncing in her apartment when she got home. She felt so light, so excited to contribute something of worth to Harry’s company. She cleaned and danced around the whole place feeling like she could truly do anything. Once cleaned, she pulled the laundry from the dryer, and she was bouncing to the music in her headphones while she waited for her leftovers to reheat in the microwave. She was going to fold laundry and snuggle up with a good book after eating and having one of the best days of her professional life thus far.

She emailed her professor back and thanked him for the help, told him how grateful she was, and the advice was so helpful that she really thought she might get a job at the end of the year.

I had a GREAT day! She texted Louis and Eleanor.

Oh yeah? Did Harry finally fuck you?

Louis, can you just...? Eleanor sent an eye roll emoji to their chat. She giggled. Not even Louis being cheeky could embarrass her right now. What happened, love?

So, she sent a few voice messages and told them all about the woman that seemed to hate her for no reason. All about how Niall was impressed. Her professor was impressed. Maybe most importantly, Harry was impressed.

Of course, she hates you. Harry values you and your opinion. She’s JEALOUS. She didn’t want to believe Louis. The idea that anyone would be jealous of her was laughable. But it created a pang in her chest because there was just no way that anyone would ever think Harry would willingly be with her in that way. That he would see her in the light that could possibly make people jealous.

Don’t forget we’re proud of you too, love :) Eleanor replied.

Her phone rang at that moment with Louis at the other end. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hi, are you alright?” She asked curiously hearing the gentle tone. It was very unlike Louis to sound so quiet. Her eyebrows furrowed together as she listened alertly for signs of trouble.

He chuckled. “Yes, babe. Promise.”

She pressed the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she folded her laundry. “Then—”

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. She stopped folding. Her heart fluttered and she rolled her lips into her mouth. Louis wasn’t one for long loving speeches. She only ever heard his big speeches all of three times. Once when her brother died and he spoke at the funeral, the next when he found out how she had been living for the two years since his passing with her parents, and finally when he told Eleanor how much he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and she snapped pictures of him sliding a ring into place.

This, apparently, was going to be the fourth time. “I didn’t video you, because I know you’re probably fighting back tears already, so I just want to say this and then I’m going to hang up immediately because if I even hear a sniffle I’m going to run over there, and you know how I hate running.”

She smiled because if she laughed or breathed, she would have started to cry.

“Your brother would be unbelievably proud of you. Actually, I know he’s proud of you. Prouder than anyone—prouder than Eleanor, me, Harry, Niall, your professor...everyone. You are incredible. Your parents have no idea who they’re missing, and your brother is...wow,” he said simply in awe. She let the tears silently flow and she nodded, trying not to breathe into the phone because she didn’t want to bother Louis by making him run. Her heart ached so badly. Nothing was fair about this moment. Her brother should have been there. But she loved Louis so much for being there for her, for cheering for her when no one else did. “Okay, I’m gonna go now so you can cry in peace. I love you, babe, always and always.”

“Me too!” She heard Eleanor from the back.

“Talk soon,” he said sweetly, and the call ended.

She released a noisy sob and brushed the tears away. Unfortunately, she didn’t cry in peace for longer than thirty seconds. Niall was calling her before she could catch her breath. “Hello—?”

“I’m so sorry to bother you darling, I know you probably just got settled at home, but I was just wondering if you could send Harry and I the artic—are you crying?” He asked. She accidentally let her sniffles get the best of her as she tried to calm herself while he spoke. She even turned the speaker away from her mouth to hide it as best she could so that he wouldn’t hear. It clearly didn’t work. “Darling, are you—?”

“What’s wrong?” Harry was at the other end. “Love, are you okay?” The worry in Harry’s voice melted her already breaking heart. She sniffled again trying to regain her breathing so she could respond but all the words were choked off. “Kitten, please,” he begged anxiety so evident in his voice she could almost taste it.

“I-I’m fine,” she whispered sniveling like a child. “I’m—"

“No, you’re not,” he sounded like he was shaking his head and trying to convince her that she wasn’t okay. “Love, do y’need help? Are y’hurt?” She imagined him pacing Niall’s office. Squeezing his phone and in the right circumstance she believed Harry was strong enough to bend the metal frame.

“No!” she said hurriedly before Harry had paramedics breaking down her door. Or more than likely, before he broke down her door himself. “I’m okay,” but she was hiccupping on her uneasy breaths so much she couldn’t get all the words out fast enough, in one breath, to assuage his worry.

“Kitten, I don’t—”

“It’s just...my brother,” she croaked and let the tears of sadness but overwhelming kindness from her best friend flow some more. The last thing she wanted to do was worry Harry. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to force the tears to stop and she pressed her hand over her mouth so hard as she (very unattractively, in hindsight) snorted around a sob.

“Oh,” Harry almost sounded relieved. She nearly heard the sigh of relief deflating his tense shoulders. He figured she wasn’t hurt and that made all the difference to him. “Oh, m’so sorry, love,” he whispered. “M’glad you’re alright. Can y’jus’ call us back when y’feel up to it in a bit? Take your time, really s’not imp—”

“No, no,” she took a deep shaky breath. “No, I’m alright,” she sounded a little more confident.

“Love...” he cooed again almost disapprovingly. “S’okay. It doesn’t—”

“No, it’s alright,” she sniffled. “What do you need?” She asked.

Harry sighed. “The articles or the cases y’found. Our lawyers wanted—”

“Sure, sure. One second, I should—” she hiccupped on her own breath again but continued as if she didn’t interrupt herself, “—have sent them after the meeting.”

“It’s alright, y’didn’t know,” he answered softly. She hurried to her bag by the door with her laptop inside. Grabbing it she made her way to the kitchen counter and flipped it open. She liked listening to the way he sounded on the phone. His breath was comforting. It occurred to her she had never spoken to him on the phone since that first day at Styles Incorporated.

They were both silent while she booted up her laptop, save for the occasional sniffle. “One second.”

“Take your time,” he repeated. She released a shivering breath and Harry sighed like he was in pain. He didn’t think she lied to him on any kind of regular basis, but he thought she might if she was worried, she would upset him. So, while he hated the idea of her mourning someone so close to her—especially when the consequences were obviously much worse than he would ever know based on her brief retelling of the situation—and he couldn’t necessarily make it better, he was grateful she wasn’t hurt by someone else.

“Okay,” she gasped again trying to regulate her breathing. “Sorry,” she said awkwardly. “I’m forwarding you the email—” shaky breath, “—I sent my professor and his responses so you can see the progression of our talk,” punctuated sniffle, “so you know why I have these certain cases.”

“Thank you, kitten,” he murmured quietly. His heart broke a bit more hearing each hitch in her voice as she spoke. “Have a great night.”

“You too,” she responded quietly.

“Oh, love?” He said quickly right before she hung up.

“Yes?” She sniffled.

“Thank you for the meeting today. Y’did a great job. I’m...” he chuckled. “I’m so proud of you,” he told her. “I couldn’t say it in the meeting, of course... But m’really, really proud of you. I don’t think s’an exaggeration t’say y’saved a huge piece of the company. It was very impressive.”

Her heart felt like it was breaking all over again. “Thank you.”

“Sleep well, love,” once he hung up, she finally released all the cathartic cries and tears she bottled up since Louis spoke to her.

As good as her day was after the meeting—where she felt she actually, confidently did well—the following day was equally (if not worse to the same degree) terrible.

It started off okay. She was still riding her good day high from yesterday all morning. Niall was out of the office on many meetings and calls thanks to her. All of which he was grateful they were even happening, and he periodically sent her messages saying he was really looking forward to his afternoon coffee because he had been so busy, and it was all thanks to her. Since Harry stole the phone from him the night before he still hadn’t gotten a chance to congratulate her in person on one of the most amazing meetings he had ever been to.

She always looked forward to coffee. Mostly because she would catch a glimpse of Harry when she delivered his tea to him and after having such a good day yesterday, and impressing him at that, she was really looking forward to seeing him for a minute. Especially before their movie night tonight.

However, returning with their afternoon coffee was exactly when her day turned sour. Her coffee didn’t taste very good. It was minor, but it dampened the thrill of getting Starbucks.

Additionally, her bank sent her a message asking if she had purchased $200 worth of merchandise overseas. “Oh, fuck,” she hissed as she set the tray of drinks on her desk while she replied to the message. So now she had no debit card for a week and she wasn't big on using her credit card if she could help it. So much so that she left it at home unless she was traveling.

But those were still minor inconveniences in comparison to the remainder of her afternoon. She delivered her tea to Harry’s office as she always did at the same time and frowned as he wasn’t there. Not wanting to look like a psycho stalker, she exited his office quickly, leaving the tea on his desk and made her way back to her office.

She never really brought it up around Harry and Niall, but as part of her university’s end of the deal at this internship, she had to write reflections periodically about her time at Styles Incorporated. Therefore, when she didn’t have anything pressing on her plate from Niall, she would write a few sentences here and there on her personal laptop.

But her laptop didn’t turn on.

“Okay...” she sighed rubbing her hand on her forehead as she planned her next steps to buy a new laptop...without debit card access to her account.

“He won’t sleep with you.”

Her head snapped up to the sound of the woman that clearly disliked her from yesterday. She still didn’t know her name. “Pardon?” She shook her head in surprise.

“Harry,” she stated rolling her eyes. She stood in her doorway of the small little office inspecting it with distaste. It was small but perfect in her eyes. To this woman however, it was a garbage can. Her nose practically upturned as if it had the same stench as trash. “He won’t sleep with you,” she repeated.

She blinked as if she had misheard her. “Wh-what?”

“The whole innocent-look on you is overdone and tiring,” she said. “Harry doesn’t sleep with people that work for him. Especially the interns.”

Her lips parted in shock. “I don’t—”

“Everyone wants to sleep with him,” she rolled her eyes. It sounded like she tried and failed. “Don’t think just because you’re all buddy buddy with his best friend and second in command that you’re special. There have been plenty of interns before you and there will be plenty after. You’re not special. Harry doesn’t fuck plain girls.”

Her heart shattered and she felt her face warm in complete embarrassment, but she couldn’t move or speak.

While she trusted Harry way more than she trusted this woman who obviously had it out for her, it was her worst fears said out loud. She knew she was plain. She knew that people like Harry didn’t go for girls like her—especially when he had done this before, and she was already so insecure about how she looked and how their companionship worked. “Just because you had one good idea doesn’t make you special or smarter than the rest of us,” she repeated.

She wasn’t special. She heard it loud and clear over and over.

“I’m sorry,” she said because what else was she supposed to say?

“Pathetic,” she snorted, rolled her eyes, and like a movie, she bumped into her desk and spilled her coffee clean across her already broken laptop, all over her desk, and spilled some onto her skirt. Perhaps the only highlight of the day was that her skirt was plain black, and the coffee tasted bad. So, it wouldn’t stain obviously for everyone else to see with the remainder of the workday...and it wasn’t a waste of coffee. She gasped at the coldness, but she supposed it was better than hot coffee. Make that the third highlight. The coffee spilled from her desk to the floor, and she glanced back up and the woman was gone.

She got up in hurry to head to the breakroom, get paper towels and try to calm herself. But of course, she slipped a bit on the spilled coffee whacking her arm so hard on her desk she was sure it would bruise. That was the last straw.

She sat in a heap on the floor for a moment trying to process the last hour of work and how good yesterday was compared to how horrible right now was. “Hey darling, how’s my schedule look this afternoon?” Niall called breezing by her little space, and she didn’t even realize she was crying and still sitting next to a dripping puddle of coffee when Niall turned back from his desk and coffee to see her sitting there. “Darling, you okay?” He asked nervously. She stood and sniffled shaking her head. Smoothed her soaked skirt and pretended like she was fine not looking toward Niall.

“Yeah,” she sniffed awkwardly. “Spilled my coffee.” She was no snitch.

“Oh, jeez. Sorry, darling. I’ll go get you some paper towels—”

“No, s’fine. My mess,” she mumbled, and she tried to use the mouse for the desktop but since coffee covered the length of her desk it wouldn’t move fast enough for her to click through. “Uh...” she shook her head. “I’m sorry...” she croaked. “My computer—”

“Hey,” Niall said gently, and his voice was closer. He was right behind her. “S’alright, don’t... Hey,” he said grabbing her wrist as she tried to figure it out, tried to find a solution like she always did. “Darling,” he cooed.

It broke her. It was too much, so much of the day went wrong so quickly it threw her. Niall’s quiet voice was kindly soothing, and it was all she could take in that moment. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

“Oh, hey,” he sighed and turned her around and wrapped his arms around her comfortingly. She accepted it because she felt like if she didn’t her body would give out. She pressed her hands over her eyes as he held her and gently rocked. He didn’t pay any mind to the coffee that was probably getting on him yet again because of her. Her arm ached and she just wanted to go home so bad. “Shh, it’s okay,” he promised, and she shook her head. “Hey, what happened, love?” He asked gripping her shoulders and pushing her back a bit so he could try and look into her eyes. She shook her head.

“S’nothing.”

“Darling, it doesn’t look like nothing—”

She sniffled more and kept the part of her face covered. “It’s so stupid,” she hiccupped feeling like an idiot for crying in front of her boss.

“I’m sure it’s not,” he said encouragingly and pulled her back to his chest so he could let her cry. And she did for a good minute feeling the slightest bit relief.

But then naturally her day got even worse.

“Niall, I thought you—” instinctively, she ripped away from Niall her face warming as Harry saw how cozy Niall got holding her. Comforting her. She dared a glance at Harry.

For the first time in six months, he looked mad at her. “Sorry,” she whispered to Niall...or Harry. She was sorry regardless. There was nothing to apologize for, but she remembered when Harry saw Niall squeeze her arm. This was a thousand times worse.

“Yeah, sorry,” Niall shrugged. “We—”

“What’s wrong?” Harry wondered but his voice was tight. The air was so tense it felt like she couldn’t breathe. He wanted to be worried. She could feel it. Him asking was a chance to clear up the comforting. She should have just said it. But there was jealousy and sadness blocking his concern for her. It made her so anxious she felt tongue tied.

“She—”

“Let her talk,” Harry snapped. Niall may have been his best friend but that meant he knew when to speak and when to stay silent.

“It’s nothing,” she whispered.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” he ground out.

“Harry, stop,” Niall said immediately coming to her defense.

“Then tell me what’s wrong,” she didn’t look up, so she didn’t know Harry was staring at her. Waiting for her response. It never came. Her lower lip wobbled, and she glanced at Harry momentarily. Long enough to see how angry he was.

But she didn’t miss the hurt hiding in his beautiful, sad green eyes. “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

“Your turn,” he spat at Niall. Harry wasn’t thinking rationally because all he saw was the sweet girl sobbing into the arms of his best friend. He was upset about the company stuff, even with her brilliant idea it was still nerve wracking to have so much of what he spent most of his 20s on, in such a fragile state. Topped with the girl that clouded all his dreams upset and crying to Niall...all his irrational brain could think was that they fell in love working in such close proximity to one another. Plus, Niall was often more even-tempered and nicer than Harry was on a regular basis.

He scoffed at Harry. “Harry, no way,” Niall shook his head. “You know—”

“Apparently, I don’t know fucking anything,” he snarled. She visibly flinched at his tone. She shook her head, but Niall beat her to the punch. Besides, she couldn’t defend herself even if she tried to talk because it would be lost on broken sobs.

“Jesus Christ, Harry, don’t be a dick,” Niall rolled his eyes. Obviously if it was anyone but Niall he would have been fired on the spot. But as his best friend he supposed he had perks. “She was crying when I got here. She won’t even tell me what’s—”

He didn’t even let Niall finish. “My office,” he snapped and stormed out of the room.

She had a whole new set of tears flowing and she covered her face again. “Darling, don’t,” Niall rolled his eyes and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “He’s...he’s just the jealous type,” he whispered. “He’ll cool off. “Don’t stress,” he promised and headed out the door.

Once he left, she let herself have a small pity party while the coffee continued to pool on her desk and floor. Eventually, eyes cast toward the floor, she grabbed paper towels and started cleaning. On her hands and knees, she sniffled and wiped up the mess under her desk and she heard her phone vibrate from on top of her desk. It was Harry. Her heart rate increased rapidly, and her hands shook as she opened the message.

Don’t come over tonight.

Her heart broke.

Niall was unapologetically kind to her as the bad Thursday turned into a bad Friday. If wearing a skirt that didn’t stain was the highlight of her day yesterday, today it was Niall kindly asking nothing of her and reassuring her every time she forgot some simple tasks was today’s highlight. She blamed Harry entirely for her restless sleep. Makeup could only do so much to hide the dark circles and bags that accumulated beneath her tear-reddened lash line.

Niall closed her office door to block out the hall and everyone from the rest of the floor. “You okay, darling?”

“He hates me,” she whispered.

“He is an idiot,” he said seriously. “You shouldn’t even forgive him.” She appreciated Niall’s effort, but it was lost on her with how sad she was. It felt like they were breaking up and they weren’t even together. “Can you tell me what happened? I can help,” he promised.

She shook her head. “Nothing,” she mumbled.

She should have just told him about the stupid, mean woman from the meeting. Niall would have probably marched right to Harry’s office requesting authority to fire her. Which was exactly what she didn’t want. He sighed sadly. “Alright, well...m’gonna just give you some space. Don’t worry about anything. Just take it easy...or go home early.”

She nodded. “Maybe after coffee,” she mumbled.

“Sure, darling. Whatever you want. You’ve earned it. Whatever it is.”

Niall grabbed his laptop, his bag, everything like he wouldn’t be back either. “Niall,” she whispered.

“Yes, darling?” He still gave her space not looking even though he wanted to assure her that everything was fine.

“He’s gonna fire me,” she sniffled.

Niall shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’d quit.”

She snorted a breath of laughter. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “Go home and sleep, love. That’s official intern work,” he said.

She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize for his idiocy,” he shook his head. “Don’t give him all this credit. You have made his life so much better and if he wants to be mad then he should know of all people it shouldn’t be directed at you.”

She felt her lips tremble with a bout of fresh tears ready to spill. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, darling. I hope you tell me soon so I can help.”

She nodded but said nothing.

She texted Niall that she left his coffee and Harry’s tea on his desk. Then she messaged Louis and Eleanor.

Are you guys around? I’m heading home early.

It’s anniversary weekend, babe!

Shit.

Oh fuck, I am so sorry. Of course. I’m just feeling a little cloudy. Heading home. Have a great time. I love you both so much :)

She was impressed with her hiding skills. Thankfully, texting was a lot easier to hide her emotions. She walked home from the office. It was over two miles, but it would be cleansing, and she could always call for an uber if she got tired.

Maybe go to Harry’s if you’re feeling poorly, Louis suggested. She closed her eyes and sighed, wishing she could.

Yeah, good idea!

She assumed Louis would see right through that given she hadn’t once thought to purposefully bother Harry once in six months. So, she assumed the call that vibrated in her hand was Louis.

“Listen, I’m really—”

“Who the fuck answers a phone like that?”

No, no, no. NO. Her stomach dropped to her feet, and she froze mid step. The person walking behind her bumped into her, but she stood stalk still as the voice at the other end of the line processed through her ear drum. Her jaw dropped open, it felt like it would unhinge from the shock.

This could not be the same terrible day. What came after terrible? That was the word she needed right now to describe the last twenty four hours.

“Mom,” she breathed.

“Your father is dying,” she stated. “Not sure if you care. But thought you’d want to know in case you wanted to cash in on your inheritance,” she snipped. Her words were clipped, clear. Not slurred or confused at all. She wondered if it was hurting her to not have alcohol in her system. She heard the distinct sound of hospital beeps in the background.

It felt like someone was ripping her heart directly from her chest. “I’m sorry, what?” She whispered.

“For the love of God,” she hissed. “Your father is dying. Say goodbye if you want.”

The call ended.

Her hands were shaking. She somehow managed to put the phone in her bag. She was suddenly extremely aware of how cold it was. Or maybe it was the feeling in her chest.

She turned on her heel and headed back for the building. Work was the only thing that was going to occupy her mind but really, she just wanted to see someone who cared for her at that moment. For the first time in six months, she came to the sobering conclusion that she was really alone. There was no one to help her because there was no one that cared for her in that way anymore. Anyone currently in her life would find her bothersome and she couldn’t do that to them.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t see anyone. Niall was giving her space—and in turn appeasing Harry. Regardless of how much he liked her, he was still her boss. She couldn’t expect his comfort. Her brother was dead, and her dad was soon to be. Even if he wasn’t, her dad and mom hated her since her brother died. Louis and Eleanor were her best friends, but they had lives to live; she couldn’t bother them on their anniversary while they were out of town.

And Harry…

Well, Harry hated her guts.

Taglist: @tpwkstiles @matildasatellite @jessitpwk @jerseygirlinca @stylesfever @soachibstel1 @tiredinwinter @ameerakane20 @kimmi-kat @avasversion @youcouldstartacult @likeapplejuicenpeach @manrocket-mo @novalunosisting @golden-hoax @harryssky1

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included etc. :)

#harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #ceo!harry #sugardaddy!harry #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #tradtional

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brittie-frog · 4 months

Text

Right today made my brain start thinking about demon lore so I did some research:

- BBH has hinted at being a fallen angel and is now a demon/grim reaper and while not ashamed, is secretive about it

- Tina basically confirmed she's a fallen angel or at least wasn't always a demon today and she is heavily ashamed of it and her "past of sin"

- Mouse is very comfortable and considers herself a natural demon with the Nether as her home (specifically Puerto Rico, canonically in hell)

And Mouse today said that natural demons aren't evil because that's just who they are while those turned demon are evil. And Tina basically implied that that was why she wasn't open about her identity because even other demons have those beliefs so how can she trust humans to not think of her like that.

However, cc!Mouse as a vtuber has demon lore that states she has an angelic form and the qsmp wiki states that shes a fallen angel of sorts (had a disagreement with god and was cast out) so if they are intertwined in some way:

1. We know more about Mouse Demon lore

And 2. All three of them are fallen angels (fell at different times: Bad the eldest, Mouse middle and Tina youngest)

So I think what Mouse means is that 'natural' demons also include fallen angels, since demons and angels are two sides of the same coin, and are just who they are, not inherently evil, but those that turn demon, like what happens when you get infected by black concrete, are evil. But because she has never explained about her potentially being a fallen angel and (while Tina does refer to the Nether as 'home') Tina doesn't think of herself as a natural demon like Mouse, there is a miscommunication and it's putting her into an even deeper well of internalised hate because even other demons would think of her as evil if they knew the truth of her past.

Also after today definitely it means that Tina is either lying about how much she knows of her past (which wouldn't be too much of a reach because she's hiding a major part of her identity that would be kind of hard to ignore) or they couldn't wipe the memories of the distant past so she remembers falling.

Today was a lot and I feel like I'm missing stuff but also it's 6am so I should sleep before this consumes my every waking thought.

#also shes now apparently colourblind and illiterate #i need bagi to confront her asap about the book in the library #she didnt look at the sign when she went over but lenay read it out loud so she definitely knows #this could all be wrong and mouse is doing slightly different lore in the qsmp so isnt a fallen angel #but i dont have the time to go back and watch all her streams for every mention of demon lore #also we just gonna ignore tina hearing bagi and immediately saying “mom?”??????#excuse me????#qsmp tina #qsmp mouse #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp 2024 #qsmp demons #qsmp #skipped the q!'s because its not easy to mistake this about cc's

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littlemissmanga · 5 months

Text

Home for the Holidays With You

Pairing: Tech x (gn) Reader

W/C: 2,335

Rating: E for Everyone. This is family (and Costco) friendly.

Warnings: Excessive fluff, Tech being a sweetheart taking ‘acts of service’ to an extreme, reader is dealing with homesickness at the holidays.

A/N: I wrote this as a secret Santa gift for @freesia-writes and her love of Tech inspired probably my fluffiest writing yet. Like, this is maximum fluff, guys. A little bit of whump, especially if you can relate to being homesick, but there is so much comfort here to offset it.

Just one note, I did change this to a GN Reader for tumblr. OG had she/her pronouns.

Dividers by @stars-n-spice :)

Omega’s excitement was like a sparkler. Small, bright bursts that one couldn’t resist smiling at.

Wrecker’s was closer to an explosion, as most things regarding his brother usually were: loud, bombastic, usually too much so to be contagious.

But your excitement was like a cup of caf, perfectly prepared and consumed at the optimal temperature. It was a warmth that seeped deep into his body and settled there, much as you already had in his heart.

He indulged in your presence whenever he could when you were like this. And the approaching holiday season seemed to bring out this flavor of excitement with consistency.

So, he’d chosen to spend his free time preparing with you — decorating to the soothing sounds of holiday music, shopping for and wrapping gifts (and pretending rather convincingly that he wasn’t curious about his own gifts you’d carefully hidden from him).

Tech researched the history of the holiday symbols, décor and music and shared them with you while you worked. You, in turn, regaled him with personal anecdotes of the same things, the two of you trading information as he, Wrecker, and Omega carefully followed your instructions to turn both the Batch’s home and your own into holiday wonderlands.

He blamed your warm excitement. Though even to himself, the word “blame” resonated with playful affection.

“I can’t wait to open these,” Omega chirped as she put the last of the gifts in the area you designated.

“Only one more week!” Your smile belied your pointed tone as you looked directly at Omega and Wrecker as the pair eyed the impressive pile. At least one of them had the decency to appear sheepish, and Tech was unsurprised that it was not his brother.

“I believe there’s more to Life Day than merely presents.”

“Exactly. Thank you, Tech,” you said, gifting him a smile and light touch on his shoulder as you passed by him to put away the last of the brightly colored wrapping flimsy.

“More?” Wrecker asked, excitement and confusion mixing in his tone and expression.

“Lots more,” you confirmed. “You open presents in the morning, sure. But then you get to spend the whole day with the people you care about most. Every family is different, but in mine, we play games, watch holos, and cook holiday treats together. And at the end of the day, you get to eat all that delicious food.”

“Oh! Now that does sound good! What kinda holiday treats d’ya make?”

While you regaled the others with rather detailed descriptions of your favorite holiday foods, Tech took a seat in the living room, pulling his data pad from his utility belt to once again struggle in finding a gift suitable for you.

None of the options so far had been acceptable. Most felt far too impersonal and underwhelming. Any that carried the intimacy he hoped to convey did not seem to suit your preferences as far as he knew them. And since he’d catalogued them, he’d say he knew them fairly well.

Tech knew if he voiced his frustrations to you, you’d laugh them off and tell him not to worry; that you’d love anything that came from him. And you would. Your ability to see past any errors on his part to see his intention underneath was one of the may things he loved about you.

But in this instance, that wasn’t enough. He wanted this gift to be perfect. As perfect as you made him feel. He could not — no, would not stand for his gift to be the only lackluster part of your holiday celebrations.

He was running out of time, however, and was beginning to grow rather anxious at the thought of not finding something in time.

Tech’s focus only lasted a few more moments, however, before his concentration was broken by Omega’s excited squeal.

“Those all sound amazing! And we get to try them!?”

“Oh, uh, not quite.” Your verbal stalling pulled Tech fully back into the conversation happening before him. “I’ve planned a few seasonal-to-Pabu snacks and a nice roast for dinner, but we don’t have access to a lot of the ingredients from my home planet. So we’ll make do with a Corellia-inspired, Pabu-provided holiday feast.”

The others continued the spirited conversation, but Tech was quick to notice a heaviness to you. It didn’t dim your smile or sharpen your words, but he could feel it all the same.

As the evening grew darker and slipped into night, Tech suggested Wrecker take Omega home. His thinly veiled excuse to be alone with you wasn’t questioned by anyone, least of all a tired Omega who yawned through her departure.

Once the silence had settled, you came to sit with him on the couch. He quickly turned off his data pad — not that I’ve found anything worth hiding yet, he thought bitterly — and you melted into his side, not quite cuddling but just letting yourself rest against him.

It was a position you had taken to, and he appreciated the concession that allowed him to keep his arms free while still remaining close to you. Tonight, however, he put his pad down and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, surrounding you with him.

“Now that the others are gone, will you tell me what inspired the melancholic air?”

The tilt of your head to press further into him pleased and concerned him in equal measure.

“Just … realizing what I’m missing, I guess. I mean, I knew when I enlisted in the GAR that I’d be away from home for the holidays. But I could always call, you know? Now that were on the run …”

The silence of your dropped sentence carried for a beat. Tech shifted so he could better see your face while you still rested on his torso.

“Now that we must conceal ourselves from the Empire, it’s too big a risk,” he finished for you.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “And it’s not like I didn’t know that before. We’ve been running for a while and next week is no different. Meg’s comment just made reality hit home.”

“That is understandable.” Tech paused, considering where to go from here. The most obvious solutions — visiting home, calling family, etc. — were all off the table. But leaving you as you were, clearly distressed and upset, was unacceptable. “What can I do?”

Your smile, though small, was genuine as you shook your head against his chest. “You’re sweet.”

“I am merely trying to resolve your current problem.”

“Yes, and that makes you very sweet,” you insisted. And frankly, with you tucked into his side like you were, he felt little of his usual compulsion to press his point. Still, for the rest of the evening, he struggled to himself with how to resolve your homesickness and prevent it from further tainting your beautiful spirit.

He had his list. He reviewed it multiple times to ensure he had not forgotten a single detail. And despite being certain he hadn’t, he still felt unnecessary adrenaline coursing through his body.

“Right! That’s the last of it!” Wrecker announced as he took the final side dish out of the oven. The small space was laden with delicacies, the recipes for which Tech ensured Wrecker and Omega had followed to the letter.

It all looked perfect to him. But — just this once — Tech would concede that his opinion did not matter. Only you could say whether he was successful or not.

The door to the Batch’s Pabu home opened, and Tech heard your voice carry from the entrance to the kitchen. “Hello?”

You were early. Kark.

Evidently, his anxiety was visible, as Wrecker laughed at him before Hunter stepped over to push him out of the kitchen. “Go. We got the rest.”

With little opportunity to do otherwise, Tech obliged. “Thank you. All of you,” he said, looking at his siblings in turn, trying to infuse his voice with sincerity before closing the door to the kitchen behind him as silently as possible.

“Hello, darling. Happy Life Day Eve.”

“Happy Life Day Eve.” You give him a quick kiss before looking around the empty living room. “Where is everyone?”

“They are finishing up some final preparations.”

Confusion colored your face. Understandable, considering you had been the leader of holiday prep … at least as far as you knew. But that was the entire point of a surprise, he supposed.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been supervising. We have a surprise for you.” Tech took your hand in his, giving it a small squeeze before leading you through the house to his room.

You give a small laugh, and he felt the knot in his stomach begin to loosen.

“Shouldn’t presents be saved for tomorrow?” You tease.

“I believe you’ll prefer enjoying this one tonight.”

Opening the door to his room, Tech led you inside to reveal a rather large — and if he permits, rather impressive — new comm station.

He watches your face closely as your eyebrows lift as you take in the sight.

“Wow, Tech! That’s really impressive! Did you build this yourself?”

“Naturally. However,” Tech pulled you further into the room to stand directly in front of the comm, “You cannot ascertain what’s special about this particular comm station by simply observing.”

“Oh?” Your crooked smile as you played along with him was possibly one of the most endearing expressions, and it reminded him to turn on his recording device. “Then please enlighten me. What is so special about it that it my surprise Life Day present?”

Instead of answering, Tech reclaims his hand to type in the frequency he’s come to memorize. He paused, looking up to you and smiling briefly before pressing the call button. “It’s encrypted.”

You tilted your head, eyes furrowed as you tried to make the connection. But before you could, a woman’s voice filtered through the comm.

“Hello? Tech? Can you hear me? Are they there yet?”

Instantly, Tech saw a multitude of emotions fly across your face faster than he could catalogue them as a tear slid down the sweet curve of your cheek.

Most fortunate, then, that I remembered to begin recording.

Your voice cracked as you answered softly, “Mama?”

“Hi, honey! Oh, stars, it’s so good to hear your voice. Hold on, your father’s coming, too.”

Resting a hand lightly on your shoulder, Tech pressed a kiss to your cheek and whispered, “Take your time and come outside when you’re done.”

Your eyes were bright and wide, and Tech knew he could never catalogue the multitude or depth of your emotions in that moment. But what he did know was that look of melancholy had been well and truly banished. And that was all he needed.

Two hours later, you emerged with a wide smile painted on your face, despite the slight redness around your eyes.

“Tech,” you called softly, reaching out to take hold of him. He let you, falling into your embrace happily. “Thank you.”

“I am glad my plan was successful.”

“It really was.” You tightened your arms around him, and it was only slightly unpleasant. But Tech would have given you a pass even if you had Wrecker’s strength in this moment. “My brilliant genius. You have no idea what that meant to me.”

“Hm, I shall refrain from arguing for now. But that was only the first stage. Are you ready for stage two?”

Tech can feel his shirt dampen as tears soak the fabric even as you laugh.

“Part two? I don’t know. I can’t imagine topping part one.”

Keeping his arm around you, Tech turned you both to lead you to the kitchen, opening the door to reveal the rest of the Batch. In the time it took you to complete your call, his brothers and sister had plated and displayed the wide array of Corellian holiday dishes.

Admittedly, the smell was heavenly. Tech understood why the absence of this spread would be lamentable.

“What in the …” Your head swiveled between members of the Batch, mouth open in soundless surprise before Omega bounded forward, pointing to each dish and telling you how they followed your family’s instructions exactly. It was clear she was eager to hear your approval, perhaps more so than he had been.

“You and Wrecker made all of this?” You asked the young girl, pulling her into a hug when she finished.

“Yup! But it was all Tech’s idea! He got the comm station built and got the recipes from your family, told Phee and Echo where to get everything we didn’t have on Pabu, and he had Hunter distracting you all week so you wouldn’t notice anything!”

Your eyes narrowed at the Sergeant, earning a laugh from Echo. “So that’s why we’ve been re-cataloguing everything in the museum?”

“Sorry. It was the only thing I could think of that you’d believe,” Hunter said, hands raised in front of him as if to ward off your playful irritation.

“What do you think?” Tech asked, touching a hand lightly to your lower back to pull your attention to him. “Does part two satisfy?”

You bark a laugh before pressing into his side once again, sneaking your arm under his so it wraps around his waist, leaving no room between you before burying your head into his shoulder.

“This was… this…” He felt your deep, steadying breath and tightens his hold on you as he waits for you to collect your thoughts. “Yes, Tech. It beyond satisfies. I have never felt so loved.”

He reached forward, lifting your face to his so he can see your eyes. “But you are, darling. You are so very loved.”

And for a brief moment, Tech lost track of time. The shine of your eyes, fueled by love, awe, and just a few unshed tears, was all he needed. If this were the “meaning of the holidays,” then Tech finally understood why so many lifeforms craved the holiday season so.

“So, uh, can we eat? Or d’ya wanna keep starin’ at each other?”

Uncouth as ever, Wrecker’s question pulled you away from Tech with a laugh, though you never let go of his hand. “Yeah, let’s eat.”

Note about my taglist: My google account storage is so full that I can't update and export my sign up sheet, so if you signed up for my taglist and I did not tag you I am so sorry! It is a technical error and one that I am working on fixing!

Taglist: @dreamie411, @wings-and-beskar, @starrylothcat, @sev-on-kamino, @wolffegirlsunite, @secondaryrealm, @idontgetanysleep, @multi-fan-dom-madness, @dystopicjumpsuit, @sinfulsalutations, @sunshinesdaydream, @clonemedickix, @wizardofrozz, @anxiouspineapple99, @mythical-illustrator, @dhawerdaverd

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itsabardknocklife · 7 months

Note

By no means trying to start an argument but I don't think it's fair at all to say people hate Mystra because she's a woman. Even if Gale wasn't a minor- she was his teacher, his goddess, she took advantage of the power she had over him, tossed him aside when the orb situation happened, and only comes back into his life to tell him to off himself- this has nothing to do with her being a woman. Am i not allowed to hate Zariel for abusing Karlach? Cazador for torturing Astarion? Shar for manipulating Shadowheart? Vlaiikith for lying to Lae'zel and the entire githyanki race? Mizora for trapping Wyll in his contract? - they are the abusers of characters I love. And equating that to petty fandom misogyny for the sake of ships isn't really fair imo

Nowhere did I say that you couldn't hate Mystra for what she DID do. I agree that she abused her power and manipulated Gale. I also think saying she tossed him aside is Unfair; the Orb in Gale's chest would LITERALLY EAT HER and she tells you as much in a Gale Origin run. She just got back from the dead and now the man she TRUSTED as her CHOSEN has run off in search of the very thing that killed the first Mystra without any sort of foresight or research into what he might find.

If you were in that position, what would you do? It doesn't matter that his intention was "good;" how could you trust someone who went chasing after consume you whole? Especially when the last person who used it intended to do just that? Especially when the moment Gale learns about the Crown of Karsus, he immediately begins to talk of replacing her?

I'm sorry, but I don't think what Mystra's done is on the same level as Cazador, Mizora, Zariel, or Vlaakith. I think there's a whole lot of Unreliable Narrator happening when it comes to the whole "tossing aside" thing. Gale ASSUMES that she stripped him of his power; she did not - the Orb consumed them and he's lucky it didn't consume more. He ASSUMES she's casting him aside when she tells him to go martyr himself; she is not - she's afraid of what he'll do if he gets his hands on the Crown of Karsus, and not without good reason.

I personally think the worst thing Mystra did was fail to communicate and trusted that Gale was smart enough to know what he was doing. He was not. This is not as one sided of a situation as the fandom makes it out to be. Gale dug himself a series of holes and when he hit rock bottom, he looked around and focused on the fact that he'd hit rock bottom without considering WHY he was there.

I understand that people want to see Gale as a Good Person - he wants to see himself that way too! But he's not. He's REALLY not. He's complicated, ambitious, power hungry, and most importantly, human. He has blind spots and biases and quite frankly, it doesn't take much to influence him. He's so close to becoming Karsus 2.0 and he refuses to see it because He Knows Better. He's a Good Person.

So yeah, I think it's extremely fair to chalk this up to fandom misogyny, actually. The fandom acts like the sun shines out of Gale's ass and that he is a perfect good boy who did nothing wrong, and that is, objectively, not true. Gale did many things wrong, and with your encouragement, he can do even more wrong things! Both people in this equation fucked up!! Stop putting the blame solely on Mystra's shoulders!

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #mystra #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale

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liesmyth · 1 year

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“what the fuck did Anastasia do?” some wild speculations for funsies

What we know: Anastasia was trying to achieve Lyctorhood, and believed there was “another way” other than the standard ‘kill your cav, eat their soul’ way. Anastasia’s process still included the Eightfold Word, was performed in “laboratory conditions” and Samael, her cavalier, died. She later went on to fund the Ninth House. Everything else is speculation, or comes from biased accounts.

What we don’t know: A bunch of things!

One is when it happened: We don’t know when Anastasia attempted to ascend, compared to the other Lyctors; we only know that she did it in relatively safe conditions. We DO know that she worked “closely with Cassiopeia” (HtN, 51) and researched it “too much”, trying to do the process a different way “slower and more methodically”. Cassiopeia was the fourth Lyctor to ascend - my guess is that Anastasia made her attempt at any time between shortly before Cassiopeia’s and shortly after Cytherea.

The other is what exactly happened: all we know for sure is that John claims Anastasia failed, and he killed Samael to stop the botched process. Of course John’s account is wildly unreliable but IMO, he’s not the kind of person to say a straightforward lie when a half-truth will do — not because of moral qualms against lying (LOL), but because he likes to have plausible deniability with himself that he did a hard thing for the right reasons. I’m assuming John’s account is like, 60% true here. And it’s very juicy

Wild guess time!

Wild ass guess but my idea is that Anastasia tapped into Alecto’s enormous well of power, but dragged Samael into it via the Eightfold word. Then either the feeling of Alecto’s soul was too much for them and it made Anastasia panic, screwing the process. John killed Samael to stop it.

Why would you even think that? Good question!

I think John claiming that killing Samael was to Anastasia’s benefit is partly the truth; again John’s very good at twisting facts so that he comes out squeaky clean, but he’s less likely to lie outright. We also know that Anastasia remained on decent enough terms with John & Lyctors afterwards — I bet their relationship was very fraught, but doesn’t seem to have been on the level of “I never want to see you again.”

Alecto feels guilt over Samael’s death. The first thing she tells Harrow, Anastasia’s however-many-times-removed grandchild, is “I’m sorry about Samael” (NtN, epilogue). Alecto had the chance to apologise in person to Anastasia for Samael’s death, but she still feels the urge to apologise again to a direct descendant, immediately. This, plus the fact that she swore herself to Anastasia’s line (a big fucking deal!) makes me think that SHE was personally involved in Samael’s death, not just a witness, and she feels the urge to make up for it.

Anastasia “panicking” is a very likely reaction when confronted with Alecto’s sheer power — John completely lost it when he ascended, and while Anastasia made her attempt in less fraught circumstances it was probably still A Lot to handle. My guess that she “dragged Samael into it” is based on the speculation that the Eightfold word is what ties the cavalier to the necromancer and includes the cavalier’s name (because Harrow removed all memories of Gideon’s name, not just her existence, to stop herself from consuming Gideon’s soul) and when her panic caused her to lose control over the process to some extent (probably painful and/or gruesome) John’s resort was to kill Samael and stop the process that way.

Another (IMO less likely) possibility is that Alecto threw a Nona-style tantrum that Samael couldn’t withstand, or even killed Samael herself. These would both work with her guilt + the fact that whatever happened needed a pretty thorough “cleanup” after, but I don’t think Alecto was physically present. (However, I do think that Alecto’s involvement would be pretty much the only thing to get John to admit to something he didn’t do, and would explain why he agreed to lock up Alecto after + why Anastasia would agree to assist with it)

Ok but why would Anastasia even be able to tap into Alecto’s power?

I just think Anastasia is extremely scary. She was the one to work on Teacher (cramming 500 souls into 50) and she later went on to fund the Ninth, the House that supposedly does strictly bone necromancy, wouldn’t even touch flesh magic, but also, somehow, managed Harrow’s conception — something John, God himself, calls “a walking miracle”.

Yes, Harrow’s parents were skilled, but not that skilled. My guess is that they based their work on Anastasia’s research — a “work” that John compares to a smaller-scale Resurrection.

If that’s the level Anastasia was working with... I just think she was very good at soul fuckery. I also think that the fact that planets have souls in TLT (even planets that don’t contain any life forms... except potentially they all do) points to the existence of an “oversoul” — universal life existence within all beings; sort of the greater matter of which human souls are the molecules. I think Anastasia was sufficiently skilledto have reached to whatever spillover of Alecto’s soul was left, maybe through John’s presence, or maybe because she was still partly tied to the planet that became the First House, and Anastasia pulled on that string not knowing what it was.

This last section is 90% a wild guess, but I THINK it fits with Harrow telling John in NtN (John 5:4) that he “watched them misunderstand the process” so here’s my shred of canon evidence.

Anyway, here’s my current Anastasia Theory — to be debunked in 2023

#tlt theories #anastasia the first #alecto #the locked tomb #tlt

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holdupjack · 10 months

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Housewife

——————

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

WARNING: Suggestion of Smut

——————

Third Person P.O.V:

Y/n sat in the apartment she shared with her longtime girlfriend, Hermione. It was late into the afternoon, the sun was setting in the window as Y/n flipped through today's newspaper.

She was waiting for her lover to return home from work. The worst part of the day in her mind.

Y/n hated that they both got off work a different times, usually Hermione being the one to almost stay into the night most days.

Yet, she didn't blame her.

Being a Professor at Hogwarts was hard work, and her girlfriend had always been an organized overachiever.

One of her friends had asked is she thought Hermione had been sneaking around on her, which caused Y/n to laugh.

Hermione had no time to be sneaking around, and when she did, she was always snuggled up in bed with her.

"Where is that girl?" Y/n whined softly as she put the paper on the table and stood up.

Y/n thought a moment on what to do.

Cook dinner?

Watch a movie?

Read a book?

Then she got an idea.

Walking to their bedroom, she wasn't surprised to find old man Crookshanks taking a nap on their bed.

He meowed softly at her arrival into the room, earning himself a kiss on the head and pet down his body as Y/n walked past him.

"Now, where is that list..." Y/n muttered as she scanned the bulletin board above Hermione's desk.

Her girlfriend had a list of all the books she had her eye on in the Diagonally Bookstore, which was a lot.

Thankfully, Y/n had saved more than enough this month in her own bank account, and was happy to spend it on her favorite person.

They're that couple that has their own bank accounts, but shares one as well.

Which means, secret gifts!

"Ah! There it is!" Y/n says as she spots the paper pinned in the corner, carefully taking it down, she smiled at the contents on it.

A few books she heard about, and some she had no idea, but Hermione has always enjoyed the barley known ones.

"Crook, I'm headed out. I'll be back in an hour or so!" Y/n says as she walked past him again, giving a scratch behind his ears as she went by.

She stopped in the middle of the living room, and looked around for a pen an paper.

In case Hermione came home while she was gone, she had better leave a note.

She doesn't need her worrywart girlfriend stressing over her unusual absence.

Quickly, she wrote down that she had gone on an errand and would be back soon. She left it somewhere it would be found, and soon found herself out the door.

——————

Hermione did end up arriving home twenty minutes later, very surprised to find it unusually quiet.

"My love? Are you here?" She calls out, but only heard the happy meows of her cat she he ran to her.

"Hi Crooky" Hermione giggled as she bent down and picked him up into her arms. She easily kicked off her heels and walked into the living.

"Where is your other mother?" She asks the cat, but he just continues to purr happily.

On the coffee table, did she spy a folded up paper that had the words 'Read Me'. Hermione took a seat on the couch and placed Crookshanks beside her, much to his dismay.

When she opened the letter and read the contents inside, she let an unhappy sigh leave her lips.

She didn't like not being places with her Y/n, even at work. Sometimes she regretted taking such a time consuming job, wishing that she had just become a independent researcher.

Yet, Y/n always reminded her that it's not how much time you spend with someone, it's how you'd spent it.

Still, she missed being home with her family.

Hermione hated the thought of what life would be like if they got married, or randomly decided to have children in the future.

Being the spouse or mom that was always working, basically missing out on every milestone in her life.

Now, these thoughts have been ongoing theme for the brunette, ever since a few months ago.

Hermione Granger, forgot their ten year anniversary.

Y/n didn't mind, she honestly forgot about it as well with their busy schedules.

Oh, but when Hermione had realized halfway through a class...TWO days later.

All emotional hell broke loose.

She basically had begged Dumbledore to let her leave early, which he was going to allow anyways, but seeing the desperation in her eyes told him that she had messed up big time.

Hermione had raced to Diagonally, buying everything she knew her girlfriend had been eyeing the last year.

When she arrived home with everything and began setting up, she had been in such a frantic state that she didn't realize how much time had gone by.

She was only altered when she heard the front door close and a confused Y/n walk into a beautiful gift mountain.

Poor Y/n, she thought only one of two things.

1. Someone died.

Or-

2. Hermione was breaking up with her in an extravagant way.

Then when Hermione began to cry and apologize for forgetting their anniversary, Y/n sorta chuckled and gave her a hug.

"Hopefully you and I will have many more anniversaries to come, so we'll just ignore this one" she had whispered in her lovers ear.

Hermione still apologized and asked if she could do one more thing to make it up to her.

You can probably guess where their night ended up, and you could also guess that she had asked for another day off.

Of course, they stayed in bed the whole time.

Anyways, Hermione didn't like the distance.

She didn't like the late nights.

And she especially hated the lack of time together.

So, she is going to propose an idea to Y/n. One that was definitely going to shock her at the sudden want for change in Hermione's professional career.

Hermiones eyes shift over to the front door as it opened with a soft huff from her favorite person.

"Are you home 'Mione?"

She began to grin when she heard the nickname, and stood up.

"In here, where did you...whoa what's with all the bags?" Hermione asks as she watch her girlfriend place two large bags onto the floor and rotate her shoulders with a pained expression.

"Actually, they're for you" Y/n says as she stepped over the gifts and gave the curly brunette a welcomed kiss.

"For me?" Hermione whispers when they break away, earning a hum as Y/n sat down next to Crookshanks.

Hermione pushed the cat to the end of the couch, taking the space next to her significant other.

She summoned her wand, and mumbles a soft 'Accio', watching as it slowly floated to the space in front of her.

Quickly did her eyes enlarge when she realized what was contained inside. Hermione gasped when she pulled out the different books she had been dying to get her hands on.

"Where did you get these?" She asks as she turned towards her girlfriends who was just watching her with a soft smile.

"I'm not telling my secrets" she jokes, obviously she had gotten them from the bookstore, since the tote bags they were in held the stores logo.

"My love, this is to much!" Hermione expressed as she began to put the book back in the bag, hoping that she could get her girlfriends money back.

"Oh, would you stop that!" Y/n laughed as she wrapped her arms around Hermione pulled her onto the couch the with her.

Hermione chuckled as she turned into her stomach, giving a loving smile at the women in front of her.

"Thank you my lovely, you spoil me rotten with your affection" Hermione mumbles as she pressed a few kissed onto Y/n's lips.

"I'd rather it be me than someone else making you smile" Y/n whispers back as she chased after another kiss.

Of course, their kisses always seemed to become desperate when they get this close.

But, Hermione still had to talk to her.

"As much as I love our make out sessions, I need to tell you some... interesting news" Hermione says as she sat back onto the couch, making sure not to squish her cat.

Y/n raised an eyebrow with intrigue as she sat up as well.

"Oh? Gossip? Did McGonagall finally punch a student?" She asks, making Hermione chuckle.

"No sadly, but it has to do with work" she says as she suddenly took a deep breath.

Y/n could tell that what she was about to say was serious, and it made her reasonably nervous.

"I want to become a housewife"

Y/n's eyebrows raised in surprise.

That wasn't what she was expecting.

Then she began to laugh, which made Hermione pout.

"This isn't a joke! I'm serious!" She sighs as she watched Y/n snort softly.

"I'm sorry beautiful, but it's hard to imagine 'Career Driven Hermione' as a housewife" she explains as she grinned up at her.

"Also, you can't call yourself a housewife" Y/n states, and the former Gryffindor takes a little offense.

"And why not?"

"We're not married"

Hermione rolled her eyes and leaned onto the backrest, crossing her arms and legs.

"That wouldn't be a problem if you would just pop the question already" she mumbles and Y/n smiles in return.

"You said you wanted to build your career!" Y/n defends as Hermione turned to her with a playful glare.

"Well, I want to be a housewife now...so get a move on" She replies, causing Y/n to laugh as she ran her fingers through her hair.

"Before we start planning a wedding, why don't you explain to me why this has come up?" Y/n asks as she scooted closer to Hermione and smiled at her as she wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Hermione rested her head onto her lovers shoulder blade, and gave a quiet sigh.

"You know I hate that we barley see each other" she whispers, which makes Y/n frown.

"I know, but don't you like being a professor?" She asks as she kissed Hermione's head.

"I do! I did? I honestly only know that I hate being apart from you so much" Hermione expresses as she looked up at Y/n, who kissed her forehead in return.

"Well, if you truly don't enjoy being a teacher anymore...then why don't you become a freelance researcher? I know you've talked about it in the past" Y/n asks and Hermione smiled.

"You think I can discover something that could help the wizarding world?" She asks and Y/n chuckles.

"My sweet, you'll do more than just help us" Y/n says, causing them both to quietly laugh together.

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying each other's company as the night sky greeted the dark space.

"I'll do it"

Y/n hummed and kissed her head again.

"Then I back you a hundred percent" she whispered into Hermione's hair.

"So...where's my ring?" She asks, making Y/n laugh.

"Are you still going to be a part time housewife?" Y/n asks as she felt Hermione's hand land on her thigh.

"Obviously, only if you take my last name" she asks and Y/n hums.

"Fine, but only if you finally cave and get a French maid outfit" She responds, causing Hermione to cackle loudly.

"What is your fascination with that cliché?" She asks and Y/n shrugged her shoulders, making Hermione's head bounce.

"Ever since we rewatched 'Clue', I've been imagining you in Yvette's costume" Y/n admits, making Hermione chuckle some more as she felt her lovers hand caress her hip.

"Fine, deal"

Silence then came over the room.

"Did we just agree to get married?" Y/n asks and Hermione hums.

"Yep"

"Should we celebrate?"

"I know where this is going. You're thinking about me in that costume, aren't you?"

"Yep. Take off your pants my favorite sexy British maid."

Laughter and touches enveloped the dark living room as Crookshank ran for safety.

Poor Crook.

#harry potter #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #lesbian #fanfic

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antialiasis · 6 months

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Chess (2018 Kennedy Center revival)

So I was just going to briefly mention all the other different versions of Chess I have consumed in the big essay post I’ve been writing on and off, but there was just too much to say about this one which made it really awkward to fit it in, so fine, here is another individual chesspost. Nearly 7500 words of rambling under the cut, oh my god.

This production represents the latest official full overhaul of Chess. It sports an all-new book written by Danny Strong, also known as the actor who played Jonathan on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which is some whiplash (Sarah Michelle Gellar is apparently a big Chess fan, too). It was later staged again as a concert with some further modifications in 2021, but I listened to an audio bootleg of the 2018 version. (There exist some videos of it online, but only scattered bits.)

The Story Changes

This version has London’s basic plot structure with the distinctive two chess tournaments (this time four years apart, which is neither the original number nor the actual number of years between world chess championships), but rearranges Act I, adds a lot more quippy dialogue and swearing, reinterprets the characters, and recenters real-world politics in the whole thing — sort of the exact inverse of what Chess på svenska did with the material. It opens with “Difficult and Dangerous Times” to set the scene in the Cold War and features the Arbiter narrating with sardonic omniscient commentary between songs/scenes throughout, which does feel a bit more consistent than the Arbiter suddenly having a narrator role for the duration of one song in Act II.

All the main characters in this version are reinterpreted with significant new background context, which is a very interesting way to rewrite it that I definitely dig in principle. For example, Florence’s first scene here involves Walter threatening her with deportation from the US unless she can make Freddie behave for the duration of the tournament. Most versions of Chess make the political scheming very symbolic and vague — exchanges of mostly unnamed political prisoners or handwaved concessions — but this version is noticeably specific, with specific nuclear arms treaty negotiations that the CIA believes would be negatively affected if Freddie keeps openly antagonizing the Soviets. She tells Walter to go fuck himself (told you it adds more swearing) and that nobody can control Freddie Trumper, but ultimately she doesn’t have much of a choice but to reluctantly play along. This addition recontextualizes her character and her interactions with Freddie in Act I a fair bit — it’s pretty significant, after all, that she is under threat and may lose her home if she doesn’t somehow control what she really can’t.

Meanwhile, Freddie himself here suffers from a full-on mental illness which he takes medication for. Walter asserts on a phone call early that they’re dealing with a “genuine paranoid schizophrenic”, but then later calls him a “bipolar bitch”; I take the blatant inconsistency combined with the obviously insulting nature of these remarks to mean probably we’re not meant to take either of them at face value, but these two lines from Walter are the only ones suggesting any specific diagnosis. (I unfortunately suspect Danny Strong didn’t have a specific condition in mind and research it so much as just slap him with a Generic Ambiguous Mental Illness for which he takes Pills.) One way or another, Freddie’s ambiguous mental illness gives him bouts of intense paranoia, driving him to do things like trashing his and Florence’s hotel room to look for listening devices at one point. Florence keeps insistently, frustratedly telling him to just take his goddamn pills even as he’s in genuine distress; it’s pretty uncomfortable, and also definitely one of those things that are at least more human when his episodes could cost her the only home she has: she’s desperate and in distress too.

(I do kind of feel as if this whole bit would make more sense if Florence and Freddie had a strictly business relationship here to start with, instead of being explicitly portrayed as a couple — when they have a committed intimate partnership going on, one would think Florence getting deported would also be pretty obviously significant for Freddie, and Florence quietly playing along with the CIA and crossing her fingers that she can indirectly coax him into behaving with seemingly no serious thought given to whether it’d be better to just tell him why he needs to stop feels stranger. The scene with Walter sounds like Walter/the CIA are not aware of their romantic relationship and Florence wants to keep it that way — they both refer to Freddie strictly by his full/last name and as “her player” — so I guess Walter would have assumed she wouldn’t tell him, but surely the calculus would at least look a bit different to Florence herself. Even if it just prompts her to realize Freddie would still be liable to react by becoming even more erratic and vocal about his paranoias, that feels like it’d be significant enough, at least for her feelings on this relationship going forward, that it never actually coming up or being suggested within the story starts to feel marginally odd. Not a major complaint, though, just a bit of overthinking.)

Freddie in general is noticeably portrayed much more sympathetically here than usual throughout. Where other versions of Chess tend to present Freddie as an attention-seeking drama queen who plays up ludicrous arbitrary demands for money and press, here things like his walkout from the first chess game are made to come from a much more genuine place: he has major sensory issues and is intolerably thrown off balance by distracting noise and lights (which really are deliberately arranged to sabotage him). “Florence Quits”, the song with the misogyny verse, usually reads as being triggered by his jealousy and inability to accept that Anatoly’s just playing better than him, but this version makes it feel more about how he feels persistently gaslit about the ways he’s being sabotaged than anything else: he accuses the Soviets of having a hypnotist in the front row to throw him off (which they do, and Freddie literally saw him and recognized him) and Florence of working for the CIA (which she has been, if not by choice) while they deny it and brush it off, and the tense opening notes of the song play under him desperately yelling “You’re lying to me! You’re all lying to me!” (Which doesn’t make the misogyny okay, obviously, but it does make it feel more like a desperate, paranoia-fueled lashout where you don’t know how much he really means all that.)

When he subsequently forfeits the match against Anatoly, he makes a speech that sounds absolutely despairing where he says chess has been taking a toll on his health since he first became champion at eleven years old, and he doesn’t feel he can trust anyone, even himself. In Act II, before “The Interview”, he even actually apologizes to Florence for how he treated her; heck, his motivation for going so hard after Anatoly in “The Interview” itself is portrayed as being that he is genuinely disgusted by Anatoly leaving his family so callously (which is a lot of fun given Freddie’s own issues about his father leaving him and his mother behind) and wants Florence to hear the truth about what a despicable man he is, which is still unpleasant to her but clearly comes from a much more sympathetic place than either simple spite or reluctantly complying with Walter’s orders.

As for Anatoly… he was taken from his parents when he was a small child to be groomed by Molokov and the KGB into becoming a chess champion, and he’s well aware from his very first scene that the state had killed the previous Soviet champion after Freddie unseated him. (Freddie excoriates the press early on for not covering why the former champion disappeared off the face of the Earth because they’re too busy bashing Freddie, which sounds like paranoia, but the narrative has actually told us Freddie is right and they really did execute him but no one but Freddie seems to notice or care — another way in which Freddie is jarringly sympathetic here. In general, Freddie is portrayed as paranoid, and the other characters treat him like he’s just paranoid, but the narrative keeps proving Freddie’s paranoia right.)

Anatoly, though, isn’t afraid of the same fate, because “The state cannot execute a man… that is already dead.” (This general sentiment could press my buttons, but it just feels super corny and melodramatic the way it’s presented and performed, especially with that dramatic pause in there.) He is deeply depressed, thinks his marriage to Svetlana is fake and his kids hate him, and says repeatedly in Act I that he hates chess and just wants to be free of it, though he also describes a particular championship match he watched as the only time he’s felt love. At the end of Act I, he defects to the UK along with Florence as usual (his defection fully blows up the treaty Walter was worrying about despite Anatoly’s victory, so Florence’s refugee visa is indeed revoked, and that’s why they end up in the UK). Theoretically he should be free of chess now, but it bothers him intensely that he only won by forfeit (here they never finished playing a single match), resulting in him returning to defend his world champion title, and win it ‘properly’, four years later in Bangkok against Viigand.

Unknown to Anatoly, by Act II, after the election of Ronald Reagan, the Soviets are extra on edge and believe a planned NATO military exercise is actually the US mobilizing for a full-scale invasion of the Soviet Union. Walter tries to convince Molokov it’s just an exercise; Molokov insists unfortunately the generals are going to believe it’s an invasion and be ready to retaliate unless Viigand wins the championship (if Viigand wins they will take it as a ‘sign of goodwill’ from the US, which will change their minds on the apparent invasion because, uhh, unclear). Throughout Act II, the larger stakes in this version are set up to be that if Anatoly should win the match, the Soviets are liable to start a nuclear war.

Does Walter go to Anatoly to frankly tell him that apparently the Soviets have lost their minds and are basically threatening nuclear war over a chess match and try to convince him to throw on that basis? Does Molokov realize that if he’s telling Walter to go rig the chess match so the generals will call it off, he clearly doesn’t actually believe that the US is about to invade, so probably he should be trying to convince the generals not to go for the nuclear option himself? No, of course not; this is Chess, so we have to have the songs that are in Chess. So instead, Walter and Molokov just go through the same indirect schemes as usual to unbalance Anatoly and convince him to throw the game, with some minor twists. Molokov actually actively threatens Svetlana with being sent to a gulag to die if she doesn’t convince her husband to return — and Svetlana does straight-up tell Anatoly this, only for Anatoly to brush her off and tell her they won’t do that. Florence learns the same from Walter and initially dismisses him, and fully doesn’t believe him about her father being alive, but does ultimately sympathize with Svetlana and worry for her, which I like. But Anatoly is obsessed with winning this championship above all else and fully convinced Molokov is bluffing.

In the end, he plays the game to win, oblivious to the nuclear threat; as he checkmates, Walter makes a desperate phone call to his superiors to call off the training exercise. (Why he didn’t just do that immediately when Molokov told him the Soviets were taking it as an attack, instead of spending all this time playing along with this elaborate chess mind game, is a mystery.) Only… they don’t, and the Soviets watch with their fingers on the nuclear button, but ultimately they don’t fire. The Arbiter’s narration informs us this was the closest the world ever came to destruction, even closer than the Cuban missile crisis, and that this then served as the wake-up call that prompted negotiations about nuclear deescalation.

Anatoly, meanwhile, returns to the Soviet Union as usual, this time successfully exchanging himself for Florence’s imprisoned father, and Walter gives the two of them visas so that they can return to the US together.

Broad thoughts

I feel profoundly weird about the mixing of real-life history and completely fictitious alternate history here — you can’t just assert in narration that the fictional events in your musical were what taught the US and Soviet Union that maybe they should just talk to each other, while making a specific comparison to an actual thing that really happened, after spending the musical asserting that the Soviets murdered chess players for losing the world championship. I think mixing history and fiction can work fine if we can imagine that for all we know this is what really happened, or alternatively that this is what might have happened in some alternate universe similar to but distinct from ours. But here, we’re creating highly significant and publicized events that are obviously fictional, making it absurd to pretend this is what really happened, while also presenting these fictional alternate-universe events in objective hindsight narration alongside real events that happened in the real world and as a supposed cause of them. This ending narration just feels like it’s weirdly trying to have its cake and eat it too.

All in all, though, I think this is definitely one of the most interesting efforts to rewrite Chess. It definitely has something it’s going for, there are several neat ideas in it, and in particular I appreciate that it tries to give extra attention to the characters, more context to their actions, and more messy, humanized depth, inner conflict, and complicated motivators and stressors behind what they do. I genuinely enjoy what it’s doing with Freddie in Act I, in particular, even though it feels somehow both jarringly like it’s woobifying him (I genuinely think he ends up coming across as the most sympathetic of the three mains here, with so much of his erratic, childish and unpleasant behaviour being recontextualized to be more understandable and the way his hatred of the Soviets keeps being validated by the narrative) and like the narrative is weirdly harsh on him (this much more sympathetic Freddie who suffers from an actual mental illness is treated like absolute irredeemable scum by every other character including the fourth-wall-leaning narrator, even more than usual).

I also think the restructuring of Act I was pretty solid for the most part, though there’s definitely some awkwardness, like how Freddie’s expanded encounters with the press sort of clumsily repeat the same beats a bit. On the one hand, I can get what Danny Strong was going for in choosing to introduce everyone first and then go into “Merano” instead of doing several minutes of narrative meaninglessness before the main characters are even introduced; on the other hand, that kind of just half-defeats the sole original purpose of “Merano”, which is to provide a very jaunty more stereotypical musical theater song so that Freddie can be introduced via barging in and interrupting it with his very different vibe, and if I were Danny Strong I would definitely have just removed “Merano” at that point. But the “Difficult and Dangerous Times” opening works great, and it nicely avoids the “almost nothing of note happens for nearly forty minutes” and “several meaningless fluff songs in a row” problems of the London script, introducing conflict and stakes early and keeping the narrative going.

Ultimately, though, a lot of what it’s trying to do doesn’t quite come together to me, and some of it is variously misguided or just strange.

The Politics

To start with, I can definitely get wanting to emphasize the role of Cold War politics in the narrative, and I basically enjoyed the increased political focus and higher stakes in Act I — but I don’t think making Anatoly unwittingly almost start a nuclear war works here, or fits properly into this narrative at all. The Soviet generals have to be holding idiot balls; Molokov has to be holding an idiot ball; Walter has to be holding the biggest idiot ball of all; and most importantly, the ludicrously massive stakes being pasted on top of the match despite none of the main characters even knowing about it means we zoom thoroughly out of the character drama of the situation: “Endgame” just becomes grotesquely trivial with that hanging over it without Anatoly’s knowledge, rendering the actual drama of the climactic song completely irrelevant to what’s really at stake.

I also dislike, in a version that emphasizes the politics, how distinctly slanted it is. One of the things that I like in the London strain of Chess is that Walter and Molokov are both slimy, manipulative bastards in different ways, both sides’ political actors cruelly toying with the lives of the players for their own impersonal ends; the righteousness of each state as a whole doesn’t really matter to this story, only the impact that the whole conflict and the mutual scheming has on the main characters’ lives. But in this version, the Soviets and Molokov are cartoon villains who literally abduct children to force them into chess camp and then murder them if they don’t win the world championship, while Walter may be a condescending asshole who’s willing to threaten Florence but is distinctly the ‘good guy’ in his interactions with Molokov, which comprise most of his screentime, especially in Act II. Walter even gets a humanizing moment where he explains he has a nine-year-old son and has nightmares about him suffering a nuclear winter (Molokov, meanwhile, tells Walter in Act I that Anatoly is like a son to him but could not more obviously not care about Anatoly at all when he proudly presents his new champion material Viigand in Act II). I just find it really detrimental to Chess’s narrative to make it about Soviets Bad, US Good, and more so the more you focus on that — to whatever extent you highlight the politics in this story, it should be done in a way that’s about how the political machinations of the Cold War impact the character drama at the center of it, and it’s distracting when instead you make it into a loosely related B-plot about Walter’s desperate diplomatic efforts to stop the evil Soviets from destroying the world with their shortsightedness.

I think a successful more politically-focused Chess could definitely exist, but I think it’s always going to function best if Walter and Molokov feel at least narratively like just about equal scumbags. It’s not even impossible to imagine nuclear weapons and mutually assured destruction coming up in the course of it — but it needs to be using that to make us enraged at all of this on behalf of Anatoly/Florence/Svetlana/Freddie, not enraged at Molokov on behalf of Walter.

The Character Work

Meanwhile, I do basically like the setup and recontextualization done for all of the main characters in Act I, but unfortunately none of them quite delivered as well as I hoped in the end.

Let’s start with Florence. I actually quite liked the deportation threat, putting Florence herself under personal pressure in a way she usually isn’t. I dig characters being put through the wringer and making decisions under stress. But the story doesn’t quite do anything with that other than using it as silent context behind her early interactions with Freddie and technically as the reason she and Anatoly move to the UK offscreen. We don’t, for instance, ever see Freddie learn that that’s why she moved or that he was unwittingly indirectly responsible for that, or otherwise address that in any way, and as far as Florence in the rest of the story is concerned, it might as well never have happened — we never see her having any kinds of feelings on it, or even confronting Walter about that nasty little part he played in her life when she meets him again (she doesn’t even comment on it when he offers her the chance to go back to the US at the end!). To an extent this is, of course, because Florence being deported was never originally part of the story of Chess, so of course it doesn’t come up in any song or have any significant specific impact on the core series of events — but if you’re going to add it in at all, you really ought to be taking that somewhere in the rest of your additions that isn’t just briefly handwaving that she gets to go back at the end.

Like Long Beach, this version brings Florence’s father back at the end — but unfortunately, it feels really unearned here. Compared to other London variants, it actually ditches the bit of “The Deal” where Florence is tangibly emotional and riled up by Walter’s offer of her father — she fully dismisses the idea of her father being alive as bullshit, and instead it’s Svetlana who moves her to have doubts when she sees her begging Anatoly to return on video and realizes Svetlana still loves him. I do really like that, by itself, and it’s probably my favorite thing about this version’s portrayal of Florence; her empathizing with Svetlana to the point of feeling genuinely guilty for having taken her husband from her, and believing maybe the right thing to do would be if he went back to Svetlana for her sake, is actually very good, serves as a great lead-in to “I Know Him So Well”, and makes Florence’s character feel far more sympathetic in a production where she’s otherwise pretty lacking in that department. But it leaves us with no emotional connection whatsoever to Florence’s father — we’ve only heard her mention him twice before Walter’s offer, very briefly, in Act I, and not really with any sense that she misses or is all that invested in him. Seeing her reunite with him means nothing for her or her arc; it just comes out of left field, and winds up being another thing slanting this version towards Good Guy Walter, Bad Guy Molokov, what with Walter offering her visas back to the US for both of them seemingly out of the goodness of his heart.

It would have been possible to actually build up to this in a way that would make it satisfying. Florence and Anatoly have several conversations; we could have used some of those to have Florence actually talk about her father and how she feels about him being gone, and that could have been part of building up her relationship with Anatoly, made it meaningful that Anatoly’s parting gift to her is to ensure her father’s return. I suppose Danny Strong’s thought process may have been that if he built up Florence’s father too much, that should become her main concern once Walter brings that into it, and he wanted her concern to be about Svetlana instead, which I guess is fair; it also means Anatoly only really has to dismiss the potential harm to one other person in his obsession with the winning the game. But if you do make the decision to not build up her father, then bringing her father back is not an ending that makes any sense, and there was no need to do this — they could have easily cut out all suggestion of her father being alive entirely and it would only have made things smoother. I think the only reason she gets her father back in this one is in some hasty effort to make Florence’s ending less bleak, but because it doesn’t have any emotional resonance, it’s just not the right way to do that here.

Speaking of Florence and Anatoly, the romance here… once again has some neat, interesting things it’s going for but doesn’t quite come together as a whole. The two of them do have some actual conversations where they bond a bit, which is already a marked improvement over the default London script — but their very first conversation features Anatoly asserting out of nowhere that Florence has “a way of brightening his spirit”, despite not even knowing her, which isn’t super convincing and just comes off kind of creepy-awkward. Florence asserts a few times that he’s sweet and kind, but we don’t really see much of him actually coming across as sweet or kind — his lines tend to be either melodramatic or sardonic moping interspersed kind of jarringly with awkward jokes. He’s less charming or sweet and more like a lonely, kicked dog, which is fine if Florence is into that but doesn’t quite make her descriptions of why she likes him ring true.

This production actually goes back to the concept album a bit when it comes to Florence and Anatoly — namely, more than political manipulation and external pressures forcibly tearing them apart from the outside, there’s a more substantial internal tension between them as Anatoly genuinely simply prioritizes winning the chess match over her and dismisses her as she tries to question him about Svetlana. The two approaches can both work but do different things for the narrative; this internal approach puts more focus on the personal conflict and character drama and makes the relationship more interesting, which is definitely good, and in principle I think this is built up to in a pretty solid way here — Anatoly, raised to become a chess champion to the exclusion of all else, being maddened by the notion of not actually beating Freddie in Act I and needing to prove he deserves the championship to himself in Act II before he can feel “free from chess” works as a coherent reason for him to be so strikingly, unhealthily obsessive about it.

But I think the biggest problem is that Florence and Anatoly individually don’t hit well enough as characters to create investment in them. Florence is ultimately not developed enough and mostly just acts kind of unpleasant, especially to Freddie, all the way up until that Svetlana bit in Act II. More importantly, I just can’t like or understand or sympathize with Anatoly at all, beyond recognizing that core of what his arc is going for. Part of it is probably down to the writing of his lines, which I’m just not a fan of in general. I already named one example from his first scene. Here’s how Anatoly and Florence’s very first conversation starts:

ANATOLY: It’s not his fault. This game drives us all crazy. FLORENCE: I’m fine. Aren’t you even a little bit scared? ANATOLY: Of Trumper? FLORENCE: No, that they’ll kill you if you lose. ANATOLY: Oh. To quote the great Leo Tolstoy, “Even in the valley of the shadow of death, two and two do not make six.” FLORENCE: What does that mean? ANATOLY: I don’t know exactly, but it is very Russian.

I just don’t find this dialogue very convincing. Why is he reciting a dramatic irrelevant quote if he doesn’t know what it means and just thinks it’s “very Russian”? It feels like a generic quippy exchange off a snarky TV show. Does Anatoly use humour to cope with his situation? Not really; this is pretty much the only time he says anything that might be taken as that. This feels like a joke that’s there only to get a laugh out of the audience, not because Anatoly would actually tell it — and consequently, it doesn’t tell us anything real about Anatoly. Meanwhile, Florence responds to this with “Oh, you’re funny,” as if that’s one of the reasons she falls for him when I would decidedly not name that as a character trait he has. I feel like most of his dialogue just doesn’t have a great sense of character — in stark contrast to Freddie, who oozes character. I can’t get a good sense of who he is and how he thinks. He’s just there. And this also makes it harder to see what Florence sees in him and believe in the relationship.

Moreover, this Anatoly just comes across as kind of a terrible person, not in the fun coherent intentional way Freddie is a terrible person but in a flat, confusing and kind of unintentional-seeming way. Svetlana here is actually really sympathetic, with lovely little additional bits of dialogue that make her feelings hit harder (her voice as she tells Anatoly that “You left us!” breaks my heart), and this is possibly my favorite version of Svetlana in any Chess. But Anatoly is really, really terrible to her, by which I don’t even mean the cheating on her but the bit where he keeps angrily insisting to her face that she never loved him and she brainwashed their children to hate him and of course they’re not going to kill her (hey, Anatoly, guess who’s already well aware that the Soviet government in this universe is not above executing people over chess?).

And even that could be made understandable, given his situation — he could just be in hard denial about it because the thought of them having been suffering with him gone and being punished for his actions is so horrific he just shuts it down — but there’s never any sense that that’s what’s really going on. We don’t see him privately upset about the possibility later, for instance — he just keeps insisting the same and dismissing Svetlana to Florence, too. We know it’s not that it’s true — we see Svetlana admit to Molokov that even though he ruined her life and she never wants to see him again she still loves him, and we hear her sing “Someone Else’s Story” and “I Know Him So Well”. Nor do we ever get any hint at exactly what Svetlana or his kids did to make him think this of them, if anything (his own kids!). Anatoly just seems to sort of bitterly, adamantly believe this for no reason at all. And that makes it impossible to empathize with. Okay, sure, Anatoly, you were taken from your family as a child, but that really doesn’t even start to explain any of this. There could have been ways of making it feel at least believable, tragic in a deeply fucked-up way, but the story here just doesn’t do the work. And once again, Anatoly being so unpleasant for no reason just makes it harder to feel at all invested in his relationship with Florence or sad when they part.

The best fix here isn’t quite obvious, and I can’t say I envy Danny Strong trying to put all his neat little ideas together and make them work. If Anatoly were to appear substantially conflicted about Svetlana and put any real stock in Molokov’s threat, that would render “Endgame”, where he doubles down anyway, kind of jarring and inexcusable as he’d be not just refusing to return to her but refusing to care if she is killed. So in order for this to properly work with “Endgame”, he probably does need to be very deep in denial about whether they’d really kill her. I think what I would do, if I were writing this plot where groomed-as-a-chess-champion Anatoly knows the Soviets killed Boris Ivanovich and they’ve threatened to kill Svetlana too, is to emphasize better how irrational Anatoly is being and try to show it more as a consequence of growing up among the constantly plotting KGB.

Let him go off on a proper paranoid rant to Florence about the reasons why he thinks Svetlana is just plotting against him, and some innocuous things he saw his kids do once that mean she brainwashed them. When Florence tries to challenge him on how batshit he sounds, he just storms out, saying she’s being taken in by their lies and just wants to sabotage him, and disappears — and she doesn’t see him again until he appears at the final game and plays this manic, desperate match while insisting to himself that Svetlana and Florence both just never understood him and hated his success. Afterwards, we can perhaps see him finally, quietly asking Molokov if they’re really going to kill her, showing that on some level he already knew the threat might be real and had just firmly blocked it out (in the actual ending as it is Molokov simply tells him unprompted that she really will be punished unless he comes back, and he just asks why with no addressing of his previous adamant insistence that that wouldn’t happen). His and Florence’s final conversation could then involve a bit more of a reckoning with that and with what his relationship with Svetlana was really like, through a more honest lens.

I’m actually pretty tickled by this scenario because that would really drive home a pretty fun parallel between Anatoly and Freddie — which in hindsight I think this version must in fact have been trying for, but didn’t quite do in a focused enough way for it to really hit. Anatoly and Freddie are both chess players with deeply abnormal childhoods and bouts of paranoia that cause them to behave in toxic ways, which ultimately drives Florence away from both of them.

This production shows the first chess game as the “Chess Game” instrumental playing under Freddie and Anatoly having alternating inner monologues about the game and their issues, deliberately drawing a comparison between the two of them; they both say they hate chess, that they don’t feel like real human beings. It’s not exactly subtle, but I liked the way this was used to build up their respective brain gremlins and was intrigued by the parallel being set up. I didn’t feel they ultimately did much with the parallel, though, because the story then didn’t really continue leaning into it much from there. By emphasizing this Anatoly’s paranoia as paranoia and not just as him legitimately thinking the marriage was never real and the KGB wouldn’t kill her, we could properly build the story around that parallel, and I would genuinely dig that.

The one place after the chess match where the actual thing does sort of try to get at the Anatoly/Freddie parallel again is in the dialogue scene that precedes “Endgame”. This scene is not sung (though it has the “Chess Game” instrumental in the background, which connects it neatly to that previous bit comparing the two of them), but it’s clearly based on “Talking Chess”: Freddie approaches Anatoly to tell him Viigand’s weakness lies in his King’s Indian Defense, and:

ANATOLY: Why are you helping me? FREDDIE: Jesus Christ! Am I the only one who cares about this game? ANATOLY: It’s more than a game now. There is so much more at stake than who wins or loses. FREDDIE: No! No, winning is everything. Fuck politics! Fuck the KGB, fuck the CIA, fuck them all! We are the ones who have dedicated our lives to chess. We are the ones who have given up everything for greatness — our childhoods, our sanity, our loves. Anatoly, we’ve sacrificed everything. They’ve sacrificed nothing. What’s the number one rule of a chess champion? ANATOLY: Play to win. FREDDIE: As long as you do that you can never lose, even if you do.

Much as I love “Talking Chess”, though, this on the surface similar scene just didn’t feel right in this context when I listened to it. In Anatoly’s last scene here, he told Florence firmly that he just wanted to win and that his marriage with Svetlana was never real and it’s all KGB mind games. Him going “It’s more than a game now, there’s so much more at stake” suddenly now comes out of nowhere — if he believes that now, it could only be if he actively reconsidered something offscreen, but he doesn’t say anything elaborating on what he’s thinking now or what he might have reconsidered or why, just that vague, generic line that contradicts everything he’s expressed up until this point. It’s another example of Anatoly’s dialogue just feeling really flat and meaningless to me — his lines here don’t say anything, just serve as vague filler to prompt Freddie onward. And because unlike London proper the setup leading up to this is all about him already being absolutely determined to win the game at all costs, this just feels redundant, unnecessary, going through the motions of something that’s in London without realizing that with the changed context it doesn’t quite make sense anymore.

I think that’s unfortunately the case with Freddie a bit here too. I enjoyed Act I’s quite different take on Freddie, and his establishing narration for Act II petulantly stating Anatoly won the championship last year “by forfeit, I might add”, and “The Interview” is recontextualized in a very fun way as I mentioned before — but after that it feels like Danny Strong doesn’t quite know what to do with Freddie anymore and just has him sort of arbitrarily go through the motions of London in a way that doesn’t necessarily hang together with everything he’s established of Freddie so far. It made sense that this Freddie, despite being decidedly hostile towards Walter and the CIA, conducted the interview to show Florence what a bastard Anatoly is — he’s not doing it for Walter, he’s got his own reasons to want to do it once Walter’s shown him the Svetlana video. But I find it a lot harder to swallow that this Freddie — whose usual problem seems to be that he’s compulsively blunt about how he really feels — would then be easily persuaded to play his part in “The Deal”, which involves exaggeratedly trying to be all buddy-buddy with Anatoly. Maybe if there was better setup around it, like with “The Interview” — but “The Deal” only has seconds of kind of half-assed leadup here, and from there it moves directly into “Pity the Child” (after a segue featuring the recording of Oppenheimer quoting the Bhagavad Gita, because nuclear war).

Freddie’s next appearance after that, then, is this “Talking Chess”-esque dialogue where he’s realized the parallel between the two of them, how they’ve both sacrificed everything for chess and the political schemers have sacrificed nothing and that’s why he should play to win. I can appreciate how the low point of “Pity the Child” would trigger that particular realization, contemplating how much he lost and sacrificed to achieve his status in the game and perhaps afterward realizing Anatoly is the only other person here who might understand that. That feels like it basically tracks and is interesting.

But… it also means that fun very specific contempt for Anatoly in particular based on him having left his family like Freddie’s own father did is just kind of… gone, I guess, or at least Freddie doesn’t consider it relevant enough for it to stop him from going out of his way to pep Anatoly up for the game with no mention or hint of it. (At least Freddie probably isn’t aware of the threats made against Svetlana in particular, so he doesn’t know Anatoly winning would shatter his family even further.) And we’ve lost the bit in “Talking Chess” where the notion of the political scheming actually leading to Viigand winning the match just personally offends Freddie because Viigand is not even that good; instead Freddie is just putting forward “Play to win” as some kind of general inviolable chess principle, which is kind of generic and not nearly as characterful, in my opinion. I’m not saying we ought to have had the “Viigand is mediocre” bit here — I don’t think it would quite fit in for this Freddie, whose feelings about chess itself are very conflicted and who is more concerned with showing up these political hacks who have sacrificed nothing while they sacrificed everything — but as a Freddie moment I would really have wanted to end on something stronger there than this vague assertion that “The number one rule of a chess champion is to play to win.”

Like in London, this is Freddie’s last substantial scene, but he does have a part in “Endgame”, and it’s also an interesting one: he gets Sixty-four squares / they’re the reason you know you exist (but not the preceding How straightforward the game…), but also a couple of other verses usually sung by the chorus, and the lines he gets are clearly very purposefully chosen to reinforce that final resolve regarding the sacrifices they’ve made for greatness, which I really appreciate: Listen to them shout / They saw you do it / In their minds no doubt / That you’ve been through it / Suffered for your art and in the end a winner and They’re completely enchanted / But they don’t take your qualities for granted / It isn’t very often / That the critics soften / Nonetheless, you’ve won their hearts / How can we begin to / Appreciate the work that you’ve put into / Your calling through the years / The blood, the sweat, the tears / The late, late, nights, the early starts?

All in all, Freddie is still definitely my favorite part of this Chess, but while the parallel itself is neat it’s too muddled and I find the second half of Act II pretty uneven for him. What would I do if I were writing this bit?

I’m not totally sure how I’d want to tackle “The Deal”, but as for the “Talking Chess”-but-not scene: I would ditch the bit where Freddie is trying to advise Anatoly on strategy and the bit where Anatoly is apparently suddenly not determined to play to win just so Freddie can then tell him he should be again. None of that is contributing anything in what this version has been building up. Instead, they just sort of bump into each other, Anatoly fresh off his paranoid rant to Florence about Svetlana, Freddie fresh off “Pity the Child” and the strange realization Anatoly might be the only person who’d understand him a little bit. At first they just sort of stop and look at each other. Freddie starts, guarded, with some kind of oblique accusatory prod about the leaving his family thing, which he still deeply resents.

Anatoly has calmed down now, but he tells him what he told Florence: that it was always a fake marriage, a fake family, that the video was just a lie set up for him by the KGB, that Svetlana had brainwashed their children to despise him.

This incidentally plays into Freddie’s existing preconceptions pretty well. He’s probably not instantly convinced but it checks out enough he’s willing to reluctantly leave it alone for now. Probably mutters something like, “Fucking Soviets.”

Anatoly says something like, aren’t you going to try to make me a deal to get me to throw the match and go back? Freddie says no, fuck that. Says the whole bit about how we are the ones who have dedicated ourselves to chess, who have sacrificed everything, childhood, sanity, love, and they’ve sacrificed nothing. Why should we listen to those CIA and KGB assholes? Draws out that parallel. The two of them are probably standing in symmetrical positions on the stage.

Anatoly just nods slowly, agreeing. “I would have beaten you.”

Freddie scoffs and says, “Dream on,” but not quite with the spiteful arrogance he would’ve said it in Act I.

Then they part, and we move on to “Endgame”. The scene isn’t about Freddie helping Anatoly, or about Freddie convincing Anatoly to go for the win; it’s about the Freddie/Anatoly parallel, about Freddie realizing it and in his profound loneliness finding a smidge of connection with this guy he hated because he’s the only one who sort of Gets It, and about showing how Anatoly’s conviction has developed since the first chess match where part of his inner monologue went, “I can’t beat him, he’s too good.” Anatoly is so ready to prove that he really is the world’s best chess player.

Conclusion

Man, this version is so interesting. It’s a mess, but it’s a fascinating mess with a bunch of tasty potential and a real sense that Danny Strong had some genuine thoughts on what the show was missing and how to rework it to fix that, even where his attempts were ultimately confused and don’t succeed. In some ways it’s the most me-core version of Chess and in other ways it’s deeply antithetical to me and in most all ways it’s trying to do something neat but does it in a flawed way. Special shoutout to this Freddie, who honestly deserves better than this Florence.

#musicals #chess musical #chess the musical #ramble #review

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