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homoose · 3 years

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Teach Me Something I Don’t Know: Part IV

Summary: The Halloween parade. Will and JJ are adorable. Anita suggests that Spencer become a classroom volunteer. Reader has a rough week.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, a smidge of angst

Warnings/Includes: none

Word count: 4.4k

a/n: I wish we’d seen more of Will and JJ as parents because I imagine it would be adorable and hilarious. Let’s see if you can guess all of their costumes before the reveal lmao. Your only clue is that Spencer loves keeping with a theme and the brown vest (I literally learned how to make my own shitty gif bc I couldn’t find the right one in the search and I do not understand embedding lmao) makes an appearance.

Series Masterlist

———

“Did you grab the bags?” JJ swept the pleated, platinum braid out of her face as she bent over to zip up her boots.

“No, I thought you did,” Will called, bouncing down the stairs.

“I put them in the car already,” Spencer informed them, popping his head back in the front door. “There was just the one box, right?”

“Yeah, that was it,” Will confirmed. “Shit— where’s Michael’s sword?”

“Should be on the counter,” JJ huffed, standing up and adjusting the bodice of the blue dress.

“Got it.” Will came around the corner of the kitchen, patting his hips where his pockets would be— if he weren’t wearing an adult-sized onesie. “Keys?” Spencer held them up. “All right then, let’s get this show on the road.”

The trio headed to the waiting SUV, Spencer climbing into the backseat as Will and JJ got into the front. Will and JJ chattered on about dinner plans and schedules for the following week, and Spencer smoothed down the brown wool vest layered over his white linen shirt. He’d spent entirely too long putting together the costume over the last week (with a little help from Penelope). He’d scrapped the Spock getup he’d been working on since September— he could always wear that next year. But he’d only get one chance to attend the Room 105 Halloween parade, and once the idea had wormed its way into his brain, he had to make it happen.

“Spence?” JJ’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Would you be able to pick Michael up on Monday?”

He ran his hands down his thighs over the mint green cropped trousers. “Sure, as long as we don’t have a case.”

Will smirked at him in the rear view mirror. “How’s Ms. Y/L/N?”

“You’re about to see her yourself, so you can ask,” Spencer replied.

Will laughed, and JJ turned in her seat. “Whoa, coming in hot with the snark. You really do like her.”

Spencer fought and failed to keep the blush from rising, irritation at being teased blooming sharp inside his chest. He tried to shrug as nonchalantly as possible. “She’s a great teacher.”

“That’s not a no,” JJ noted, eyebrows raised.

“She’s Michael’s teacher,” Spencer said, like it meant something.

“Yeah, so?” Will shrugged his shoulders. “You’re his godfather. Technically, you’re not related, so it wouldn’t be breakin’ any rules.”

“Well, it’s not like that, so it doesn’t really matter,” Spencer insisted.

Will hummed and JJ turned back around in her seat. Spencer drummed his fingers on his knees and watched DC roll past through the SUV window. It really wasn’t like that. Y/N was just… very nice. A nice, beautiful, sweet, silly kindergarten teacher that he couldn’t stop thinking about no matter how many books he read or coffees he drank or chess games he played.

Monday was the last day of his sabbatical, and he was even more relieved to be headed back than usual— grateful that he’d have something to occupy his mind other than her. Because his mind was, indeed, occupied. The way her smile beamed like the spotlight on a stage, illuminating whoever happened to be on the receiving end. The way her hands moved in unbound, buoyant illustrations of her thoughts. The way her laugh felt like the first warm sip of tea or the wrap of his favorite scarf. It was getting out of hand, to say the least.

Will pulled into the parking lot, and instantly Spencer’s palms began to sweat. He glanced at the headband on the seat beside him and felt the mortification clawing at his insides. The costume was ridiculous; he was ridiculous. He should have just worn the Spock outfit.

Maybe he could just wait in the car and pretend like he hadn’t been able to make it. Or he could just leave the headband in the car. But then he’d just be in mint green capris with a sweater vest and platform sandals, and she’d have absolutely no idea who he was supposed to be. Then he’d have to explain it, and it would be even worse.

Will parked the car, and he and JJ immediately stepped out. Spencer watched them near the hood of the SUV, enjoying a rare moment of co-parenting without work hovering right out of frame. Will pulled the hood of the onesie up and JJ laughed, brushing her hand over the brown fabric twigs sticking out of the top. He supposed that if Will Lamontagne, Jr. could strut his stuff in adult footie pajamas, his handmade costume was probably all right.

With one last resigned sigh, Spencer slid the headband on. He grabbed the box of Halloween treats, opened the door, and hauled himself out of the vehicle. He pushed the door closed and looked in the reflection of the window, adjusting the headband around his curls and blowing out a breath.

“Ready?” JJ called, peering around the side of the SUV.

“Yeah—yeah,” Spencer agreed. He moved around the vehicle to join them, the three of them walking to find a spot in the crowd of parents standing around the carpool loop.

When they found a suitable spot, Will looked up at him and shook his head. The sandals added three extra inches to Spencer’s height, putting him a good six inches taller than Will. “Those shoes make you look like an actual giant,” Will chuckled. “I know that’s the point, but I feel like even more of a shrimp next to ya now.”

Spencer set the box of candy bags on the ground and would have shoved his hands into his pockets if the linen trousers had any. Before he could respond, JJ pointed to the door of the school, cooing, “Oh my god, look. Remember when the boys were that small?”

The PreK classes came out first, and Spencer could acknowledge that they were very cute, barely out of the toddler stage and holding hands with a line buddy. But he was waiting on a very specific cutie.

He’d barely had the thought when the kindergarten classes started to emerge from the door. He almost didn’t recognize her at first— just an orange blob and green shrubbery. But the converse gave her away.

“How is she so cute?” JJ threaded her arm through Will’s. “Even when she’s dressed as a giant orange blob.”

“It’s a gift,” Will agreed. He glanced up at Spencer. “Right, doc?”

Spencer nodded but didn’t take his eyes off Y/N. “I think so, yeah.” Will grinned and bumped JJ’s shoulder, but Spencer barely even registered his own response.

Thankfully they’d picked a spot near the very end of the loop, so he had plenty of time to get himself together before she was in front of him. While Will and JJ waved at all the tiny superheroes and princesses, he watched Y/N. She was all orange fabric from her shoulders to her knees, with bright orange Chucks to match. On her head was a strange variation on a party hat, bright green ferns sprouting from the tip of the cone and falling into her face. She looked absolutely ridiculous and entirely adorable, and he was in so much trouble.

When the class finally approached the final curve of the loop, Will nudged Spencer and gestured to the box of goodie bags. Spencer crouched down and lifted the box, standing back up to see Y/N laughing at Will and JJ. “Very cute, Lamontagne Family.”

Her gaze traveled across, then up, and then her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. Spencer wondered if maybe the earth could just open up and swallow him whole.

“Oh my god, are you—?” She stepped forward and ran her hand lightly over the vest, and he didn’t dare breathe. “Are you the BFG?!” Her hand dropped from his torso, and he didn’t have time to be disappointed before her face split into quite possibly the biggest smile he’d seen from her yet.

A tiny Superman shouted, “Ms. Y/L/N, we’re making a gap!”

Y/N came back to herself, gesturing to all three of them. “Don’t go anywhere.” She accepted the offered box of treats from Spencer and then turned to help her class catch up.

Will gave him a look. “It’s not like that, huh?”

“Oh my god, she likes you.” JJ clapped her hands together. “This is amazing.”

“I’m takin’ credit for this,” Will bragged. “I’m a regular ol’ matchmaker.”

Spencer couldn’t even be bothered to attempt a denial. He was still thinking about the feel of her palm on his chest, how it might feel to hold her hand, the way her eyes practically sparkled when she saw his ridiculous headband. He was in so much trouble.

Fifteen minutes later, the classes filed back out into the parking lot for dismissal. Y/N led the class down the sidewalk, grinning at the excitement coursing through her line. As they approached the end of the loop, Y/N caught sight of them and waved. The kids lined up in their normal spot, chatting excitedly about their costumes and candy bags.

“Lord, Ms. Y/L/N, you’re something else,” Will laughed.

“Is it not the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen?” She laughed and tapped the green shrubbery hanging in her face. “I have the kids do a little persuasive writing thing every year. They draw a picture and write a sentence about what they think Ms. Y/L/N should be for Halloween, and then we take a vote.”

She waved her hands in that way Spencer loved, the way that was so similar to his own. “Usually the options are pretty tame, you know—ghost, witch, bumblebee. This year was a near tie between runner-up Jojo Siwa and well,” she gestured at herself, “carrot.” Y/N cackled, and the leaves on top of her head shook with the action.

They all laughed along with her, and then JJ added, “The details are truly incredible. Is this an actual plant on your head?”

“I really thought about it,” Y/N laughed, “but no, it’s just fake ferns stuffed into a cardstock funnel.” She gestured at Will and JJ. “But also, excuse me— this family costume is ridiculously cute. Mr. Lamontagne, loving this onesie. Mrs. Jareau, I didn’t even know it was possible to look prettier than you usually do, but here you are. And Michael’s Anna costume?” She held her hands up. “Incredible. Show stopping. I wish I had an aunt Penelope to enlist the help of, because that cape is the actual height of fashion.”

“She helped Spence, too,” JJ prompted, stealing a glance in his direction.

“Oh yeah?” Y/N asked, turning to smile at Spencer.

“We um, 3D printed the ears,” he clarified.

“No way!” She took a step closer to him, peering up at the detail on the headband. He leaned down a little for her to get a closer look. “That is so cool. I’ve never actually seen anything 3D printed up close before— did you design them yourself?”

She met his eyes briefly, and he realized how close they were— close enough that he caught the faintest whiff of sandalwood and cardamom. Of course she even smelled like warmth and home. “Well. I, um— I drew a sort of sketch, I guess. And then Penelope did the software coding. I— I’m not very good with technology, honestly.”

She ran her fingers lightly over the plastic, and he decided she was really trying to kill him. “Yeah, I’m not sure I really understand how it works.”

“Well, first you create a blueprint file of the design you want to print, which you can do through modeling software or three-dimensional scanning. Then you convert the file into an STL file— named for Stereolithography which was the first ever 3D printing process. The STL file is made up of triangular mesh polygons, which is the data that describes the surface of a three-dimensional object. After that, you use a software program to complete the process of slicing— essentially dividing or chopping the 3D model into hundreds or thousands of horizontal layers that the printer can print one at a time to create the 3D object. And then the printer prints each layer until you have your finished product.”

Y/N was quiet, and he pulled back to see her grinning at him. “I thought you said you weren’t very good with technology?”

“I’m not good with using technology,” he clarified.

She nodded. “Gotcha. So you just know everything about it.”

Her joking tone had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I read a lot.”

“How much is a lot?”

“I can read at a rate of 20,000 words per minute, so… a lot.”

Her eyebrows shot up into the tangle of ferns on her head, and he was just so overwhelmed by how adorable she was. “Well, if I ever have a question about anything, I know who I’m coming to.”

He was sure he was blushing, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. “I’m happy to answer any and all of your questions.”

She let her gaze travel over the rest of the costume. “Oh my god, the sandals! Man, you really nailed it. I’m very impressed.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I thought about being Trunchbull, but I couldn’t find the sweatshirt,” he joked.

She laughed, and he wanted to bottle it up to keep forever. “As much as I would have loved to see your hair in a bun… you’re much too sweet to have been able to pull that off.” She smiled softly at him. “Much more suited to our friend the BFG.”

He rubbed a hand down the back of his neck, and it was only then that he realized Will and JJ had gone to the car. He looked back to Y/N, opening his mouth but unsure of what he was going to say.

“Y/L/N!” He turned his head to see Anita jogging toward them. “Did you—” The giant cardboard box she was wearing knocked into one of the few kindergarteners left in Y/N’s line, nearly sending them to the ground. “Oh my gosh, sorry sweetheart!” She righted the startled child, and Spencer gave her a once over, completely at a loss as to what her costume could be.

“What in the world are you supposed to be?” Y/N asked, choking out a laugh.

Anita looked at her deadpan. “A monopoly piece. Remind me that I’m never participating in team costumes ever again.” She rolled her eyes and gestured at Y/N. “Next year I’m gonna wear an orange t-shirt, call myself a carrot, and be much more comfortable.”

“I’ll have you know this costume was a lot of work,” Y/N remarked, crossing her arms.

“I’m sure it was. You could have put on an orange dress, stuck a green pipe cleaner in your hair, and called it a day, but that’s not the Y/L/N way.” Anita’s eyes slid across to where Spencer stood. “Well, hello, doctor. I have absolutely no idea what you’re supposed to be, but I love everything about it.”

“Spencer’s the BFG,” Y/N said, and Spencer could have sworn she sounded almost proud.

“Ah, Roald Dahl, of course.” Anita smirked. “I see you, Spencer. I see you.” She put her hands on her hips— or rather where her hips would have been if they weren’t covered by a ridiculously large box. “So, when are you going to volunteer?”

“Sorry?” he asked.

“Like, when are you going to volunteer in Y/L/N’s classroom?” She held up her hand, palm down, and made a circular motion between the two of them. “You know, hang out, but professionally.”

“Oh my god, did you need something?” Y/N’s squeaked, eyes wide.

Anita ignored her. “You just have to do a background check, but I’m sure you’ll pass it.”

“Lopez,” Y/N said, staring her down. “Do you need something?”

“Oh, I was just going to ask if you got the email about the PD after school on Tuesday. But this was much more fun.” She winked at Spencer. “Bye, Spencer.”

They both stared after her as she nearly skipped across the grass to the building. Y/N turned to him. “I’m— so sorry.”

He met her eyes and took the leap. “Volunteering could be fun.”

He watched her press her lips together to contain her smile. “It could be.”

He didn’t bother containing his own. “I’ll um— I’ll shoot you an email.”

“I’ll respond to your email.”

…

When he walked in the door, Spencer made a beeline for his desk. He opened his laptop and pulled up his email account, writing as fast as his one-finger typing would allow.

Spencer Reid Re: Volunteering

Hi!

I’m just following up about volunteering. Anita mentioned a form that I needed to fill out? Now that I’ll be back to work, I’ll just need to plan around the BAU schedule. Could you give me a list of days that would work for you?

Really looking forward to seeing you in action.

Spencer

He checked his two other email messages, and then left the browser up while he thumbed through his most recent reading material.

He sat at his desk for the remainder of the afternoon, distractedly perusing his book and glancing at his empty inbox every minute or so. His gaze flew up to the screen at the ding of a new message at 6:30, only to find a promotional email from one of his favorite indie bookstores.

He closed his laptop with a sigh. It was a Friday night. Y/N probably just didn’t check her email on the weekend. He could wait until Monday. He’d see her on Monday.

He limited himself to checking his laptop twice a day on Saturday and Sunday. When Monday rolled around, he checked it in the morning. He leaned back against the leather of his chair, staring at the empty inbox. He had some errands to run, and for the first time in his life, he wished he had a phone that had email on it.

He ran his last-day-of-sabbatical errands and stopped in at his favorite coffee shop for most likely the last midday, sit-down coffee he’d have for a while. Before he realized, it was 2:30. He brought his empty mug to the counter and waved to the barista. Then he walked to the car and prepped his conversation starters.

“Did you get my email? I sent you an email, just wondering if you saw it? Hey— Hello— Hi, I wasn’t sure if you got my email.” He blew out a breath. “Hi. How are you?” He waved his hand. “I’m great. Did you get my email?” He laughed into the empty car. “Ridiculous, Spencer. You’re ridiculous.”

When he pulled into the parking lot, his heart was racing and his palms were slipping against the steering wheel. He pulled around the loop, looking with a furrowed brow at the area where Y/N should be. In her place was a short woman with cropped grey hair. She held a clipboard and looked generally overwhelmed.

Michael sprinted to the car as soon as he saw it. He pulled open the door and let out a world weary sigh. Spencer turned in his seat. “Everything all right?”

“No, everything is terrible,” he huffed dramatically. “Ms. Y/L/N was sick today. Mrs. Franklin was our substitute, and she smells weird.”

Spencer looked through the window at Mrs. Franklin, struggling to keep a few rowdy boys in the line. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m sure Ms. Y/L/N will be back soon.” He was secretly relieved that he had a potential explanation for the unanswered email.

“I can’t take another day of Mrs. Franklin,” Michael sighed, buckling his seatbelt. “I hope Ms. Y/L/N’s back tomorrow.”

Spencer let out a breath and pulled away from the curb. “Me, too.”

…

JJ huffed out a breath, glaring at the stack of paperwork in front of her. Spencer was nose deep in a book, but he glanced up at the sound. “I can take a few of those if you want,” he offered.

“No, it’s fine,” she sighed. “I’ve really only got six left.”

He looked at his watch. “Each report takes you approximately 37 minutes. With eight minute breaks in between, you’re not going to be out of here until almost 6:00.”

JJ laughed. “I can’t believe I missed out on these scathing performance reviews for thirty days.”

“Suit yourself.” Spencer dropped his gaze back to his reading.

His first week back from sabbatical had been uneventful to say the least. The team had just wrapped a local case, and they’d spent the better part of the week going over consultations and potentials. It was finally Friday, and Spencer was finished with his stack of backlogged reports.

He was finishing the last chapter of the book when JJ dropped a string of quiet curses. He continued reading, waiting for her to ask. She was quiet for another minute.

“I forgot I’m on duty to pick Michael up today.” Spencer looked up at her, slight panic coming over him.

“I really don’t mind finishing your reports,” he offered.

JJ raised her eyebrows. “What, no offering to visit Ms. Y/L/N?”

Spencer closed his book. “I, um. I sent her an email a week ago, and she hasn’t responded.”

“So?”

“So…” Spencer ran a hand through his hair. “That’s weird, right?”

JJ laughed. “You don’t really use email, so I’d imagine your inbox is pretty orderly. But if you use it a lot, it can be easy for messages to get lost.” She looked at him pointedly. “I can almost guarantee that she’s not ignoring you, Spence.”

He sighed. “I guess there’s a quick way to find out.”

...

Spencer drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, watching the door of the school. He glanced at the clock, noting the class was later than they’d ever been. Without really understanding why, he pulled out of the loop and swung back around to park in the lot. He exited the car, and as he rounded the hood, he spotted them.

Y/N was at the front of the line, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket and mouth pressed into a thin line. The line behind her was unlike he’d ever seen it. No waving arms, no smiles, no giggles. Twenty small bodies followed behind her with absolute and total solemnity, and he felt uncomfortable just watching them. It would have almost been funny if it wasn’t so dramatically out of character.

The line weaved around the more rambunctious classes, maintaining their grave expressions and quiet pace. They reached their spot on the sidewalk, and Y/N didn’t even have to say anything. Spencer watched as the line took their spots behind her. She held one hand up to acknowledge parents as they pulled up, murmuring stoic goodbyes to students as they headed to their vehicles.

He hung back at the hood of the car until the majority of the class was gone, slowly making his way across the parking lot. Y/N’s line of sight was pointed in his direction, but her eyes were unfocused in the afternoon sun. He could see the moment that she registered his presence, her eyes widening slightly and bottom lip releasing from the place she’d been absentmindedly chewing. She shifted her weight as he closed the final few feet between them.

“Hi.” She held a silent hand up in greeting. He clenched and unclenched his fingers. “Rough day?”

“It’s not always sunshine and rainbows, despite what everyone thinks,” she snapped. She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes up to the perfectly blue sky, mocking her mood. “I’m sorry. Yes, it was a rough day.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“You don’t deserve my wrath.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the students. “They didn’t either, but— too late for that.”

He watched as she lowered her head back down, rubbing a hand over her face. He desperately wanted to slay whatever dragons had given her normally brilliant eyes such a grey cast. “You have strong relationships with them, and kids are resilient. I’m sure they know you—”

“Please— don’t.” Her voice was thick, and she looked at him with desperate eyes. “I— I appreciate the thought, but I’m— I’m a frustrated crier.” Her shining irises proved her point. “And I’m just— I’m really just trying to keep it together for the last four minutes of my contract time.” Her words were practically a whisper, and she swallowed thickly and glanced down the line, just Michael and one classmate left, eyes downcast.

“I understand.” Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from reaching out and touching her. “I’m sorry. I— I hope your weekend is better than today.”

Michael slowly left the line, murmuring a quiet goodbye to Y/N. Spencer put a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the car, stealing one last glance at a crushed Y/N.

...

Y/N Y/L/N

Re: Re: Volunteering

Hi,

I meant to respond to this email, and then a bunch of things happened, and then I was out all week.

I don’t know if you even still want to volunteer after this afternoon, but it felt rude to not respond at all.

I’ve attached the background check form to this email in case you’re still interested.

Y/N

1 Attachment: Background Check

—

Hi,

I meant what I said this afternoon. Your students love you, and they know you love them. If my conversation with Michael in the car was any indication, they’re feeling rightfully embarrassed and guilty about their behavior while you were out.

Regardless of what happened today, your relationships with your students are strong enough that they will come to school tomorrow knowing that you still care about them. Children don’t hold onto things nearly as much as adults.

It would be a privilege to volunteer in your classroom, even on the worst day.

Spencer

1 Attachment: Background Check - Spencer Reid

—

If I wasn’t already crying, I would be now.

Thanks for that.

No sarcasm intended. Really. Thank you.

—

This might be inappropriate, and if it is, please just pretend like this email doesn’t exist.

I have a favorite cafe in the DuPont circle area, Soho Tea & Coffee. They have an excellent tea drink made with honey and milk that I like to order whenever I’ve had a particularly difficult day.

If you’re up for it, it’s on me.

———

Tags: @spacedikut @uhuhuh @itsametaphorbriansblog @90spumkin @blameitonthenight21 @magenta145 @annesauriol @watermelongubler @ampal98 @rainsong01 @meowiemari @mrsmyaweasley @mggsprettygirl @ceeellewrites @coffeeandendlesswords @daybabyx @joalsglasses @chevyimpala00067 @misshale21 @sapphic-prentiss @danifaithkae @saspencereid @heyitssomegirl101

Permanent tags: @andiebeaword @averyhotchner @pinkdiamond1016 @shadyladyperfection @coffeeandendlesswords @justanothetfangirl @no-honey-no @ajeff855

#spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #homoose writes #TMSIDK

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night-unfurls-its-splendour · 3 years

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The Critique of Manners Part VI

~Or~

An Attempt at an Objective Review of Emma (2009)... VOLUME TWO

Haha, bitches you didn't think I could wait a whole week did you? Nah, not me. and guys, I added to it--all total, it's 9,023 words now. this half of the review is 5,214. HOW DO I HAVE SO MANY WORDS FOR THIS THING? I'm not gonna split it into a third part, because I don't need to for picture limit purposes, but buckle in.

If you didn't catch it, read part 1 here

Here it is, the stunning conclusion to my Emma Adaptation Review series (but this isn't really the end because I plan on doing some rankings later). In this half of my review of BBC'S Emma (2009) we'll discuss Costumes and all the very specific things that I love about this version, and some things I don't like, and some things I'm here to defend.

Let's dive in!

Costumes

Generally I liked these costumes pretty well. They were designed and facilitated by Rosalind Ebbutt, also known for her work on PBS’s Victoria and Vanity Fair (1998). And her work is, as her filmography would suggest, by turns, great and so-so.

These costumes are definitely in line with the adaptation’s general aesthetic: warm pinks and golds, with mints emeralds and blues to cool it off a little, are the order of the day. I really appreciate that every character has a definite color palette. The tradeoff is that this adaptation is the WORST EVER offender for the Jane Fairfax Blue™ trope.

Daywear

Emma’s daywear is full of warm and muted colors. Salmon and magenta are commonly seen. I love that most of Emma’s daywear consists of sleeveless or short-sleeved gowns with wide-sleeved linen blouses underneath. It’s not a commonly seen aesthetic so it feels light and fresh. My favorite of Emma’s daywear dresses is the pale yellow with purple floral print.

There’s one other in particular that I love.

Emma’s blue, sleeveless dress. I love this because of HOW OBVIOUSLY it’s a reference to this portrait of Charlotte, Princess of Wales. I mean...

I’M NOT IMAGINING THIS, RIGHT? WHY DOES NO ONE TALK ABOUT THIS? This is a REAL dress. They still have this exact gown of Princess Charlotte’s. It’s on display. It’s faded, but it’s the same dress.

Harriet has a fresh and innocent green, white and purple color scheme with healthy doses of peach and pink showing. I particularly like her white and purple floral print dress.

Mrs. Weston’s color palette varies, but leans heavily on tans and purples, which is very flattering, I must say, to Johdi May’s coloring and is really refreshing for Mrs. Weston who seems to get stuck in pinks and yellows a lot. No idea what’s going on with the laced-front dress though? This doesn’t quite read as authentic to me, but I do like that her first dress seems to be an apron-front.

I know I already said that this is the worst Jane Fairfax Blue™ offender, but guys I can’t stress it enough. WE ARE 5/5 ON DAYWEAR HERE. LOOK AT THAT. (Also of note, Jane 5 is one of Gwyneth Paltrow’s dresses from the '96 Emma.)

Mrs. Elton seems, at all times, to be wearing some form of pink, but I think I’m right in saying that the white day dress with the rose patterned bodice under the yellow and pink spencer is one of Jane’s dresses from P&P ’80. Can anyone confirm that? They did sneak in some Mrs. Elton Orange™ though, for Box Hill, and it’s worth noting that Mrs. Elton is the only lady who’s appropriately dressed on that occasion.

Isabella gets some understated day gowns that are very nice and also VERY “Jane Austen” in the sense that I feel like Jane Austen herself might have worn them.

Miss Bates, unfortunately is slapped with brown at just about every turn, but at least her “Nice” day outfit has some subtle leaf patterns, which is refreshing. Also Mrs. Goddard has a slappin’ cap. Love that.

Also, Harriet’s Grecian costume for the painting (upper right hand corner). What can I say, but that I love it. I love that it hints at the neoclassical influences on Regency fashion too. This is my favorite interpretation of the painting too.

Evening Wear

You know what I love about this version? It’s the first version of Emma where her gown for the Crown in Ball isn’t WHITE. I know, I know white was fashionable, but it’s just… it’s nice for not EVERY gown in a ball scene to be plain white friggin muslin and also, it’s not one she’s ever worn before, which is great.

Harriet does have only white evening gowns but that’s okay. My only complaint is that, specifically on her Crown Inn dress and in a lot of her costumes in general, the waistline seems just a little low. Hmm. I really like the pale blue pattern on her first evening dress though.

Mrs. Weston though. Woo. Look at those. She has a dark chartreuse gown with black lace trim that any other version would have put on Mrs. Elton, so you know from the dark tones that she’s a bitch. Not so with Emma '09, and that’s good. And her teal dinner number is a favorite of mine. I never paid much attention to her green and gold ball gown but it has some really beautiful, subtle leaf or maybe peacock feather patterns on it and I love that. My only problem is that there seem to be some fit issues. She’s got muffin top way too often. Her orange evening dress is a bit of a dud though, firstly, because it has long sleeves (which is an evening gown no-no) and the fabric slaps a bit too much of sari fabric for my tastes.

Jane, not only is put in blue with both of her evening gowns (although one is so pale it borders on white), ONE of them is another Emma ’96 repeat and not only that, it’s one of Jane Fairfax’s dresses in that film! Perhaps that’s enough to make it an homage, and I have to say, I think Laura Pyper wore it better.

Miss Bates only has one evening wear ensemble, but at least it’s cream and not brown.

Mrs. Elton’s gowns are surprisingly understated, and yet still seem to be annoyingly fussy and, what’s better? They’re not sickly green. One of them is actually a very pleasant mint.

Outerwear

Outerwear is roundly pretty great here. Emma’s primary choice of color for spencers is emerald/evergreen and one of them is Elizabeth’s Bennet’s from the 1995 P&P (though to be honest, I think Jennifer Ehle filled it out better.) I do love Mrs. Elton’s pink and yellow number with the slashed sleeves. Jane Fairfax’s only spencer is, you guessed it, blue, but her friend Miss Campbell has a rather fun mauve one.

There’s no shortage of pelisses and redingotes either. Harriet can be seen in one borrowed from Elinor Dashwood in the '08 S&S, Mrs. Weston has a rather fabulous purple one which she wears with the most delicious looking hat I’ve ever seen.

Emma has two. The first one is a great magenta number with military braiding (and I think she wears with it one of the brown slouch hats that Kate Beckinsale wore in the same role) and while the other pelisse is brown, they had the sense not to make her wear a hat with it that was also brown. Instead, they gave her a contrasting color. Good on ya, Rosalind!

Speaking of hats, I don't often single them out for commentary, but I want to here because… the hat authenticity is… kinda spotty. Let me show you.

Okay first of all, Emma may be a teenager in this pic on the upper left, but she is not dressed formally enough for her sister’s wedding (which is what’s going on in this scene) but at least her hat is pretty good. You can see the ribbons are on the inside of the hat here, which is as it should be… but she never wears this hat again. At any point in the series. Instead, we next see her in the one on the upper right and ye gads this is atrocious. WHY IS HER HAT NOT PINNED ON? IT’S SLIDING DOWN THE BACK OF HER HEAD. SOMONE FIX IT. PLEASE. But wait, there’s more. This kills me because these bottom two are so similar to the one she wore earlier (the correct one) but crappier looking. Jeez.

This is not a hat. It’s a peanut. You know who doesn’t have this problem? Harriet. She only has one sun hat but at least it’s correct.

I also wanna touch briefly on this ^ costume continuity issue.

WTF is this? She’s in the hall, her ribbon is contoured to the line of her dress; she goes into the drawing room and… it isn’t anymore? Wha happun?

I took more menswear screencaps for this version than any other version. And that’s because the men just have more outfits that are, y’know, different from each other.

Mr. Knightley is as understated as ever, but I wanna highlight the first pic there and why I love it. This is Knightley’s first appearance in the series and it’s the perfect establishing shot that shows the viewer everything they need to know about Emma and Knightley’s relationship and how it has always been. He sort of materializes, out of focus in the background, but Emma immediately knows he’s there. And to accentuate how much Knightley is part of her home and scenery, his clothes (similar shades of pale tan, white and minty green to the wall behind him) almost camouflage him and make him seem at one with the moulding.

He also has a rather lovely blue evening waistcoat that I WISH I could have gotten better shot of (although I do believe it’s also worn by Henry Crawford in the '07 Mansfield Park, so for further reading…)

Mr. Weston finally gets to wear clothes that aren’t all brown! He only has ONE brown outfit. He gets PATTERNED waistcoats, one of them a rather spiffing blue and brown striped number. And he wears TROUSERS! Because he’s a gentleman, and he’s not that old and trousers are worn by fashionable gentlemen in this period!

You know who else gets to wear trousers and at least one fun waistcoat? Mr. Woodhouse. Check out that lovely Sunday Best™ waistcoat. The red striped one. That’s delightful.

John Knightley’s evening wear intrigues me. That’s a double-breasted jacket, and you know I’m not totally sure that’s very authentic for evening-wear of this period, but it is different. Unfortunately he also has a flared top hat and that is definitely not on for this period.

One of my favorite things about this version is that they don’t dress Mr. Elton as a clergyman all the time. Yes, he may be the vicar, but he’s also allowed to dress like a fashionable, handsome young man. So I’m really happy that he gets to flex his fashion muscles here.

And speaking of fashionable young men, FINALLY frank gets to be COLORFUL and his trousers are even tight enough. Both he AND Elton are often seen wearing TWO waistcoats, as I would expect them to, and even though Frank’s a dandy, he knows that flashiness is gauche so his pops of color are bright, but not in your face. His green and red waistcoats are always worn under more muted colors, and I just love it.

The only problems are… what’s with the turned-down waistcoat collars? There’s no precedent for this, in fact I think it’s directly contradictory to the style at the time, and also it makes the cravats look a bit unruly.

A Critique of Manners

A lot has been said about the manners in this adaption. Like, the actual manners, body language and facial expressions, specifically vis-à-vis Romola Garai.

And, oh yeah, there’s a lot to pick at here, but first I’d like to talk about the facial expressions.

I'm mostly gonna be talking out of my ass here, but this is my take, so if anyone can make a better argument against my points, I am listening, because I don't really like talking out of my ass and I like to be informed. That said...

I tend to be lenient on the… exaggerated facial expressions because, something I’ve noticed reading Austen’s works through the last several months is that Austen is very descriptive when it comes to facial expressions and I just find it hard to believe that people in the Regency Era never made exaggerated expressions like this.

I’ve heard a lot about how Garai’s Emma is not dignified or lady-like. But let’s think about the context of Emma Woodhouse – she’s never been in society. She’s only had a governess to teach her, and we know Emma’s always been sort of averse to being told what she can and can’t do. Emma is the highest ranking woman in her social circle (barring Isabella’s occasional presence). Emma doesn’t have to be ladylike. At 21, she’s already her local Lady Catherine. She puts a lot of stock in her position in society but, as Mrs. Elton will be the first to hypocritically point out, she’s very poorly behaved. I'd be very curious to see what would happen if Emma went to London for the season. Probably, she'd be seen, comparatively, as a country bumpkin. Can you imagine how she might get on in a sea of accomplished young ladies? She can barely handle having ONE rival with any kind of grace.

Austen never describes bodily movements of the kind we’re looking at when we watch adaptations, so why not have Emma’s body-language be un-ladylike in the conventional sense of the time? I’m not saying this to excuse the absolutely inexcusable (Frank’s head in her lap, kneeling on the sofa backwards etc.), but while Emma’s mannerisms aren’t exactly ladylike for her time, they’re not overtly masculine either (which was one of my biggest problem with Death Comes to Pemberly for example.)

Yes, there’s an ideal for manners. But we know real people didn’t always follow those ideals. In dancing for example, many dancing guidebooks of the day were full of repeated instructions not to be too loud or rambunctious when dancing. What this tells us is that people were doing just that, and probably quite a bit, too. I think that, while taking societal strictures into account, we shouldn’t totally discount the idea that people in the Regency weren’t really that different from us, and young people especially.

Now I’ve already mentioned some of the inexcusable aspects of interaction in this adaptation and they’re so notorious at this point, I don’t think that I really need to go over them much here. Although I will say: is it ridiculous to have Frank Churchill put his head in Emma’s lap? Yes. Did it make me more viscerally uncomfortable with the situation on Box Hill than any other version? Yes.

I was like, 14 when I watched this the first time. This was an effective way to telegraph to young people like me that Emma is being extremely inappropriate here in a way that no other version really managed to, even when I watched them when I was older and understood the period more. I’m far more acquainted with Regency manners than I was then, but to be honest – if they had been accurate with the manners here, when I was 14 I would not have understood what the big deal was. Is there merit in circumventing historical accuracy in favor of reaching a less-informed but still-interested audience? Yes, I think so. There were three other versions of this, at that point, that did this scene with more or less pristine manners. Not every version has to follow the manners of the time to-the-letter to be good. That’s my feeling on the matter.

There are things that do really bother me though. Like the idea that Harriet Smith doesn’t know how to spoon soup, for instance. As I said in my review for the Miramax version, table manners are pretty basic, there’s no reason Mrs. Goddard wouldn’t have taught Harriet this. It does provide a good moment to show Emma tacitly coaching Harriet and showing the trajectory in which this relationship will go, but personally I don’t think it was necessary—there are plenty of other ways that could be done.

Also: kids at the dinner table? I know this is part of building the familial atmosphere but it really does annoy me, because apart from building the familial atmosphere (which they do very well and frequently in other ways) it really didn’t need to happen, and it doesn’t add anything.

The Heart of Highbury

So, as I’ve hinted at throughout this review, the bread and butter of this adaptation of Emma is emotion. This version goes hard and heavy on showingthe relationships – Emma’s relationships with Mrs. Weston, Mr. Knightley, her father, her sister, her brother-in-law, Miss Bates; Jane’s relationship with Frank; Frank’s relationship with his father; The John Knightleys’ home life – and it illustrates things that can be surmised from just reading the story, but really draws your attention to them in ways that other adaptations just don’t.

It does this from the very beginning with the prologue which explains in detail (not just in quick exposition between characters) how Jane and Frank were separated from their families at young ages. We know now, from psychological study, that being taken away from their primary caretakers during their formative years is one of the most psychologically traumatizing things for a child. This is deeply important context which is explained in detail by the narrator in 2-3 large pages (in my Barnes & Noble anthology) in the book.

In the featurette on the houses, they talk particularly about Hartfield and the Woodhouses being the heart of Highbury and how they particularly wanted it to feel homey because Hartfield is Emma’s house and they wanted the audience to feel why everyone is so drawn to it, and to Emma; to me that is what they did with the whole adaptation in microcosm.

I usually talk a bit about the dancing and I'm going to here as well because this is maybe the most special dance scene in any Austen for me. Of course I'm going to link to Tea with Cassiane as usual because she knows what she's talking about and I don't. But I wanna add some comments. She gives this a pretty low rating in spite of a generally favorable commentary because of two big oopsies, the circle dance formation is one, and the other is I believe, an issue with the style of dance not matching the tune in Emma's dance with Knightley. Throwing out any objective technical analysis though, this is my favorite Ball in any Austen and it all comes down to the cornerstone of this adaptation--emotion.

All of the songs and dances were original compositions and choreography made for this adaptation. So they're not period per se, but the tunes at least are representative of how Regency dance music should sound. These dances are upbeat, and lively and, damn they look like fun. Everyone is excited here and it makes me understand why dancing was such a big thing. Best of all that excitement adds to the emotional charge of the scene. "The Ship's Cook" is the most fast paced dance and I'm glad they made this the dance where Elton snubs Harriet because it really hits for me just what Harriet would be missing out on if Knightley wasn't so fucking aptly named. In all other versions you get the insult, but the dance that's taking place is usually a Baroque walker so it doesn't seem terribly like she's missing out on much. Here, this is like not getting picked for kickball-- not only is it a slight that no one wants you on their team, but you miss out on even playing the game. Harriet looks so lonely, and her feeling of being out of place rolls off of Louise Dylan so forcefully it chokes me up just thinking about it because I've been there, man. I feel this shit. *dabs eyes*. Ahem. So, yes, when Knightley engages her for the dance the excitement the viewer feels is that much more forceful and Harriet's exuberantly starting to jump in when the timing is off and Knightley gently pulling her back, it just hits me in the feels center, guys. (I wanna take a moment to give a shout out to every camp counselor who ever partnered with me for any game at summer camp.) Emma's reaction too, is gold. Her genuine relief at Knightley swooping in is one of those great reminders that Emma is Harriet's friend, and she does care about her.

Finally on the dancing front, I wanna talk about Emma's dance with Knightley and why I prefer it to the one in the 2020 version. I already talked about this a bit in the 2020 review, so I'm gonna try and keep it brief. That shouldn't be too hard, because I'm probably mostly going to repeat a lot of what I've already said about Emma and Knightley in this version as a whole.

The big thing everyone loves about the Crown Inn dance in the 2020 is the yearning, the sexual tension, the quivering touches etc. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE all of those things but... not all the time. Not in everything, and definitely not in Emma. Because Emma, to me, isn't about repressed sexuality or heated tension or seething passion. Emma and Knightley are the opposite of that, to me, really. One of my mutuals put it best, I think: "Emma and Knightley are more suited to stolen glances than hot touches."

In Part 1 I talked about how Knightley is Emma's comfort object. When Emma is out of sorts, Knightley re-centers her. It helps set up, and puts emphasis on, the crisis of the story in the last act--Emma not knowing what she has until [she thinks] she's lost it. Emma and Knightley are Friends to Lovers done as it should be. She is already so comfortable with him she doesn't even realize her own feelings. She just feels right with Knightley and that's what this dance is here to show you--a foreshadowing of matrimonial harmony.

The dance itself, of course, is always up to interpretation, because Austen never describes how it goes, just that Knightley asks Emma to dance and Knightley doesn't dance (barring charitable causes). If you prefer the sexual tension take, if that, to you is an improvement on Austen's story and gives you what you've always felt was missing, I'm glad that there is a version now that gives you what you've been looking for, but for me, I think the 09 approach hits closer their dynamic in the book.

Now do I do think the Emphasis on emotion maybe went a little too earnest in some places in this adaptation? Maybe. Just a little.

In my last review (1972) I went on a rather lengthy tirade about the scene where they turn Emma’s appeals to Harriet to exert herself and move on following Mr. Elton’s marriage into Emma guilting Harriet into thinking she’s a bad friend for being heartbroken and then throwing her into the situation most likely to rub salt in that particular wound.

In this version, while I love the emphasis they put on the stress Emma puts on her own guilt for being the reason for Harriet’s situation in the first place, I think it’s maybe a little too… much.

That’s the only way I can put it. I know I’ve just said that I think there should be a bit more expressiveness in period drama, but this doesn’t quite match the way I read it (Emma’s a bit less desperate in Austen’s prose. Very dedicated to helping Harriet feel better, but just a skosh more composed). I think she’s even crying in this scene.

While we’re here let’s go over to Box Hill ONE. MORE. TIME.

First of all, this is where this screenplay shines, in my opinion. This is the big turning point in the story and as such, should be a touchstone for the judgment of any adaptation. This sequence in the 2009 version is a perfect crystallization of everything I love about this version—namely that this is the version that, to me, most feels like someone read the book thoroughly, paid attention to what Austen was describing and then actually tried to convey it on screen. A lot of other versions sort of feel (to me), like the director glanced at the page and said “here’s what I want to convey in my version”. Insofar as making a piece of art goes, that’s good. Directors are artists as much as painters are and movies are their canvass, but it’s seldom that you find a director who honestly wants to hit as close to the author intent as possible and this Box Hill sequence makes me feel like that’s what Jim O’Hanlon was going for. I have the book open next to me as I write this and it’s shocking to me how minutely the atmosphere described in the book is conveyed here. Most of all, the fact that Emma’s insulting Miss Bates is not the only thing faux pas she makes here. Box Hill as a whole is a disaster, and it’s largely because of Frank.

“When they all sat down it was better; to [Emma’s] taste, a great deal better, for Frank Churchill grew talkative and gay, making her his first object. To amuse her, and to be agreeable in her eyes, seemed to be all that he cared for—and Emma, glad to be enlivened, and not sorry to be flattered, was gay and easy too, and gave him all the friendly encouragement, the admission to be gallant, which she had ever given in the first and most animating period of their acquaintance; but which now, in her own estimation, meant nothing, though in the judgment of most people looking on it must have had such an appearance as no English word but flirtation could very well describe. “Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse flirted excessively.” They were laying themselves open to that very phrase—and to having it sent off in a letter to Maple Grove by one lady, to Ireland by another. Not that Emma was gay and thoughtless from any real felicity; it was rather because she felt less happy than she expected. She laughed because she was disappointed…” --Emma, Chapter 43

Most other versions rush through Frank’s “excessive” flirting with Emma (Right in front of Jane) to get to “Three Things Very Dull Indeed” as fast as possible, and yes that’s the crowning horror of Box Hill, but there’s a very intricate setting here, too, and this version has the time to lay back and let it all unfold in the oppressive discomfort of an English summer day.

Even better than all of that though is Knightley confronting Emma after it all goes down. This treatment is neither plaintive, nor aggressive as it was in ‘96 and ‘97 respectively. I’ve already extolled the virtues of Johnny Flynn’s Box Hill rebuke, but for a change I’m not going to zero in on Miller’s performance which is, at least as good as Flynn’s, but on Romola Garai’s, which I find superior to Anya Taylor Joy’s. Specifically, her reaction once she’s alone.

ATJ in the 2020 version immediately breaks down sobbing and it’s hard for me to feel that she’s sobbing for “anger against herself, mortification, and deep concern” or that there’s much self-reflection going on there. To me it rather just feels like she’s crying because she got shouted at. The theatrics of it, to me, feel childish and self-centered.

I don’t feel that with Garai’s performance.

“She was vexed beyond what could have been expressed—almost beyond what she could conceal. Never had she felt so agitated, mortified, grieved, at any circumstance in her life. She was most forcibly struck . . . How could she have exposed herself to such ill opinion in anyone she valued! And how to suffer him to leave her without saying one word of gratitude, of concurrence, of common kindness!

Time did not compose her…” --Emma, Chapter 43

Of course one can make the case that Emma's reaction should be a bit childish because Emma is an immature character, but that's the thing--I can agree with you anywhere else in this story but this is Emma's maturing moment. This is her turning point as a character. It's where we should see her reactions shift from the same childish denial we're used to seeing when Knightley scolds her, because this is different. It's not the usual brushing off of big brother Knightley, this is a young woman reacting to an esteemed friend pointing out how abhorrently inappropriate she's been and her having to admit that to herself.

I didn't really want to drag comparisons to the 2020 film into this, not on this scale at least, but this just jumped out at me the last time I watched the new film and I have to express it somewhere.

What I see in Garai’s performance is desolation and mortification. That shocked tearfulness of knowing you’ve been justly reproached for wrongdoing, but being too frozen in a pretense of composure to actually cry about it until you’re quite sure that no one will see you. And especially when it’s someone you esteem rebuking you, the horror of them leaving before you can admit that they’re right. There’s so much more depth here, I think, and I can’t even quite express what it makes me feel.

The aspect of time not composing her is another thing that they decided to put stress on in this version. Emma looks fucked up in the following scenes. When she goes to see Miss Bates, she clearly either hasn’t slept or has slept very badly. I feel like this is maybe an anticlimactic conclusion to this section but I’m afraid I’m very close to reaching incoherence, so I’m just gonna leave it here.

My absolute favoritest thing about this version though—something that sets it apart from ALL other versions and even adaptations of other Austen stories—is the inclusion of the post-confession conversation.

This is something of a trope in Austen books but it very rarely finds its way into adaptations: confessions of love are out of the way, the hero and heroine settle into an easy an comfortable conversation, glowing with happiness as they explain and laugh over their actions and misinterpretations of each other’s choices. It happens in Pride and Prejudice, in Persuasion, and yes, in Emma. This is the only Austen adaptation, that I've seen, to include this kind of conversation in any kind of detail. The 1995 Pride and Prejudice alludes to the corresponding scene in it its source material, but the lines pulled from it get tossed into the confession scene itself and then it flies through to get to the obligatory wedding—a side effect of rushing through endings, a convention I’m rather tired of.

Emma (2009) takes its time with this, as with all other aspects of this adaptation. For a version that’s so full of energy, its pacing is extremely laid back and comfortable, without dragging. When you hear the gentle musical swell and Emma and Knightley have their kiss (this whole confession sequence is so sweet and wonderful in its own right), you expect that to be it. But no, we cut to them, the picture of contented happiness, sitting together on a bench overlooking Hartfield’s garden, just talking and enjoying being together, with no teasing, no pretense. If Jane Austen stories emphasize anything, it’s the importance of communication in relationships, and I think that’s maybe why she made it a point in almost every story to show her characters communicating their feelings in words, even after all the conflict has been resolved. This is my favorite scene in the whole series (In case it being my header image didn’t make that obvious.)

This is followed rather promptly by a cut to the next day, with Emma bursting in to Donwell in hysterics about how they can’t be married because she won’t leave her father alone.

This is one of those maybe over-the-top choices that a lot of people don’t like, but guys, it was so funny to me when I was fourteen and it still makes me laugh. It might seem outlandish, but to me it’s just the emphasis on personal relationships and emotion coming through again and it always makes me smile.

Final Thoughts

It’s hard for me to give a proper round up of my feelings for this section because I think I’ve poured just about all of my feelings on each aspect into its dedicated sections.

At the end of the day, the only thing that really disappoints me about this version is the number of missed opportunities there are here. One of my favorite parts of reading Austen is when I run across a line in dialogue or narrative that just… slaps. But they never make it into the adaptations. Emma is full of them and I just wish that Sandy Welch could have taken an opportunity to slip a few of them in.

In summary, I think this is a wonderful, heartfelt adaptation aimed at getting to the emotional heart of a story that often gets caught up in the Mean Girl-ness of its main character than the coming of age story that it is. It's one of my favorite period dramas because it's one of the few that really captures the spirit of the source material as it's always felt to me. There's really only two other period dramas that I esteem on the same level as this, and they're North & South (2004) and Jane Eyre (2011) and it's for the same reasons; because they impact me deeply on an emotional level--which is what art is supposed to do--because of how well it captures the essence of the story that I know and love.

So did I succeed in a more objective review of Emma 2009? I' feel like probably not. But I tried my best. It’s so hard to be objective about something that makes you as happy as this adaptation makes me.

Ribbon Rating: Most Agreeable (83 Ribbons)

Tone: 10

Casting: 9

Acting: 9

Scripting: 7

Pacing: 10

Cinematography: 7

Setting: 9

Costumes: 6

Music: 8

Book Accuracy: 8

#emma 2009 #emma woodhouse #mr. knightley #jane austen #jane austen emma #romola garai #jonny lee miller #period dramas #regency

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When Jiwoo woke up her eyes opened first, which is in fact what usually happens when one wakes up. Her eyelids fluttered opened, the sight she saw made her groan. She was underneath a window However she didn’t know that since all she saw was the blinding light of the sun shining right in her eyes.

Her groan must have been rather loud because soon enough there were footsteps heard, gradually getting louder as they came nearer. In an effort to not be completely vulnerable while she was disjointed Jiwoo attempted to sit up.

Attempted because as soon as she tried, lightning strikes of pain wracked through her. Going straight through her shoulder through the left side of her body and cutting out at her knee.

An agonising whimper lifted itself from her lips, her vision becoming black once again as she squeezed her eyes closed and laid back down in pain.

“Hey, it’s okay, just don’t move, yeah? I’ll be right back.” Jiwoo heard a male’s voice. It wasn’t a familiar voice but, in a place, she had no recollection of getting too Jiwoo wondered if any voice would be familiar.

She wondered if he was just waiting for her to wake up so he could leave, or if he just so happened to be there as she woke up. Opening her eyes again, slowly this time to get used to the sun, they focused on her surroundings. Directly above her was an open slanted window, the glass panes were coloured to create a picture, but it was currently swung open, letting a breeze of air flow through the room. The room she was in was made of wood: the ceiling, the floors, the furniture.

Gritting through the pain in her shoulder Jiwoo forced herself to sit upright, taking note of what exactly she had gotten yourself into. She was in the back of the room, the cot she laid on pushed right against the wooden wall. There were two chairs close to the cot, several other cots were scattered around. The room was quite big, she noted. She was also surprised to see she was rocking slightly, a small bobbing motion she wouldn’t have caught if she wasn’t good at catching the smallest of detail. Was she on a boat?

Slung over one of the chairs was the jacket she had bought. Jiwoo looked to herself then. No longer was she wearing her leather trousers, but a pair of linen trousers that had been cut, or ripped, at the mid-thigh. They weren’t hers, the pair she had packed were a grey colour while the ones on her legs were a cream colour. Jiwoo felt confused, as she battled internally with two opposing emotions; anger and relief. Anger that she had been changed by a stranger who was most likely a man – and a pirate no doubt. Yet she felt relieved that she was alive, that you still had clothes, that she was no longer with her father.

She still wore her own shirt, another thing she was relieved about. A woman’s underwear was confining, a contest that would make one lose their breath if they so much as looked at it. Jiwoo usually went without undergarments for her top half when she went riding, seeing as she wasn't particularly gifted in that area she hadn’t thought it mattered much anyway. Jiwoo wondered what the person who changed her must have thought about that revelation but quickly dispelled the thought, not wanting to imagine it. The shirt was surprisingly still white, only stained red around the shoulder. However, Jiwoo found that the shirt was cut, or rather ripped, around her left shoulder where the joint was wrapped in bandage cloth.

She was astounded as to how well her shirt was still intact and covering her body with a chunk of the arm missing.

Interrupting her thoughts was the opening of a door, scraping across the wooden floor. Through said door entered three people, but only two stayed to make their way towards Jiwoo. And then only one. Jiwoo felt her eyes widen at the sight of a female, a female? as she walked towards her.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Nagyung. I looked after you while you were asleep.” Her voice was like bells to Jiwoo’s ears, her smile was both warm and kind. Jiwoo felt herself becoming more at ease, even though Nagyung was a complete stranger. “How do you feel? You’ve been asleep for a couple of days now.”

Days? How long were days?

“I feel… sore.” Jiwoo finally revealed, speaking slowly and not once looking away from the woman in front of her.

Nagyung laughed, although it was more like a giggle, coming to sit down next to Jiwoo on the cot. “That’s to be expected. You were shot! Twice.”

Under the sunlight that streamed through the window, Jiwoo could make out Nagyung’s features more clearly. Her hair was light, but now she saw it to be a shade of candyfloss pink instead of the light red she had first assumed. It was out of her face, held in a simple knot Jiwoo noted was made from her own hair - no leather in sight. Jiwoo also noted the sparse scattering of pearls in the knot, shining under the sun before Nagyung turned her face to hers. Her face was small, but her eyes were big, a mix between green and blue, swirling mad like whirlpools had been caught in her irises. Her face was round and as she smiled at Jiwoo, who caught sight of dimples under apple-like cheeks. Jiwoo hadn’t seen many people like Nagyung in all her years of life. While Jiwoo stared, she talked. But she heard none of it, only coming back down to earth as Nagyung disconnected their locked gazes and looked towards the other person in the room. Honestly, Jiwoo would have whined if it weren’t for the name that spilt from her lips as she did.

“Wooyoung says we’re about the same age!”

Wooyoung? The name of her brother? It had to be a coincidence. There was more than one Wooyoung in the world.

Her heart still skipped a beat.

“Thanks, Nagyungie” His voice sighed, Jiwoo’s eyes snapped to him as he moved forward into a stream of light. His face was exactly as Jiwoo remembered it.

“Wooyoung.”

He only nodded.

“Your face hasn’t changed at all.”

“Yours has.”

“Well, I’m not fourteen anymore.”

“No, you’re not.”

Silence.

Jiwoo hated silence.

Jiwoo had often wondered how it would be when she saw her brother again. She had never doubted that he was alive until recently, only ever starting to doubt if he cared to come back. However, Jiwoo had never imagined it would be this awkward. She guessed she hardly knew him anymore, and he didn’t know her at all now.

Nagyung looked between the two siblings, patted Jiwoo's non-wounded shoulder before leaving the room. Jiwoo caught the reassuring smile she sent Wooyoung as she paused him, pausing like she wanted to do something more but deciding against it and hurried to leave.

“Why were you in Gilway?”

“It was your birthday. I’d rather not be forced to spend it with our father if it’s all the same to you.”

“I can understand that. But you were in men’s clothes, he called for a kingdom-wide search. You ran.”

Jiwoo chuckled hollowly. “Aren’t you smart.”

“Don’t start.” Wooyoung almost sneered.

“I’m not.”

“Why.”

“Why what?”

He rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Why’d you run away?” He expanded.

“Maybe I was following my brothers’ footsteps.” Her voice was ironic, full of sarcasm.

“Be serious.”

Jiwoo rolled her eyes, not particularly wanting to tell her brother the entire truth. She found she no longer trusted him. “I gave up waiting for you to come back and save me and decided to save myself.”

“-and run into pirates and get shot?” He cut her off, raising an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t like I knew there were pirates in Gilway Wharf!” She exclaimed. “And you’re a pirate too! Aren’t you?”

“That doesn’t matter.” He dismissed.

“Of course, it does.” She argued. “You ran away from a man who was forcing you to raid and murder just to become a pirate were you willingly choose to raid and pillage and murder!”

His voice was raised, “I don’t murder,” but his tone left nothing for the imagination.

“Yeah, okay. Sure, I believe you.”

“You can believe what you want.”

“I will, you don’t get to decide my thoughts, Wooyoung.”

The two siblings relapsed into silence. Maybe Wooyoung had in fact changed. His face was older she noticed, as he shifted slightly and his face was cast in light from the window. His hair was lighter than she remembered, now it looked almost grey. His eyebrows were drawn, a frown shaping his features, a raised piece of skin just above his left eye becoming more prominent. He had scars she’d never seen before. He wore casual clothes, the kind she knew he liked to wear just to spite their father. He wore tight leather pants paired with a loose linen shirt, much like the one Jiwoo herself was wearing. His was open lower down his chest that hers though. Over the top was a leather jacket that had been dyed with a deep blue. He let out a long sigh, moving forward towards her. Almost reflexively, Jiwoo moved back. It wasn’t that she was scared of him per say, more like she was cautious of anyone who approached her. She had enough reason to be.

Wooyiung just sat down on a nearby chair, rubbing his face with his hands once before looking over at his sister. “What? Don’t you trust me?”

“No.” She shot back with no hesitation. “You’re a pirate. I don’t even know you anymore.”

“I’m still the same person.”

“Then earn it again.”

“Earn it? I’m your brother!” He practically shouted, standing up from his seat.

“You left me alone! With that man! For five years!” Jiwoo was shouting now too.

“Alone? That bastard would never be able to touch you! Mother would never allow it.”

“Well, maybe not but our mother is dead so...” She paused, looking away from him, “that kind of defeats your point.” Her voice fell flat, emotionless.

Wooyoung took a large step towards her, grabbing her shoulders firmly – though not hard enough for it to hurt her – and crouching down so that their eyes were level, face to face. “What?” He asked.

“Mother died four years ago. I guess you never heard about it.”

“How?”

“How do you think? Our father killed our mother, blamed it on her chambermaid and then made me kill her.”

“What.”

Jiwoo scoffed, moving her shoulders out of his grasp, watching his hands fall to his sides. “Yeah. I became his new toy as soon as you went missing. He made me learn how to use a sword and a gun and then he made me use them.”

“I… I’m sorry.” His voice was low. She replied with a singular scoff.

“What am I even doing here?” She broke, voice slightly cracking. Though, she kept her face expressionless.

“So, you’d rather bleed out to death on the muddy floor in a port town where everyone was going crazy looking for you to return you to the king?”

“No. I’m wondering why your captain cornered me, causing me to get shot, twice, and why one of those other pirates told him to grab me and go before I passed out.”

“How do you even remember that?”

“Nice to know that is what happened?” Jiwoo raised an eyebrow, she wasn’t even sure that was what happened, well now she was. Before he could reply, she continued. “You learn to remember things quickly when you live in hell.”

Silence. Again. Would they ever get over it?

“Just, lay down. Get some rest.” He ordered softly, already walking backwards. “Rest up, we’re in the middle of the ocean anyway, there’s not much you can do.”

And then he was gone. And she was alone, again.

✦❘༻༺❘✦

As soon as she left, Nagyung felt bad. She knew her mouth could talk without her brain thinking and she might have just ruining Wooyoung’s plan of talking to his sister once again.

She stood, leant against the door she just came from, with her eyes closed as shame filled her being.

Nagyung was still young, and she still let emotions get the best of her sometimes. She hadn’t meant to ruin their reunion.

“Nagyung? Why are you crying?” She heard the voice of her friend and master healer, Kang Yeosang, as he gently laid a hand upon her shoulder. She hadn’t even realised her eyes were leaking.

“I just messed it all up for Wooyoung!” She couldn’t help but wail.

Yeosang frowned, gathering her into his arms.

“He’s going to be so mad at me!”

“He won’t be.” Yeosang patted her back in soothing motions.

Soon enough Nagyung started to calm down however, as voices began to raise from inside the infirmary, her cries started up again.

“Come,” Yeosang commanded softly, pulling her away from the door and toward the other side of the ship, where she could look over the sea. “Let them sort things out. We all knew there was a chance Jiwoo would’ve angry.”

“But Wooyoung wanted t-”

“Wooyoung knew things were going to be different. It’s better to get all the anger out at the beginning instead of it exploding later.” Yeosang cut her off.

Nagyung nodded.

She was about to speak again but was cut off by the sound of a door slamming shut. The two of the switches their gazes over to where Wooyoung has just left the infirmary. He looked at them before taking off towards the crow’s nest on the main mast.

“He hates me!” Nagyung whined again. However, her tears had stopped flowing. Yeosang simply smiled before turning around to lean against the side of the ship, watching the vastness of nothing but the clear blue sea the surrounded them.

“No one could hate you Nagyungie.”

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sweet-pea-channie · 6 years

Text

Wind in my hair - Dylan O’Brien Series (Part 5)

Part 5: holding hands and bonding

Author: @herscrunchiehairtie

Summary: Dylan takes Y/N out on their first date.

Warnings: fighting,

A/N:

Want to be tagged? Send me a message!

Part 1 - Part 4 - Part 6 - Series Overview - Masterlist

25th May 2018

You always loved talking to your brother on the phone or via facetime. It was a real struggle to keep in touch with him on the other side of the country, but you figured a way out to communicate more often. Andrew was free most of the time on Fridays, so you called him every week.

“Gem just ordered the flowers,” your brother told you when you had asked him about the wedding and how far they were with the organization.

“That’s great. Let me guess, lilies?”

“You know her too well” Andrew sighed as he said there with his fiancé at the dining table with dozens of magazines on the table.

“At least one of the Y/L/N’s knows me” Gemma laughed.

Andrew had his phone on speakers so you could talk to Gem as well. “Did you pick your plus one yet?”

“Uuuum, not really” you mumbled, crossing your feet on the couch, “I think I know who I wanna take with me, but he doesn’t know yet. I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

“Who is he? Is he nice? Is he good looking? Tell me about him!”

“I met him a month ago, he’s really nice. Grandma likes him so that’s good, I guess.”

“How come I haven’t heard of him?” Andrew asked you. “You never mentioned anything when you talked to me on the phone.”

You groaned and rubbed your forehead, “Why should I? He’s just a friend, Andrew.”

“Is he?” Andrew and Gemma asked in unison and snickered.

“Yes… well I don’t know, he’s taking me on a date tomorrow-“

“He’s what?” Andrew exclaimed.

“Relax Andrew, he’s probably nice and good for her, right Y/N?”

“He is really nice. We spend a lot of time together and I feel like I’ve known him for much longer than just a few weeks. He makes sure that I’m okay and that I take my pills, he sends me a reminder every day” you told them about Dylan.

It was true, Dylan made you feel special in a different way. He called you almost everyday and if he couldn’t he made sure to text you, asking how your day was. Sometimes you spent hours of the phone with him until you fell asleep and he had to end the call when he heard your soft breathing.

“You never told us his name.”

“It’s Dylan… O’Brien” you muttered, knowing that your brother would freak out when he realized that you were dating a celebrity. And you were right, he freaked out. “Dylan O’Brien? You mean THE Dylan O’Brien? Dylan O’Brien aka Mitch Rapp? You’re kidding Y/N, right?”

“No, I met him at the hospital and we kept in touch and somehow he asked me out on a date. There’s nothing to worry about, Andrew.”

“There is, Y/N! He’s famous! He could drop you any second!”

“You don’t even know him!” you yelled at your brother.

“I don’t need to know him to know that he is no good for you! You’re vulnerable, Y/N!”

“So what? I’m not allowed to go on a date with him? Should I ask you for permission first? Well, tough luck for you, you’re living on the other side of the US and you can’t change it! Whether you like it or not, I’m going on a date with him tomorrow and I’m taking him with me on your wedding. He’s gonna be my plus one!”

“Y/N,” Andrew said softly, knowing that he overreacted but all he ever wanted was to see you happy. “I’m sorry, okay? You know I just want the best for you and I don’t have a good feeling but as long as you are happy, I am. I just want to meet the kid first.”

“I know and besides, he’s not a kid anymore,” you acknowledged and rolled your eyes at your older brother even though he couldn’t see it. “I’ll try my best but he’s busy most of the time so I don’t think that there’s enough time to visit you before your wedding in four weeks, but maybe I could come and visit you before the wedding. I could come on Thursday and help with the location.”

“That would be wonderful, Y/N” Gem queried. Her mom was out of town as well and couldn’t help with the decorations so Gem and Andrew were on their own. “Bring Dylan as well, if his schedule isn’t too full. I’d really like to meet him.”

You smiled to yourself as you thought about him. You knew that he wasn’t the best when it gets to decorating but you knew that he’d try his best. “I’m going to ask him right away when he picks me up tomorrow.”

While you took a while to answer Gemma, she wrote a note on one of the magazines and slipped it do Andrew who just rolled his eyes as he read her words “I think she’s going to fall for him.”

“Where is he taking you tomorrow?” Gemma asked after she realized that you had answered. “Is it a surprise?”

“I don’t know, he just said to dress casual, nothing special, so I’ll just wear what I wear everyday” you said and took a bite of your sandwich that you had made before you called your brother. It was cold by now but you didn’t care, your stomach was crying for food.

“Andrew, could you leave us girls alone for a minute please?” Gem asked on the other side of the line. You hear your brother groaning but eventually he left the dining room.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned the blonde woman.

“Do you like Dylan?”

“I knew it. I knew that either one of you would ask me that” you sighed and put your feet back on the ground before you put your elbows on your knees. “Well, I think so. He’s really nice and he takes care of me in a way no one has ever done, so yeah.”

Gemma smiled on the other side of the line before she said, “Just be careful, okay? We don’t want you to get hurt again. We just want the best for you. But you better call me tomorrow after your date, got it?”

“I will, Gem. Now go back to organize your beautiful wedding. And tell my brother that I love him, okay?”

“Will do.”

The following day, you woke up early to have enough time to get ready for your date with Dylan. You made yourself a big breakfast with scrambled eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, bacon and sausage, of course. During your breakfast, Dylan had called and stayed on the phone with you for an hour. He told you that he’d come and pick you up at 2pm so you had plenty of time left before you had to shower and make yourself more presentable.

At 11am, you took a long and hot shower. Some people would say that a ten minute shower wouldn’t count as a long shower, but since you never really had to wash your non existing hair, a ten minute shower was quite long for you.

You decided to wear your wig today, even though Dylan never really cared, but you wanted to look nice. So you brushed your wig before you put it on and took your curling iron out of the cabinet to curl your hair.

After you put on a decent make up, you walked over to your dresser and looked through the mass of clothes you owned. You choose your black linen trousers with white thin stripes and a cute bow at the waistband, combined with a lace black shirt and your favorite oversized denim jacket. You applied a light colored lip balm to your lips to make them look fuller.

By the time you put on your white sneakers with the wide white laces, your doorbell rang twice. Dylan always rang twice, so you knew that it was him. You rushed to the answering device and told him that you’d be down in a second. Grabbing your purse, you closed the door behind you and locked it before you walked down the stairs to the entrance of the building you lived in.

Dylan was still standing in front of the doors by the time you got there. He saw you walking to the entrance through the glass doors and smiled at your beauty. As soon as you opened the door, Dylan’s smile grew wider. “You look beautiful, today.”

You smiled at him and wrapped your arms around his body to greet him. “Thank you,” you mumbled when Dylan pressed his lips to your cheek. Dylan was looking as fresh as you were, even though he wasn’t really paying any attention to what he was wearing. His hair was hidden under his black Mets cap, a black sweater with a white shirt sticking out of it and kaki pants combined with his favorite grey Adidas. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Dylan.”

“Well, thank you my dear. Are you ready to go?”

“I am” you replied and grabbed his hand and you walked to his car. “I told my brother that, you know, I am going on a date with you. And now he really wants to meet you.”

“From what you told me about him, he seems like a nice guy,” Dylan said and opened the passenger door for you. You thanked him and hopped in, ready to buckle yourself in. “So why not?” he added when he sat down in front of the steering wheel.

“Also, I have to ask you for a favor?”

“What is it?”

“My brother’s wedding is in a few weeks, the 23rd of June to be exact and I still don’t have my plus one. Gemma, his fiancé is getting on my nerves, so would you like to be my plus one? If you’re free of course?” you asked him. Dylan thought about it for a moment before he started the car, looking at you, “Sure. I don’t think that there are any other plans for me, so I’d be honored to be your plus one at your brother’s wedding.”

“That would be great” you smiled at him before you watched the trees pass by. The rest of the car ride wasn’t too spectacular. Dylan had a few questions about your brother, what he should expect. “Oh and by the way, it’s a traditional wedding at the church, that’s what my mom would wish for.”

“So I have to dress a little more classy, I guess?”

“It depends. They’re celebrating at Gemma’s parents hotel. It’s a small but cozy and nice hotel. And speaking of hotel, I am going to stay at the hotel a few days before the wedding day to help decorating and if you want to, you can come, too” you jested, hoping that he would come with you.

“Sure why not? I’ll check my calendar and let you know. I haven’t been to New York lately and I’d love to go there and just spend time with you,” he told you and placed his hand on your knee. Your gaze went from his face to his hand on your knee and back to his eyes that were locked on your face when he stopped at a red light. “I love spending time with you. It’s so easy with you and I don’t feel like I have to pressure myself to meet you and spend time together.”

“I feel the same, Dylan.”

Twenty minutes later, Dylan stopped at the traffic light right in front of a stadium that you knew too well. Your head flicked around, gasping when you stared at Dylan who had the biggest smile on his face. “Are you happy? The look on your face isn’t what I was hoping for.”

“Yes! Yes, of course. The last time I went to the Stadium of Anaheim was with my dad and Andrew right before he passed away. I haven’t been here since then. I just… watched the games on TV” you explained and forced a smile on. “But I love it, Dylan. I am happy to be back here.”

“You sure you don’t want to turn around? Grab something to eat somewhere?”

“ Let’s get our cute little asses in there, shall we?”

“You know, you didn’t have to buy me the cap, Dylan” you told his as you took your seats and put the cap on that Dylan bought for you. Dylan sat down next to you and placed the bucket full of popcorn in front of you on the ground. “I know, but you looked so lost without in on a baseball game,” he laughed.

“True,” you agreed and took a sip from your coke. “So, I guess we already missed a few minutes. The Angels are already on their 3rd run.”

“We’ve got plenty of time left, no need to worry.”

As the game went on, Dylan and you had a really great time. You could barely focus on the game because Dylan wouldn’t shut up. He had tons of questions for you, mostly about you and your family, but you answered them all. Dylan really liked it. He was getting to know you better every day and soon he felt like you’ve been with him for his entire life time. “Can’t believe you really did that!”

“Why not?”

“I mean, when I’m looking at you… I can’t really believe that you did that because, you know, you are a woman and-“

“Burping into someone’s face is something only guys can do?”

“Yeah” Dylan mumbled and rubbed the back of his head. “You just have to know that I don’t care if you burp in front of me or not.”

“Okay, enough. I don’t want to talk about me burping anymore” you laughed and wrapped your arms around Dylan’s left arm. “The game is almost over and I haven’t seen a minute of it.”

“Probably because I am distracting you with my beauty” Dylan asserted with a mischief smile on his lips.

“Oh you wish!” you boasted and pulled your arms away from him, only to give his shoulder a good slap. “No one can beat me and my beauty.”

Dylan rolled his eyes and laughed at you before he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you against his chest. “Who is even playing?” you joked and felt his chest vibrating due to his sudden outburst of laugh.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“But you still like me.”

“True.”

“So do I.”

_____________________

Part 6 is right here!

29 notes · View notes

weakzen · 6 years

Text

Inexorable

The Watcher attempts to mitigate the effects of Vatnir's chime with a cipher spell. Rymrgand has opinions on her efforts.

Pairing: Aloth x Watcher Rating: T Spoilers: Beast of Winter DLC & Pallegina's Deadfire quest

AO3 version

She began to strip before the door latched shut behind her.

First, her jerkin and boots dropped to the floor. Then her tunic. Her trousers. Her socks and her smallclothes. All of them fell in a trail behind her as she shambled forward, until she stood nude before the bed.

He snapped his book shut as she approached, inhaling and leaning back as she climbed atop him, but even he didn't stop her momentum. She continued over him, rolling ungracefully to the side, and toppled facedown into the mattress.

A satisfied, muffled sigh escaped her lips as she lay there and finally closed her eyes.

The bed was comfortable, as was the cool air drifting in through the window. And the linen sheets were deliciously soft against her skin. Her body felt so… heavy, amidst it all. Every part of her. Like she could sink through the mattress, pierce the sheets, and fall into something wonderful, maybe—if it weren't for the headache pinning her in place.

Somewhere in the past half-decade, she'd actually acclimated to the dull and chronic malaise that came with focus deprivation, but she'd never experienced it this acutely. The throbbing ache, the fatigue, the vague dizziness and nausea, all of it felt more like the crash that followed ascension, except her crashes never lasted longer than a few moments.

Or, at least, they hadn't before.

She heard the book gently thump onto the side table, then felt Aloth shift next to her. His hand settled onto her back and rubbed circles in the curve of her lower spine.

“Busy evening again?”

“Not really,” she muttered into the sheets. After a moment, she summoned the strength to flop herself over and stretch out her limbs, yawning deeply as her joints cracked. She exhaled, then collapsed into a heap. “I'm just… tired.”

“So I've noticed.”

A weak grin pulled at her lips as she glanced at him.

“Oh yeah? What else have you been noticing?”

“Only the obvious,” he said flatly, giving her a ticklish pinch that made her squirm. The corners of his mouth curled upwards briefly before pressing into a frown. “This isn't the first time this week I've seen you like this. I'm becoming a bit concerned.”

“And here I always thought you liked it when I slept naked.”

“I was speaking of your exhaustion,” he said, rolling his eyes. He gave her a pointed look, though color still bloomed across his cheeks. “You've seemed… off, lately, ever since we set sail from the iceberg. When you're not above deck staring at the ocean for hours, you're collapsing into bed, too tired to talk or keep up with your meditations.”

“Amongst other things,” she added, her grin widening.

“Well, yes, but—” His flush deepened. “That's not really what I'm worried about.”

Seraphina chuckled and rolled on her side to face him. “Then what are you worried about? Besides my obvious exhaustion.”

He glanced away.

“Nothing really, just…” he began, then trailed off. A sigh of resignation sounded in his throat and he looked back to her. “Well, I've noticed you holding Vatnir's hands a lot lately, too.”

She raised her eyebrows, then her torso began to quiver with silent laughter.

“What, are you jealous, Aloth?”

“I'm not sure.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Should I be?”

“I don't know. You tell me.” She smiled herself then, biting her lip as she slid her hand to his jaw and caressed his cheek with her thumb. “Who, exactly, am I in bed with again—even if I am too tired to show my appreciation and give him a proper tumble?”

He rolled his eyes again, this time in fondness, amusement pulling at his mouth and softening his features. Then, he cupped her face and pressed his lips to hers, rolling her onto her back as he leaned over her. Her arms curled around him and her hand twined in his hair. She pulled him closer and, for a long moment, they kissed each other softly, until he broke away to nuzzle his face against her own.

“…Is everything okay, at least?” he asked quietly.

“As okay as it ever is,” she whispered back, tugging at the sheet between them. “Would be better, though, if I were under there with you.”

He smiled against her, then pulled back, enough so that she could slip under the sheets and cuddle into him. To her delight and amusement, he wasn't wearing anything either.

“Feeling a little warm tonight or something?” she teased, offering him a mischievous grin as she ran her hands over him.

“Only when you're around.”

He gave her a sly, knowing smile and she chuckled, then settled her head in the crook of his shoulder. Her eyes fell shut and she sighed contentedly as they lay together.

“…Nothing's wrong, Aloth,” she said softly, after a few moments. “I've just been… trying something new. A cipher experiment, I guess.”

“Oh?” His breath tickled against her forehead.

“Yeah. Ever since we left the Void, I've been wondering if there was anything I could do about Vatnir's chime. Not removing it or severing it, I mean, but I thought it might be possible to mitigate its effects and give him some relief, at least.”

He inclined his head. “How so?”

“An extensive, modified pain block, essentially. I've been testing different variations on him almost every evening.” She pursed her lips, her mind briefly wandering to the variables she hadn't yet implemented. “…I'm still tweaking it right now, though. But, I figure once I get it just right, it'll be easy to apply when I'm ascended and it should last for quite a while from there, a few days if I can manage it. Long enough, anyway, that I shouldn't need to pull from my own reserves anymore to apply it.”

“Given the frequency of which we seem to find ourselves imperiled, I suspect that won't be an issue,” he said dryly. “Has it been effective, in any case?”

“I think so?” She shrugged. “His essence hasn't changed, unsurprisingly, but he says he can actually sleep through the night now, and that it hurts less when he coughs and moves around. He thinks some of his wounds might've begun to heal, too.”

Aloth hummed quietly. “He has seemed a bit livelier as of late, come to think of it. I even saw him eating at the table with everyone in the mess the other day, rather than sitting in the corner.”

She smiled. “That's good to hear.”

“Well, it's good of you to help him.”

Heat flushed across her face and she fidgeted uncomfortably.

“I suppose. I know I'm not really fixing anything, not permanently.” She paused for a moment, biting her lip. “…Pallegina and I also talked to him about what she did to her chime. And I've offered to take him to Giacolo's new lab, more than once, but… he's ambivalent about going that far. He said I shouldn't be pushing him to do it either, when I haven't even had it done myself.

“I know it wasn't kind of me,” she continued, “but I laughed in his face when he said that. I asked him why I would need to cut my chime before he does, when the worst thing I have to suffer is that stupid joke people make about whether or not I can actually see anything. I told him that my body wasn't the one decaying alive, that my chime wasn't causing me constant pain—and that he didn't have to accept or endure a lifetime of that either, regardless of what his so-called father said.”

She sighed again, long and wearily as her temples continued to throb.

“Rymrgand's 'gift' is nothing but abusive fucking cruelty.”

Aloth pressed his cheek against her head and rubbed her back. “I don't think there are many kith, alive or dead, who would disagree. But I doubt that would sway him from ensnaring any more mortals with his chime.”

“Yeah, well—why would it?” She huffed in disgust. “After all, we mortals are nothing more than pointless dust, right? Hard to care about dust, I guess, especially when it refuses to wipe away cleanly, and insists that it has an important purpose—”

A sharp crack whipped across the cabin from behind them.

They both startled upright, her lethargy and pain forgotten as she reached for the knife beneath her pillow. She turned to locate the source of the noise, only to find a few splintering, jagged lines spreading across a pane of glass, like something had struck the window. A second fracture snapped loudly a few panes over. Then a third, then more, until violent, sonorous crackling overwhelmed the cabin and the temperature began to rapidly plummet.

Pocks of frozen crystal burst from the walls and ceiling and floor. Rime surged from them, coating the timber and carpet in ice. Her knife burned frigidly hot in her hand and she tossed it away. Next to her, Aloth barely managed to abandon his grimoire before smoking frost encased it whole. She scrambled for the covers then, pulling them up and around her body. But even the blankets weren't spared the incessant freeze, and they soon became a prison of stiff, crusted folds trapping the both of them against an even colder mattress.

Across the room, she caught a glimpse of ghostly, sparkling hoar coating everything before their lantern, too, succumbed to the cold and guttered out.

In the darkness, she and Aloth gasped next to each other. His arms snaked around her and pulled her roughly against him, and hers followed in turn, wrapping around his waist and under the shelter of hair covering his neck. She twined her legs between his and he squeezed back tightly. Plumes of fleeting warmth billowed past their lips as they breathed heavily and shivered into one another.

The snap of ice slowed to intermittent popping and, beneath it, something rumbled almost imperceptibly. The vibration increased rapidly, intensifying to a shrill and piercing wail that lanced into her skull like a needle. Pain exploded across her temples and a burst of white flooded her vision. Distantly, she heard Aloth call her name as she cried out, but she couldn't form the words to speak in response. Her eyes scrunched shut around the feel of knife blades and her head pounded so violently even her teeth and horns hurt. Sweat began to prickle across her skin and her stomach lurched with sickness. In desperation, she scraped at her meager focus reserves and scrambled to subdue her panic, pushing her mind into a rough flatness to ready her powers.

But, to her horror, as she blinked open her mind's eye to use them, something overwhelming and impossibly sharp rushed forward to stab it shut.

Should I wipe you away now, Watcher?

Fresh agony seared her mind while Rymrgand's unmistakable voice cracked across her consciousness. It resonated deeply, shuddering and groaning like a colossal sheet of ice straining to keep its hold on a glacier. Aloth squeezed her tighter and she knew he heard it too. The noise rumbled through her for a long, excruciating moment until it eventually calved. As it splintered and fell away, so too did some of her pain, enough that she could speak again.

“Well,” she gasped, her heart thumping wildly. “Think I could probably clump into one of Eora's weirder-looking dust bunnies, if you let me roll around a while longer.” She briefly clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering, then swallowed hard. “I meant what I said too. Your gift is cruelty.”

And your efforts with my progeny are a misguided act of futility. You expend your limited energy and hasten your decline in exchange for nothing, as you readily admit yourself. Yet, you persist, knowing the only place your exertion truly leads is to your own gradual destruction.

Your self-diminution in this regard is… exquisite.

Something shifted in her then, a sense of blinding sunlight on the snow mingled with pleasure.

She blinked.

“Uh, thanks?”

I will permit you to continue your endeavor, to your end or to those you would wrest essence from instead. But you will do so with the knowledge that I will reclaim what is mine from Vatnir should he ever attempt to sever my chime.

The pounding in her head increased, pressing into one continuous ache as the implication hit her.

“You'll kill him? Is that what you mean?”

No.

His death would only be an incidental effect.

Aloth exhaled against her neck. “So either Vatnir lives with the pain or somebody else does,” he mumbled.

Entropy is inexorable. Any fleeting reprieve from it demands a sacrifice. To stave off pain, you must invoke the suffering of something else.

That is your entire existence.

“What's your existence, then?” she rasped. “What are you staving off through his suffering? You're a god. Nothing forced you to put your chime in him. You could have spared him the pain you know it causes, but you didn't.”

I will spare him. Eventually. In the meantime, who will receive temporary reprieve and whose suffering will provide it is a concern I leave you to decide.

Ultimately, it matters not.

She whimpered as the pain cinched around her head and began to crush inward. Her eyes watered and every breath of dry, cold air she took scraped her throat and lungs. It was becoming hard to move, hard to speak, or even think, but it was more difficult than anything else to remain silent.

“…Okay, entropy will claim everything someday. Fine. So what? We're still here, until then, alive before the Wheel turns again. This flash of existence is all we'll ever have, all we'll ever know, and that makes what we choose to do during it the only thing that matters. On our scale, your ending is just as meaningless and unimportant to us as our mortal lives are to you.”

Something shifted in her again, vague contempt while a gale blasted at a mountainside.

You are, undoubtedly, Berath's spawn. Only one of their brats could possess such a shackled understanding of life and death.

“And only a god made from the souls of the most nihilistic Engwithans could think his view of impermanency is the only one that's valid.”

It is the only one that will endure, and even I can appreciate that irony.

An amused snort escaped her nose.

“Well, I hope your ending is the everything and the nothing you want it to be, when it finally comes.” She closed her eyes and buried her face in Aloth's neck. He hugged her tighter and she did her best to return it with her numbing hands. “I'm gonna use my scrap of time to keep helping the people around me,” she muttered. “I don't care if it doesn't last, or if I don't benefit from it myself—it's still always worth it to do right by others and slowly build towards a better world.”

Something shifted in her once more, an avalanche of laughter tumbling free to roar destructively down a slope.

Your better world is littered with the corpses of kith who professed similar sentiments, whose proud words failed to survive even the meager duration of their individual lives. I look forward to seeing how quickly time will erode those same lofty ideals in you as well, Watcher.

Until then, I will be keeping an eye on you.

Seraphina and Aloth flinched as a soul-piercing crack sliced across the room. Their lantern flickered back to life and the ice covering everything splintered, shattered, then disintegrated into powdery vapor, filling the cabin with a fine mist that smelled of ozone and decay. The temperature steadily climbed as it dissipated, until the air returned to that of balmy, tropical night. Cold still lingered in the sheets, however, and in their trembling bodies, the last, deteriorating evidence that something had ever been amiss.

Aloth sighed, then slumped against her. She absently rubbed his back while he shook his head and stroked hers in turn. As warmth prickled painfully back into her hands and feet, whatever sharpness had lodged into her mind's eye melted away too, rolling a sense of frigid wetness across the crown of her head. Only when she shivered from it, and let loose the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, did she notice that all of her pain and fatigue had vanished as well.

She wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

“So… just the one eye then, huh? Not all five?”

“Seraphina…”

“Bet he always will be watching, too,” she muttered. “You know, just to satisfy his obsession with length and duration, not 'cause he's a pervert or anything.”

“Please,” Aloth said against her skin. “What is the one thing I asked you not to do anymore?”

She sighed and leaned away to look at him.

“Sass the gods.”

“And what are you doing right now?”

“Sassing the gods, I know. I'm sorry. I'll stop.”

“Thank you.”

Aloth pulled her back to him and nuzzled his face into her neck as they held each other.

“…He's still a jerk, though,” she added a moment later. “And don't give me that look, 'cause even he admits—”

She yelped loudly and suddenly then, squirming against him while he trapped her with one of his arms.

“Admits what?” he asked innocently.

“Your hand is— So! Cold!”

“Not for long, it isn't.” He gave her a sly smile. “I'm only warm when you're around, remember?”

She laughed, shook her head, and kissed him.

Notes:

Thank you to @alwaysashroomsman for the idea of a cipher using the Pain Block spell on Vatnir <3

#pillars of eternity #the watcher #aloth corfiser #rymrgand #aloth x watcher #aloth romance #fic #godlike #endings godlike #death godlike #watcher seraphina #zfic

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inkofamethyst · 3 years

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June 20, 2021

My Probably Definitive Sewing Plans for This Summer

McCall’s 8181 view C using the black cotton sateen I’ve just bought. Not yet sure whether I want the sleeves to be super poofy at the top, but I am leaning toward the poofy top to add a bit more interest.

Button up, collared, short-sleeved shirt using the green/white windowpane fabric. I honestly just need to find a pattern that doesn’t have a back yoke so I can minimize the number of possible mistakes for getting the pieces to line up.

An 1890s vest/waistcoat, either using the Keystone Guide or Black Snail Patterns (or, perhaps, I can do one of each? I’m thinking that I’ll try the Keystone Guide first, though, since it’s ~free~ though I will likely have to do more reading and research for it), and I know I’d intended for the brown/beige houndstooth to be for that reversible coat thing, but plans change, okay? I may either use the houndstooth or the herringbone for it (or houndstooth for one and herringbone for the other, we’ll see), and I’m going to have to get a lining fabric (potentially more cotton sateen?) in addition to an interlining (maybe drill or canvas) to stiffen the cotton flannel outer fabric because I really would like it to have a defined shape plus a little bit of boning for the darts to help with that too. This project, I’m sure, will take a while.

I have been watching through a ton of videos that use the Keystone drafting method, so I can read through the guide, make notes, then re-watch those videos and take notes about their methods and pick and choose what I think will be best for mine. Then I have to draft then go through mockups then go prep my final pieces then go through hours and hours of construction, whew. It’s be cool to potentially wear over the poofy McCall’s 8181 sleeves though lol.

A black flannel circle skirt, potentially calf-length. It’ll essentially be a copy of the brown one I made back in May or April, and I have the fabric for it, but I think I want to try an overlapping closure and a potentially wider waistband (2″ instead of my customary 1.5″). I’ll probably be keeping the whole bias tope finishing method though. I imagine it’ll take two weekends, and I could work on other projects in the meantime.

Some nice ~fancy lookin~ shorts using that vintage trouser pattern I bought a bit ago and the brown denim-esque fabric. I think I might try including belt loops with it too!

Wishful Thinking Sewing Plans for This Summer

A linen “poet shirt,” or perhaps just a button-up linen shirt?

probably some other things too but those are what I super duper want to get done

Anyway, I practiced my ukulele today!! I think the first song I’m going to memorize completely will be Never Love an Anchor by (guess who~) The Crane Wives. It’s mostly three notes chords (Am, C, F) with a fourth chord thrown in there on occasion (D) and at one point there’s a spicy fifth chord too (E7), and they’re all fairly easy to play! There’s just enough difficulty to switch between them that it presents a challenge to get it right, but it’s not nearly as difficult as trying to learn Riptide chord changes (the “10-day” online “course” I’d planned to zoom through has us (me) learning that song on day two and the switch between Am and G while doing the correct strumming pattern with only one other practice session under my belt was, well, rough). Thing is, though, I don’t completely know the lyrics by heart, so I’m learning the chord changes and the lyrics and the fingerings all at once, but I think I’m pretty close to the fingerings/changes becoming second nature!! My goal is to get to the point where I can play the song without looking at my fingers, and I feel fairly close!! It’s really exciting, but I’m probably going to have to start incorporating some strumming pattern in my next session (I sort of wish I could have watched an online course from someone like me who has a musical background and would appreciate more explanation than just “bc that’s how we do it on uke :D” for some things. Like, understanding chords and the chromatic scale and downbeat/upbeat strumming. I’m figuring those things out on my own which is exciting and all, but I think I would’ve felt more excited from the get-go if I felt that I could connect more of my prior knowledge even from wind instruments to playing a stringed one.

I’m honestly having a lot of trouble with strumming though. And I know I’ve only had, what, three sessions now? But that’s a main issue at the moment, in addition to actually getting the finger independence to get all the chords right without thinking about it every time, just like as I was learning to play the flute back in... 2011 (and the sax in 2017). Anyway, the up strums are really difficult to get, but having a metronome does definitely help.

Today I’m thankful that I have a basic song goal!! I’ve got a number of chords that I know of, and I’m committing them to muscle memory at this point. I don’t think I’m going to keep the notebook thing I mentioned a few days ago, but I can journal about significant progress when I make it.

Oh! I will say that despite the difficulty I had with the chord changes in Riptide a few days ago, I do think I’m making progress with speeding it up!! I intend to practice it every day just a little bit, but I think taking a break and coming back to it was useful. I haven’t done daily practice quite yet, but I’m going to have to test whether daily practice or practice every other day is more effective. Like a TuThSu thing? We’ll see.

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notesfromtheidiotbox · 7 years

Text

Afternoon

So I entered @docholligay‘s “Pander to me” contest. I didn’t win, but I really didn’t expect to. I decided to follow up on a ficlet she wrote in response to an ask which mashed up Sailor Moon and Overwatch. I also like writing fics where characters who don’t interact much in canon are paired off for conversation. Hence the following. Enjoy!

***

“Explain it to me again,” Mako said, placing the tea on the table in front of her unexpected guest. “Because I'm not sure I understand. You're here for...?”

“Sanctuary,” Michiru replied, sipping from the tea cup. “I'm certain I said that when I arrived.”

Mako frowned. She and Michiru had never really interacted all that much outside of those occasions the world needed saving, but those few times it occurred, it had been... aggravating. It was like dealing with Rei in one of her moods only worse. While Rei usually had a hundred and seventeen different reasons for anything she did, especially when angry, she never actually explained those reasons. But, after a while, those reasons usually became clear in the end.

Michiru, on the other hand, probably had reasons for what she did, but she NEVER explained anything. She just assumed you knew what she was doing or what she meant and too bad if you couldn't figure it out. Just being in the same room with her made Mako feel stupid and awkward.

She hated that feeling.

“Sanctuary,” Mako repeated, frowning. “Sanctuary from what?”

“My own compassion,” Michiru answered. She put the tea back on the table. “Have you ever tried English tea? I believe you would appreciate the flavor profiles.”

Mako resisted the urge to rub her eyes. “Why would you need sanctuary from your own compassion? And why come to me?”

Michiru quirked an eyebrow. “To answer your second question first, I find you to be the most level headed of the others.”

Mako blinked. An outright complement was almost unheard of. “Thanks?”

Michiru's lips curled up in a close lipped smile. “I think you'll agree that Usagi and Rei tend to feel first and think later. Mizuno-san tends to overanalyze. You, Makoto, at least when not around the others, consider things before you act.”

There it was. The backhand to the complement. Now Mako was on more secure ground.

“Okay, yeah, the other girls can be kind of intense,” Mako conceded. “But I'm still not getting what you mean by 'sanctuary.'”

Michiru let out a sigh. Makoto started to roll her eyes, but quickly realized the sigh wasn't of exasperation, but exhaustion.

Michiru looked up at her fellow senshi. “You recall the cruise to the Galapagos Haruka and I recently took?”

“Yeah. Minako said you guys had a great time.”

Michiru's smile returned. “Indeed we did. We also made the acquaintance of a rather charming British couple... well, one was British. I believe her fiancee was from Scotland.”

“Okay,” Makoto said. “Still not seeing what this has to do with you coming here.”

“Well, as it turned out, the young British lady had planned on using the cruise to propose to her now fiancee. She had planned to ask her by the pool with some cheap champagne, if you can imagine.”

Makoto's eyebrows briefly raised at the revelation that the couple in question were both women, but she quickly recovered. You've been friends... I guess... with Haruka and Michiru for years now. They aren't the only lesbians in the world.

Michiru noted her reaction, but chose to ignore it. “In any event, I assisted her in proposing in a more appropriate location aboard ship. The next day, we were introduced to the fiancee and all was smiles and sunshine, as it were.”

Michiru picked up the tea and sipped again. She looked at Makoto. “What I couldn't forsee was that Haruka and Lena would wind up spending quite a bit of time together during the cruise.”

“Lena?” Makoto asked.

“The young British lady,” Michiru clarified. “Her fiancee is named Emily. Anyway, Haruka and Lena quickly became fast friends. For myself, I found both Lena and Emily quite pleasant company, and despite Lena undermining my attempts to curtail Haruka's attraction to kitsch, we all had a pleasant time and went our separate ways following the cruise.”

Makoto frowned, an idea she didn't like coming to her. “Haruka's not having an affair with this Lena woman, is she?”

Michiru looked at Mako for a long moment, then burst into laughter. “No, no, Makoto, nothing like that. Haruka knows better. No, what I wasn't expecting was Haruka to extend an invitation for them to visit. Even less so, was for them to accept the offer.”

“Okay, so you made some friends on the cruise, Haruka invited them here, and they showed up. I'm still not seeing the problem.”

Now it was Michiru's turn to frown. “No, you don't, do you?”

Mako put her hands on her hips and gave Michiru a look. Michiru ignored her and pulle dher phone out of her purse, bringing up some photos.

“I think you'll understand if I show you.”

Michiru handed her phone to Mako. Mako looked down and let out a snort of laughter. Haruka and short haired brunette, presumably Lena, were standing in front of what looked like a gift shop. Both were wearing cargo shorts, ridiculous straw hats, and the tackiest shirts Mako had ever seen. Lena's was a searing orange and white Hawaiian number, while Haruka's was bright green and dotted with what appeared to be red parrots. To finish off the ensembles, both were wearing oversized sunglasses. Lena's were a fairly standard pair of aviators which somehow seemed slightly too big for her face, while Haruka's were neon green, and exactly the wrong shade to match her shirt.

“What's with the light on Lena's chest?” Mako asked.

“I believe it's a medical device for some sort of disability,” Michiru answered. “I didn't feel it polite to press for details.”

Mako handed the phone back. “Haruka and her new friend have really bad taste. So what?”

Michiru shook her head. “It's not that. Well... it's partly that, to be honest, but not the reason I'm here. Lena and Emily arrived a couple of nights ago, and honestly, it's been pleasant. The problem came this morning.”

“What happened this morning?”

Michiru looked Mako dead in the eyes. “Minako.”

Mako winced. Now she got it. Haruka liked to play it aloof and cool, but when Minako was around, the chaos that tended to follow her was contagious and Haruka became, as Usagi memorably put it one time, “a huge dork.” Bad ideas and choices usually followed.

And if there was a third person with the same tastes as Haruka...

“I have one question,” Mako asked.

“Yes?”

“Why didn't you bring Emily with you?”

Michiru sighed again. This time the exasperation was evident. “Well--”

She was interrupted as the door burst open.

“Mako-chaaaaan! You home?” Minako's voice came into the room. “Got some people for you to meet!”

Michiru put her tea back down and pressed her palm to her forehead. Under her breath she uttered a curse in French.

Then they appeared. All four of them. Haruka, Minako, Lena, and Emily. Minako and Lena were grinning from ear to ear. Haruka looked guilty, and Emily had an expression that wavered between amusement and concern. All four were disheveled, their hair frizzed out and mussed. Minako's hair bow was half untied and hanging off the side of her head. Lena's shirt was missing a sleeve. Emily was barefoot, and Haruka had a decided lack of pants. Mako would have laughed.

Except for the fact that all four of them were dripping what she hoped wasn't motor oil on her carpet.

“Hey, your highness!” Minako said, dashing over and sitting down next to Michiru. Mako winced at the audible “squelch” that came when Minako sat down.

“We wondered where you'd gotten to!” Minako said. “Guess you had the same idea I had.”

“What idea?” Mako asked.

“We... uh... we had a little mishap at the go-kart track,” Haruka began. Lena looked up at Haruka and, much to Mako's surprise, began speaking in fairly good Japanese.

“Haruka, love, aren't you gonna introduce us to your friend?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Haruka said. She looked back at Mako. “Makoto, this is Lena Oxton and her fiancee, Emily.”

“Cheers!” Lena said with a bright smile.

“Um... it... very nice...meeting you,” Emily said in halting Japanese. Mako felt she should respond in English. Unfortunately, she could only remember one phrase.

“Thank you!”

Minako burst out laughing. “Still not the right phrase, Mako.”

Mako grinned sheepishly and put a hand behind her head. “Yeah... wait. Why are you here?”

“Well, after the fire at the go-kart track...”

“And the grease explosion at the fried chicken place...” Haruka added.

“Don't forget about the stray dog pack that chased us!” Lena piped up. Emily said something in English, and Lena spoke again. “Em says she still doesn't know where she lost her shoes or where Haruka lost her trousers, for that matter.”

“Wait, what?” Haruka looked down and turned red. “That explains the looks in the elevator,” she muttered.

“Anyway, after all that, I realized your place was nearby and figured we could clean up here!” Minako said. Her eyes got wide and sparkly. “And maybe you could give some much needed lunch to four lost souls who ran nearly twenty whole blocks to get here?”

Mako sighed, and began heading for the kitchen. “You can use the shower. Fresh towels are in the linen closet. Haruka, you can raid my closet for some pants and I think I have a spare pair of sandals for Emily, too. Sandwiches okay?”

“You're the best as always, Mako!” Minako said. She looked over at Michiru. “Lucky thing you were here too, Squidward. We were wondering what happened to you.”

“Yes, wonderful,” Michiru got up and began walking to the kitchen. “Haruka, would you please take Makoto up on her offer?”

“Right,” Haruka said. She turned to Emily. “Come on, Emily. Mako's bedroom is back here.”

“Mind your manners, Haruka,” Lena smirked. “That's me fiancee you're taking to that bedroom.”

“I know better,” Haruka replied, giving a smirk of her own. She and Emily disappeared into the bedroom. Lena looked over at Minako.

“So, Minako, d'you want to use the shower first?”

“You're the guest, go right ahead. I can wait.”

“Thanks, love!” Lena headed for the bathroom, stopping to grab a towel. Minako leaned back and grabbed the TV remote. She paused, noticing the door of the cabinet under the TV was ajar.

Michiru entered the kitchen. Mako had already gotten out the ingerdients for sandwiches out on the counter. Much to Michiru's surprise, Mako reached into a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of sake. She took out two cups, filled them, and handed one to Michiru.

“What's this for?” Michiru asked.

Mako gave her a small smile, happy that for once she had managed to puzzle Michiru.

“Gonna be a looooong afternoon,” she explained. Michiru stared at her, then smiled and the two clinked glasses.

“Hey, Mako,” came Minako's voice. “Is this your porn stash under the TV?”

They both groaned.

#docholligay Lesbian cruise au

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greaterthannine-blog · 6 years

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Roots 06/29/2018 & 07/02/2018 [許]

This longer-than-usual post is the first of two in which I am relaying the experiences I had in my two ancestral villages. This post pertains to my two visits to my Huie 許 village and is thus sectioned into two parts: the first visit on 06/29/2018, and the second visit on 07/02/2018. As visiting this site of my personal heritage was an exceptionally important journey for me, I have included much more content than I have in previous “Roots” posts. Alongside my own photographs, I added photographs shot by our leader Al and our friend Sherry, which I have crafted to look akin to film photographs. I have also written much more than typical, so if you’re one of the kind souls who actually reads the words I write, you might enjoy this post. Anyway, that’s all I have to say about that.

Enjoy.

Isabella

Preface: My Huie/Xu [許] Ancestral Village_____________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________________

IN THIS GRAND EXPEDITION TO CHINA this summer, I visited two of my ancestral villages. This post pertains to my two visits to my Huie 許 (or Xǔ in Mandarin) village in Guangdong province of Southern China, which is the side of my Chinese family whose history I know most about. You might be wondering where this Huie name comes from and what happened to “Xu” surname I use. See, “Xǔ” is the Mandarin pronunciation of my family name, and I use that for my public name because Mandarin is the most widely spoken and recognized Chinese dialect. However, my family are not Mandarin speakers, we are Cantonese, and more specifically we hail from a region of Guangdong province called Toisan (or Táishān in Mandarin) which has it’s own specific dialect itself. We are not known amongst ourselves as Xǔ’s, but rather as Huie’s, which is why in this post I will be hence referring to this aspect of my identity as Huie.

Now, with all this talk of my family name, you might be wondering what my relation to this village is. It was the birthplace and home of my mother’s father’s father (my great-grandfather), and his ancestors before him (that I am aware of anyway). According to the records my great-grandfather left after his passing, our ancestral village goes by what we can best romanize as Sui Bo Huey. Though I say that with a grain of salt, as I don’t know what this name means or even what the correct characters are, but I found that procuring information on our village was uniquely difficult because: 1) My mother, grandfather and grand-uncle have all visited the village, so I knew the information existed, and 2) We still own our ancestral home, and have an active property manager there, and 3) Despite the above factors, no one had, could, or was willing to provide me the information. Difficulties aside, I acquired the info, and made to the village. Twice. ●

第四天: 台山

Day Four: Toisan [Taishan]

06/29/2019

PHOTOGRAPHY: Al Cheng & Sherry

PHOTO POST-PROCESSING & COMMENTARY: Isabella Xu

↑↑ (1) On the balcony of my ancestral home, overlooking the garden and fields. (2) Photo op with an old woman who claims to weed the exterior of my ancestral home

First Visit: What Happened on 06/29/2019 _____________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________________

First! Let me tell you about the first visit to Sui Bo Huey, because there were two. One not-so-spectacular visit (this one), and a more intimate visit (the one later in this post). My actual, official, PRC-approved, scheduled time and day for me to visit Sui Bo Huey was June 29, 2018. (Little bitty tidbit, we were with the gov’t, which was quite the thrill not gonna lie. Our Toisan official/friend, Mr. Yang (Young Yang) was fantastic and overall a very kind man). That morning, I awoke with numb excitement. I couldn’t believe that the day where I’d set foot in a place where part of my family lived for who knows how long had finally come. It was daunting and my thoughts were a maelstrom of discourse. Was I ready for this? Was I too young? I’m only nineteen and I’m already having highly philosophical and existential conversations with myself; did I jump into this prematurely? But at the same time, in my noggin I was bouncing with glee. Today will be an interesting day.

Knowing I’d be the complete center of attention that morning, and fully aware that there would be several cameras aimed at me the whole duration of my visit to Sui Bo Huey, I hopped out of bed to decide what to wear. In my animated yet distressed stupor, my lovely roommate, Kona, helped me choose an outfit for the day. My first thought was to wear a poppy red Athleta tank (similar), a cream vintage silk button-up short sleeve blouse (similar), and off-white linen Aritzia pants (similar-ish). What we found though was that you could see my undies through the pants, so I traded the silk blouse for a mauve Nike long-sleeve (different color), tied yachting style around my shoulders, and swapped the risqué pantaloons for my trusty black Athleta cargos. (Not that it really matters much for this post, since, ya know, I’m not in any of these photos, but for my own posterity’s sake, please! Let me live!). I then strapped on my black & cork Camper sandals, donned my faithful Urban Outfitters cap, slung my Aritzia fanny pack (similar) across my torso, and packed my camera bag. Now ready for adventure, Kona and I closed our hotel room door, waddled to the elevator, and embarked the slow descent to the lobby.

We exited the elevator and walked over to a set of plush chaises where others in our group were congregating. I set down my bags, kneeled, reached for my backpack, and took out a bottle of sunscreen mixed with insect repellent. Standing up I looked over to the other side of the lobby where I saw our leader Al standing and talking with a seedy looking middle-aged man with sparse slicked-back hair, wearing a red polo, navy trousers, brown Dickies belt, and boat shoes. Once they noticed me observing them, Al enthusiastically beckoned me over for introductions. Now, remember how I mentioned earlier that my family still owns our ancestral village in Sui Bo Huey? And that we have a property manager overseeing and maintaining that property? Well, this is that dude. Did I know he was going to be there? No. Did I know that Roots had successfully contacted him? No. Did I know his name? No. His being there was a complete shock to me as my grand-uncle had hinted that communication with our property caretaker was strained and inconsistent, and that he was unsure that the caretaker would respond to any attempted correspondance. So, with that in mind, I was flabbergasted and unprepared to have Lem Fun Koon 林煥權 accompany my rooting, and my mind was hazy after meeting him, and this fog carried through the rest of the day. (Though, in retrospect, I don’t really know why I was so stupidly impacted by his presence. I mean, he was just there to help! And I just displayed my despicable ice-queen qualities of complete asshattery and fuckbucketry, and seldom interacted with the poor guy! No matter how creepily greasy he looked, I truly regret my treatment of him. I hope to someday remedy that, and repay him for taking the time to show me the property. Maybe I’ll write him a thank you letter or something…). From introductions I learned that not only was he the caretaker of our property, but that he was actually a renowned Chinese calligrapher. I was told that his works can often sell for over $1,500 USD. I simultaneously thought it very snazzy but also a bit odd that we have a famous calligrapher for a property manager, but, I guess, ya know, China. *shrugs.*

Post-introduction to Lem Fun Koon 林煥權 (Whom I’ll now address as Mr. Lem), it was finally time to embark on the short journey to Sui Bo Huey, that is, after we took 15 minutes to load the bus, 15 minutes to collect the day’s government official (and film me being shallowly introspective about family/village info and what I expected to find), 15 minutes to stop outside a convenience store and debate which packaged cookies to use for my bai san ceremony (ritual paying respects to ancestors), and then another 15 minutes minute trundle to the village. So, after enduring what was supposed to be a 15 minute drive, we finally arrived. An hour later.

As we turned off the main road and approached my village, the first thing I saw was the gate marking the entrance. Actually, you know, I take that back. The first thing I actually saw was the MASSIVE pile of trash directly behind the gate! What a great way to start my rooting, no? Trash? Everywhere? Just fucking lovely. I knew my family came from a humble peasantry background, but this was just too comically ironic (I came from literal trash!). But, let’s not be so hasty in my assumptions. I later discovered that a family in the village operated a recycling business, thus justifying the huge pile of trash that-isn’t-quite-trash-but-is-rather-recycling in the area. I felt much better after learning that. Better yet, I felt a smidge of pride. Go ancestral village. Go Sui Bo Huey. Y’all are doing good deeds.

Anyways, Sifu (our hilariously nonchalant bus driver) drove through the gate, into the village, and parked our trusty bus on the long and receding stretch of concrete and alongside the row of homes to our left, and I discovered shortly after that he had parked literally 15 feet away from my ancestral home. To our right, parallel to the concrete was a community garden of sorts, with rows and rows of small crops including eggplant, cabbage, corn, and many other unidentifiable plants. Beyond the garden were expanding rice fields that I want to say were three fourths of a mile in distance until they were cut off by a large factory building. But those were all the observations I could make before the ruckus began.

As soon as Sifu parked, the floodgates (by which I mean the bus doors) opened and everyone began siphoning out on to the pavement. Because I was being filmed, I was the last to exit. By the time I hop out, there were people everywhere: Roots people, government officials, villagers, and who knows who else (I certainly don’t). While I’m dazedly trying to discern what’s happening, Mr. Lem was already at the doors of my family property, hastily undoing the locks on the front entrance (our property was vacant so we weren’t intruding on anybody, though that would have been quite the event), and before I know it, I’m being herded over to the door. With the procession in tow, and no way for me to escape, I proceeded towards my ancestral home while Candace and Diann went to film and photograph the village, Nick began flying our faithful drone Rufus for some aerial shots, and I think Robyn and Carol went to go talk to villagers, but frankly I’m unsure. Along with Mr. Lem, Al, Derek, Long Lǎoshī, Sherry (who was photographing me), Mickey, Jeremy (who was also photographing me), Amanda (who was filming me and translating), two other government officials and a couple village representatives, into the home I went.

Right off the bat, as soon as I entered the building, my visit was not what I had anticipated. After stepping through the front door I was amazed at how well kept the interior was (and the exterior looked very nice too, so props to him), but also for the entire duration of my visit, Mr. Lem made a point to show me all the fixes he made, improvements he added and told me everything he’s done in upkeep. Frankly, that’s what most of the visit was: rather than permitting me to absorb the moment, learn and reflect, my visit was mostly him showing me and telling me everything he’s done to take care of the house, as well as describing the legal work he’s had to do, and complaining how he was contacted by the government rather than directly by my uncle (and that is quite the juicy drama, but I’m not going to share that with you, sorry, that’s a more private matter). While I was exceptionally bothered by his actions at the time (and not gonna lie, I’m still pretty pissed about that), I can understand why he acted how he did. My presence may have appeared as if my family had sent me to assess the property’s condition and verify Mr. Lem’s work, and even though I and everyone present that day knew that was not what my intentions were, I can understand how it may have seemed like a check up. Still, as he occupied about 75% of the minuscule hour and a half I spent there talking about himself, I felt very cheated of an intimate and private experience I had come so far to have.

On top of that, my time in my ancestral home was very rushed. Before we had even left for China, I had to prioritize one village over the other, and whichever I made my primary village was the one I would have more time in. However, despite how much I wanted this village to be my primary, because I had such difficulty squeezing information out of my family, I was forced to make Sui Bo Huey my secondary village. It wasn’t until quite literally two days before my flight to China that I finally secured the information I needed to identify the place, and promptly asked Roots to make Sui Bo Huey my primary. However, the switch happened a tad too late and the schedule for my time in Sui Bo Huey was set in stone, and the day’s schedule didn’t permit more time, so we had to do and see everything in a hurry.

The moment I entered the central room, where the ancestral altar was housed, it was a scramble to perform my bai san, or the ceremony where I paid respects to my ancestors. But here’s the kicker, I didn’t know what in the fuck this ceremony was. I had never heard the term bai san. Nobody in my family ever performed bai san. I hadn’t witnessed any of the other Rooters’ bai san ceremonies because I was off prancing around the villages we visited photographing everything besides the person whose village it was. I was thrust into the altar room, had a pile of incense shoved into my hands, then everyone stood back, left me in an empty space and told me to do the ceremony. But because I’m a complete noob, and know abso-fucking-nothing, I stood there like a dodo bird for a good moment, then asked Al for help. Mr. Lem lit the incense sticks, Mickey and Long Lǎoshī laid an offering of cookies on a table, and Al directed me in bowing, placing the incense around the house, and praying to my ancestors. Once I finished the ceremony, Mr. Lem put the cookies in his bag.

After bai san, Mr. Lem talked at Al, Long Lǎoshī, Mickey and Mr. Yang in a circle for about twenty minutes about all the legal troubles he went through with the property. In complete confusion, I kept peering over their shoulders at the documents he was referencing, trying to grasp what was happening, and thankfully Amanda translated some of the discussion. After Mr. Lem finished venting, someone announced that we should take a group photo outside, and I was being swept away again. Yet before we could make our way outside, Derek asked me if I had walked around the house. Which I hadn’t. So instead of meandering towards the doorway, I waltzed the opposite direction and went into what used to be the kitchen.

↑↑ Post-bai san, standing in the center room of my ancestral home before our altar. Here I am thanking my Bok Gung (though I think he’s actually my Taai Gung, but don’t quote me on that, the Chinese family tree is about as confusing as quantum mechanics), my Gung Gung, and everyone who came before them.

With my diversion, Mr. Lem promptly began giving me a tour of the house. It really was a beautiful house. It was divided into three sections. The first was when you first step through the front door; there was a small entry-room; branching forward was the second section of the house, and branching to the left was a door to another room. From this room you could climb a ladder upstairs to what was likely once a bedroom, and this bedroom connected to another small room (which is directly above the entry-way room below) and possessed a door to a balcony (above the second section) overlooking the village gardens and fields beyond. Back in the entryway again, and leading forward was the second section. This was the largest room in the house and ran from one end of the property to the other. Within this room was the ancestral altar, which had apparently survived a fire and but still in excellent condition. There was also a table, some large old pots to store rice, some decrepit wooden stools, and the foundations for a stone rice pounder set into the floor of the room. The room was lit by the skylight connected to the roof behind the balcony above. Continuing through to the third section of the house was the kitchen and former entryway to the home. I was told that a number of years ago, thieves had broken through the original door and destroyed it so much that it was irreparable and irreplaceable, so Mr. Lem had simply blocked the door with a lovely handcrafted barricade. Leading off the kitchen was another room, which had another ladder leading to the other upstairs portion of the home, but the ladder was broken and we could access the upper floor. I was awestruck by the condition of my ancestral home, and was very proud of all the hard work that Mr. Lem invested in the place (I wish to properly thank him somehow, but am unsure of how to do that; if you have suggestions please comment below!). It was one of the most amazing places I’ve ever been. I really wish I had had the chance to photograph it myself.

And that was the most upsetting aspect of this visit: I wasn’t able to photograph anything, and that really left an impact. In all of the prior rootings we did, I had impeccable experiences within each village simply by padding around and photographing the details of each community. In my debrief later that day, I voiced my dissatisfaction. The day was rushed. I hadn’t had any private time. Mr. Lem made a decent portion of my visit about himself rather than about me. I relayed that I had had more intimate experiences in everyone else’s villages by being able to walk around and see things. I regretted not having any of my own documentation of my own village. If I had been provided the time and opportunity to shoot my own photos of Sui Bo Huey, I know I wouldn’t have been so angry, but because I was prevented from doing the one thing I’m passionate about, in the place I cared for most, my frustration was evident. I toyed with the idea of asking to go back, but because we had such a crammed schedule for our remaining days in Toisan, and because others hadn’t been given the chance to return to their villages, I didn’t think it wise or fair for me to ask to go back.

However, a couple days later, my emotions got the best of me, and in an admittedly dramatic fashion, I asked Al and Derek if I could return to Sui Bo Huey before we left Toisan a few days later. And I am undeniably grateful that they, and the government, let me go back again three days later. ●

↑↑ (1) Group photo of our Roots 2018 family, Lem Fun Koon, Sifu, Long Lǎoshī, Mr. Yang (Young Yang), two other government officials whose names I don’t know, and a village representative inside the alter room of my ancestral home. (2) Group photo outside my ancestral home; you can see the doorway to the house on the left-hand side of the frame.

第六七: 台山

Day Seven: Toisan [Taishan]

07/02/2018

PORTRAIT PHOTOS: Al Cheng

PHOTOGRAPHY, PORTRAIT POST-PROCESSING & COMMENTARY:

Isabella Xu

Second Visit: What happened on 07/02/2018 __________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________________

The day I asked to go back to Sui Bo Huey, we looked over the schedule and finessed a time for me to return on July 2nd, 2018. Accompanied by Al, I would be permitted to return to my Bok Gung’s village, and the day I would go back was the same day as my other village visit. We’d visit my secondary village, my mother’s mother’s mother’s father’s village, in the morning, and after spending a couple hours there, Al and I would peel off from the larger group, return to Sui Bo Huey for a few hours, then would drive back to Toisan city for a late lunch.

The weather that day was overcast, and the sky looked as if I was ready to dump a downpour any second. That morning I awoke, dressed in an almost-monochrome get-up. Along-sleeve Nike running top, Aritzia athletic pants, my camper sandals, and Aritzia fanny pack, I then assembled my camera bag, hell-bent on making sure I secured photographs of my two villages that day.

Skipping past our morning visit to my secondary village (I know, I know, how disappointing! But do not fret, that account will be documented in the next post), with a moderate sprinkle from the heavens, Al and I hop into the car of a driver we hired for the day, and set out for Sui Bo Huey.

I knew that this visit would be wholly different from my previous experience. The only visitors to Sui Bo Huey would be myself and Al. The rest of our group was touring Kona’s second village. Mr. Lem was five hours away doing whatever it is that he does in another province (thereby we couldn’t enter the property, but that was alright). The government official that was supposed to oversee our visit just stopped by for about two minutes, then left. It was just me, Al, my camera and the village (well, and our driver, but he just sat in the car and/or looked at the eggplants or something in the garden). And that was more than I could ask for.

Hopping out of the car, the first thing I do (after taking a photo of Al and the government official) was walk up the same alleyway where the entrance to my ancestral home was located, all the way down to it’s very end (which was only like 50 meters, so nothing extraordinary). Back here were some little shacks, some in nice condition, others not so much. While perusing this little area I spotted an orange chicken (NOT the Panda Express kind, NO) standing on a ledge. It was just existing there, waiting and watching me, and once it noticed me returning it’s gaze, it took a step towards an archway and looked forward. It continued to glance my way, cluck and take another step, as if asking me to follow. As it slowly methodically made its way towards an the arch which led to some little corner of some structure, I decided to follow it. So I hopped up onto the ledge and trailed the chicken through the arch.

Now, I sound like a lunatic when I say this, and I have received nonverbal confirmation of this, but this chicken led me to this little alcove of an abandoned and crumbling structure, with the most beautifully water- and algae-stained walls. On them were large splotches of dirt and vibrant green microorganisms. The bases of the walls were a darkened, soil brownish-black which provided an excellent contrast to the whitish-grey concrete wall. The walls themselves had minuscule cracks and fractures and on one was a yellow and white electrical outlet, with several severed wires dangling from the apparatus. I was really struck by this bitty alcove and really it doesn’t seem that spectacular when you think about it. But I guess I’ve developed a few characteristics of a hopeless romantic over the past year, so cut me a little slack people. It was a really beautiful space. Just take my word for it. Or look at the photographs I shot of it below.

After parting ways with the chicken and the alcove, I found myself face-to-face with exactly the one person in the village I didn’t want to see: an old woman who supposedly weeds around my ancestral home, hates Mr. Lem, and was exceptionally bitter overall my last visit. I had hopped down from the ledge and looked to my right when she spotted me. She was perched on the ledge picking at some weeds and as soon as she laid eyes on me, she beckoned me over. I slowly and hesitantly walked over to stand before where she crouches, when she began blabbing away at me. Of course, I have no fucking idea exactly what she’s saying, but I intuitively knew what she was ranting about (which I had been told a bit about during my first visit): Mr. Lem, me, weeding, and money. After about ten minutes of my only responses to her jabbering being smiles and nods, she stood from her perch and had me follow her to her home, which was the house directly behind my ancestral home. As she disappeared into her home, I panicked a bit and yelled, “HEY AL!! CAN YOU COME OVER

(1) The Al & I ↑↑ (2) The Al & I & a Dog

HERE??!” He sauntered over from somewhere just as she reemerged, scrawling some characters on the back of an old tear-off calendar. She saw Al and began agitatedly mumbling again and motioned for us to follow her inside her home. She showed us into her altar room all the while talking at Al. She’d motion at him, at me, at herself, and in the direction of my family’s home, and even though I can’t understand a single word of what she said, I still knew precisely what she was angry about, and Al confirmed, though with more detail than what I could have inferred. The old woman apparently was asked by Mr. Lem to maintain the exterior of the house by uprooting little weeds that pop up every now and then. The woman claimed that she received no compensation for her weeding from Mr. Lem and that she disliked him very much. From myself and Al (as she believed Al was my grandfather) she demanded three red envelopes of money: one for each time of the year that she weeds. Al told her no, we promptly left her house and her dog followed us.

After that, I decided to go explore deeper into the village and pointed to Al the direction I’d be heading. He told me to be wary of some wild dogs over that direction as he had just been over that way and had seen some nasty specimens of rabidness. Because I’m a naïve piece of crap, and felt brave when

accompanied by the old woman’s dog, despite his warning, I trundled over in the “danger” direction. You would think I’d have been much more discretionary and cautious given my past history with dogs, but I threw that rationality out the window. As soon as my dog companion and I made our way to that side of the village, we were promptly bombarded by two wild dogs. I had hoped the old woman’s dog would have stood its ground against them, but he just scampered off back the way we came. Abandoned, I eventually edged my way around the dogs and tiptoed back to safety, but I was scared shitless.

Arriving in the safe zone, I made my way back towards my ancestral home, the car and Al. I popped out of the alleyway, and whipped my head around in all directions in attempt to spot Al, yet instead of our fearless leader, I instead spotted a kitten perched inside a barred window of the house next to mine. Because I love cats and hadn’t had a chance to interact with any that far in the trip, I padded over to the window to take a closer look. It was an adorable little thing, but clearly looked malnourished and miserable. I placed my hand on the edge of the window sill, and slowly inched my fingers forward so that it could sniff my hand. It reproached my hand a smidge and that movement revealed the reason why it looked so unhappy. There was a clear zip-tie strapped around it’s neck, with a metal chain hooked on the loop: it was shackled to the inside of this house, and it was an abandoned house that. I heard all talking with the driver a ways away, and

Kind Chicken, Lead Me Where? ↑↑ (A kind chicken in a water-stained alcove that it led me to in my Huie [許] ancestral village)

called him over to the window. Al and I spent the next hour or so with that cat (though it was mostly me, Al just stood by shooting photos as always). I was concerned that she would be rabid, hostile and that she would bite and scratch, but the cat found me docile enough to let me pet and photograph her without flinching. After about twenty minutes, she jumped down from the window ledge and disappeared into the abandoned house. The doorway to the house was on the side directly across from my ancestral home’s entryway, and was only blocked by wooden bars bridging the space between the doorframe sides. That being said, I couldn’t enter the property to unchain her, so I spent the next fifteen minutes coaxing the cat towards the door in an effort to unhook her. While doing so, I discovered that she had a sibling, though this cat was unchained, running about and whining all the while. Eventually, my cat and her brother came over to the door, where I had been squatting for far too long, and stepped out between the two lowest wooden bars. I reached down to see if she’d let me touch her, and after a few pets, I unlatched the chain and she was free. After that, she didn’t leave my side (well actually it was more like she didn’t leave my feet; she just stayed under my legs for the next twenty minutes), but that was also because the old woman’s dog wanted to play with my cats, and they didn’t want to play with him.

After another twenty minutes or so with the cat, Al and I decided it was time to leave. I bid goodbye to my kind chicken, my rambunctious dog, my scrawny cat and her ornery sibling, and to the old woman who weeds (who at that point had given up on grabbing my cash and just accompanied us around the village). Al already in the car, I gazed around my periphery a moment longer, then I hopped in the car, and the driver turned the engine. Setting my camera on the seat beside me, I turned and looked out the back window. I waved to the old woman, waved to her dog, and waved to my cats through the glass pane. The car inched forward and gradually accelerated as the framed image of my village receded into the distance. We passed by the row of homes, past the huge pile of trash, past the village gate, past the bright yellow restaurant which marked road to the village, and wheeled onto the main road. As the distance grew greater, I turned back to face forward in my seat. And before I knew it, Sui Bo Huey was gone. ●

(1) Last Vestiges; (2) A Blazing Yellow Roadmarker of More Than Just a Drink; (3) Asymmetric Symmetry ↑↑

(Abandoned restaurant outside the road and gateway to my Huie [許] ancestral village)

#Roots #Roots 2018 #China #Travel China #Guangdong #Taishan #Toisan #Nikon #Nikon D750 #Nikon Photographer #Sui Bo Huey #Huie #Xu

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