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ha-hatdog · 4 years

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all in a day's work / daisuke kambe

somebod requested a badass reader? sorry for this very late update. online classes is kicking my butt. you wanted either a scenario or a headcanon so i decided to make both. long scenario/headcanom mashup ahead.

requsted by anon: Hii!! I just want to say first of all, that I just discovered your blog and I just fell in love with it, keep going you’re amazing❤️❤️ soo can I ask for a Headcanon or scenario (it’s up to you) where Haru has a female friend who works in modern crimes prevention and is really badass (like she knows how to fight and all that stuff), so one day she helps Daisuke and Haru in a investigation in which a fight starts and Daisuke gets impressed by her abilities and develops a crush on her (????)

UNEDITED

It was another mundane morning for the the Modern Crimes department. The room was oddly colder, and the civil servants occupying the compact and simple space secluded themselves with their own businesses. Mahoro Saeki sat on the couch partaking in an unhealthy snack she had shipped from a foreign country, Kamei Shinnosuke was browsing through the internet and more than once using to his advantage the global connection that comes with his access to the computer in order to satisfy his habits and indecent hobbies, Yumoto Teppei tuning in to the occuring horse race in an international channel in his device, Nakamoto Chosuke merrily bading his time reading through documents of recent illegal activities assigned to his care, Kiyomizu Yukihiro fiddling with yet another craft he made out of wood and glue, Kato Haru awaiting the telephone to sound off and have another indiviual summon him for a petty crime, and Kambe Daisuke seated far from the othere, legs crossed and chin resting on his knuckles as he appraised the tranquil area.

Haru slammed his hands on his desk and threw his head, moaning in disdain. "Why isn't the phone ringing?" Whined he as his posture was regained after a moment or so. His eyes, lit with pure frustration and impatience, glared at the telephone, as though threatening without verbalizing his objective would somehow make it ring. "Come on, ring, you stupid phone. How come you always ring whenever I don't want you to and don't when I do?"

"It's a slow day." Remarked Kamei, not takint his eyes off his computer as he regarded his colleague. "Try to enjoy it. You can have all your action some other day."

Haru leaned against his chair, back sliding against the backrest and the back of his neck hitting the edge of his leverage. "Not everyone has weird hobby to keep themselves entertained." Countered Haru, and a pout formed on the blond male's lips at the comment. "This job is what keeps me from going insane."

The offended male turned his swivel chair to face Haru, face scrunched with the same attribute he exuded, "Oi, don't say it like that. It's bad if you describe it like that."

"It's weird without even having to add the adjective." Saeki chimed in between her chewing, humming as the flavor of the chip formerly cinched in the possession of her fingers travelled to her taste buds.

Kamei whipped around to her position, shoulders tensr with the taste of truth and reality, both of which ignored in favor of living in bliss. "It's nor weird. It's perfectly normal for men to be looking at those . . . sort of inappropriate . . . videos." His words trailed off as he came to realization that his own defense betrayed him.

"I agree, but not at work." Haru simply retorted. "Would you want to see me cooking a whole feast inside the precint?"

Kamei looked up in ponder, mouth curling as his thought process stuttered before he presented his inquiry, "Do we get to taste the food you made though?"

Haru stared at the blond man with an impervious mask decorating his appearance, unimpressed with how the man broached the metaphorical event served to him. "Never mind." Shaking his head with amicable dismay, Haru turned his seat to a half circle, arms taking space upon the the armrests. His line of sight crossed over the facile yet minimalistic design of their room, the dull colors of the walls an addition to his disinterest until it landed on a brooding and well vested man.

The referred individual had boredom etched all over his striking features, the lack of events occuring in the Modern Crimes he could invest his time in had him in a bad mood although showcasing it to his colleagues was not his cup of tea. He and Haru were different, and how they handle themselves in this patience consuming day was one of them.

"I'm surprised you're still here." Haru conveyed with a vestige of astonishment. Truly the older man had no such ability that could understand the complexity of his wealthy counteepart. Most days, whenever days were a little too slow for his liking, he would up and retreat back to his home (mansion seems more of an appropriate term to refer to his household) but lately, he had been spending more time in the precinct, and Haru did not know how he should react to this development, or devolvement. His comment floated in the density formulating inside the office, and everybody present swiveled their heads to await his response. "I thought you'd be back in your house now. No cases today, it seems. No games to entertain yourself with today."

"Tell me something I have yet to know, Inspector Kato." Retorted Daisuke, and a tick mark grew on Haru's forehead, but his displeasure to his rude counter was ignored as Daisuke brought his fingers to his ear. He spoke, enough for others to hear his statements. "HEUSC, locate the nearest and most recent crimes occuring within the area."

Haru rose from his seat, alarmed. "Oi, what do you think you're doing?"

Daisuke did not respond to Haru and awaited his butler's relay of information. It did not take more than a few seconds until it has accumulated enough information to submit to his master. "A few streets away, a murder of two took place in a bar called Denyr. Investigation is in process currently."

Daisuke removed his hand from his earpiece and looked towards a flabbergasted. "You heard HEUSC. Let's get going." Daisuke stood up from the couch, dusting himself off before making his way towards the door.

"Wait a minute," Clamored Haru, and Daisuke looked over his shoulder to gaze at him. Haru gritted his teeth, irritated. "You can't just up and go and do whatever you want! This is not your call! We weren't called so we'll just disturb everyone else who's already there."

"Aren't cops allowed to interfere in crimes or disturbance in peace whenever they want? It's their job." Said Daisuke. "And besides, you're just as eager as I am to do something other than waste the entire day waiting for the phone to ring." Then he frowned. "Unless, I'm mistaken, of course. I have no qualms leaving you here. I'm sure you'll be useful for warming up your chair for tomorrow."

Haru growled at him. "You stupid . . . " He grunted and took his jacket off his chair. "Fine! I'll go with you, just to keep you in check!"

“Wait a minute,” Exclaimed Saeki, causing Haru and Daisuke to turn just as the latter had began turning the doorknob. The pink haired female abandoned her seat in favor of giving them a standing and patronizing narrowed glower. “Haru, aren’t you forgetting something today?”

Haru looked up in thought, trying to recall what Saeki was implying. Nothing significant manifested in his line of thought and he turned to his colleague with a frown conjuring in his mien. “Uh, I don’t think I’m forgetting anything.” Answered Haru.

Daisuke grunted, displeased by the interrupting. “Then let’s get going.”

Daisuke pushed the door open and stepped outside. Haru was following suit, shrugging his jacket on when Saeki called out for them once more, particularly the older officer. She had her arms crossed, an unamused pout forming on her brims. “Haru, don’t be stupid!” Clamored she. “I can’t believe you forgot what today is!”

Haru let out an exasperated sigh. “I honestly can’t remember what makes today so important.” Said he. “What is it?”

Kamei rolled his swivel chair back, making sure to reveal himself from any obstructions blocking his form. “Eh? You of all people forgot (Your Name) is coming back?” He conveyed and whistled right after. “That’s surprising, and disappointing. I’m sure she won’t be thrilled knowing you’ll be the last one welcoming her back after her hospitalization – her best friend, her partner in crime.”

Haru’s face fell upon acquiring the information relayed to him. His mind refreshed, finally remembering the time when you took your time from resting in the hospital just to tell him you were soon to be discharged after the outcome of you recklessly electing to throw yourself in front of him when the perpetrator pulled the trigger and shot a bullet his way. You were fortunate enough to have the cylindrical metal projectile imbedded nowhere near any of your vital veins, but due to your blood loss as well as the stacking strain and stress in your body forced you to be admitted in the care of the hospital. Haru was sure you were not supposed to move when you selected to take your phone and call him because he can hear the nurse in the other line scolding you, telling you to end the connection and to rest easy for the remaining week. He could only miss you more – he knew how much you hated doing anything but police work. Haru couldn’t believe he forgot about that since he distinctly remember hardly being able to be consumed by sleep when excitement for your return filled him.

“Shit, it’s today.” Cursed Haru as his shoulders dropped. He slapped his palm against his forehead, groaning. “My God – how can I forget? I’m the worst partner ever.”

Daisuke glanced at Haru, bemused. This was the first time he had heard over this (Your Name) woman. To him, Haru was always a lone wolf who preferred to be alone in his work unless he was required to have a companion with him. Or maybe because it was loyalty to his said partner kept him from going to missions with another. Daisuke looked back at Saeki and Kamei, “Who’s (Your Name)?”

Haru wanted nothing more than to hide your existence from Daisuke. You already had so much in your plate and having a rich bastard interpolating with it was more than you can handle, especially after being hospitalized for quite a while. But it was inevitable for the two of you to meet seeing as Daisuke seemed to be taking a strong liking with playing cop and were in the same department as him. So resigning with the concept of keeping you away from Daisuke, Haru let out a deep sigh. “(Your Name) is another cop in our department. She’s my partner.”

Daisuke blinked at him. “Someone can actually put up with you?”

Haru angrily show his fist to Daisuke, irritation swathing his figure. “What was that? I should be the one saying something that! I don’t know how Suzue-san can put up with your rich ass!”

“Maybe if you’re rich, you’ll know.” Countered Daisuke.

Before Haru could grab hold of Daisuke’s collar, the latter efficiently evaded his attempt to do so and stalked off into the corridor, adjusting his pristine suit as he ventured away. “If you want to stay here and wait for your partner, fine by me. I can go alone and handle the murders all by myself.” He said without looking back to meet Haru’s hardened gaze. “I’m sure this (Your Name) person is more important than the safety of other Japanese citizens.”

“O-Oi, I haven’t even decided yet! Don’t assume I’m not going!” As much as Haru wanted to be the first person to greet you back to work, he too loved justice and cared about the people who wanted to live in peace. Clicking his tongue out of annoyance, he turned to everyone left in the room, and all of them returned his gaze with bemused expressions. “Kambe and I will be quick. We’ll just drop by the crime scene and then cime back. I’m sure I’ll be able to return here before (Your Name) can. If not, tell her I’ll be back soon.”

***

daisuke was never inclined to pursue a romantic relationship. ever since witnessing his mother died, his life had been reserved into finding the truth. but little did he know, his perspective in love and romance will change, and hary will most certainly freak the fuck out

the two police officers arrived in the crime scene in a short amount of time. with how daisuke was speeding, it was understandable they would get there fast and very understandable how haru's whole life flashed right before his eyes. daisuke was actually tempted to go even faster but opposed to it after a while as he did not want to deal more with haru's tantrum after he recovered.

of course when they arrived there, the detectives assigned to the case shooed them off because they're not part of the investigations.

daisuke knew how to deal with them, of course. he brandished stacks of yen to include them in the case and the detectives were like 👀 because you know, who doesn't want extra cash?

haru didn't bother complaning anymore and just went to work. he wanted to get back to the station as soon as possible and welcome you first. best friend efforts, get a best friend like haru.

haru: "i scout the ground floor, you go upstairs - AND NO SPENDING MONEY YOU RICH BASTARD"

daisuke:

haru:

daisuke:

haru:

daisuke:

haru:

haru: "and - "

daisuke left before haru could finish his sentence. really daisuke just stayed and didn't answer him just so he could piss haru off. it worked nonetheless and daisuke can hear haru cursing at him as he walked upstairs

but we all know whatever daisuke does pisses haru off so so it didn't matter.

daisuke went up to the second floor if the bar and he saw how thrashed the place was

overturned tables, fallen chairs, broken bottles, reeks of alcohol, smears and pools of blood but everything seemed pleasant to look at compared to the two corpses that laid out on the floor with police tapes around them. it looked like a small massacre occured in there, and thay surely was the case

head smashed, chunks of flesh scattered, broken skulls but daisuke merely stared at them blankly

he wasn't disgusted nor disturbed. seeing his own mother's corpse was enough for him to deem gore as just another normal addition to his life

like another detective, daisuke began looking for clues. he searched the entire place like the good and professional detective he is -

who am i kidding - the first thing he did once he sees the condition of the second floor was, or course, ask HEUSC for information. screw asking them from fellow detectives when daisuke has his own ai butler

ahh perks of being a kambe

daisuke: "heusc, tell me the exact number of people that attended this bar between nine am to twelve in the afternoon"

heusc: "understood"

it did not take long until heusc responded

heusc: "the exact number of people who attended genyr is twenty seven. twelve in the ground floor, twelve in the ground floor, fifteen in the second. there are two dead bodies found in the second floor - "

daisuke snapped his head to the ceiling as soon as he heard a soft creak emit from over him

daisuke stared at the ceiling for about a moment before askint heusc - "look at the footage from the surveillance cameras surrounding the the bar. how many people fled outside?"

daisuke heard another creek above him, and this time he was sure he wasn't alone

and his unknown companion would love to have him in the same state as the corpses

and heusc replied: "twenty four"

daisuke closed his eyes, "is that so?"

heusc: "one person remains inside the building"

daisuke dropped his communication with his ai and positioned himself to a clean posture, back straight and hands tucked inside his pockets

daisuke: "you can come out now. no use hiding. i know you're here"

no response

daisuke clicked his tongue, "i heard you moving around in the ceiling the entire time i'm here and it's only been two minutes. you're not as discreet as you think you are. reveal yourself now and i'd consider lessening your time in jail."

still, silence greeted him

daisuke was growing irritated by the lack of answer given to him.

daisuke: "a coworker of mine needs to be back at the station right now for a reunion with his girlfriend - " daisuke paused as he imagined haru having a girlfriend. " - so let's keep this short and simple. surrender and as i have promised earlier, i will try to get you lesser years in prison"

but daisuke was not intending to keep this promise. even he knows giving a generous offer to criminals would weaken their resolve

but again, there was no answer

but he expected this

he always does to every case he gets handed with, or forced his hands to

daisuke observed the ceiling through a blank lense before sighing "if this is how you want things to go down, then so be it"

daisuke touched his earring and deliberately increased the volume of his voice as he spoke to heusc - "heusc, purchase the bar and its neighboring buildings and set a bomb for twenty minutes. tell the others to get out of here as soon as possible" he sneered at the ceiling. "i don't mind dying inside this bar with the suspect. it's the norm for a police officer to risk theit lives in the name of justice"

he sounded like haru for a moment there

heusc responded immediately: "understood, sir. balance: unlimited"

it was after that statement did a response come to light

the ceiling above daisuke broke as a firm kick broke through the fragile material

daisuke jumped away before a slim figure of a man dropped down from the hole

before daisuke could move, the man dashed pass him and out of the room, his oustretchrd hand barely grazing the bloodied clothes he wore

daisuke didn't waste time and recovered from his stunned state before following after the perpetrator

daisuke kept losing track of the man from time to the time and when he got down to the grounr floor, he saw no sign of him

nobody was present inside the bar anymore per order of heusc and money

all except for haru of course who immediately ran out of the place he was scouring and back to the main room

daisuke knew he heard heusc's order to leave the building but

haru will always be haru

haru, upon seeing daisuke's solemn state, asked: "what happened"

daisuke: "the man - did you see him?"

*haru, confused noises*: "what man? who?"

daisuke: "the man who killed the peple upstairs - he was still here and he ran down, didn't you hear him?"

haru: "no, i didn't - " his sentence was cut off when a figure suddenly lunged at him

lo and behold the criminal who was hiding behind an overturned couch

haru and the man tumbled down to the ground, fists and feet swinging wildly. daisuke watched as haru struggled to acquire dominance over the situation

daisuke: "heusc, identity of the killer"

heusc: "sakatoshi matona, a former bouncer for genyr until he was let go without reason"

haru strung out profanities and grunts as he and the matona rolled on the floor, trying to pin the other down. with a boost of strength, matona managed to get the upper hand and he put all his weight on haru. his hands found haru's neck and began strangling him

daisuke was like aren't you cop? win you idiot in the inside and haru was like aren't you a cop? help me you bastard in the inside. just the norm for the reckless and seemingly suicidal cops

haru: "gwet hiff op opp mii"

heusc: "transalation: get him off of me"

daisuke took action after that. he pulled matona off of haru and immediately socked him on the face

matona stumbled back but daisuke underestimated the time he would tske to recover and he tumbled back as the criminal retaliated with a punch of his own

daisuke dodged the assault but in the process, temporarily losing his posture. matona took this as an opportunity to continue his line of attacks, landing a few good hits on daisuke but majority of the time, he failed

daisuke recovered from the initial shock matona has inflicted him with and returned to momentum ane he was preparing his attack when bam - haru kato

my day be so fine then boom - haru kato

daisuke's eyes widened when haru, after standing up, tried to lock matona's arms to prevent him from moving anymore but instead, his chest met with an elbow

air was taken away from him and haru staggered backwards, clutching his chest and matona seized him

daisuke cursed and shot forward to help him but stopped when matona took haru's gun away from him and pointed it towards haru

matona: "stand back or i'll shoot"

haru raised his hands in surrender but daisuke did not

and haru was: ?????!!!!! tryna get me killed????!!!!

daisuke: "i can keep my promise, you know"

matona pointed the gun at daisuke

matona: "how can you when you're just a lowly cop?"

daisuke took out his cigar and lit up

daisuke: "yes, because a lowly cop can just buy buildings with a single command from an ai"

matona growled "rich, snobby, uncaring, and a liar. you're just the same like the people i killed"

daisuke opened his mouth to reply when a feminine voice cuts in

"finally, a confession. now we can get this over with"

before anyone could react appropriately, matona felt a hand take hold of his stolen gun and tore it away from his grasp before a heel sunk into his stomach, causing him to spit out blood

daisuke saw her, a woman standing with such grace, confidence, and strength with a gun in her hand and a smirk on her brims

daisuke couldn't move not from shock, but with admiration

who was this woman?

and what was this thudding in his chest

doki doki

his face was hot, very hot

and so was the woman

"( YOUR NAME )???"

daisuke turned and saw haru gawking at you

haru: (@[]@!!)

daisuke: （－－）

also daisuke: is that really (your name)? haru's partner? haru's girlfriend?

daisuke: hmp hmp（｀ー´）

you turned to both of them and daisuke was blown away with you that he nearly fell

he thinks you're very pretty

V E R Y

doki doki

you smiled widely at them: "haru, it's so nice to see you again" and then you turned to daisuke

daisuke froze and his cigar dropped

you glanced back at haru: "you already replaced me?"

haru: "tf no! rich boy here wanted to plays cops for a while so he went to our department. you know me, i could never replace you"

daisuke glared at haru

it waa obvious he was trying hard not to upset you (though you didn't look like the type who would get easily offended)

plus he's pushing a single and narrow minded narrative about him towards you. what if you hate him?

but you didn't and merely smiled at him, ignoring the criminal trembling from the pain of your kick

you: "my name is (your name)"

daisuke.exe has stopped working

jk that won't happen to daisuke

for now at least

daisuke: "kambe daisuke"

you, smiling: "nice to meet you, kambe daisuke!"

haru: "how did you find us here?"

you: "was gon get a drink before i head to the station but then i saw police tapes and stuff"

haru looked alarmed: "YOU WERE GOING TO DRINK RIGHT AFTER YOU GOT RELEASED FROM THE HOSPITAL"

you turned away from them, facing matona: "you can continue scolding me after we arrest this killer, haru. sorry in advance for haru, daisuke. he can be pretty overbearing and protective"

daisuke: "i can tell"

haru was offended okay?

you were already teaming up with daisuke to tease? betrayal.

haru: "how dare you (your name) - "

you did not let haru to finish his sentence and starter beating the shit out of matona like DAMN GHORL

daisuke and haru watched from a distance as you expertly used the gun to your advantage without pulling the trigger. you used the metal to hit him in fragile parts of his body in order to limit his movement

daisuke gawked at you

he has never seen such fluid execution for an arrest

daisuke looked: O-O

haru, seeing him, smugly crossed his arms and said: "you get to see how amazing (your name) is as a cop. she's my partner"

just as he said that, you pinned the criminal down on the ground, gun discarded, your one hand straining his arm behind his back and the other pinning his other hand on the ground

you: "i just got out of the hospital. how did i still win?"

daisuke suddenly frowned

oh, right. she's haru's girlfriend.

several minutes later, you successfully managed to arrest sakatoshi matona and the other detectives came to take him. but of course, you made sure you, daisuke, and haru were getting the recognition

like hell you were letting someone else get the glory for your efforts

you returned to daisuke and haru, smiling

they were talkiny when you hugged haru from behind

you: "haru i missed youuuu. it was lonely without your annoying butt looking out after me all the time"

haru flushed red

haru: "if you didn't catch the bullet for me then - "

you: "and let you get shot instead? nu uh, no way. i would take any bullet for you. right, daisuke?"

he felt speechless when you regarded him

daisuke didn't know what else to say to you so he said: "yes, i agree"

but somehow the the thought of you getting shot angered him

haru looked at daisuke, thinking: he acting kinda sus rn

you turned to haru and the two of you began catching up, smiling and laughing

you two looked comfortable so with each other. you two were carbon copies of one another, except you were ten times better, sorry haru

you two were made for each other

no wonder you're his girlfriend

you: "how's everyone in the precinct?"

haru: "still the same. everyone missed you"

daisuke: "are you two together?"

haru: 👁👄👁

you: *long ass laughing emoji*

haru turned very red, shouting: "WHERE DID YOU GET THAT IDEA"

daisuke: "you said you were partners - "

you: "i didn't know you liked me that way, haru - "

haru: "NO I DON'T KAMBE WAS JUST BEING A DUMBASS"

you tittered and turned to daisuke: "no, we're not together, kambe-san" you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. "sorry if i scared you"

daisuke felt relief wash over him

daisuke: "i was just wondering. you and haru seemed very close so i was just making sure i wasn't misunderstanding"

daisuke froze with wide eyes when you leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek

and you whispered to him: "gotta work on being discreet when you look at me. i can practically see you chasing after me in the future with how you were looking at me. i'm flattered you find me that fascinating"

you turned to the shook haru: "i like this one, haru. we should bring him along with our cases"

you regarded them both: "anyways, i'll be heading over to the station first. i can write up the report and have man behind bars quickly. don't worry though, i'll make all three of us have the glory. i trust that you two can finish up here without me?"

the two men wanted to say something but both of them were stunned. you just kissed daisuke on the cheek and your best friend saw it. daisuke's eyes were wide and haru had his jaw dropping down

they still didn't say anything when you bid them farewell and just watched as you went to a police car with another cop where matona was and sped off

daisuke can feel his heart hammering against his chest

what was this feeling? it was so strange and . . . it's just strange, but he was not oppossed to thie feeling

in fact, he wanted more of it. as long as it came from you, it was fine

haru, however, was not

haru looked like he had seen the most horrifying thing ever

B E T R A Y E D

his best friend and this cop wannabe?

D I S G U S T H A N G

daisuke cleared his throat and turned to haru to say something but was met with a finger pointed at his face and haru looking vexed

haru: "you - "

the bar and the buildings nearby exploded beforw haru could say anything more. everyone except for daisuke was startled and sunk down on the ground

daisuke was not though. and he remained standing. not for the reason he forgot about the bomb he instructed heusc to plant but because

- you kissed him and he was self destructing

daisuke held back the smile threatening to tear through his face

haru: "w-what was t-t-th - "

daisuke: "i forgot about the bomb, sorry"

524 notes · View notes

mystic-deep · 3 years

Text

“Whipped Cream” - Part 2 | Nanami Kento fem!reader

♡ ♡ ♡ description: Taking cooking classes seemed like a nice way to relax and sharpen your skills, too bad the teacher hates you.

♡ ♡ ♡ warnings: explicit content not suitable for minors, nothing graphic but please be advised, light swearing

♡ ♡ ♡ notes: Here's part 2! Things are starting to move in the right direction. Nothing too explicit though, part 3 will be the first real reason. Hope you enjoy and as always, please forgive any errors and mistakes.

♡ ♡ ♡ previous parts: Part 1

♡ ♡ ♡ word count: 3.4k

The second the doors of the elevator opened you dashed out, your eyes glancing nervously at your hand watch. Your weekly meeting had lasted longer than expected and now you were running late for your cooking class. You couldn’t wait to add another reason for that jerk to pick on you.

As you hurried through the lobby, the receptionist that you met on Monday noticed you and offered a sympathetic smile.

“Good afternoon! Nanami-sensei forgot some documents so he went back to fetch them from his car, you should hurry up before he returns.”

“Thank you!” You grinned at her and quickened your pace towards your classroom. It was good to know that not every staff member here was a devil in disguise.

You practically barged inside the room and for a second everyone looked at you with hopeful eyes, only to shift into disappointment when they realized it wasn’t Nanami. Or was it perhaps the fact that they all hoped you’d quit and they wouldn’t be forced to deal with you anymore.

Ignore them, this time around you wouldn’t lose your temper and become another subject for them to gossip about when the class was over.

With that thought in mind, and hopeless positivity, you scanned the room and realized that your previous working space had been occupied already. The only free space was at the very front row, near Nanami’s desk. Strange, you were sure that was probably the most sought out station, seeing how close you’d be to the chef.

You pushed your worries to the side and took out your apron from the bag before putting it on. Only a few seconds later the door opened again and Nanami stepped inside.

“Good afternoon and sorry for being late.” He offered a small apologetic smile and deep inside you thought that he was actually really pleasant to look at when he wasn’t criticizing your existence.

The smile vanished quickly when his eyes landed on you and you kicked yourself for finding him attractive just a few second earlier.

“Miss Y/n, as you probably noticed, I’ve moved your seat in front of my desk. After the events from last time, I need to supervise you attentively.”

You fought back the urge to argue, knowing full well that this is what he was looking for. Obviously today was a test of patience, to see how much he could push your buttons until you’d explode.

“Oh I don’t mind, Nanami-san.”

“I would like you to address me as Nanami-sensei or chef Nanami during classes.”

“Of course, Nanami-san.”

He shot you and angry look but you beamed at him innocently. You had told your friend that it would me a miracle if he didn’t kill by the end of the week but now your execution seemed right around the corner.

“Let’s start today’s lesson.” Everyone took out their phones and placed them on their working station.

“Today we’ll be making Paris Brest, it’s a very popular French desert. I’ve sent you the list of ingredients and instructions on the group chat, make sure you read them carefully and if there’s something you don’t understand you have 20 minutes to ask your questions. After that we’ll get started.”

Everyone gave a short nod in reply, well everyone except you. Your hand rose up causing Nanami to arch his brow in annoyance. “Yes, what is it.”

“I’m sorry but I’m not part of the group chat so I don’t have the list of ingredients or instructions.”

“That is, unfortunately for you, not my fault. Yamamoto-san is the admin, it was her idea to stop the waste of paper that we usually printed on in favour of sending everything via chat. You’ll have to talk to her.”

He made a short hand gesture towards one of the older women and you realized with distress that it was the old hag that questioned you during the previous lesson. She didn’t even bother to look up from her phone, like you didn’t even exist.

Fine, no point in begging to be added to some group you didn’t even want to be part of. You were sure you could find some recipes on youtube or something.

As the 20 minutes passed and Nanami began to take questions, your hand went up again but this time he ignored you. You frowned and went back to study the recipe you found. You were going to make this work, you were going to nail this desert and bask in the glory of your achievement.

About an hour and a half later all deserts had been finished and they were now presented to the chef for inspection. Nanami had moved from station to station giving advices to everyone and correcting mistakes here and there. He of course never spared you a glance and you had to admit it was starting to hurt. You didn’t know you craved so much for his approval or was it maybe the fact that it pissed you off to be pushed aside in such a way. At the end of the day you were paying for this course, it seemed unfair to be treated in such a manner.

“Right, let’s see what we have here.” He studied your Paris Brest, probably looking for any mistakes that he could judge. “A bit underdone, the bottom is somewhat soggy.” You bit your tongue and looked at him as he cut a small piece from the desert but didn’t taste it like he did with the rest. “I’ve asked for crème praline but instead you filled it with crème patissiere. Are you perhaps unable to follow instructions?”

“I didn’t have the list of ingredients and I didn’t have your instructions so I had to search for the recipe myself.”

“And I told you to ask Yamamoto-san to add you-”

“No, you said to talk to her as though this wasn’t your responsibility at all! Meanwhile you didn’t bother once to stop by my station and correct me even though you saw I was making custard crème.” Your cheeks turned red from frustration and you clutched your hands in small fists.

“If you don’t plan on teaching me anything then at least have the decency to say so! If I wanted to learn recipes from youtube I would have stayed in the comfort of my home without having to pay a dime for this joke of a class.” So much for keeping a cool head and not letting him get to you.

Nanami was a tall man, you noticed the second he first set foot in the classroom and back in the parking lot when you dropped your key. Yet you didn’t realize just how tall he was, at least compared you, until he was looming over you. His blue eyes had turned icy and his lips had tightened in a small, sharp line, a sign that he was barely keeping his anger in check.

“You will stay after class.” Despite not raising his voice even an octave, he said it in such a strong manner, like a divine command. When your mouth opened he sent you the most chilling glare. “You.will.stay.” With that he returned to his desk and you were left to boil in your frustration.

Class ended in what seemed to be mere seconds and everyone hurried out after saying their good byes, probably not wanting to delay you imminent death.

“Now, let’s talk in my office.” He gestured towards a door just a few feet away from his desk and you followed him as he opened it and stepped inside.

His office was quite impressive and you wondered just how much this school was making for him to afford such luxury. The room had large windows with a nice view of the office buildings in the distance, a solid wooden desk with a black leather chair as well as a couch with a modern looking coffee table. On the walls you could see several certificates and degrees that were framed, probably from all the cooking classes he had taken.

“Please take a seat.” He sat in the leather chair and you sat in from of him, legs crossed and eyes narrowed. Whatever the hell he wanted to discuss it had better be quick, you just wanted to go home and take a hot bath and forget about this miserable day.

“It seems that you are not adjusting well to this course so I will speak to management in order to return your money. No point to continue this if you don’t want to be here.”

“Oh no, you will not make this look like it’s my fault.” You sat up so quickly you thought you sat down on a spring. “You have treated me horrible since the very beginning and now you’re angry that I don’t sit quietly and take your abuse.”

“If you think that not praising you for the disastrous bake you did on Monday, a bake that I might add you half assed the whole time and then proceeded to blame everything except yourself, was too harsh for your sensitive self then it just further proves how unsuited you are for my class.” He sat up as well, his expression mirroring your own. “The class is a joke, the students are a joke, I am a joke. It’s all a big joke to you, the successful business woman who has no time to waste on such a silly course.”

You felt waves of anger washing over you but deep down inside what you felt more was sadness. Sure he was part right about what he said, you did look down on your classmates and you did insult him back then in the parking lot. Still, it wasn’t that you thought so highly of yourself, it was the opposite actually. Your self-doubt sky rocketed when he pointed all the flaws of your cookies and you couldn’t stand the way those women had chuckled gleefully in the background. Of course, you’d rather eat your fist than to admit to all of that.

“I don’t think this class is a joke and I have nothing against my classmates, it’s just that some of them don’t want me here. As for yourself, you’ve treating me differently than the rest of the class so the problem here is you not me.” You crossed your arms and looked at him in a defiant way. “Rather than returning my money, I want to be moved to a different course where someone else will properly teach me.”

He couldn’t have looked more shocked or upset if you had punched him in the face. This must had been for him the ultimate insult, for you to suggest that his teaching was bad and that someone else could do a better job. Truthfully, you weren’t questioning his skill as a teacher, just that you two obviously couldn’t get along. You weren’t sure that the point came across though.

“You insolent little-” He stopped himself and took a deep breath, clearly fighting the urge to strangle you. “You are absolutely impossible to deal with.”

“No, it’s you who just doesn’t know how to deal with me and I have had enough. There is nothing you can teach me.” With that you grabbed your bag in which you had previously stuffed your apron and hurried towards the door. As your hand reached for the knob, you felt his presence behind you and his left hand slammed against the door while his right quickly turned the key to lock it.

You turned to glare at him but as your eyes met his, your words got stuck in your throat. He looked at you with such intensity that it made your body temperature rise.

“I could teach you a lot of things if only you’d learn to keep that little mouth of yours shut.” The way he said things made you think he wasn’t necessarily referring to cooking.

His right hand suddenly reached for the back of your head and he pushed you forward, taking your lips in a hungry kiss. At first you didn’t move, you were too shocked to fully process what was happening. As his tongue slowly began to push against your lips you parted them and gave him full access to your mouth. Your hands reached for his broad shoulders and you instinctively stood on your toes in order to kiss him back.

The kiss only lasted for a few seconds but it felt like a life time when you finally parted. The anger from his eyes had been replaced with what seemed like hunger and he licked his lips making your knees to tremble.

“You could actually pass as cute when you’re not trying to push all my buttons.”

His words were like a wakeup call and your eyes widened at what had just transpired inside his office. He kissed you, but more importantly, you kissed him back! Not only that but you did it with such desire that no amount of denial would get you out of this one.

“Why-Why did you-”

“Because I wanted to.” Just like that, because he wanted to. He trapped you in his office and kissed you just because he wanted to.

He grabbed your wrist, quite gently to your surprise, and began to pull you away from the door.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to fuck you silly on the desk, what else.” Your eyes practically popped out of their sockets and you froze in place.

“I’m joking, obviously.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” Your fist aimed for his shoulder but he dodged the punch without a problem. He then sat down on the couch and pulled your body so that you would seat next to him.

“Now then, let’s discuss a few rules if this is to continue.” What exactly was he talking about? What did he think was going to continue?

“Whatever happens in this room stays in this room. Once we’re out the door we’re back to teacher-student relationship and nothing more. You’ll give me your phone number so I can send you further recipes and set up meetings but we’ll never discuss anything that goes on here via messages or calls.”

“And what’s going to happen here?” You asked feelings a mixture or excitement and curiosity wash over you.

“That depends a lot on you.” He gave a little shrug as his hand landed on your thigh and began to smoothly move upward. “Depends on how obedient you are, show me that you want to learn.” You almost found it impossible to breath as his hand began to massage your flesh through the fabric of your pants. Why, why in the world didn’t you wear a skirt today?

“First, I think it’s fair to ask if I should be worried about you seeing someone. I don’t want to ruin a relationship or marriage.”

“I’m not seeing anyone.” After your promotion from last year it had been nearly impossible with your work schedule to form any kind of meaningful relationship and truth be told it was starting to show. God knows how much time had passed since you shared such a deep kiss and you wanted more of that. Even though there was a part of you that worried about what you were getting yourself into, you absolutely needed to feel that light headed again. Also, you knew that what he had offered was just a taste, just a fraction of what he could do to you.

“What about you? Is this something that you do often?” His hand on your thigh tightened and you let out a little whimper.

“I know you have the tendency to always believe the worse of me, but no, I’ve never done this with anyone. All the more reasons to set up clear rules. Obviously I’m also not in a relationship.”

You didn’t question him- he indeed didn’t seem the type to just sleep around with his students. If anything those women from your class would give and arm and a leg just to be here, in his office, sitting on the couch with his hand on their thigh. Yet for some reason, he chose you. The annoying, opinionated one that always rubbed him the wrong. Or maybe, you were actually rubbing the right way.

“I came to the conclusion that the only way for you to behave during my class is if we can take care of some of that pent up frustration you have.” You cheeks coloured red and you hated to admit it but he was right.

“What about you?” Your fingers began to travel provocatively to the growing bulge in his pants but he grabbed you by the wrist before you had the chance to reach your destination. You whined a little but he just chuckled and kissed the inside of your palm.

“Obviously, I’m not immune or I wouldn’t be here, offering to give you extra lessons.” He let go of your hand, his expression turning seriously.

“Before we continue, I need you to agree that you will behave accordingly.” You nodded in agreement, a bit too quick for your liking.

“I want to make it clear that we’ll not be dating. The second your course ends, so will this arrangement. We won’t meet anywhere else except here and once that door is locked you will be obedient. I won’t do anything that you’re uncomfortable with, but I want you to be opened to try new things, do you think you can do that?”

You nodded again finding it almost impossible so seat still. You were both nervous and excited for this little arrangement and you couldn’t wait to get started.

“Good, one last thing that we need to set straight.” He grabbed your waist and manoeuvred your body until you were sitting in his lap, his hand gripping your chin so he could look straight in your eyes.

“Inside this room you’ll address me as sensei or sir, none of that Nanami-san bullshit you pulled earlier. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes...sir.”

“Good girl.” He offered you a low chuckle and a light smack on your ass. You were absolutely desperate for more of his touch and seeing the need in your eyes, he pulled you in for another deep kiss.

As his tongue explored your mouth, your hips moved against his and his hands gripped your waist in order to stop the friction. He pulled away and looked at you in a threatening way.

“Don’t be greedy, your lessons haven’t started yet.” You wanted to protest but you were also afraid that he would end this before it even had the chance to start.

His slowly unbuttoned the first two buttons of your shirt and let his mouth fall on the swelling of your breast. He licked the flesh and nibbled, making your head fall back in pleasure.

“N-Nanami-sensei.” You mewled his name and he smiled against your breast. After a few more seconds he pulled away, admiring his work. The first mark he had left on your body and the promise of many more.

“Up you go.” He gave you another light smack on your bottom and with trembling legs you moved away from his lap.

“The next meeting will be and Saturday, to make up for the time you wasted today.” You frowned slightly, wondering how you’ll be able to resists until the weekend.

“Don’t make that face, I promise to give you and extra reward if you do well during Friday’s lesson.”

Your expression turned into an excited one and he laughed whole heartedly. “You’re so easy to read.”

With that, your little discussion had come to an end. He unlocked the door of his office and you stepped outside, practically waltzing through the classroom, down the hallway and through the lobby. The nice receptionist asked you something but you couldn’t register anything that she was saying so you just smiled like an idiot and waved her goodbye.

As the elevator door closed, a part of you began to worry about what you were getting yourself into. You weren’t a reckless person and you knew what scandal this could cause if you were caught. Still, it was even more dangerous for Nanami who could risk getting fired, so you had to trust that he knew what he was doing. All worries aside, on Saturday you were going to wear a damn skirt.

#jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami kento x reader

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pleasantanathema · 3 years

Text

Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter Eight

Chapter 8: The Things We Leave Behind

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader [now with a dash of Erwin x Reader]

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of death, violence enemies to lovers, angst

Word Count: 4.7k

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Erwin,

I don’t have much time, but it’s me—I’m alive. I’m safe. I don’t know why, but I am. They want something from me here, tried to pry into me for information about The Scouts, but not much else. I’ve given over as little as I can, but enough to keep me alive for now. But it’s strange here, even some of the warriors know something is going on below the surface of what we know. You can probably tell by the email that I’m using that I’ve found a strange semblance of refuge with Reiner. He’s the one who has given me the multitude of files I’ve attached this email. He claims most of this intel he gathered he never gave over to Marleyan officials. He also says he can be of help to Paradis, that Pieck and the others can too. I don’t know how much of that is true. To be fair, I don’t know what’s true at all anymore.

There are files here on Zeke Yeager, apparently put together by warrior members who have become wary of him. Dig into them, figure out what you can. Don’t worry about me, I’ll find a way home. And, for the love of god, please sleep. I know how you get.

Don’t respond to this email. No one knows I have sent it.

Always.

Erwin read the words for what felt like the thousandth time, the black lettering practically bleeding into the screen by this point. His heart had dropped when he sat down in his office this morning to find something sitting in his personal email folder, something branded with the last name of a traitor. His mind had raced into the darkest depths, assuming it was pictures of torture, a letter filled with malacious laughter, an autopsy report. But it was you, you were alive, you’d found a way to reach him.

He had to keep his hand over his mouth as he grinned. You were so capable, so resourceful and rather ingenious. He’d had his doubts, but on the forefront of his mind, and his tongue, he’d said and knew you were alive.

He’d stayed in his office with the door locked for hours in the morning as he poured over the information, brows twisting in both delight and disgust as he began to make sense of the documents crafted by the wary warriors. They were impressive, to say the least, and quite frightening.

Every single urge inside of him was screaming to respond, even as he printed out the rather massive amount of documents you’d attached. He made copy after copy, blue eyes dancing like they were overcome with madness as familiar and unknown faces and information landed into the tray of the printer.

He carefully separated the files by paperclips, prepping for them to be dispersed.

You were so good. So brilliant. He’d have you home soon enough.

The cumbersome stack of papers was too much for him to carry just under one arm. The one he’d lost was burning, itching like it should be able to wrap around the bundle.

Erwin marched out of his office and into the bustling workspace, clearing his throat to the room.

“Scouts! Emergency meeting in the conference hall immediately. Drop everything and meet me there.”

Every head in the room snapped toward him, all chatter silencing. They all stared at him like he had three heads; the last time they’d had every scout in the same room was when he’d pronounced you missing nearly two weeks ago. He knew they were worried that this next announcement was of a death, of war.

“Now!”

The bustle picked up again immediately, every soldier, assistant, and intelligence officer scurrying to make it down the hall.

“Springer,” Erwin caught the young man by the shoulder as he tried to brisk by him, “there’s a stack of papers in my office. Grab it and bring it with you.”

Erwin continued in his stride toward the small auditorium, taking his known place down in front at the white boards. He could hear indiscriminate whispers behind his back as he took his time setting up a display. There was a small cork board off to the side of the room, littered with headshots of the Marleyan warriors. He cursed the face of the girl who took his arm as he pulled it to the front.

“Miche,” he called over his shoulder, knowing the towering blonde would be nearby, “Come help me.”

“Sure thing boss.”

It didn’t take much time to direct, and before long he had all the warriors lined up on the large board in front of the room. He took his own time to place the picture of your face in the center, fingers brushing over the heavy red letters of Missing that were etched over your features.

Levi saddled up next to him, never one to fall into the crowds.

“Erwin, what is all this?”

“I got an email from her this morning.”

Levi didn’t have to ask. If there was ever a “her” in Erwin’s vocabulary, he meant you. You were all over his mind, more so than ever before.

“Care to share? Or was it a love letter?”

It was an unspoken truth that he’d become involved with you within the last year, and given his rather...emotional response to your disappearance, he was sure everyone was now well aware of your entanglement.

“A love letter full of promising information.”

“Tch, sounds about right. Did she give you all that?” Levi tilted his head toward Connie, who was struggling to keep the giant bundle of printed documents from sliding off the podium.

“She did. It’s time to get to work.”

Erwin didn’t even wait for the room to settle. There was no time to waste. He turned toward the confused, anxious crowd, took note of how they were all staring at him like lost children. There weren’t that many left after the attack on Shinganshina all those years ago, his scouts had either been killed off or left the ranks entirely. Recruitment had become more of an issue than it ever had been before as well. There was only a gathering of about thirty before him—the size of a small classroom, all piled into the front seats and awaiting instruction.

“I received word from our missing captain this morning.”

A shocked gasp filled the space, one of the younger girls—last name Blouse or Braus, he never could remember—literally jumping from her seat.

“She’s alive?!”

He held up his hand to calm her, to direct her to sit back down.

“As far as I know, yes. She found a way to email me this morning to let me know of her safety, and also supply us with a vast amount of Marleyan intel. Now, we need to unpack what we know.”

Erwin motioned to Springer again, wrist flicking toward the still unsteady mountain of papers.

“Hand those out, they should be sectioned by paper clips so everyone can have a copy.”

“But, Sir, I—” I just spent all that time wrestling with those papers, is what he knew he wanted to say. Springer did what he was told anyways, scratching at his short hair as he hurriedly began to divvy out the printed intel.

“We’ll start with what we do know.” Erwin took a few long strides back toward the large board, feeling his empty shirt sleeve rustle by his side as he used his remaining arm to point toward the faces that had been lined up for him.

“Of course, we’re all aware that former Scout members Braun, Leonhart, and Hoover were infiltrators sent by Marley to uncover our anti-Marleyan operations. They are members of the Warrior Unit run by this man,” he placed his index finger over the person of interest, “Zeke Yeager. And there are other members of the unit as well, Galliard, Finger, and Grice. There are also candidates for this elite military squad, Udo, Zofia, and the younger Grice and Braun. It is important to note that one of their former members, Marcel Galliard, was killed by none other than our missing captain in question.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know all this!” Kirstein chimed in, “We don’t need the history lesson.”

Erwin couldn’t help but grin.

“It seems a history lesson is exactly what you need. In those files that were sent to me, you’ll learn that all these warrior members and candidates are, historically, from Eldian bloodlines.”

“Eldians? You mean...like us?” Historia tilted her head, thumbing through the pages in her lap.

“Yes. Now if you did pay attention in history class,” he narrowed his eyes at Jean, “you would remember that about four hundred years ago, there was a mass immigration of Eldians into Marley in the face of a mass famine here. However, due to Marley’s very strict borders and even stricter control on their governmental processes, it was never truly known to us what became of the Eldians that marched across their border. We knew they had been separated into internment camps, but it also seems that they have been weaponized and trained into being nearly the entirety of their military ranks. And this unit, The Warriors, are the premiere and elite squadron of the Marleyan military. And their motives toward Paradis have been largely unknown. Until now.”

Erwin took a pause, letting all this information sink in before starting again.

“Now, we know that Zeke Yeager has been working with our elite right below our noses with the hopes of changing the status quo for Eldians in Marley.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

Eren sat forward, elbows on his knees as he stared at all the faces on the board. It was no secret that Zeke Yeager was his long lost step-brother, sired by his father before he escaped the Marleyan border to find a better future in Paradis. As far as Erwin knew, the young man had no connections to his step-sibling, only saw him as an enemy force to be reckoned with.

“Yes, and no. Because, according to the files you’ll find penned by one Pieck Finger, it seems his plan is quite unseemly.”

“I don’t understand all this data and graph shit,” Miche admitted, eyebrows scrunched together as he licked his thumb to continue perusing the pages.

Captain Hange stood then, making her way to the front without Erwin having to beckon her to.

“These are...these are blood samples, DNA testing,” she mused, pencils stuck in her ponytail as she paced the floor before Erwin, “genome analysis, to be specific. Like they were looking for something specific in all these samples.”

“And they were. Did you get my request this morning?”

“Oh yes, of course, sir!” Hange scrambled back up to her seat, pulling out a manila envelope and then returning to hand it to him.

Erwin motioned for Miche to tape these new documents on the board as well, one next to your photo, the other now next to a photo of Historia Reiss. Then Erwin picked up some pictures that would be unfamiliar to his scouts, placing them above your head.

“These are the parents of our missing scout,” he called over his shoulder as he took an unfortunately slow time to place the photos, the lack of two hands starting to become quite bothersome. “They were Military Police members, killed in action about ten years ago. However, the information within the files on Yeager reveal that before Braun and the others infiltrated our ranks, there were other imposters sent on a reconnaissance mission within the MPs. It is cited that those infiltrators killed two people they were targeting, and I believe it to be them.”

He could tell he was losing their focus, quite a few eyes glazed over as they tried to make sense of all the new pieces being added to the growing wall of puzzles. He felt like a madman stringing up red threads, but he was almost certain of his conclusions.

“Why...why do they matter?” It was Armin who spoke this time, normally the quiet one during meetings who soaked up information like a little yellow sponge.

“Historia,” Erwin called, “does the name Fritz mean anything to you?”

The small girl sat to attention, blue eyes shining.

“Of course, they’re another noble family, like mine. Err, or the were, before…”

“Before they were killed about one hundred years ago. However, I’m inclined to believe that our missing scout’s mother was the last remaining of the Fritz line, having donned a new name for safety and falling into government positions to hopefully remain unnoticed.”

He took in a deep breath, once again letting a pregnant pause settle into the heaviness of the room.

“Which is why…” he waved his hand over the graphs next to your face and the photo of Historia on the board, “thismatters. It’s been a long standing belief that elites, that royalty and those that have been elected president in our country, are somehow different. Almost appointed by the gods themselves because of their special blood. You know, it’s the whole issue that many take up on the fact that they see our governmental system as more of a monarchy than a democracy. But the truth of the matter is, you nobles do have different blood and genes than the rest of us. These graphs show that here.”

“Well that’s very elitist of you.” Levi cut in, standing with his arms crossed near the door.

“Perhaps. But I had Hange do a genome map between Historia and…” he sucked on his tongue, still finding a bit of pain to say your name out loud, “...and her. My suspicions are correct. Based on the startlingly similar genetic patterns, our missing captain is of noble heritage, and I’m inclined to believe that Zeke Yeager knows this.”

“And that’s important because it makes her more valuable,” Armin had his face in his hands, “does she...does she know this?”

“As far as I know, no. No she does not.”

“And you of all people would know.”

Erwin wanted to snap back at the snide comment that came from Eren. If he wasn’t such a good soldier, Erwin would have him on fucking patrol duty after this.

“Commander,” Armin looked sweaty, pale, “It says here that Yeager’s plan is to reinstate Eldian supremacy through uh… a means of genetic mutation. Do you know what that means?”

“No, Arlert, I don’t. And I don’t know exactly what his plans are for our scout that’s being held hostage. Which is why you’re all here. From this point forward, every ounce of your time will be spent reviewing these documents and dissecting what it could all mean. As far as I can tell, Pieck Finger hasn’t quite connected all the dots yet either. So now it’s our job to do so.”

All the heads in the room were nodding, everyone undoubtedly becoming antsy from all this news.

Erwin knew there was more to say. He had debated printing out your email as well, but he wanted to keep the knowledge that Braun and some of the warriors were possibly willing to help stop whatever was happening to himself. He knew that if he even breathed the words that traitors were offering aid, too many would be against it, too many wouldn’t believe it. That would have to be something he pondered on his own.

“Where do we begin, sir?”

Mikasa sat up straight and on the edge of her seat, like she was ready to spring into action.

“First, I think we need to dig deeper into just who was planning to meet with the Warrior Unit the day the captain was captured. We still don’t know who they were, or what was happening that warriors actually had to be present for it. Also…” he looked pointedly toward Levi, “we need to do more investigating on the day she was shot. We still don’t know who shot her, or why. It could have been an assassin looking to annihilate that Fritz bloodline.”

Levi nodded, “On it.”

“Everyone else, get to work. Get out the red tape and string if you need to, and all meeting rooms are now open to place questions and findings onto the boards. Nothing is useless; all knowledge about this situation is powerful and paramount. This could be the beginning of a nightmare, but perhaps we can stop it before it happens.”

He watched everyone leave, all with hurried steps and papers shuffling within their hands. Hange stuck around behind him, rather bewitched by the DNA findings taped to the white board.

A little voice cleared their throat next to him, making him look down. Historia stood before him, eyes downcast and her toes pointed together like she was nervous.

“Commander… I…do you have a moment?”

“Of course, what’s on your mind?”

He watched her glance toward Hange, then toward the door, and back to him.

“Would you like to grab a cup of coffee and speak alone?”

“Yes,” she quickly breathed, happy that he picked up on the fact that whatever she had to say, it must need to stay quiet.

━━━─── • ───━━━

It seemed that Historia’s nerves were still getting the better of her as she sat in front of his desk. Erwin had always been told he was rather imposing, so he hoped she wasn’t apprehensive to just be speaking with him alone. Her hands were clenched around a mug of coffee, knee bouncing in her seat.

He’d poured himself a cup as well in the break room, having already drank it before even reaching his office. Your worries had been correct: he wasn’t sleeping much, and after what you’d sent him today, he didn’t know how you ever expected him to sleep again without knowing the truth of what was happening.

“Commander…” she took the deepest breath, eyes closing for a moment, “do you...you don’t believe in myths, do you?”

It was an odd question, one that had him pressing his lips together as he looked for an answer.

“I suppose not. Though, it would also depend on the myth; some of them hold truth to them, as they were stories attempting to cope with the unknown.”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she scoffed, looking everywhere in the room but at him.

“Why? Are you here to give me a mythology lesson?”

“Have you heard the one about Ymir? And the nine titans?”

“That old tale?” He chuckled, remembering pictures in books he’d read as a child of towering beasts, “The one about how there used to be giant people, titans that roamed the lands before humanity came along?”

Historia twisted her lips, looking down at the floor.

“Yeah. That one. Did you ever know her full name?”

“Her? As in Ymir? No, she was just the goddess Ymir in all the books, gods don’t normally have last names.”

“Well, she did. Because she was human. Her last name was Fritz.”

Fritz. Like your possible ancestors. Historia had earned his attention now. He sat up behind his desk, fist unknowingly clenched in his lap.

“Commander, I don’t know if this is true, but when I was a little girl, my older sister, Freida, she used to tell me all these stories about titans and how we, nobility, are descendants of gods and of...of titans.”

Erwin was trying to read her face, but the young woman just seemed full of fear, trepidation.

“Historia, I’ve heard all the propaganda about the noble families being descendants from gods. And if I offended you with my remarks in the meeting then I apolo—”

“No, no,” she cut him off, “no, that’s not what I meant. I know that my family...that the other nobles and elites have twisted all these myths to give themselves power, but what I’m saying is that it’s true. At least, I think it is. We have all these books back home in my estate that explain this true history about how people used to live in a world of titans thousands of years ago, that there were mindless titans, but also titans controlled by humans… humans that were titans. And I’m just saying, if this was true…”

He was starting to put the pieces together now. The genetic mutation. The bloodlines. No wonder her thoughts had led her to this conclusion.

“You’re worried Zeke Yeager believes in these old stories, that his plan is to bring back titans?” He posed it as a question, wanting her to finish her thoughts instead of him imposing on her.

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying. I don’t know how, but if there was some way to do it, our missing captain, if she’s actually of royal blood, like me, he might want to…” she set down her cup of coffee, finally looking up at him with eyes that shone with wisdom he’d never acknowledged before, “Zeke might want to experiment on her. Or maybe reveal her heritage and try to bargain her back to the elites. I don’t know, I just didn’t want to say this in front of everyone because they might think I’m…”

“Crazy?”

“Yeah,” she huffed, “thanks.”

“Thank you, Historia. You’ve given me something to think about.”

“But you think I’m crazy.”

He dared not to insult her outloud, but it was the side he was erring on.

“I appreciate you being willing to tell me this. It seems I have some mythology to study up on. Actually, if you ever get the chance to get your hands on one of those books you spoke about, I would like to see it.”

She stood then, leaving her coffee abandoned on his desk.

“Of course, Commander.”

He could tell her spirits were defeated as she left his office. But, nonetheless, he took the coffee she left behind as his own, settling back in to continue reading into the files you’d sent to him.

But his mind couldn’t even register the words anymore. He was so tired, and now, knowing that you were indeed alive, he was filled with nothing but thoughts on how to get you home. It would be a suicide mission to try to send a squad into Marley to rescue you. He also knew that asking the elites, even the President, to act on his behalf would probably be met with a negative outcome since they were in connection to Zeke Yeager himself. It all seemed hopeless, but he knew you were working to get back as well. Between the two of you attempting to reach the same goal, he knew, eventually, he’d have you back again.

━━━─── • ───━━━

His home was quite lonely without you.

He felt the emptiness of not having you at the Scout Headquarters, but more so he felt it when he finally drug his tired body to the apartment he lived in across the city.

It felt like a small cataclysm erupted whenever he opened his front door, all the emotions he kept at bay suddenly budding to the surface of his composure. Your shoes were still by the door, so small next to the ones he took off.

Signs of you, of your absence, were everywhere. Your coat on the back of a chair. Your favorite books still spread open and marked to forgotten pages in the cozy chair in the living room. Wine only you liked still remained chilled in the fridge, your body wash and shampoo still lined the edges of his shower. He hadn’t even washed his sheets since you left, hadn’t dared to touch the side of the bed you slept on, like the mattress was still full of your ghost when he reached out for you at night.

Even though you had your own apartment, he couldn’t remember a night he’d spent without you in the last few months. You’d become inseparable, seeking refuge in each other’s bodies against the cruelty this world had dealt you. You accepted him for who he was, even when he felt like half a man.

There were still words he wanted to say to you; there were still echoes of your voice all around the apartment, your laughter ringing in the support beams, the sounds of your moans still staining his headboard.

There were so many things you left behind, him included.

Erwin poured himself a drink before settling into the couch, not even bothering to undress from his work clothes. He needed medicine for his mind, needed to try to drink and find clarity in the too many thoughts thumping in his head.

You were noble. Of all fucking things.

He took a very long sip at that realization, almost reveling in the burn the whiskey left behind in his mouth. He could still taste you on his tongue sometimes, still feel the pressure of your lips against his if he closed his eyes. All those times he thought he was kissing something divine, perhaps he was, if Historia Reiss had any merit to her little bedtime stories.

The thought made him laugh. Titans. Mythological creatures. If there was one thing he knew, his enemies weren’t trying to bring things that never existed back to life. Historia was right about one thing though: you could be a powerful bargaining chip for Zeke. If the elites were holding out on something, all he had to do was dangle a pretty, royal plaything in front of their noses as bait.

He pulled your email back up on his phone, eyes scanning over all the words you sent.

You’d found a strange semblance of refuge with Reiner. Of all people. Erwin could still remember how much the two of you would fight when you were both soldiers, how you were adamant to take on the hulking man yourself when it came to battle.

But he also remembered how startlingly well the two of you worked together. It had been the two of you who had stopped Marcel Galliard, it had been Reiner who was the first to appear at the hospital steps when news of your potentially fatal injury had been called over the radio. The man had been panting, Bertholdt too, both of them having run as fast possible from their patrol circuit to check in on your status.

Erwin always assumed it was because Reiner was sweet on you. Boys had always been taught to tease the girls they liked when they were younger, perhaps he’d just carried that on into adulthood, practically throwing stones at you to get your attention.

Not that he could blame him. Erwin had always wanted your attention, but had kept himself restrained for professional reasons. But after Shinganshina, after Zeke showed the true force of the Warrior Unit as a warning, Erwin had quickly pulled you from the front lines. He claimed it was because your cleverness would be better served in intelligence work. Truth of the matter was that he wanted you safe. He wanted you working with him, in his sight, every day.

And now you had completely slipped through his fingers.

He’d cursed out loud when the scouts returned and revealed that you’d been captured. He even unfairly chewed out Jean for being reckless enough to get his vertical movement gear tangled with yours, but he knew the fault rested in his hands. You’d offered to go, and he’d let you.

He let you go, and now he was reeling in the ash and smoke of the damage left behind.

With a finished drink, he let his mind wander to that place he tried to keep it from. He was wondering where you were, wondering exactly what you were doing. Until tonight, he imagined you were left under lock and key, but now he knew you’d gotten yourself into some situation in order to access Reiner’s email. Perhaps he truly was helping you.

Some of your words ran through his brain again: I don’t know what’s true at all anymore.

Erwin honestly didn’t know what was true anymore either. In a matter of hours, he’d pieced together information the intelligence unit had been trying to uncover for years. He was steps closer to figuring out whatever truth there was Zeke Yeager’s madness. He was steps closer to keeping the whole country safe from a disaster its own elites had their fingers in.

But he still felt so far away, so far away from you, from himself. He felt like he’d never actually fit the puzzle together, felt like he’d let you down.

All he still knew was that he loved you, even if he never actually spoke the words to you. He loved you, and he had some kind of dying hope that you felt the same.

Next Chapter

#reiner x reader #reiner braun #reiner x you #reiner braun x you #reiner braun x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #aot reiner #snk reiner #snk reiner braun #aot #snk #attack on titan fanfiction

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greenygreenland · 4 years

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Operation New Me: Father Figure Wu & Reader

-⛔if you're sensitive, to things like bullying, fist-fighting, mentions of insecurities etc, I don't recommend reading this⛔

-young Morro is in this because I love him

Summary: You're beginning your first day of high school despite being a dropout since like third grade

"Are you ready?" The question was quite innocent and short, yet held a deeper meaning only you seemed to catch. Morro didn't pay any attention to what Wu was saying as you stuffed the last of your supplies in your book bag, and to be honest, you weren't sure if you'd ever be ready for today.

You spent the past week meditating and reading whatever material you could to catch up on what you've missed, but it just wasn't enough--it'd never be enough. How could you even think of cramming seven and up years of knowledge you didn't even understand in a mere month?

"(Y/n)?"

You adjusted your bag around your shoulders and walked through the monastery doors to meet Morro and Wu on the front steps. "Sorry. Let's go." Morro gave you an odd look, sweeping his bangs out of his eyes with a huff. "Don't act so worried. If you can survive Sensei's training, you can survive anything." You snorted and ruffled his black locks. "Being a ninja is a completely different concept than being a student at school. You learn things you don't even use, so it's a waste of time."

Wu shook his head dismissively. "It is not a waste of time. What you will experience there is something even I can not teach."

"Which is?"

"Social skills." he plainly replied with a smile. You zipped up your (f/c) sweater as a chilly breeze passed. The sun had barely risen over the horizon, leaving the moon high in the sky for drifting clouds to cover. "All you know is the monastery," continued Wu, "and life as a ninja. What happens if you are thrown in a situation you cannot 'ninja' your way out of?" You pursed your lips together, which Wu took as an 'I don't know'.

"Exactly, which is why you must get out in the world and learn." he said with a reassuring smile. "You are sharp, so I have no doubt you will be okay."

You continued down the monastery steps in a comfortable silence. It wasn't unnatural for you to be quiet at this time of day, especially since you weren't a morning person. Once you finally descended down every last step, Wu summoned his elemental dragon.

When Morro asked why he didn't do it in the first place, Wu said it was to get a bit of 'exercise in' and to learn a lesson of 'gratefulness'. Boy did the last one stick, because despite practically living at the monastery for more than half your life, rarely had you ever ventured down the steps.

The cool, crisp air against your face, the natural wind in your hair made by nature and not Morro, and the view of the endless skies just made you feel so alive. In the air suspended upon a golden dragon was something you missed. "When was the last time we got around like this?" you shouted over the wind. Morro grinned as brightly as the rising sun. "'We should do this more often Sensei!"

He chuckled a little and gave his reins a good shake. "Hold on!" The dragon flapped his wings and you were suddenly speeding through the skies, cutting passed the cool winds at speeds no man could ever reach.

"SENSEI!" you screeched. He laughed loudly as Morro cackled in your ear. "SCARED, (L/N)?!" he shouted.

"I'M NOT--! SENSEI! OH MY--!"

The dragon steadily slowed, continuing into a descend towards the city below. Wu let out a playful laugh. "That was a lesson on keeping your guard up, no matter how comfortable you may be." You placed your free hand over your pounding heart with a long sigh. "Well that's a lame lesson, Sensei. I saw my life flash before my eyes."

"Did you now?" he inquired with a chuckle. Morro snickered along with him, a look of approval on his smug face. "Sensei," you grumbled, "you're more like Garmadon than you think."

Landing in Ninjago City was like being in a dream. It was bigger than any village you've ever visited, and the buildings, although in construction, remained taller than anything you've ever seen in your life. "Woah..."

Wu smiled, ushering both you and Morro towards the high school. When you set eyes on the building, you had to blink a few times to fully comprehend its size. Windows lined the three stories that seemed to stretch out all the way to the end of the block. As for te cream colour exterior, you thought it blended nicely with the modern-ish touches.

Wu guided you towards the front gates, where dozens of students plowed their way up the stairs and into the front doors. Some lingered on the front lawn to enjoy their breakfasts with friends. "It's a pretty big place, isn't it?" said Wu. Morro snorted and sassily crossed his arms. "That's why we're in a city Sensei." You rolled your eyes and pulled out your schedule.

Your Sensei placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "School is a ground for learning, so don't feel like you have to know everything. Just remember what we leanred together and everything will be fine." You tried to match the smile on his lips, but it just wouldn't happen. Besides almost cutting off one of your fingers with a katana last month, this had to be the scariest thing you've ever done.

"Our paths don't always go in straight lines," added Wu, "so don't feel like you have to have this day perfect." You nodded in understanding. Morro sent you a quick thumbs-up and a 'don't die' face that you snorted at. "Well, I'll see you after...school." You turned on your heel, preparing to march onto the school grounds like any other student.

Describing the school as 'big' and 'modern' was an understatement. It was humungous and actually quite nice to look at. You wished you could say the same, positive things about the students, but they didn't look too welcoming. Not only that, but for the first time in ages, you felt...

...out if place.

You really didn't fit in here with your sweater bearing your sensei's mark on the back and your own on the front. All the other girls here seemed to wear a skirt or dress in navy blue or black and plaid while you chose to wear trousers specifically for martial arts. The boys were no different with their white button ups, sweater vests or plain sweats.

You checked the dress code before hand to make sure you wouldn't embarrass yourself, but even then, here you were, already afraid of making the mistake of wearing the ancient fashion of your Elemental Master ancestors under your (f/c) sweater.

It didn't take a genius to know you were rhe new kid on the first day of school. Everyone else seemed to know each other from middle school or even primary and long before that while you had no one. They loved to gawk at you and side-glance your clothing as if you were some foreigner from a different realm. It was then that you began realising just how disconnected you had been from the trendiest and latest fashion.

"Only paintings wear her clothes."

"Don't tell me she's a villager."

"I bet her dad's a farmer."

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Your clothes were still widely used in not only martial arts, but villages and small towns. You also weren't a villager, and for the record, your father wasn't a farmer when he was alive. He had to be one of the greatest Elemental Masters and just so happened to pass on his element, light, to you.

You were proud of your heritage, but the amount of scorns you kept getting throughout the day kind of made you want to believe you were someone else.

Lunch was slow to come, especially during your algebra one class. When it finally hit you that it was time to eat, you made your way outside to take a seat far away from the students sat at picnic tables in the courtyards or laid flat on top of blankets on the grass. You took refuge from all the drama and scowls under a lone tree.

The music of its swaying leaves helped calm the ache in your heart. It was a reminder of all the lessons you learned throughout your life from your sensei Wu and Garmadon. You had to be patient, kind, calm and--

"Oh I'm so, so sorry." You looked up at the girl who had spilt her soda pop over your head. She and her two friends quietly snickered to each other as you wiped away the sticky mess with your (f/c) handkerchief. A strained smile made its way onto your lips. "It's...fine."

"Here, let me help you." One of the girls kicked at the dirt, sending pieces of fresh grass and pebbles into your face. She let out an evil laugh as her friends joined along. "Sorry, I can't touch you or I'll be infected with your grandma fashion." You wiped the dirt out of your face and jumped to your feet. "I dare you to say that again."

"If I touch you, I'll be infected with your grandma fashion." the girl repeated with a smirk. Perhaps Morro had rubbed off on you, or you had been thinking about your old Sensei Garmadon too much, because before any of the girls could blink, you snatched your lunch out of your bag and flung it at the group of girls.

One of them blindly lunged at you, making a mad grab for your hair and giving it a good tug. You wrapped your hand around her wrist and gripped it tight enough to cease her blood circulation. She let out a cry and let go as you swung around and blocked a punch from her friend.

A crowd began to form as you wrestled with the girls. All of the drama could have been over if you had gone full-out and actually fought back, but the Art of the Silent Fist worked well enough with them. You weren't about to give what your peers wanted: A fist fight.

"What is going on here?"

You dodged a punch to the face and spun around as another girl made a grab for your collar.

"Hey! No! Stop fighting!"

You paused in your footsteps as your History teacher parted through the crowds like the Master of Water, Maya. He suddenly let out a shout and threw out a hand, but you were too late to notice the uppercut to your jaw.

Later that day, you awoke to the one and only face of your Sensei, Wu. As you sat up in bed, he handed you a cup of warm Jasmine tea. "How are you feeling?" You rubbed your sore face and head with a low groan. "I'm dizzy."

"That must have been quite a punch, because you've been sleeping the day away." he said. You took a sip of your tea, surveying your bedroom with a frown. "You...picked me up from school?" Wu nodded. "Your bag is in the kitchen if you're wondering. Dinner should be done in another hour; I made some soup that'll make you feel better."

You caught a glimpse of your bedside clock, your jaw unhinging. "Eighteen thirty [6:30PM] already?" You jumped out of bed and scrambled towards the door. "Why didn't you wake me up? I have so much homework to do, and I was supposed to help you cook--" Wu calmly stood from his seat and placed his hands around your shoulders. You didn't even realise your hands were shaking until he guided you back towards your bed and took a seat at the edge with you.

"What happened at school today?" His calm eyes were swirling with a serious concern you couldn't ignore. It made your heart ache again, and all words everyone threw at you flow into your head like a broken record. The faces of your peers and their smiles they hid behind their hands, the pointing and the laughing, and then the fighting...

...oh, how could you forget, even for a moment, how awful that made you feel? Hos awful everything made you feel? The hot anger in your chest seemed to grow heavier and heavier.

If I touch you, I'll be infected with your grandma fashion.

Only paintings wear her clothes.

Don't tell me she's a villager.

I bet her dad's a farmer.

"(Y/n)?" called Wu. "Are you alright?" You heaved in a shaky breath to centre your hurricane of emotions. "I...I'm fine Sensei." You forced a smile. "Those girls were only looking for trouble. I got distracted by a teacher telling them to stop, so that's why I got hit. If I weren't distracted, you bet I would have blocked that punch." You chuckled a little to try and lighten the atmosphere, but Wu wasn't so easily convinced.

You should have expected that, but you hoped he would take the bait and just leave you alone for a bit. That was all you wanted, and that's how you liked it. Wu knitted his brows together as if he were searching your face for any clues of what else might've happened. "Is that all, or...?"

"Yeah." you casually replied. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch." Wu slowly nodded before leaving your side and venturing into the hallway. You were about to flop down on your bed, but he quickly popped back into your doorway. "I forgot to tell you, Garmadon's visiting for the weekend." Your eyes lit up, all that anger and weight in your chest vanishing. "Really?" Wu smiled so you did too, for real this time around.

"Yes. For real."

---

The only motivation keeping you from ditching school and running all the way back home was the fact that Sensei Garmadon would arrive in just two days. All you had to do was survive two more days of school before you were free on the weekend to do whatever the heck you wished. In theory, two days didn't seem so bad, but as soon as you entered the jam-packed building flowing with sleep-deprived teens, you realised just how long two days really was.

Along the way to your homeroom class, a guy had the audacity to spit his chewing gum at you. Of course, you dodged the flying projectile like a pro, but someone collided with you last second and the gum landed straight in your hair.

You remember spending the rest of the day dealing with fifty thousand insults about your clothing again, a few angry teachers giving fourty-five minute lectures about yesterday's fight, and having your whole grade blame you for the incident. Someone slammed you into a locker for payback while a group of girls decided it would be funny to trip you in the hall and scatter all your classwork on the floor.

You scrambled passed people's sneakers, madly grabbing at all the papers as if your life depended on it. You didn't have time to sort the jumble of packets and loose worksheets back into their respective places, so you threw everything in your bag and made a run for your next class.

Your teacher looked you up and down as you took a seat at your desk. "Late and running in the halls?" she inquired. "Detention! Tardiness will not be tolerated in my classroom." Your classmates sent you side-glances as you covered half your face with a hand. "Great. Could this day get any worse?" you grumbled.

Fast forward: it did. Passed the bullying and passed the tripping in the halls, the gum in your hair refused to come out, so during lunch, you had no choice but to cut it. You being you, whipped out a kunai knife that a teacher 'so happened' to see. And besides getting another detention slash possible suspension, you hadn't even started cutting your hair, leaving you with a wad of gum practically super-glueing all your locks together.

Wu had no idea about the detentions, so when you exited the school about an hour later than you should've, you deeply wished you hadn't left at all. He had his hands on his hips as you made your way down the front steps, and Morro looked like he wanted to give you a good punch in the face.

"I heard you had two detentions in a row!" exclaimed Wu. "What happened?" You handed him a yellow slip of paper and stuff your hands in your pockets with a huff. "Both my teachers want to have a 'parent teacher conference' with you tonorrow."

Wu looked like he was torn between being angry and confused, but maybe that was because he realised just how exhausted you looked. Your shoulders were slumped while your voice remained in a monotone, and you had your hood pulled high over your head (to hide the gum stuck in your hair). Morro stood on his tippy-toes to get a good look at the yellow slip of paper. "What did you do?" he questioned. "You're usually the 'good' one."

A bitter laugh escaped your throat that you couldn't hold. Wu frantically looked up from the paper to get a good look at your face, a deep frown spreading on his face. "Can you please take off your hood (Y/n)?" His voice was gentle and soft, as if he were afraid of scaring you.

"Yeah, I can't see your face."

Wu gave Morro a scolding shake of his head before turning back to you. "There's no point in hiding your face."

"I'm not hiding my face...I just...I like keeping my hood up." Wu folded the yellow paper and put it in his pocket with a sigh. "Come here (Y/n)." You hesitantly trudged over to him and he placed a hand on your head, gently pulling down your hood. Morro gasped as Wu's gaze bounced from your tired expression to the wad of gum tangled in your hair.

"Who did this to you?"

You wanted to tell him that it was an accident, that someone left their gum on the table and you were just unfortunate enough to lay your head down and get it stuck in your hair. But then you saw the fierce fire in his eyes and felt his strong resolve to help you. There would be no point in lying to him and Morro if he'd eventually find out anyway.

"Some guy at school did it."

"How?"

"He spit it at me. I tried to dodge, but someone pushed me and it got stuck in my hair."

"What about the detentions?"

You hesitated. "It...it was..." Morro pursed his lips together angrily. "Don't you dare lie!" he exclaimed. "Lying doesn't grt you anywhere." A sigh escaped your lips. "I was late to one of my classes because someone tripped me on purpose in the hallway. Some other guy threw all my stuff on the ground, so that's why I was late. I got another detention after that because I tried to cut the gum out of my hair with my kunai."

Wu's eyes doubled in size. "You what?!"

"I tried to cut my hair with a kunai knife because I didn't have scissors." you repeated. Wu ran a hand over his forehead. "Father, help me." he grumbled. "(Y/n), you do know that weapons are prohibited? This...school is..." He trailed off and motioned for you and Morro to follow him.

"How about we go home and discuss this over a nice cup of hot tea?"

PART 2

#ninjago x reader #ninjago #ninjagomorro #ninjagowu #ninjago masters of spinjitzu #lego #legoninjago

42 notes · View notes

thdorkmagnet · 3 years

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Light of the Sun and Stars Chapter 46: A Mewman and a Monster (Preview)

Summary: His whole life Marco Diaz has been raised by monsters, living under the cruel rule of their leader, Toffee. But one day Marco escapes into Mewni where he meets a magical princess and Mewman like himself, who begins teaching him all about her world. Together they will learn about life, love, and the lights within each of them, as they change their world forever.

Chapter Synopsis: Slime has asked his crush Princess Penelope Spiderbite out on a date and needing support, both emotionally and literally, calls upon Star and Marco for help. The two graciously lend a hand in helping create the most romantic date possible but, as usual, things rarely go the way they want it too.

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Index

The dimension was completely lifeless. Once a sprawling community had dwelled there, setting up residence in its green pastures and lush landscapes, living a simple and basic life amongst the natural resources all around them. But that peaceful lifestyle had changed when technology was first introduced to the humble society. At first it had been small changes, as it always started, machines and many mechanisms made to help make life easier. Need to plow the fields? Build a machine that could do it half the time you could.

Soon people were using machines for every part of their everyday life and with the invention of robotic helpers… everything changed. Their once grassy hills were torn up to make factories, their land broken and scarred for the sake of 'progress'. Soon their dimension more closely resembled a machine than a once thriving, living place. And the numbers of robots steadily grew, until they outnumbered all living beings 10 to 1.

Sunlight was blocked by heavy smog while frequent and heavy storms began to tear apart what was left of the landscape. The dimension became virtually unlivable and the people were filled with dismay.

That was until a mysterious benefactor appeared one day, offering to buy up the remaining usable land for unknown reasons. The people happily accepted the offer, using the money to relocate to a new dimension (hopefully with better luck than the last), leaving the new owner of the dimension to do with it however they wished. Soon they began construction on a single building, employing the many robots that still inhabited the place to the effort. It took a long time, even with beings that didn’t have the need to eat nor sleep at the head of construction, but eventually it was finished, a single living place in the dimension of dead architecture.

The place was a sight to behold: a clean, cut courtyard leading up to a grand, multi-story building. The architecture was ancient, borrowed from famous castles and cathedrals throughout the multiverse, a sharp contrast to the sleek, modern buildings the dimension had been so known for.

But for as magnificent as it seemed, there was something sinister as well, something dark lurking just behind the smoothly cut stones or grand balconies. A large metal fence had been built around the building, electrified at all times to deter anyone from entering or exiting through anything but the gate. A large tower stood above the building itself, pulsing with some dark magic that had been lost to time long ago. The building's architecture was full of sharp edges and spikes that could seriously harm anyone who was not weary of their surroundings. And though the grand double doors were made of the finest wood in any dimension, they opened onto halls of endless turns and deadends, a labyrinth built to keep everyone trapped inside forever.

But the creator of this school did not care how others viewed it, because this place was serving a grand purpose, educating and enforcing positive change on the future monarchs of the multiverse. St. Olga’s Reform School for Wayward Princesses was a school like no other, standing superior to any other education system that dared to compete with it, for it was focused solely on punishment and strict results. Every young princess that was sent there, no matter how rebellious or resistant they were, would eventually be broken. It didn’t matter if it took days, weeks, or years, St. O’s and its founder and principal, Heinous , had a perfect record that had never once been broken.

That was until a certain four-armed princess blew the whistle on the academy's “less than reputable” penalties and the school was shut down by the dimensional knights. The great Miss Heinous was forced on the run, leaving every part of her life, her career, her home, her minions, her legacy, to rot. She spent years on the run, just barely managing to stay one step ahead of the dimensional knights and any other form of military power a noble might hire to capture or kill her. But through it all, Heinous only had one thought that kept her going day in and day out. Revenge. Or rather, her legacy finally fulfilled. She often confused the two but it didn’t matter. The path was the same. The path to ultimate victory and control. The path of perfection.

And that path had led back to where it all began.

Nostalgia and old memories came flooding back to the once-proud principal as she stood in front of her old, decaying school. She could still picture it back in the prime of its life, see it as clear as if it were standing in the memory itself rather than the broken dream that stared back at her. Reality was far from the picture perfect days of old. Oh how the mighty had fallen.

Her once proud school was now in desperate need of repairs, walls caved in over the course of time, entire sections of the school now gone. The courtyard was now filled with untamed weeds and overgrown plant life. The tower that had once stood as a beacon of power for her school had been the first thing taken down by those pesky knights and it lay in shambles around the area, an ever present reminder of the injustice Heinous had suffered. The fence was bent and disfigured, was now full of giant, gaping holes in its structure making it completely useless, now it couldn’t even keep out the gust of wind that blew through the empty courtyard. The school had become nothing but an empty shell that had once housed life within it. Heinous couldn’t help but scoff at the irony, her greatest masterpiece was now no different to the rest of this forgotten waste of a dimension.

She took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. No, she couldn’t start dwelling on all that now. She had come here for more than just reliving her past failures. Today was about seizing her future. A small cough behind her caused Heinous to roll her eyes. She had almost forgotten her hired hand had come with her, just in case some dimensional knights were lurking there and needed to be disposed of. It was clear that Rasticore, unlike her, was less than content with her dimension. She could practically feel Rasticore’s discomfort as he shifted from one foot to the other, over and over again. It was obvious he wanted to get this over with, something at least they could agree on, Heinous was ready to achieve the next step of her decade-long scheme.

“So are we going inside or not?” Rasticore finally asked and Heinous turned back to him with a narrowed glare.

“Why? Don’t tell me you are frightened of my school?” she accused him, point blank.

Rasticore tensed, before gritting his fangs, clearly holding back the retort. Instead he replied, “No, just all this smog is aggravating my condition.” He then made a point to cough into his claw.

Heinous highly doubted that was the reason for his rush. Not when it was more likely her minion was playing up his sickness to hide his discomfort from her. After all, he was recovering remarkably well from the poison, ready to resume his work in just a few short weeks, so a little foul air shouldn’t be upsetting him as much as he was pretending it was.

Still, she didn’t see any reason to delay things any further so Heinous just turned to her minion and said, “Very well, follow me.”

Entering into her old home was like walking into a portrait in time, everything left exactly as she remembered it. The knights must have left things the same for evidence reasons but Heinous ws surprised her school was still mostly intact. A few rooms had been caved in or hallways blocked and everything certainly needed a good dusting but from the view outside she had been expecting much worse. Paper and pencils lay on the dusty desks, ready to use, as if some child had just set them down and then vanished from this dimension. The banners holding old phrases and mottos Heinous would often repeat in classes were decaying but still hung up even after all these years. The only thing missing was her beloved robotic staff.

Shortly after her escape she had gotten word that all robots operating under her name had been discontinued and dismantled to “prevent further harm” as they had put it. Ha, as if her precious staff could be so cruel, every punishment was fully justified and all for the greater good. If only the royals of the multiverse had seen it that way. “Cruel and unnecessary” they had called it. Hypocrites! They were always happy with the results, even quick to praise her or offer her large sums of money as thanks, but the moment they knew how their beloved child came to be cured of their faults suddenly she was the villain, torturing their bratty children by making them perfect.

Well if they were too stupid and cowardly to see her perfect vision all the way through, then it was up to her to fix this miserable, chaotic world.

Heinous entered into her old office, staring at it with wistful eyes as memories came flooding back to her all over again. Every detail of the small space was exactly as she had remembered it, not a single stone out of place, even after all these years. She ran her hands across her desk, her fingers brushing the loose pieces of paper she had been reading through when the alarm had sounded. Old student files and report cards now yellowed with age and beyond salvaging Heinous could have read them with ease, every single letter saved to her subconscious.

Rasticore stood awkwardly in the doorway, watching as his temporary boss reminisced her old life. It was shocking in all honesty, the lizard assassin hadn’t even known Heinous had a smile that wasn’t sinister but she seemed… almost genuine now. That was until she came across a certain file and the peaceful look switched to a frown, the spell she was under was broken. She picked up the piece of paper, ripping it to shreds in a matter of seconds. Rasticore jumped but didn’t say a word as his boss fell deeper and deeper into a blind rage, picking up several other files and ripping them apart as well. Soon the room was coated in paper shreds and the desk was empty. Rasticore risked a look at what remained of the original file, surprised to see it was a young curly haired princess with four arms. He couldn't imagine what she had done to invoke such fire from the level-headed woman.

Once the temper tantrum was over, Heinous straightened her clothes and smoothed down her hair, making herself look presentable again before turning to her minion. “Well, let’s get started, shall we?” she said as if nothing had even happened. She reached her hand into one of the many pockets that lined her oversized dress and pulled out a small key covered in intricate carvings. Without a word she shoved the desk to the side, Rasticore taken aback by the sudden show of strength. He certainly hadn’t expected it from such a petite woman.

Heinous bent down and inserted the key into a small slot in the ground and turned it with a click. Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet collapsed and a long spiral staircase stretching into the darkness beneath was revealed. Heinous returned the key to her pocket before looking at Rasticore expectantly, much to his confusion. He had been caught off guard thanks to the multiple, unexpected turns this trip had taken and couldn’t for the life of him figure out what she was wanting. Her sharp eyes dug into his skin before she impatiently snapped, “Well? You are the one with the light.”

Rasticore could slap himself for being so stupid and he quickly pulled the lantern out from behind his cloak, already brightly lit by phoenix embers. Without a word he started down the stairs, practically feeling Heinous roll her eyes behind his back and he had to clench his claw so tightly a few trickles of blood formed on his leathery skin. For not the first time, Rasticore seriously debated on just how bad a reputation he would get for killing his employer in cold blood. The lizard assassin cursed himself for his integrity as a killer for hire, every other job had been so easy but this one was really testing just how far he was willing to go for his reputation. He probably would have quit entirely if he weren’t for those stupid brats that eluded him mulitple times. Every attempt he made to take that worthless Princess Star resulted in complete and utter failure and the humiliation ate away at him almost as much as his anger. So if having to endure Heinous a little longer meant seeing the looks on those brats' faces when they finally got what was coming to them… well Rasticore wouldn’t miss that for the world.

Rasticore smiled, imagining the faces of Butterfly and her friends when they realized they had lost and that brought a new fire back to his soul, descending the staircase with a new vigor. The lizard got a good look at his surroundings, his night vision easily spotting what it was they were down there for: robots. Dozens of them, old and rusted over to the point Rasticore questioned if they would even activate. He looked back at his boss, who was eying the robots with a glimmer of dark ambition, not at all concerned about their obvious defectiveness.

“Thought all your robots were dismantled,” Rasticore questioned suspiciously.

Heinous shook her head. “That’s just what you would think,” the woman replied in a condescending tone. “And I knew those idiot knights would believe the same thing, hence why I had these hidden away in case I was ever found out. Imagine it, they all believed they had beaten me and yet my true power was right under their nose all along.”

“Well that explains their poor condition,” Rasticore mumbled to himself, low enough he knew Heinous couldn’t hear him.

The two reached the bottom of the staircase and Heinous began inspecting her machines closely, running her gloved fingers along their metal casings and grimacing at the layer of dirt left behind. “The truth is those robots from my time as principal were simple worker drones, but these, my dear Rasticore, are my army.”

“So you had these things hidden away this whole time and you never thought to use them before now?” Rasticore asked in a deadpan, trying to hold back his rising anger. If she had an army this whole time, why bother hiring him for her dirty work? How much time had he wasted fulfilling her goals when she could have just as easily sent a robot to do it.

“Of course I did,” Heinous replied with quite a bit of malice. “They were my plan from the beginning. I just had to wait for the right time to use them.”

“And only after I’ve been poisoned for your little mission do you suddenly decide it’s the ‘right time’,” the lizard Monster grunted, doing air-quotes for emphasis.

“Hold your tongue!” Heinous snapped, her voice echoing around the dark chamber. The two stared each other down, neither breaking eye contact for even a second. “You cannot possibly comprehend the amount of time and planning I put into this,” she continued, spitting every word violently at her minion. “I spent years concocting the perfect scheme to take back everything I lost, to regain control and create a perfect world order. And yet you dare to believe I would overlook something so carelessly. No. Everything has been planned out.” The woman turned her back to the assassin, stating smugly, “In a scheme like this, timing is everything, my dear Rasticore.”

She approached the nearest robot, wiping the dust off its metal surface, pulling out the same key from before and examining it closely. “And the time has finally come for the next phase of my master plan,” she whispered decisively. With that she rammed the key into the center of the robot’s chest, causing its eyes to blink open and light up red. Heinous took a step back as the machine slowly rose to its feet, creaking and groaning loudly, its rusted body protesting greatly. Branches that had formed around its hollow shell snapped and broke as it pushed itself upward with great strength. Finally, the machine was up, standing tall and at attention, its red eyes blinking as it waited for new orders, somehow menacing despite its deteriorating body.

Rasticore took a step towards the robot body, still eyeing it skeptically but didn’t see a point in arguing, if his boss wanted to gamble all their plans on some old, dumb robot then she could deal with the consequences. It wasn’t his problem if her plan failed, so long as he got paid. “So what, we send this hunk of junk after the Butterfly brat and finally be done with her.” He had to admit the idea of a robot taking her down instead of him left a sour taste in his mouth.

Heinous admired her machine with a satisfactory smile, her hands delicately running along its frame. “Patience, Rasticore, patience. Star Butterfly will receive her punishment in due time. But for now she is too highly guarded to risk an attack on her. We must tread carefully from here on out, no more half-witted schemes, we must deal with her delicately or all of this will be in vain.”

Rasticore grit his teeth at the small insult but kept his calm, extended time with Heinous had really helped him with his temper, the one good thing he could say about being stuck with the snooty, high-and-mighty ex-principal herself. “So who are we targeting?” Rasticore asked impatiently. “I thought the whole point of this field trip was so you could get your hands on Butterfly. You yourself said you needed a Mewman for-”

“And I what I said still holds true,” Heinous interrupted, turning to her minion with a very evil expression. “Which is why we will be targeting another old student of mine, one who is much less guarded and much more obtainable.” A dark look passed over Heinous’ face as she thought of one of her oldest and most successful students, just speaking her name again filled her with a satisfaction and pride Heinous had almost forgotten about. “Princess Penelope Spiderbite.”

#star vs #star vs AU #Light of the Sun and Stars #Preview #Starco #Spiderslime

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monysmediareview · 3 years

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Juliet, a novel by Ann Fortier Review

This time I have a review for a one-off book rather than a series for you guys and it may have actually reached the top of my list for favorite books ever. Juliet, a novel by Anne Fortier was so incredibly good I worry I’ll never be able to fully describe the way it made me feel reading it. I read this book incredibly slow because the idea of finishing it made me so upset; I didn’t want it to end but also found myself thinking about it constantly.

The Shakespeare of it All

When I found this book at goodwill, I figured I’d grab it just to see what it was. Having a degree in theatre and having studied Shakespeare in Europe, I even work for a Shakespeare specific theatre; I figured it would at the very least be interesting. And I was right, but for the wrong reasons. Shakespeare is barely mentioned as the book is actually about the true story of Romeo & Juliet.

If you don’t already know, Shakespeare stole the story of Romeo & Juliet from an Italian poet who wrote the story in the early to mid 1500’s. That story may have also been stolen from another author from France, and maybe even someone else before that. Thanks to the lack of records or copyright laws, there’s not really a way to be sure but we do know that Shakespeare was not the first, only the most famous. And to be fair, his story is much more intense since it takes place over the course of less than a week while the original plot takes months. There are a few other differences between the two but the gist of it is, two star crossed lovers separated by family feuds and ending in tragedy. And this book takes us through all of that drama and gives us a beautiful and dramatic ending to it all.

The Real Story

Some of the things I loved about this book were actually the historical events and characters. The three families in the story, the Tolomeis, the Salimbenis, and the Marescottis were apparently all real families that had feuds and stories fairly similar to what happened in this book. Fortier wrote in her authors note that she did take some liberties with the history for the sake of the story but that she tried to be faithful to them. I do highly suggest reading her author’s note if you get the book because for me, it made it that much more special.

I think that her ability to blend the past and present was well executed and emotional in ways I wasn’t expecting. I really felt the connection between the Romeo and Giulietta of 1340 and the Romeo and Guiletta of the early 2000’s. Her ability to connect these people not only by blood but by fate and destiny and emotion and passion is unmatched and she managed to do it in roughly 500 pages.

Divine Intervention

I am normally not a fan of books with religious undertones, especially without some kind of supernatural explanation to it but in Juliet it really didn’t strike me as prevalent even though it was. The Virgin Mother and the “curse on both your houses” are two huge driving forces behind this story. Both felt like completely natural pieces of the puzzle rather than an overbearing push for Catholic guilt which could have easily been the case in a story set in Italy spanning 600 years with generational family drama. There was a real feeling of the Virgin Mother being the overseer of the fate of these people and bringing them together, to righting the wrongs done in the past. In a lot of other books this might have felt preach-y or overbearing but it actually made fate feel real.

Love Story

I’m a sucker for a good romance book; I will read love story after love story after love story, but even I can get tired of the same plot over and over again. Sometimes the misogyny gets tiring and I want these female led stories to be about more than finding a man to complete them and this book gave me exactly that.

The story starts and ends with Julie Jacobs’ family. She needs to learn about her family, about her history, where she’s really from. I got so sucked into her journey of self discovery that I kind of forgot it was a love story for a while. And that kind of messed me up when we got there because I had missed a lot of the chemistry build up that I had to think back about to even realize it was there. I was so focused on her learning about her father and visiting banks and libraries that I nearly missed her falling completely in love. But in the end it was one of the most passionate and tumultuous love stories, because when you’re Romeo & Juliet, how could you have anything else?

My Personal Opinion on R&J

Following that I want to talk quickly about Romeo & Juliet. If you’ve taken a Shakespeare class or even just a high school English class at some point you’ve probably talked about this. Sometimes it gets glossed over because it’s one of the well known stories and they don’t usually waste time on it but I’m going to.

Classes like this tend to brush these lovers off as horny teenagers who are in lust and get married so they can bone each other but I think that’s a sad approach. I’ll even admit that was my view on it for a while, but not now. It’s a love story. It’s the love story. So to read an in depth story like this that doesn’t diminish the real feelings they had for each other was very pleasing. I might write a whole thing about some of my Shakespeare opinions one day but for now I will leave you with this:

To thine own self be true. Shakespeare is theatre. It isn’t mean to be read, it’s meant to be staged. And the beauty of theatre is that every single production of every play is different (at least it’s supposed to be. Some directors have yet to learn this, but I digress). This means that everyone interprets things differently, so while I think Romeo & Juliet are the ultimate lovers, you might think they were just horny teenagers. And that’s okay.

Generational Drama

Generational stories like this hold a special place in my heart. I’m not sure what it is exactly, but the idea of fate and family and stories that span hundreds of years just really get me. I won’t go on about this too much because I’ve already mentioned it a few times but I love the redemption that Romeo and Guilietta get through their ancestors, even if it was 600 years later. I love that their love lasted generations and the thought of how the spirits of the original couple feel looking at themselves, their ancestors, finally bringing their families together chokes me up a little if I’m being honest.

Alessandro

I was really not counting on Alessandro being such an important piece of this story, but his evolution as a character was a fucking ride. Going from a security guard/driver, to basically an undercover cop, to potential lover, to fake identity, to actual lover, to liar and cheat, to being framed and actually being a lover and savior was intense. Ideal. I loved and hated him through the whole thing but I was very happy with where he ended up.

Symbolism

There is so much symbolism in this book. The gems being the color of their eyes, the golden statues, the paintings, the maestros. All of it. It can be found on almost every page. But there were a few that really stood out to me.

The cencio and dagger constantly popping up as important of the story for Giulietta was not lost on me. I’m still tossing around what I think it really means, actually, but where I stand now is the idea of an official marriage and what makes it official in the eyes of the Virgin Mother. Romeo and Giulietta weren’t considered actually married because they never consummated and it didn’t happen on the cencio if it had. So for it to have been hidden in Julie’s bed after that weird secret ceremony with Alessandro, was interesting because they also weren’t really married. Not the way we think of now. It just shows that marriage isn’t defined by sex (which I think futher proves my point that this was never just about horny teenagers. As well as the entirety of this book), or by words. Marriage is defined by love and commitment.

And then there’s the River Diana. Another thing I haven’t quite landed on a full meaning for, but I know what it made me feel. It’s hard to put into words, but the first word that came to mind was literally symbolism. This story, this curse, killed Diana, Julie’s mother. And now Julie made it to the statue, and she found her Romeo and in the moment that she almost dies it’s by drowning in the River Diana. This whole time she was drowning in what her mother started for her and it’s Alessandro that pulls her out and saves her from it. Being with him is what keeps her alive, from being swept away by this curse the way her mother was. So maybe it’s symbolic of the end. Of not falling into the same pattern or being swept into the same current.

Plot Twists

This story never went where I thought it was going to go. I don’t actually want to talk about the plot twists too much because I want people reading this to be as surprised as I was. Not like I didn’t spoil things before but there are still quite a few things I didn’t mention that really fucked me up if I’m being honest.

If you’re a fan of plot twists, please read this book.

Ye Olde Slow as Hell Language

I don’t want to scare anyone off here - most of the book is in modern language and even the parts that take us back to 1300 aren’t that bad. But they are far more detailed and can sometimes just feel really slow. But all of the information is really important so I wouldn’t skip it. But the language and the flow of the story really slows things down in these parts and it’s what made me take so long to finish this book. Well that and the fact that I just wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I finished it too soon.

However, I will give the author credit for having parallel story lines set so far apart. She really pulled it off and made the entire thing just so magical. By the time they died, I didn’t want to leave that world. I wanted to stay and watch them be happy but then I got to go back to Julie and watch her get her happily ever after

Janet’s Character Development

Right off the bat we’re supposed to hate Janet. And we do. She’s awful and when she shows back up we kind of hate her even more because of what she’s been doing. I didn’t feel sorry for her in the slightest. Up until the last few chapters of the book, these twin sisters felt very estranged so to go from that to them being a fantastic duo that you root for was a twist I wasn’t ready for but whole heartedly welcomed. It was a nice change of pace to see a female character arc into a better person instead of someone who got increasingly bitter. Still not a huge fan of the character but she ended up being kind of important and at least it passed the Betchdel test, right?

In Conclusion

I think this might be my favorite book now. High recommend.

#monyreview #media review #book revie #romeo and juliet #r+j #juliet #ann fortier #books #book tumblr #best seller #romance #historical fiction #modern au

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cassnottiel · 5 years

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TearDrops on my guitar (that was tswift right?) and MaggieScott

Margaret met the love of her life in college. It wasn't love at first sight, but they loved each other before they were in love. The best of friends.

Scott Lang was a modern Robin Hood; stealing from the rich and distributing it back out to those in need. He had a bigger heart than anyone in the world.

Margaret had always been called Peggy by her family, friends and just about everyone she met.

Scott called her Maggie.

"Maggie is a great name!" Scott had said the first day they met. "And besides; friends give each other nicknames all the time."

The next thing Margaret knew, she was Maggie.

Scott and Maggie were soon inseparable. They made each other friendship bracelets between study sessions and classes. They slept on each other's dorm floors and talked all night; about parents and dreams and anything they wanted to.

The third day of spring break during their junior year, Maggie got a phone call.

"Hey, Mags." Scott's voice said from the other end of the line.

"Scott? What's wrong?"

"I got arrested. It's no big deal, I just need someone to pick me up." Scott said.

"Yeah, of course." Maggie grabbed a pen and paper. "Where are you?"

"Thank you so much." Scott sighed when he gave the station address. "Maggie, I love you so much."

Neither of them know when they went from friends to lovers, but soon they were graduating and moving in together. They eloped when they were twenty six.

A little over a year later, Maggie held a pregnancy test in the middle of their kitchen.

"We're having a baby!"

Scott cried and hugged her tight. They were going to be parents. And by God, they were going to provide for this child better than their own parents ever did. And to do that--

"Scott," Maggie kissed him through both of their tears, "I need you to promise me something."

"Anything." Scott said earnestly. He was so excited.

"I need you to stop." Maggie told him. "I want us to be better than our parents, and I don't want you to be arrested and put in prison. You need to promise me you'll stop breaking the law."

"I promise." Scott said so quickly, and Maggie knew he was serious. "I promise. I wont do anything illegal ever again."

The next week, they got a basket of muffins and a card congratulating them in the mail.

"Why does Officer James Paxton know we're having a baby?" Maggie asked when she set the basket on the table.

"Funny story." Scott laughed and read the card. "So, a couple days ago I was driving, and Jim pulled me over."

"Why?"

"I was speeding." Scott waved away the question. "And while I was apologizing, I kind of told him you're pregnant."

Maggie snorted with laughter. "Did that get you out of a ticket?"

"It did!"

They laughed together about it with a chocolate chip muffin split between them.

On July 20, 2008, Cassandra Lang was born.

Scott and Maggie cried and laughed as they held their baby girl. It was the best day of their lives.

The happiness lasted. For four years, the three of them were the happiest they could be.

Then, Scott came home from work angry.

He didn't show it, but Maggie could tell from his stiff posture as he hugged Cassie and asked her about her day.

"What happened?" Maggie asked after she kissed his cheek and sent Cassie to play in her room.

"Geoff Zorick." Scott spat the name out like it tasted bitter.

"Your boss?" Maggie slid her arms around his waste. "What did he do?"

"He's been overcharging all the Vistacorp customers illegally for years!" Scott's anger was on behalf of the customers, who didn't know any of this.

"That's horrible!" Maggie's anger was in the same place. "Are you going to tell the police? What about that officer that gave us the muffin basket?"

"I want to go in after we put Cassie to sleep tonight." Scott said. "Do you want to come with me?"

Maggie shook her head. "I'm going to stay with Cassie. I'm proud of you."

Scott smiled and bent his neck to kiss the crown of her head. "I love you."

The next day, Scott came home early. Cassie didnt run up to him with loud giggles because she was still at preschool. He dropped a box of items onto the kitchen table.

The box had his desk possessions in it.

"I got fired."

"Oh, honey." Maggie hugged him tighter than she had in years.

"They fired me because I blew the whistle." Scott hugged her back just as tight.

"Is he going to get arrested?"

"There's an investigation going on right now, but no legal action can be taken right now." Scott said into Maggie's hair.

"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry." Maggie could feel him shaking. She didn't know if he was crying or angry.

He was angry. And he was planning something.

He let Cassie have an extra scoop of ice cream after dinner, and he told her two stories. Like he was trying to soften a blow that hadn't landed yet.

"Scott." Maggie said when they were alone. "Whatever you're thinking, don't."

"I have to." Scott wouldn't look at her. "They're robbing people."

"No, you don't have to." Maggie was getting scared. "Please, you don't have to."

"I--" Scott shook his head and cleard his throat. "Mags--"

"Don't, please." Maggie blinked back a few tears.

"Maggie--"

"Scott, you promised."

They both both cried. They both went to bed.

At 3 a.m., the phone rang.

Maggie woke up and didn't see Scott beside her, and dread filled her heart.

"Margaret Lang?" Maggie's heart stopped.

"Speaking." She couldn't breathe.

"Your husband was just arrested. Can you come to the station?"

Maggie nodded, then coughed. "Yeah--yes. Yes, I'm on my way."

Maggie swiped her thumb under her eye and went to get dressed.

There was a note on Scott's pillow.

Maggie,

I'm sorry. I am so sorry.

I broke my promise.

I don't expect you to forgive me, I wouldn't blame you if you dont.

I love you.

Maggie didn't know who cried on the paper more. And she didn't care.

The note was laying at the bottom of their wastebasket in pieces.

The trial was short, thank God.

Scott was found guilty and sentenced to three years in San Quentin State Prison. Maggie watch, tears falling from her face the entire time. Cassie didn't know what was happening, and she cried too.

Scott had shame written on his face as he was taken out in handcuffs.

An envelope was mailed out a month later, divorce papers ready for signing inside.

Maggie loves Scott, but she loves Cassie more.

Margaret wouldn't vowed to be better than her parents, and so did Scott.

She was miserable, but the divorce was for the best. It was for their daughter.

A year after the divorce, when Officer James Paxton said: "Maggie, am I correct?"

Margaret pursed her lips and said: "call me Meg."

Margaret met her best friend in college. It wasn't love at first sight, but they loved each other before they were in love.

They were the best of friends. They would be forever and ever and until the end of time. But sometimes, best friends weren't meant to fall in love.

#scott lang #maggie lang #antman #ant fam #asks #high class answers #high class writing #marvel writing #writing prompt #writing #taylor swift #jim paxton #cassie lang

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salmonthestoryteller · 5 years

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One Flew East, One Flew West

@roswellprompts for Crash Fest 2019.

@dummythiccie - Prompt Two: A high school class with all of the characters in it I was actually super excited to get this prompt! I love writing gen fics, and writing one set in the past was the perfect playground. I hope you enjoy it!

One Flew East, One Flew West A Roswell New Mexico Fanfic

Liz paced as the clock snuck closer to the end of the lunch period.

"Liz, it isn't the end of the world." Maria tried to cheer her up.

"Maria, not only did I forget the book for American Literature, I left my notes in it.” Liz glanced at her watch again. Lunch was almost over.

“Rosa said she’d bring it, right?” Alex was lounging against the wall and seemed about as concerned as Maria. Which was not at all.

“Since when does that mean anything?” Liz crossed her arms, and continued to pace.

Maria and Alex exchanged a glance. “I’m sure she’ll be here.” Maria reassured her.

Before Liz could go into a list of the reasons she might not be, Rosa’s car pulled into the school parking lot. Liz relaxed somewhat, though she was still bouncing in place on the sidewalk waiting for the car to pull up next to her. She opened the door to lean inside. “Gracias, Rosa, I-” Liz cut off, coughing. “Seriously? How can you breathe in here?”

“I have the windows open.” Rosa pointed out. Her posture was loose, and her eyes slightly unfocused.

“Are you drunk or just high?” Liz asked her, grabbing up the book from the front seat angrily.

“I’m not that high. Chill, little miss perfect.”

“This isn’t funny, Rosa. What if Valenti pulls you over?”

“Well, I mean his son his still drooling over my sister, maybe he’ll cut me some slack.”

“Rosa, seriously you-- just tell me Dad and Mom didn’t see you like this.”

“As if any of us have seen Mom for the last week.” Rosa reminded her.

The bell rung. Liz slammed the door shut and stormed inside without replying. Alex and Maria exchanged looks, and Alex followed Liz.

“You could not fight with her.” Maria suggested, leaning on the driver’s side window.

“She’s so uptight.” Rosa replied. “Seriously.”

“You know how she gets when your mom does this.”

“She has her way of dealing and I have mine. Don’t even care right now where she is. I feel great.”

Rosa’s words only made Maria’s expression more concerned. “I’ve got to get to class. Drive safe, okay?”

“Pfft. I think I obeyed every traffic law getting here. I didn’t even california roll that stupid stop sign on seventh.” Rosa told her. Maria looked like she wanted to say more, but Rosa waved her off. “I’m good. Don’t be late for class or Liz will blame me.”

“We can hang out later, okay?” Maria promised, before heading inside.

-----

“So you took notes?” Alex kept his tone light as he fell into step beside her in the school hallway.

“I always take notes.” Liz replied, still tense from the fight with Rosa.

“It’s literature, Liz. Not chemistry. I’m sure you can remember the plot just fine.”

“Last year, I heard Mr. Williams failed a student for not citing enough in book references for her report. You know what he’s always saying.”

“You mean the whole, “If you think you can watch the movie version and fill out one of my quizzes, you’re wrong” schtick? Yah, I’m pretty sure that's an exaggeration.” Alex offered her a grin.

“What if it’s not?” Liz told him as they entered the classroom and took their seats. “It could affect my whole GPA.”

“You do realise you have another whole year before graduation?” Alex reminded her.

“You can’t slack off and make it up in one year. They look at the whole record.” Liz told him.

“Seriously?” Isobel was seated on MIchael’s desk near the back. “Please tell me we are not discussing colleges when Homecoming is less than two weeks away.”

“Some people take this stuff seriously, Iz.” Michael lectured her. He had a notebook out, but whatever he was scribbling didn’t look like it was related to the American Literature class.

“I didn’t realize you were part of the conversation.” Liz mentioned, keeping her smile intact though she sounded slightly annoyed.

“Iz thinks she’s part of every conversation.” Max moved to diffuse the situation, taking his seat in front of Michael.

“Just the ones that are actually important.” As if to emphasize the point, Isobel got up and returned to her seat. A few of the girls from the class quickly gathered around her. Liz rolled her eyes and took her own seat.

“I see you got your notes.” Max pointed out.

“Yah, Rosa came through.” Liz’s expression was still far from happy.

Max glanced at Alex, who gave a small shake of his head. “We were discussing whether notes were necessary in literature class.” He offered in way of moving the conversation forward.

“Well, yah, of course they are.” Max gestured to his own notebook.

“Puh-lease. So unnecessary.” Michael commented, despite still being engrossed in his own notebook. Alex found himself trying to peer at the pages, but he was keeping it in his lap and the desk was blocking even though Isobel had moved away.

“You and that big brain of yours don’t count.” Max told him.

“You can probably quote every book we’ve been assigned for this class.” Michael glanced up at him. “You’ve read every one.”

“That’s cuz Evans is a loser who doesn’t know the meaning of the word fun.” Kyle glanced back from his seat toward the front. Max’s mouth twisted, but he didn’t respond. “Nothing to say, Evans?”

“Leave him alone, Kyle.” Liz spoke up.

Kyle shrugged. “I’m just giving advice. Not my fault if I think Evans needs to loosen up a little.”

“My brother is just an exception to the “Girls mature faster than boys rule” that you are so clearly demonstrating.” Isobel spoke up from her desk.

“Or maybe all the Evans are just a little bit frigid.” Kate Long put in from where she was standing with the group around Kyle’s desk.

“You want to start something with me, Kate?” Isobel leaned forward. “I mean your brand of fun seems to keep landing you in detention rather than on the homecoming board. Which, oh right, you’re banned from going to, aren’t you? Doesn’t sound like you’re much fun to me.”

“You little-!”

“Hey, hey.” Maria had just entered, and quickly pulled Kate back from where she was heading toward Isobel. “What is going on in here?”

“A badly cliched teen drama plot?” Alex offered her. Isobel and Kate both shot glares his way.

The bell rang again, and Maria let go of Kate to take her seat by Liz. She offered a smile to her best friend, who returned it before focusing on her notes. A glance back at Alex earned a shrug, and she nodded in return.

“Everyone who is not in their seats in the next thirty seconds just earned themselves a special assignment.” Mr Williams walked into the classroom. The students still milling around other desks quickly grabbed their seats. “I’m not even going to pretend half of you read the first five chapters of the book like instructed. So let’s see if you even recall what book you’re on… Mr Valenti?”

Kyle turned back from where he’d been talking to the friend at the desk behind him. “The one about the looney bin.” He offered. His friends laughed at the joke, as did a few other students.

“The one about the looney bin. Well, I can’t say I recall that title being on my reading list this semester.” Mr Williams crossed his arms. “Care to try again or should I just assume you didn’t read anything besides the synopsis on the assignment papers?”

Kyle rolled his eyes, hesitating a moment before answering. “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”

“Glad to see you actually managed to read the title on the front at least.” Mr Williams circled the desk. “Now did anyone get so far as who can tell me the main character? Ms Long?”

“McMurphy.” Kate answered.

“I take it you and your friends watched part of the movie this weekend?”

“I-” She began to object, but Mr Williams spoke over her.

“Ms Ortecho? Who’s the main character in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?”

“Chief.” Liz offered. “He’s the one the book’s narrative is told from.”

“But McMurphy is who everything is about.” Kate disagreed.

“McMurphy is going to disrupt the ward, but that doesn’t make him the main character.” Max jumped in. “He’s the static character. Chief is the one who will change.”

“Reading ahead of the class, Mr Evans?” Mr Williams asked pointedly.

Max played with the edges of the notebook in front of him.. “I, um… I’ve actually read the book previously.”

“Shocking.” Kyle whispered to the group near him.

“Something to say, Mr Valenti?” Mr Williams turned to him.

“Just curious if there’s an assignment in this class Evans hasn’t read, honestly.” Kyle offered. When his friends snickered, Max only sat back with a sigh.

“Have something productive to add to the conversation about the actual assignment or do think my class is a waste of time for you?”

The classroom fell deathly silent. “Just that I really didn’t find any of the characters very interesting, to be honest.” Kyle offered. “Or relative to modern society.”

“It’s about society.” Michael broke in. “It’s about how fucked up society is.”

A few snickers followed his words, and Mr Williams sighed. “Mr Guerin, language.”

“I agree with him.” Alex spoke up. “That’s the whole point of the story. How society is prejudice against anything that doesn’t fit its current viewpoint on normal. That’s as relative today as when the book was written.”

“Call me surprised, Manes, that that’s your take.” Kyle glowered at him. “All things considered.”

“Alright, break it up.” Mr Williams sat behind his desk. “I’m hoping all of you remembered to actually bring the book to class, because if it’s not with you today I’ve got a great extra assignment for you.”

Liz sent Alex and Maria a look that plainly said, “I told you so.”

“We’re starting on chapter six. And I suggest those of you who haven't read the first five chapters get them read before the quiz at the end of the week. Who wants to start?”

Fini

#crashfest #roswell new mexico #rnm fic

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purplepatton · 5 years

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a modern prometheus - chapter one

description: A large figure was standing at the foot of his bed. It towered above him, head brushing up against the ceiling. The figure noticed Logan’s movements, and it bent down, as if trying to get a closer look at him. Logan’s throat closed up as he recognized the figure for what it was. It was the creature—the one he had left lying in the lab with as much life in it as a rock. And here it was now, eyes an odd yellow color in the half life. Its mouth was twisted up in an odd grimace. It almost looked like it was attempting to smile. (OR: logan discovers the secret to life and decides the best course of action is to create his own human)

warnings: dicussions of death, bodies and slight body horror (nothing graphic)

notes: i present the frankenstein au that nobody asked for! it’s spooky month, so of course i have to adapt my favorite horror story to my favorite fandom!! i mostly wrote this because logan sanders is ten times the man victor frankenstein could ever be lol. there’s going to be three chapters, and hopefully it should be done by halloween!! i really hope you like this first chapter!! i also want to give a big shout out to the wonderful @nobody-is-evil who beta’ed this chapter,, thank you so much!!!

~~~

Logan was, by birth, Genevese.

This isn’t a particularly important fact, but it does paint a picture into the way Logan was raised. Imagine, if you will, a cottage on a humble piece of land. Beyond the fence that does little to dictate borders, rolling hills slope away as far as the eye can see. To the right, a large lake where Logan spent many a day sailing with his brother, Patton, and his childhood friend, Roman, by his side. Down to the left, a barely paved road that leads into a respectable sized village where everyone knows each other.

It should be pointed out that in technical terms, Patton was only Logan’s brother by mere association. No blood was shared between the two boys; Patton was brought into the family when Logan was five and Patton was four. Patton had been treated rather cruelly by his aunt, who had been tasked with his upbringing when his mother died, and when Logan’s mother had found out about the situation, she immediately volunteered to take over Patton’s well being. Logan, who was only five and understandably didn’t comprehend the difference between biological and adoption, took Patton under his wing as only an older brother could do.

He even missed Roman, a fact that took Logan by surprise. Roman had lived in the town nearby Logan’s home, and even to this day Logan still didn’t know how he and Roman became acquainted. From the beginning, Roman was loud and obnoxious. He had gotten into his head that he was a knight, that kind that populate the pages of the fantastical and romantic books he was always reading. He would do his best to rope Patton and Logan into performing plays with him, acting out adventures involving knights and damsels in distress and, often at the request of Patton, dragons. Logan would rather have done a great many other things than play along, but he secretly enjoyed Roman’s talent for weaving stories.

The time not spent with Roman and Patton (or with his nose deep in a book) was occupied by wandering the fields around the cottage. Nature was something that had always fascinated Logan—he admired the way it was resilient against all odds. Plants died and came back each year, animals ventured into places of danger just to get food.

Logan loved nature, and he had notebooks filled with notes and observations about anything and everything.

It’s this love of nature that leads Logan to the works of Cornelius Agrippa, and then later on Paraulus and Albertus Magnus. Each philosopher has their own ideas on what they call “natural science”, and while Logan is sceptical about some of their ideas, he does admit that it’s all rather interesting.

He asked his father about the philosophers one day. His father took one look at the covers of the books Logan held in his arms, shook his head, and said, “Don’t waste your time on these, Logan. Those books are nothing but trash.”

What Logan’s father should have explained was that Agrippa’s theories had been long since disproven, and that modern science had advanced further than any of the philosophers Logan was reading could ever imagine. But he didn’t say any of that, and so Logan continued to read and absorb every bit of information about natural science that he could.

He was fifteen when his mother died. The sickness struck out of nowhere, taking his mother in the blink of an eye. Nothing could be done to save her, no matter how hard the doctors tried, and her loss hit the family like a ton of bricks. Logan locked himself in his room for a week, refusing to speak to anyone who came knocking at his door. When he finally emerged from his room, eyes red and puffy, he continued to hold his silence on the matter.

The death of his mother followed him around wherever he went, unable to be shaken off.

Two years later, his father sent him off to college. Logan had been going to different schools in Geneva, but his father found the university of Ingolstadt and decided that it could offer Logan the chance to learn about life outside his own little world.

Logan could hardly wait to go.

Patton was excited for Logan, but he couldn’t help but be a little upset as well. He and Logan had always been together as children, and this would be the first time they would be apart for longer than a day.

“Be sure to write every day,” he told Logan on the day he left for university, clinging to Logan’s hand as if he wanted to make sure that Logan was really there.

“I will,” Logan promised, squeezing Patton’s hand gently.

“I expect letters too,” Roman said, hitting Logan on the back in what was supposed to be a friendly gesture, but really just made Logan stumble forward.

Logan knew for a fact that Roman would be sending him letters comprised of all the “adventures” he and Patton would take in his absence. The thought stung a little, although Logan would never admit to it. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

The journey to Ingolstadt was long, and Logan’s only company came in the form of his books and his thoughts. The carriage driver didn’t talk to him at all throughout the trip, much to his disappointment, and so Logan filled his time with writing letters and rereading the books he shoved into his bags before he left. Logan was relieved when he finally saw the buildings that made up the city of Ingolstadt. He was never going to spend that amount of time in a carriage ever again if he could help it.

As soon as the carriage stopped, Logan was shown into an apartment that his father had rented out for him. It was rather nice, with two rooms—a bedroom and what looked like a sitting room. As soon as he saw it, Logan began to plan out all the ways he could convert the room into a makeshift lab. He wasted no time unpacking and getting to work making the apartment his own.

The next day, Logan went out to meet the professors he would be studying under. The first one he met was Professor Aisling, who taught natural philosophy. He was a rather laid back man, always with a drink in hand, and the two talked at length. Aisling asked Logan a lot of different questions, such as why Logan was interested in the natural sciences and different works he had read.

It’s during this conversation that Logan casually admit that he’s mostly read Agrippa and the like, rather than the newer works in the scientific world. He didn’t think too much of that, but the statement gave Aisling pause.

“You’ve really spent your time reading that?” he asked, leaning back slowly in his chair and giving Logan a look of disbelief.

“Yes?” Logan said, not sure how his reading habits could have confused the man so greatly.

Aisling rolled his eyes and took a long drink from his mug before answering. “I hope you realized that you wasted your time with those books,” he said matter-of-factly, pinning Logan with a frown. “You could have studied today’s greatest scientific discoveries, and what did you do? Read about a science that has been disproven over and over again.”

Logan was suddenly reminded of his father, and the disdain he held for those books all those years ago.

Shaking his head, Aisling scribbled down a list of books and shoved the paper at Logan. “Here. You’ll need to read all of these if you want to be caught up with where we are in class.” And with that, he ushered Logan out of his office and closed the door before Logan can get a word in edgewise.

Logan decided right then and there that he hates Aisling. The man hardly gave him a chance to defend himself, and his haste to brush aside the philosopher's Logan spent years reading leaves a bad taste in Logan’s mouth. Of course he knew most of those ideas aren’t one hundred percent scientifically sound, but Aisling made it seem like Logan was stupid for reading them.

There’s another professor of natural science, Professor Picani, but Logan doesn’t get the chance to meet him before classes start. The first time he sees Picani is during a lecture. Logan doesn’t expect much - he’s still skeptical after the way Aisling acted, but he’s willing to at least give Picani a try.

The first thing that Logan noticed about Picani is that he was so excited about everything. He all but bounced into the room and gifted every single person sitting down with a dazzling grin. He started off with a warm welcome, as if they were already close friends, and then launched into his lecture. It’s mostly an overview of modern natural science, with terms and explanations, but it’s the end of the lecture that draws Logan’s attention.

“Science,” Picani said, hands waving animatedly, “is a constantly changing field. We know things today that scientists years ago could never have dreamed of! Every day is an opportunity for growth! And we have to remember that without the philosophers and scientists of the past, we never would have been able to reach the levels of knowledge that we have today.”

After hearing Picani talk so enthusiastically about the philosophers that Aisling had flatly insulted, Logan started to feel much better about his place at the college. After the lecture, he went up and introduced himself to Picani.

They go through the same questions Aisling asked, with Logan telling Picani why he’s studying natural science and the like. But when Picani hears about what Logan had read in the past, he seemed delighted to learn that Logan was so familiar with Agrippa.

“They’re the reason we can do what we do today, you know,” he said, inviting Logan into his office. It’s a warm and inviting place, walls painted a cheery color and bookshelves stuffed to the brim. “They laid the groundworks and let us study the world more in-depth.”

Logan felt like a weight was being lifted off of his shoulders. He began to ask questions about Picani’s lectures and if Picani has any books he recommends Logan read to help him in his studies?

Pushing a cup of tea into Logan’s hands, Pianci beamed at him. He seemed happy to answer all of Logan’s questions. He got slightly sidetracked when he began to ramble on about all of his favorite books, and he makes Logan a list as he goes along. He also took Logan into the lab right off his office and gave him a tour, pointing out each instrument and explaining their uses. Logan took it all in with wide eyes and tried to commit everything to memory.

The night left Logan with a lengthy list of books to read and an open invitation to Picani’s office if he ever needs anything. “You’re going to do great!” Picini promised him when Logan leaves.

The semester started soon after, and Logan threw himself into his studies with fervor. His days bled into his nights, and all his time became consumed by his studies.

When he managed to pull himself away from his work, he wrote letters to Patton and Roman. They’re usually just responses to whatever they sent him previously. Logan’s letters could be longer; he writes brief overviews of his work and answers any questions they send his way, but that’s about it. Sometimes he feels guilty, like he’s neglecting them, but then he’ll get distracted and that particular worry gets pushed to the back of his mind.

He kept every letter he gets. Patton’s detail each daily activity, from the walks he took into town to the latest thing he baked. Roman’s are filled with stories he would normally have Logan act out with him; Roman seemed to be determined that the distance between them isn’t stopping Logan from having to hear about his latest fantasy.

Whenever Logan felt lonely or discouraged, he pulled out the letters and read them over and over again until he feels better.

It was sometime later during his studies that Logan became interested in the human body. Anatomy in itself is a complex science, but the question that plagues Logan’s mind is the idea of life.

What causes life? What exactly lead living things to breathe, to walk around and have ideas of their own?

It’s something that scientists and philosophers had questioned for as long as the world existed, but no one had ever found the answer. It’s one of the greatest mysteries of nature, and most people have accepted it at face value, not bothering to wonder too deeply why exactly it occurred.

Logan wasn’t one to let things lie, and he’d be damned if he let the question go unanswered.

Of course, before he can really determine what caused life, he had to understand what takes it away. Anatomy became his newest area of study. He frequented mortuaries throughout the city and observed exactly how bodies decay over time.

He doesn’t mention this part of his studies in his letters to Roman and Patton; he knew it would only upset them. They were both fascinated with superstition, stories told in the dark with the intent of sparking fear in the heart of the listener. Logan, on the other hand, never paid any attention to these stories, and so the nature of his work wasn’t clouded by fear. He approached every case with logic and logic alone, not allowing his emotions to get in the way.

His days were spent in a haze. All his other studies were left to the wayside. What importance were they? Logan was trying to figure out the great mysteries of the universe; essays on different historical figures could wait.

Logan couldn’t say for sure how long he worked like this, days bleeding into nights with little time for sleep or food, but then it changes. One minute he’s paging through a book Picani had given him, and the next he’s hit with an Idea.

It’s a capital-I Idea that is so earth shattering that Logan drops everything he’s holding and lunges for his notebook, immediately scribbling it down so that he’ll remember it.

When everything is said and done, Logan will be asked how he managed to find the answer to the spark of life. And Logan won’t have an answer. It’s only through extreme sleep deprivation and sheer will alone, he’ll say later, that he was able to succeed in his experiment.

But that’s later, when Logan’s had time to reflect. For now, Logan is so entirely convinced of his genius that he’s certain nothing could go wrong.

Logan’s Idea, in short, is how to bring life to something that dies. Any sane person would recognize the fact that bringing things back from the dead is impossible; it goes against nature and anyone who thinks they can is just kidding themselves. But Logan wasn’t exactly in his right mind, which might explain how he is able to twist the laws of nature to his will without even trying.

He decided that the best way to go about proving his hypothesis was to create his own body. He could technically find a body to use, but something about that felt wrong. Logan refused to dig up any graves or sneak into any mortuaries to steal a body. He may have been tampering with the fabric of nature, but he had standards.

So Logan decided that he’ll make his own human. And it’s here that Logan encountered his first problem.

Human beings are complex, filled with delicate veins and organs that are woven so intrinsically through one another that the slightest mistake could spell disaster. Logan knew all this too well, evidenced from the anatomical maps he spent months hunched over by candlelight. Logan’s hands are sturdy, but he isn’t perfect.

His solution is to just make a bigger human. This way, he reasoned, everything would be on a bigger scale and there would be less room for error. Did that make any sense? Of course not. But Logan was busy trying to create life itself, and didn’t bother wasting time by wondering if his actions made sense.

Getting the parts required for the completion of this project was difficult, to say the least. Logan tried his best and tried to keep the parts consistent throughout. It didn’t always work, and Logan learned early on that beggars can’t be choosers. He took what he can get, whenever he can get it, and tried his best not to get caught.

It’s slow going, but eventually Logan gathered enough supplies to form a fully functioning human body. He kept everything in the back room of his apartment, which he had finished converting into a lab ages ago. The body lay on a table in the middle of the room.

Logan thought it was beautiful. Most people would disagree.

It was a dark and stormy night when Logan put the next stage of the plan into action. The body was prepped and all the instruments Logan gathered had been switched on, humming with energy. He himself is scribbling down notes in his notebook, muttering to himself every now and then. Everything had to be perfect. This had to work.

The most important part of the set up was the lightning rod, which was hooked up to the body with wires that run and twist across the floor. Logan set the whole thing up himself, climbing out of the window with armfuls of wires and balancing precariously over the city. Electricity was the key to this whole experiment, and with this device he could harness it to give life to his creation.

With each strike of lightning, Logan could feel his excitement rising. He was hovering over the edge of a groundbreaking scientific discovery. If he could only prove his theory to be correct, if he could get the body’s heart pumping, he could change history as the world knew it. The world of science would explode and, thanks to him, humans could discover a cure to death.

Logan glanced quickly at the clock mounted on the wall, noting the time. The storm raged around the apartment; at any moment the lightning would strike the rod, and Logan would find out if his calculations were correct.

Any moment now.

And then it happens. A bolt of lightning struck the rod in a violent crackle of energy, sending sparks flying into the air. The electricity raced through the wires and into the body.

It’s like an explosion went off. The body arched up into the air, electricity coursing through its veins. Thunder cracks over the building like a gunshot, rattling the windows with enough force that Logan feared they’d shatter. He cried out, fear and excitement mixing into one another.

But as soon as it started, it was over. The body sagged back to the table, the blue sparks that had been surrounding it fading away. Silence settled over the lab, heavy and all encompassing. Logan waited with bated breath, wide eyes watching the body and shaking hands clutching his notebook like a lifeline.

And then the body took in a breath.

As quickly as he could, Logan flew to the body’s side, notebook abandoned on the floor in his haste. He fumbled for the body’s wrist and pressed down, searching for a pulse. For a moment he couldn’t locate it, and panic started to settle into him. Had he been mistaken about the breath? But then he felt the heartbeat pulse against his fingers and he nearly sobbed with relief. It was weak, only fifty-six beats per minute, but it’s there. It worked.

“I did it.” He whispered to himself, tears blurring his vision. He created life. He was right. He’s dizzy with joy, and his mind began to race, thinking of all the ways he could break this news to the world.

The body’s ragged breathing drew Logan’s attention back to the present. The breaths were few and far between, and they sounded painful. The body’s eyes seemed to be moving sluggishly beneath the lids. When Logan checked the pulse again, he found that it dropped down to thirty-two beats per minute.

“Come on,” Logan said, louder now, talking to the body—talking to the new life he’s created. “You can do it. You’re alive! Just keep breathing, come on.”

He kept talking, alternating between encouragement and outright begging. He needed this to work; he needed this new creature to open its eyes and sit up and prove that Logan was right. Logan talked for the better part of an hour until his voice cracked with overuse, trying his best to keep the creature alive, but it’s no use. The creature’s pulse slips away and its breathing stops altogether.

Tears slid down Logan’s cheeks, but now for an entirely different reason. He was so close. He was right there, had gotten the heart and lungs to start working and then had fallen short. Why did he think he could do this?

Logan drops the creature’s wrist and stumbleed away from the table. The adrenaline that was driving him for the past few weeks ebbs away, leaving bone weary exhaustion in its place.

Something had obviously gone wrong, but at the moment Logan had no idea what it could be. He needed to go over his notes, to review every little step in an attempt to find what exactly could have caused this experiment to fail.

But right now he needed to sleep.

Collapsing into his bed is a welcome relief. Logan can’t remember the last time he’d gotten a proper night sleep; he’d been so consumed by his experiment that there really wasn’t much time for anything else.

He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Logan wasn’t sure how long he slept. It could have been a few minutes, or several hours. All he knew was that the next time he woke up, light was beginning to filter in through the window, casting the corners of the room into shadow.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had forgotten to take his glasses off before he fell asleep, and they hung awkwardly off his face. Adjusting them, he unconsciously glanced around the room—and froze.

A large figure was standing at the foot of his bed. It towered above him, head brushing up against the ceiling. The figure noticed Logan’s movements, and it bent down, as if trying to get a closer look at him.

Logan’s throat closed up as he recognized the figure for what it was. It was the creature—the one he had left lying in the lab with as much life in it as a rock. And here it was now, eyes an odd yellow color in the half life. Its mouth was twisted up in an odd grimace. It almost looked like it was attempting to smile.

Logan gaped up at the creature in disbelief. The creature tilted its head and made an odd, garbled noise.

“Hello,” Logan said weakly, fluttering his fingers weakly up at the creature.

And then he promptly passed out.

~~~

tag list (lmk if you want to be added or taken off!): @basilstorm@artistfromthestars@storytellerofuntoldlegends@romananalogicality@verymuchanidiot @istolelittleredshoodie @dont-cry-croft @speechless-angel@thefamouszombiebouquet @wolfwalker100 @datonerougecookeh@virgilient @virgil-is-verge@impatentpending@zaisling@trixie85592 @sillysandersides @hamster-corn @adventurousplatypus @unring-this-bell@mymiddlenameisunderscore @evilmuffin @zephyrria

#logan sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #patton sanders #ts frankenstein au #halloween fic #katwrites #i hope you guys like this #i'm honestly really excited about this #this chapter is a bit slow #because i have to work up to everything #but i promise next chapter has so much more with logan's creation (aka virgil lol)

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janiedean · 6 years

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fic, reylo + stormpilot + rose: roman holiday

fourth fill for the charity commissions I took in april :)

first: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @tombliboos ie the commissioner SHUT UP IT’S STILL JUNE 3RD AS I PREPARE THIS POST I SAID I’D BE IN TIME AND I WAS ;)

second: I’m posting this fic on tumblr only mostly because I have no idea of how people outside the italian side of tumblr would find it, but here you go.

roman holiday, kylo ren/rey + finn/poe + rose; pg13; 5,5k ca; utter crack on a stick; pseudo warning for political-ish satire but really you only get it if you’re italian

in which rey, poe, finn and kylo go visit their friend rose who’s studying in Rome and end up experiencing the current administration.

features: fridges in the middle of the trash, sudden holes in the ground, stuck subways and bad public transport.

A/N: everything depicted in this fic actually happens/has happened irl. I know.

original prompt: Reylo/Stormpilot Modern AU. Trip to Rome. Rey, Ben, Finn and Poe are visiting Rose who's studying in Rome. They get stuck in traffic. Their car falls into a hole. They hear noises at night and people are leaving fridges on the street. Poe orders cappuccino after 11am and the barista refuses to serve him. Rose explains that according to her Italian friends, the new mayor can't do shit. Bonus if at some point it starts raining and they get blocked in the flooded subway.

Episode One: The Phantom Airport

“Guys,” Finn says excitedly as their plane lands on the ground. “Guys. Can you believe we’re in Italy?”

“Not to rain on your parade, but are you aware this is about the twentieth time you’ve said that since we left?”

“Ben, let him live, not all of us have been here twice already,” Rey says, putting an arm on her… well, Finn calls him almost-boyfriend and she’s not so sure she’s going to live it down because they’ve been dancing around each other since the first time they argued during their joint political studies class, but for now she’ll just settle for… friends. Probably.

The fact that he rolls his eyes and doesn’t pursue the topic gains her a look from Poe, who’s sitting next to Finn and looking like he’s going to burst in laughter.

“Don’t you dare,” Rey hisses in his direction.

“Fine, fine," he says, raising his hands up in defeat. “I’m going to keep my mouth shut. But yes, we’re in Italy, good thing because these seats are cramped. Hey, what did Rose say we should do?”

Finn takes his phone from his jacket’s pocket — formally Poe’s jacket but he hasn’t worn it in months, since they met, and why did they get to have the love at first sight moment and Rey still hasn’t quite figured out how to tell Ben she actually is into him?

Then again, when the guy you’re into seems to have a bunch of frankly horrid friends and is a TA for your political sciences professor and then it turns out that the aforementioned professor is treating him so badly (including convincing him to change his name legally, what the hell — good thing he’s gone back on it, even if he uses the changed name for anyone that’s not her or his parents for reasons she still hasn’t brought herself to ask) that he gets a full-on nervous breakdown among the rest, and after he ends up dumping all his old friends in exchange for being friends with you and, in turn, actually getting along with your friends, pushing it is hardly what you should do. According to Rey, at least.

She’ll come clean with him. Just not during this trip, since they’re all supposed to relax and not to get even more stressed.

“Uh, after we get the bags we should take the train from the airport’s station and she’d come get us, she’s rented a car. We can either pay a lot for one that goes to the main station in half an hour or pay half that for the one that goes to the secondary one and takes one hour.”

“One hour,” Ben mutters, but then says nothing else.

“Well,” Rey says, “I’m good with saving money. We can get the cheap one.”

“Fair,” Poe agrees, “we don’t have to start wasting money now if we’re staying for two weeks. Right. Guys, let’s go grab our bags and catch up on jet lag, my legs are cramped.”

The four of them leave the plane and go to the baggage reclaiming area.

That goes well — they only wait some twenty minutes for all of their suitcases to be delivered, and they follow the signs towards the train station.

And then —

“Guys,” Poe says, “why is the entire thing filled with queues? That… doesn’t look normal.”

Rey looks at the small train station — there’s people in the hundreds queueing outside the tickets booths.

“That — yeah, that looks weird. Finn, can you —“

A moment later, Finn’s phone rings.

“Right. Hey, Rose, what’s up? Yeah, we just got here — what? Ah. Oh, right, I get it. What? Fuck. Right, I’ll tell them and we’ll let you know.”

He closes the call.

“Seems like there was a malfunction at the main train station. I mean, some malfunction to the centraline handling the traffic. So — all trains are blocked in the entire area.”

“All of them?” Poe asks.

“Yeah. She checked the news and they’re down until later tonight. She said either we get a bus or a taxi, but it’s going to be a long wait and we shouldn’t bother with this.”

“… I guess we should go and check the situation,” Rey says, and she heads out of the airport, the other three following behind.

“Wow,” she whistles.

“Fuck,” Poe echoes.

“Shit,” Finn says.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Ben says, and —

Given that the line for the bus stop starts five feet from where they are and the buses are way farther down the road, enough that they can’t see them, and that the taxi line is longer than that, they can barely see the ending from where they are.from where they are.

“How long do you think we might have to wait?” Finn asks Poe, sounding very discouraged.

“Er, I’d say at least a couple hours whatever choice we pick,” Poe replies after assessing the situation.

“… Yeah, not happening,” Ben says at once.

“What —” Rey starts, but before she can finish he has grabbed the wallet in the back of his pants, taken three hundred euros out of it and —

Stalked towards the first taxi in line?

“Oh, no,” Poe groans. "That's not really how it works — Solo, er, Ren, there’s a damned line!”

Before he can make that point, though, all three of them have run after him, and —

Rey can only helplessly watch as he pretty much elbows his way into the queue without as much as an excuse me, stops the first taxi and offers the driver the three hundred to skip the line.

Which the driver accepts, in the middle of very loud protesting.

“So, are you three coming or do you want to wait until dawn?” He asks, opening the door, still with people screaming at him in outrage in at least fifteen different languages.

“Well,” Finn says, “he’s gone that far, we might as well take the damned taxi.”

Poe looks at Rey. She shrugs — it’s a lot war.

“Fine, but never again. Shit, my mom would kill me if she knew I was doing this,” he mutters as he grabs his suitcases and reaches the taxi.

Ten minutes later, he’s in the front and Rey’s in the back in between Ben and Finn and Finn’s calling Rose and telling her they managed to find a taxi by some kind of miracle and could she please give him the address.

“Is some kind of miracle a code for Kylo Ren skipped the queue?” Rey hears over the phone.

“How would you know that?” Finn asks, surprised.

“It’s all over Italian Youtube,” Rose replies.

“This is really starting well, dios,” Poe groans before it turns out that the taxi driver speaks Spanish and they end up talking for the next forty-five minutes.

Rey honestly hopes that this is not how this entire vacation is going to go.

Episode Two: Attack of the Sudden Holes in the Ground

Three days later, Finn decides that maybe the whole airport failure had just been a misfortune. After all, other than that, everything has been great. The food is great, the weather is great, Rose has been here for months so she’s being an excellent guide and she’s also saved them a lot of money they might have wasted on tourist traps, Kylo Ren (Finn’s just waiting for the day he’s going to let everyone other than Rey using his real name, honestly) has actually looked not his usual gloomy self while going around the Coliseum and the Roman Forum for once, the sun is hot enough that it’s nice but not enough to burn and certainly strong enough that Poe’s tanned some already and surely Finn appreciates the sight, especially since it means he’s going around without a jacket (hey, a man has eyes and they’re together, he’s not going to complain).

All in all, he thinks, if the next two weeks go like this, it’s going to be the best time of his life.

If he thinks that until now he has never even set foot outside the US and no one at his group home would have bet a cent on him getting into college with a free ride where if you want you can go abroad for an entire year… well, he needs to send good old Ms. Phasma a postcard, she’d seethe knowing he went places.

“So,” Poe tells Rose, who’s driving, suddenly dragging him out of that line of thought, “what did you say I should check?”

“Just open Maps and check if we have some traffic in front of us. Hopefully not, but — oh, shit.”

She brakes. Finn raises his head from the tour book he had been reading, his side hitting the door of the car — better that than Rey, though, who’s still in between him and Ren. He doesn’t know why the man just doesn’t sit up front since he’s the tallest of all of them, but he knows he wouldn’t get an answer, so he doesn’t bother asking.

“Is — that — normal?” He asks, noticing that they’re now stuck in traffic and that no one is moving bar a few motorcycles that he’s halfway sure are breaking at least ten laws at once.

“Sadly, yes,” Rose sighs, and she lowers the window, stopping someone on a Vespa going in the opposite way and asking something in Italian. The guy replies before driving away and a moment later her head meets the wheel as she puts the clutch into neutral.

“That doesn’t look good…?” Rey asks, tentatively.

“Er,” Rose says, “there’s been some kinda wreck a kilometer ahead and we’re not going to be able to move until they clear it up. Which is going to be long. Unless — ah, fuck,” she sighs as rain starts to hit their windshield.

"What's the problem…?” Poe asks. “It’s just rain.”

“Driving while it rains here is a gamble,” she sighs. “Well, buckle up because we’re gonna be here for one hour at least.”

It’s not the worst hour of Finn’s life, even if most of it is because his boyfriend is a superior human being and manages to keep a conversation going enough to distract everyone from their current predicament, and finally forty minutes later they start going somewhere — the cars in front of them clear slightly and at least Rose can drive.

“Right,” she says, “good thing that going like this it’s just another fifteen minutes — oh, fuck!”

When she brakes now, it’s hard enough that Poe’s head hits the car’s window and Rey ends up sprawled on Ren’s side, not that he seems to complain, and before Finn can ask what the fuck was Rose thinking, he looks ahead and —

“Guys, is that a fucking hole in the ground?” That arrives just under the car, so they’re about to fall right into it?

“Not the first nor the last,” Rose sighs, turning the car off. “Right. I’ll call the cops, they probably haven’t even left yet.”

And that’s how they spend the next half hour around the hole in the ground while Rose talks to the cops, under the rain — Poe shares his umbrella with Finn, good thing he brought one, but it doesn’t fit four people.

That said, given that Ren’s given Rey his jacket and is now discussing with another cop while his dress shirt gets wet, he’s sure Rey’s not complaining.

Ren comes back not long later, looking outraged. “Can you believe that it’s apparently a thing that’s been happening for months because there’s no maintenance in the roads? How can someone be so incompetent? Even bloody Hux would be better at being a mayor than anyone in charge here,” he mutters.

“Are you complimenting Hux?” Poe asks, laughing. Given that Hux is the other guy who was going to be Snoke’s TA and they both loathed each other openly, this must be frankly bad. Finn is not even going to get into it — he’s never even talked to the guy while Poe spends his time trying to rile him up on purpose, so he would know.

“I’m an objective person,” Ren shrugs. “I hate him, that doesn’t mean he’s incompetent.”

“Guys,” Rose says, coming back, wrapped in Finn’s jacket — right, that’s Poe’s jacket, but he currently lended it to her because she had a sleeveless shirt and she had to talk to the cops —, “we’re good to go but the car’s busted. They’ll get someone to bring it to a mechanic’s and then insurance is dealing with it. But they offered to drive us to the next bus stop.”

Better than nothing, Finn decides.

The subsequent bus ride is only memorable because the bus is stocked so full of people that no one would accuse him of groping his boyfriend in public for being plastered all over Poe’s side without an inch of space between them.

“Well,” Poe whispers, not that anyone would hear them given the noise, “you do know that the moment we get home I’m tearing your clothes off?”

“Please do, I’m going to need it,” Finn groans.

Admittedly, when they do finally get home an hour and a half later, the sex is downright glorious — at least that.

But seriously, holes opening in the middle of the street? What kinda fuckery is that?

Chapter Three: The Revenge of the Fridge

Rose is fixing breakfast when suddenly her phone rings.

She checks it — she hopes it’s not anyone from uni, but they’re on break, too, and her classmates knew she was having friends over.

No, it’s —

Why would Kylo call her when he’s technically right downstairs? He volunteered to throw away the trash before going on a morning run and he left five minutes ago, what could have happened?

“Yeah?” She answers, taking the call. “What’s wrong?”

“How did you know something might be wrong?” He asks.

“Well, why would you call me when you were here five minutes ago?”

“… Fair. Uh, well, it’s just — can you please come down a moment?”

“Okay, give me a moment.” She turns off the stove under her coffee machine and grabs her keys. Right, she’s in her pjs, but no one will mind.

She gets down the stairs and out of the gate, where Kylo’s standing with the trash in his hand, still, and —

Oh.

“I mean,” he says, “never mind that I’m not quite sure of where I should throw this, but… why is there a fridge in the middle of the trash cans?”

In the middle of trash cans that are overflowing, for the matter, so of course he doesn’t know where he should throw away the trash in question.

She sighs and takes a picture of the scene. “I send that to a blog documenting this kinda stuff,” she explains. “Hand it over.”

She takes the trash from him and goes to the paper trash bin — of course it’s overflowing, but never mind that. She pushes it at the top, hoping it’ll stay put, and goes back to the gate. “Just go on that run, it’s useless.”

“But — that’s trash! In the middle of the road!”

“I know,” Rose sighs, “but it’s been like this since I came here. Can’t do anything about it.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, “Hux really could do better, and that’s saying all.”

Then he’s off running.

Rose goes back upstairs and finishes brewing the coffee.

——

“Rose,” Poe asks not long later after he glances out of the window, “is that a fridge in the middle of the street?”

“Yeah.”

“But why?”

“A friend explained me that — well, the trash company has an agreement with another company to handle the large stuff like fridges and laundry machines. Except that the contract has expired and the mayor has to renew it but hasn’t yet, so she might have forgot or something.”

“The hell, how do you forget that?” He asks, obviously not too comforted, but then he grins, and — “Finn, put something on, we totally have to go take pictures with that!”

“What? Why would you take pictures with a broken fridge?”

“Are you serious? What better Facebook profile photo than me standing next to a bonafide fridge in the middle of the road?”

“You’re completely insane!” Rose calls after him, drinking her espresso.

Poe doesn’t deny that, but an hour later he, Finn and Rey are choosing what pictures to upload on the internet, of the ones featuring the fridge of course, when Kylo comes back upstairs.

“You took pictures with the fridge?” He asks, sounding kind of disturbed.

“Why not?” Poe replies cheerily.

“Don’t you have a sense of hygiene?”

Rose is inclined to agree with him.

“Hey, I took a shower just after I came back up and I disinfected my hands first thing, I’m not an idiot,” he grins, and Kylo just shakes his head and moves closer to the counter.

“Please tell me there’s some coffee left,” he sighs.

“Sure,” she says, “but it’s Italian. I mean, the strong kind of. Those three haven’t had the courage to try it yet, but —”

“I’m absolutely fine with espresso, thank you.”

She hands him a cup, deciding that one on one he’s way nicer than he looked like in college two years ago before he dropped his then-circle of friends and made friends with Rey. And he thanks her every time she hands him breakfast, which is way more than she could say for both her current roommates — damn, she’s supposed to be here a full year so she hopes she gets to change both before then.

“Ben, you should totally take a picture with the fridge, it’s black exactly like your outfit!” Rey calls from the table.

“Forget it,” he says, and drinks the entire cup in one go.

If anything, Rose has a new respect for him after that.

But yeah, no, she’s not taking pictures with the damned fridge either, especially because she knows it’s gonna stay there for the next month at least.

Chapter Four: The Last Cappuccino

“Hey,” Poe tells Finn on day six, when Rose is off doing some uni stuff she couldn’t delay and Rey’s off with Kylo Ren going around cemeteries or so it seems, while the two of them have opted for a nice, quiet stroll in the center before going back to Rose’s in the afternoon, “you know what, I haven’t had cappuccino yet.”

“Oh, right, and your mom is going to kill you if you don’t try it?”

“Well, she did tell me that before I left,” he grins back. “And I mean, I can’t tell Rose to get milk when she doesn’t like it just because I want to try it.”

Finn grins back at him, and damn but Poe loves how he smiles, all right? “Tell you what, we can find a bar and you can try your cappuccino while I get orange juice or whatever.”

“Hey, since I’m getting milk and coffe and I’m dragging you with when you’re lactose intolerant, I think the orange juice will be on me, how about that?”

“Fair,” Finn grins. “Well, there’s a bar over there. Any place is good, right?”

“Right.”

Poe checks his phone just before walking in — right. 11.30 AM — the perfect time for a break, they can have lunch in a couple hours and he’ll have had his coffee right when he usually gets it back in the States. Piece of cake, right?

The bar’s small but nice, and they have a few seats at the counter. He heads for the check-out, noticing that there’s just one person manning that and the bar.

“Buongiorno,” he says, grinning — hell, he’s been here for almost a week, he has at least that down.

“Hello,” the girl replies, smiling back. “What can I get you?”

“Uh, Finn? Still set on the orange juice?”

“Yeah,” Finn confirms as he takes a seat.

“Right. Orange juice for him, a cappuccino for me.”

The smile dies on the barista’s face, or at least, it becomes way smaller. “Cappuccino?” She asks again.

“Uh, yeah. Is there some problem?”

“It’s half past eleven,” she argues.

“… Okay?” He asks, not getting the point.

She stares at him. He stares back. Then she raises her hands in what looks like a defeat gesture. What the hell?

“Your funeral,” she says, and makes the cappuccino with a disgusted face before moving to Finn’s orange juice. Or better, freshly squeezed orange juice rather than getting it from the bottle.

They sit. He drinks the coffee. It’s actually good.

“Hey,” he whispers, “any idea of why she looked that put off?”

“No idea,” Finn says, whipping out his phone. “Good thing they have wi-fi. Let me look it up — oh.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently they don’t drink cappuccino after 11 AM — it’s like, strictly breakfast food and you’re not supposed to have milk past that. And 11 AM is the limit.”

“Oh, dear, don’t tell me that —”

“You kinda came off as the typical American tourist who barbarically drinks coffee and milk after the allotted time, yes.”

He groans. Exactly what he had hoped to avoid.

He looks down at his innocent-looking cup, then he shrugs and takes another drink. “Well, whatever. It’s good,” he proclaims. “But you aren’t telling my mother I came off as the typical barbarian tourist when I’m not even technically American.”

“I don’t know,” Finn grins back, “if you give me enough reasons to not do it before we’re back home —”

Poe, at this point, doesn’t even mind if the barista realizes what the hell they’re discussing here.

“I think,” he says, “I might make it worth your while.”

“Then no one’s ever going to know you completely failed in your endeavor of looking like a refined tourist with no barbaric habits,” Finn smiles, his fingers threading with Poe’s under the table.

Poe thinks he can definitely make it worth his while, later.

And he’s not going to drink cappuccino past 11 AM if it kills him, even if it’s damn good.

Chapter Five: The B-Line: A Typical Roman Story

“Damn,” Rey says as she checks her phone, “I have bad news.”

“What, there’s a public transport strike?”

“I see that Rose schooled you,” she grins, and damn, he needs to get a grip. Why can’t he either just move on or just tell her? Then again, all things considered, it’s a miracle they’re even friends by now. He’s not going to risk ruining it. “But no, it’s — we’re kind of late. If we want to make that appointment by seven PM we need to take the subway.”

Fuck.

“Do we?” Ben asks her, trying to sound like he doesn’t mind even if he perfectly knows that she knows why he’d ask.

After all, she knows what went down with Snoke more than anyone else bar his therapist does, so she knows he doesn’t deal well with a lot of people in closed spaces.

“Well, from here it takes just around half an hour or some more. The bus —” She checks something on her phone, then shakes her head. “We should change three and it’d take one hour and twenty minutes if they pass on time.”

Well, fuck.

“I suppose we can do that much,” he sighs, cursing to hell and back that he picked the Protestant cemetery — fine, he did really want to go on Keats’s grave and Shelley’s and for reasons, mainly, that he spent his teenage years ruining poetry paperbacks with their names on the cover, but he hadn’t realizes that the area’s only good connection with the place they should meet Rose and the others at was the damned subway.

Which he really, really, really loathes. Same as enclosed spaces. Same as spaces full of people, but at least on the bus you can look out of the window.

Not on the subway.

“Come on,” she says, “the sooner we go the sooner we’re there.”

She’s right, as usual, obviously, so he sighs and follows her into the Piramide station and walks down the stairs.

He doesn’t like how a lot of people join them on the platform coming from the attached train station — what the hell?

“That’s the train going to the sea,” Rey informs him. “Rose told me. Apparently it’s full of commuters both ways.”

“Shit,” he says. “Well, never mind. Let’s just be done with it.”

They take the metro. The train, Ben notices with terror, is old, and there’s no A/C on, which means that the moment they take it surrounded by a bunch of other people that most likely are all going to the last stop, same as the two of them.

Fuck. He hopes they get to sit at the only switch point, he decides, and the moment the train leaves he starts taking deep breaths the way his uncle said always worked back when he taught him yoga classes years ago.

At least Rey’s sticking to his side — even too much, given how much people are on this trap of a train. Which is not a good thing when you’ve had a crush on her for years and given that you treated her fairly badly the first few months that you knew each other you still are marveling that she gave you a second chance.

Ben Solo, get a fucking grip, he thinks, figuring that at least his therapist would be overjoyed that he’s not breaking the damned handset already.

They pass the switch point. They don’t get to sit. He has another twenty minutes on this trap at least, but hopefully they’re going to pass quick. Fuck, in what civilized place people use trains that must have been new in the fucking early nineties? He doesn’t know, but evidently here.

Anyway. It’s hot and he’s sweating and he’ll need a change of clothes back home, but he’s breathing and everything’s more or less fine and people will have to start getting down at some point —

Then the train abruptly stops in the middle of the fucking tunnel.

Then the lights go out for a moment, then they’re on again.

What the fuck.

Rey grabs his arm, good, because he was starting to get worried here, and he can hear people grumbling and complaining, but the bad thing is —

“Is it just me,” he asks Rey, “or everyone is dealing with this as if it was a normal occurrence?”

“I — I think you’re right,” she confirms, glancing around. Not that it’s easy, given that she’s pressed in between another five people and she can’t move and neither can he.

Shit.

Right. He has to just breathe and keep his shit together — he’s never heard of anyone dying in the Rome underground and they won't be the first.

He glances at his watch.

It's been five full minutes.

People are still grumbling.

“I suppose no news yet?” He whispers. Right. That didn’t sound like he was about to lose his shit.

“No, but I'm surrounded by three old ladies, I doubt they'd tell me.”

Right. Little old ladies probably don’t speak English.

Fine.

It’s going to be —

A moment later, he hears someone talk to through the train’s speakers — maybe the driver? Who even would know —

And then people start screaming in protest, what the hell, and no that’s exactly what he doesn’t need, damn it but after that year with Snoke he can’t handle people just screaming out of nowhere —

Then he notices that Rey’s talking to some younger kid who was somewhere behind the old ladies and hopefully filling her in. She nods, biting her lip, and then turns her eye on him.

“Did he tell you what the fuck is going on?” He asks.

“Yes,” she says, “and you won’t like it. Just — he said it’s not unheard of.”

“Okay. Shoot. What is the damned problem?”

“It’s raining outside. This train’s old. This line is also not as new as it could be. There’s been some electrical short-circuit and so the train’s not working.”

“It’s not working?”

“No, and — the driver said that he’s going to open the doors shortly and we should walk to the next station.”

“What the — isn’t that dangerous?”

“Apparently they shut down the rest of the traffic.”

“Oh fuck — we need to walk into that tunnel that might actually be half-flooded?”

He thinks he’s this close to just punch the nearest little old Italian lady who is screaming something in the vague direction of the train’s ceiling and making his head pound, but a moment later Rey’s hand has grabbed his and --

“Hey,” she says, “it’s fine. And we’ll be out of here before you know it. Shit, maybe we should’ve taken the bus for real.”

“We would’ve been late,” he answers, trying to keep his voice from shaking too much. So what if he threads his fingers with hers, though? At least he has an excuse to, now.

“Yeah, well, they’d have handled the two of us being late if the choice was sticking you in here. I’m sorry, I knew, but —”

“Rey, it’s not your fault if this place is beautiful but run so incompetently that even fucking Hux would do better.”

“Wow, you really have a low opinion of these people, don’t you?”

“Don’t you?”

“Fair enough, it’s terrible. But seriously, I didn’t mean —”

“Rey, if anyone else was here I think I’d have broken down the damned door myself,” he blurts, and he’s going to blame it on the fact that he’s not thinking straight, but a moment later the train lurches forward and she about ends up slammed against him and she ends up over him, and he loses balance which in turn means that he doesn’t almost murder a little old lady just because the woman moves sideways and some guy behind him manages to grab him by the shoulders.

Thing is —

He doesn’t really handle when if other people have their hands on him but Rey’s face is just above his and —

“Fuck it,” she says, what, and then she’s grabbed at his shoulders and put his weight off the poor guy behind him and her mouth’s on his and —

Wait, are they kissing?

For — he spends months imagining it and now they’re doing it on a damned crowded subway that’s also conveniently stuck down a tunnel?

People start clapping. Someone whistles. Rey’s hands are on his face and her tongue is moving against his and he’s not thinking about how they’re surrounded by people at all.

Well then.

Fuck it, indeed, he decides, and kisses her back the way he had hoped he would get to one day, and she moans into his mouth and people clap harder and —

Right.

He doesn’t think he minds being stuck in here that much, after all.

——

Later, Rose tells him that this is the second video of him doing something while on vacation here going viral on YouTube.

“What?”

“Someone filmed you kissing on the metro. A lot of people are wondering what are you going to do next because there should be a third to complete the trilogy.”

Rey snorts into her wine and both Finn and Poe don’t even try to say anything — they’re on the sofa clutching at each other for how hard they’re laughing.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he protests.

“You know what,” Poe wheezes, “you should totally grab that fridge, load it onto Rose’s car, drag it to the nearest place where they dispatch that shit, then you can go on a rant about how this mayor’s completely incompetent since she needs an American barbarian tourist who drinks cappuccino after 11 AM to get fridges off her streets.”

“I wouldn’t drink cappuccino past 11 AM,” Ben replies, wondering what the hell Poe’s getting at. “I have better taste than that.”

Finn starts laughing so hard he cries.

Ben does like Rey’s friends more than his old ones but honestly, he doesn’t even want to know what their deal is right now.

“You haven’t said no yet,” Rey grins.

He looks at her, finding himself grinning back without even realizing it, and then —

Hey.

He came here also to have fun and relax a bit, and honestly, he could carry that damned thing anyway.

“Fair enough,” he says, “tomorrow we’re taking the fridge, I guess.”

“Well,” Rose says, “I guess it’s going to go viral, too.”

——

It does go viral.

Rose laughs for twenty minutes before explaining him exactly what kind of insults the mayor’s supporters have left on his Facebook profile that they must have tracked down.

“What kind of people use… belonging to the adversary party as an insult if the adversary party isn’t, well, fascist or whatever?” He asks, very puzzled.

“I suppose people who are less competent than Hux at running anything,” Poe says in between laughing fits.

Ben decides that for once he’s going to agree with Poe — it does make sense that they’d stoop to a level that asshole never even reached because even he has more class than that.

Someone having more class than Hux.

What has the world come to, anyway?

End.

#reylo #stormpilot #tagging for reference #sorry guys i hope it's not too specific and y'all enjoy it regardless of the italian stuff #my fic #commissions tag #OTP: it suits you #otp: you're not alone; neither are you

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bettydraperlookingpissed · 6 years

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Matthew Weiner, The Art of Screenwriting No. 4

Born in 1965, Matthew Weiner is barely old enough to remember the period with which his television series Mad Men has now become almost synonymous. His office is exactly what one might hope for the creator of Don Draper: a stylish mixture of midcentury modern furniture, with a cabinet full of top-shelf liquor. But it turns out that the furniture came with the building, which was designed in 1955, and the liquor, mostly gifts, is wasted on Weiner, who hardly drinks at all.

(Copy and pasted cuz TPR charges and I got your back, man. Or maybe you’re made of money and can afford that kind of thing. It’s long in case ya wanna save it. Good Sunday night reading.)

Weiner’s sensibility reveals itself on closer inspection. A framed still from the set is shot from behind the actors’ heads, showing the crew. There’s a black-and-white photograph of Groucho Marx, Alice Cooper, and Marvin Hamlisch in conversation. There’s a homemade Father’s Day card by one of Weiner’s four sons, reading “Dad Men” in red and black crayon. There’s a picture of Stedman (Oprah’s boyfriend), because when Vanity Fair photographed Weiner’s desk soon after Oprah’s, he asked what she’d had on hers. His bookshelf overflows with fiction, essays, and poetry—from Diaries of Old Manhattan to Billy Collins to Moby-Dick.

A former Jeopardy! champion who once, rather than give notes, jumped up and danced to “Zou Bisou Bisou” for Jessica PareÌ (Megan Draper on the show), Weiner seems never to sleep. Our interview took place in four sessions that spanned almost eighteen months—real months, that is. More time than that passed on the show during the same period, but to say exactly how much would be, in Weiner’s universe, a spoiler. We spoke late into the night after he had spent full days in preproduction meetings, in editing, in sound-mixing sessions, on set, and in the writers’ room—and we could only sit down to talk on the rare nights when he didn’t have to write. Even with this schedule, he comes in every morning inspired by a movie he’s seen, an article he’s read, or a poem he’s remembered. (I’m lucky to be a writer on the show.) Weiner begins every season by rereading John Cheever’s preface to his Collected Stories: “A writer can be seen clumsily learning to walk, to tie his necktie, to make love, and to eat his peas off a fork. He appears much alone and determined to instruct himself.” The life of a showrunner leaves him almost no time to be alone, but Weiner seems always to be instructing himself.

WEINER

You know, I got a subscription to The Paris Review when I was fourteen or fifteen years old. I read those interviews all the time. They were really helpful.

INTERVIEWER

How did they help you?

WEINER

There were people talking about writing like it was a job, first of all. And then saying “I don’t know” a lot. It’s helpful, when you’re a kid, to hear someone saying “I don’t know.” Also, they were asking questions that I would’ve asked, only I’d have been embarrassed to ask them. Like, What time of day do you write?

INTERVIEWER

What time of day do you write?

WEINER

I write at night on this job because I have to, except Sundays when I write all day and all night. Left to my own devices I will always end up writing late at night, because I’m a procrastinator. But if there’s a deadline, I will write round the clock.

INTERVIEWER

Did you know when you were a kid that writing was the job you wanted?

WEINER

I wanted to be a writer, but the way my family thought of writers, that would have been like saying, I want to be quarterback of the football team or president of the United States. My parents had the books every Jewish family had—My Name Is Asher Lev, QB VII, O Jerusalem!—but they were also really into Joseph Heller, and my dad took Swann’s Way on every vacation. I always thought I would be a novelist, like the people whose books I saw lying around the house.

INTERVIEWER

Did you read those books?

WEINER

Not really. I read very slowly. I’m a good listener. If they’d had books on tape back then, I would be the best-read person in the world. When I had to do a report on Measure for Measure, I went and got the records, and I listened to John Gielgud do it. My dad read Mark Twain to us at night. I loved “The Stolen White Elephant” and “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.” And The Prince and the Pauper, oh my God, did I love that. I read Mad magazine and stuff, but my parents were always yelling at me, You need to read more! Crack a book already! I was not really a reader until I left college. My favorite form of writing is still the short story. Winesburg, Ohio was the first book that I read where I recognized the people in it. I knew the teacher who was sort of gay and couldn’t control his hands. I recognized everybody in there. And then, with John Cheever, I recognized myself in the voice of the narrator. His voice sounds like the voice in my head—or what I wish it sounded like.

INTERVIEWER

Who are your favorite writers?

WEINER

I don’t make lists or rank writers. I can only say which ones are relevant to me. Salinger holds my attention, Yates holds my attention. John O’Hara doesn’t, I don’t know why—it’s the same environment, but he doesn’t. Cheever holds my attention more than any other writer. He is in every aspect of Mad Men, starting with the fact that Don lives in Ossining on Bullet Park Road—the children are ignored, people have talents they can’t capitalize on, everyone is selfish to some degree or in some kind of delusion. I have to say, Cheever’s stories work like TV episodes, where you don’t get to repeat information about the characters. He grabs you from the beginning.

Poems have always held my attention, but they’re denser and smaller. It’s funny because poetry is considered harder to read. It wasn’t harder for me. Close reading, that is. Milton, Chaucer, Dante—I could handle those for some reason, but not fiction. From ninth grade on, I wrote poetry compulsively, and pushed myself to do iambic pentameter and rhymes because free verse was cheating—anybody could do that. But I was such a terrible student. I couldn’t sustain anything.

INTERVIEWER

What pointed you toward drama?

WEINER

Actually, I think it has something to do with my not being a great reader. When a play’s put up, it’s all there in front of you. When you’re a little kid who has trouble with long books, it’s a very literary experience to go see Eugene O’Neill. During high school, I wrote skits, I did improv, I was a performer. My senior year in high school I was elected by my class to give a speech at graduation. It was seven or eight minutes of stand-up comedy, including a salute to the bottom fifth of the class, of which I was part. The dad of a classmate of mine, a guy named Allan Burns, who created The Mary Tyler Moore Show, came up to me afterward. He said, Have you ever thought about writing for TV? You could do that.

INTERVIEWER

Had you thought about it?

WEINER

I had been raised more or less without TV. I loved it, my parents loved it—but we weren’t allowed to watch it. And yet what was on TV during those years? M*A*S*H, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Carol Burnett and Bob Newhart. TV was very bad before that, and got very bad after that, but at the time it was really very good. The thing is, I took what Allan Burns said seriously just because it was the first time someone said I might be able to do anything. But my parents hated show business. It’s part of living in Los Angeles.

There was one other formative experience. One of our English teachers, Ms. Moser, had a poet come to visit our school—W.S. Merwin. The honor society got to have dinner with him. Even though I made bad grades, I edited the literary magazine, and the teacher made sure I was allowed to go, too. She had even told him about me, because when we met he said, Tell me your name again, I want to remember it. In my yearbook, Ms. Moser wrote to me, Keep doing what you’re doing, and stick to poetry and starve.

INTERVIEWER

Which you did not do.

WEINER

I tried. At Wesleyan I could not get into any writing classes. I applied to everything and got rejected. You’re laughing now, you should have heard my parents. Six hundred students, all that money, and you can’t get into class!? An older student, who was studying with the famous professor Frank Reeve, told me I should go and ask, personally, to take a tutorial with him. Franklin D’Olier Reeve. This Vermont Yankee, log-splitting son of a bitch. He had gone with Robert Frost to Russia. Incredibly handsome and charismatic—in fact, he was Christopher Reeve’s father. I imagined he was in the CIA. So I went to his office and brought my poems with me. He shredded them. I had some line that was like, “Where does it hide?”—this is sophomore poetry, right?—“Where does it hide to gently squeeze the pitch of morning into orange whispers of dusk, squeeze the pitch of dusk into orange whispers of morning,” and he said, Lose the split infinitive and juice squeezer. It was brutal. Then he said, When do we start?

I spent three semesters studying with Professor Reeve, writing poems and delivering one or two of them to him every week. I also took a lot of poetry classes. There were a couple years there where The Waste Land was the most interesting thing in the world to me. I loved that it was so personal and grimy and gross and epic at the same time. Two women talking about getting an abortion in a bar at closing time right next to a story about Greek gods and the Fisher King. The high and the low together. It is so important to my life as a writer, there’s so much dialogue, so much rhythm that I have tried to emulate. That’s still my idea of what a poetic sentence sounds like. My senior thesis was in creative writing, was poetry.

INTERVIEWER

What were your poems like?

WEINER

Pretty funny, a lot of them, in an ironic way. And very confessional. A lot like what I do on Mad Men, actually—I don’t think people always realize the show is super personal, even though it’s set in the past. It was as if the admission of uncomfortable thoughts had already become my business on some level. I love awkwardness. Reeve compared my poems to cartoons. He had me read “Mac Flecknoe,” Dryden’s satire on the poet Thomas Shadwell, because he knew I had a sense of humor and was interested in celebrities. He also told me that I had to be as interesting as my work, which terrified me. I was like, Forget it, dude. I’m a very conventional person. I’m middle-class. My father’s a physician. I had no personality to speak of. I kept wishing I had grown up interesting so I could be a great writer.

INTERVIEWER

Maybe Reeve turned you into a TV writer by giving you a weekly deadline.

WEINER

I’ve always said TV writing is for people who hate being alone more than they hate writing. Even then I needed to talk about what I was doing. Once I knew that my writing would be read right away, even if it was judged—and once I knew that it would be shot right away—that was all I cared about.

INTERVIEWER

Did you figure this out in film school?

WEINER

No. I didn’t go to film school for writing, but I realized that if you could write, you could have complete control. All these people I admired—Woody Allen, Jim Brooks, Preston Sturges—directed and wrote. When directors would come to the school and talk about their movies, eventually they’d have to talk about the fact that someone else had written it. To me that was like the dirty secret.

Then I graduated from film school and was stuck in a hole by myself for three years, writing. Linda, my wife, was supporting us, but that was awful. I was not made for that. I am not the writer who wants to live in the woods. Plus, half my time was spent trying to get into show business, which is demoralizing and somehow futile without finished work, but easier than writing.

INTERVIEWER

What were you writing during that time?

WEINER

Screenplays. I finished a screenplay that I’d started at USC. Then I wrote another screenplay about paparazzi. Then I started working on a Big Movie. After film school, I read everything that had been assigned to me in college. I mean, everything. I read Mein Kampf. I read all the time instead of writing. And I read a lot of biographies and became interested in this kind of American picaresque character. By picaresque I don’t mean like Candide. I don’t mean a guy who shit’s happening to. I mean a guy who is making his own future because he has no other options. I mean Tom Jones. So I was writing this movie following a guy’s life from 1930 to the millennium. And I got to page 80 of the thing, and I abandoned it.

Then I decided I was going to make a movie, an improvised movie that I was going to be in. Kind of a comedy Cassavetes movie—people improvising, but in a story. This was around the time of Clerks. I saw Clerks and felt the way many people did. It wasn’t like hearing the Beatles for the first time. It was a ten-thousand-dollar amateur black-and-white movie. It was inspiring in the way only something crude and peculiar can be inspiring.

And because I had gone to film school, I knew what commercial filmmaking was and knew I didn’t like it. In the nineties there was a stranglehold of formula on the movies. People would point to great movies like Chinatown as examples of how structure generates great works. But I always felt that these structures were derived from great works. The individual stories are organic, they come out of people’s heads. To say that the story of Jesus and the story of Moses are the same story is a horrible mistake. Are they both heroic? Yes. Do they both have inauspicious beginnings and unmarked graves? Yes. That does not make them the same story. But the studios were trying to consolidate films into a bulletproof system, they were trying to reverse engineer a hit—which, of course, is insane. In entertainment you’re a fool to try that.

One of the big things was, everybody hated “episodic structure,” as they used to call it.

INTERVIEWER

Meaning what?

WEINER

They were uncomfortable with a movie like The Godfather or a story like the Odyssey, where the only thing holding the events together is the characters. Now, there’s this monster, this obstacle, but there’s no real progression—the hero just keeps trying to get home. Sure, Michael Corleone starts off as a young war hero and ends up as the godfather, but the wedding takes up the first half hour of the movie. People liked to talk about “act breaks” and “rising action” leading to a climax, but what about Apocalypse Now? Someone’s on a journey, and sure, we’re heading toward a climax, but there are so many digressions. To me, those digressions are the story.

People would say to me, What’s holding this together? Or, How is this moment related to the opening scene, or the problem you set up on page 15? I don’t know. That’s where the character went. That’s the story. So many movies in the seventies are told this way, episodically, and they feel more like real life because you don’t see the story clicking. Movies like Days of Heaven—big movies that take time out to show the locusts. Do you need the crop duster in North by Northwest? No, but it is the most memorable part of the movie. It has no essential function in the story. Cary Grant has already been pursued. They’ve already tried to kill him. They’ve drugged him. They’ve poured booze down his throat. Remember how Cary Grant goes back to the house where the bad guys got him at the beginning of the movie and poured booze down his throat? He comes back the next day and says, This is where I was, they poured booze down my throat. Remember how he goes into the room where they poured the booze into him and they’ve changed the couch?

INTERVIEWER

Even now the hair on my neck is standing up.

WEINER

They’re so evil. They changed the couch! It’s preposterous, but delightful. Of course, anything that is epic is episodic in structure, whether it’s Lawrence of Arabia or The Godfather, which was already being treated like an art movie—the most successful commercial movie in the world treated like an art-house movie.

I liked episodic structure and I thought it worked. I still think it works. At the time I was especially interested in Billy Wilder and Fellini. I liked their grasp of tone, the way the movies are both funny and dark. You’re always scared and laughing and on the verge of tears somewhere in the middle of these movies. I could watch Sunset Boulevard and 8 1⁄2 over and over again. Everything you need to know about writing is in those two movies. How to tell a story, where to start the story, whose point of view it’s from, at what point you leave their point of view, when you should see a character in a scene by himself or herself—all this shit that drives you nuts when you’re trying to structure something. And then, the fact that there are no rules. That’s what both movies are saying—there are no rules, the audience is not as rigid as you think, and certainly not as rigid as the people paying for the movies to get made.

Anyway, once I got out of film school I said, They will not let me fly the plane. So I’m going to build my own airport. I shot my first movie, What Do You Do All Day?, in twelve days, in 1995. It cost twelve thousand dollars. Anybody can raise twelve thousand dollars—now it would probably be even cheaper, because there was no digital then.

Around that time, my friend Daisy von Scherler Mayer called me up and said, I sold this sitcom. Come in and sit at the table. We’re going to run through the script and you’ll just pitch jokes. The show was called Party Girl. And I drove onto the Warner Brothers lot and sat down at the table with all these professional writers and had no trouble talking and telling jokes. Not just because I’m an extrovert, but because I’d just made this movie and I knew it was funny. You’ve never heard of What Do You Do All Day? and it never went anywhere, but I still say it changed my life. Making that movie took me from being a frustrated, bitter person with no control over his life to a delusional, grandiose person with no control over his life. I was so high on the idea of having a job and writing jokes and going down to the stage and seeing the actors saying them and getting laughs. I couldn’t believe it.

INTERVIEWER

So none of the screenplays you’d been writing before that period were made?

WEINER

Well, remember the eighty-page picaresque thing I threw away? That turned out to be the basis for Mad Men.

INTERVIEWER

Really?

WEINER

Four years after I’d started working in TV, I wrote the pilot for Mad Men. Three years after that, AMC wanted to make it. They asked me, What’s the next episode about? So I went looking through my notes. Now, imagine this. At this point it’s 2004—I’m writing for The Sopranos—and I go back to look at my notes from 1999 ... but then I find this unfinished screenplay from 1995, and on the last page it says “Ossining, 1960.” Five years after I’d abandoned that other screenplay, I’d started writing it again without even knowing it. Don Draper was the adult version of the hero in the movie. And there were all of these things in the movie that became part of the show—Don’s past, his rural poverty, the story I was telling about the United States, about who these people were. And when I say “these people,” I mean people like Lee Iacocca and Sam Walton, even Bill Clinton to some degree. I realized that these people who ran the country were all from these very dark backgrounds, which they had hidden, and that the self-transforming American hero, the Jay Gatsby or the talented Mr. Ripley, still existed. I once worked at a job where there was a guy who said he went to Harvard. Someone finally said, You did not go to Harvard—that guy didn’t go to Harvard! And everyone was like, Who cares? That went into the show.

How could it not matter, when everyone was fighting so hard to get into Harvard and it was supposed to change your life? And you could just lie about it? Guess what—in America, we say, Good for him! Good for him, for figuring it out.

INTERVIEWER

I’m struck by the irony that Don Draper has become an icon of the 1960s Establishment when the character himself feels like such an outsider.

WEINER

Everyone loves the Horatio Alger version of life. What they don’t realize is that these transformations begin in shame, because poverty feels shameful. It shouldn’t, but everyone who’s experienced it confirms this. Sometimes people say, I didn’t know we were poor—Don Draper knows he’s poor, very much in the model of Iacocca or Walton, who came out of the Great Depression, out of really humble beginnings. Or like Conrad Hilton, on the show. These men don’t take no for an answer, they build these big businesses, these empires, but really it’s all based on failure, insecurity, and an identity modeled on some abstract ideal of white power. I’ve always said this is a show about becoming white. That’s the definition of success in America—becoming a WASP. A WASP male.

The driving question for the series is, Who are we? When we talk about “we,” who is that? In the pilot, Pete Campbell has this line, “Adding money and education doesn’t take the rude edge out of people.” Sophisticated anti-Semitism. I overheard that line when I was a schoolteacher. The person, of course, didn’t know they were in the presence of a Jew. I was a ghost. Certain male artists like to show that they’re feminists as a way to get girls. That’s always seemed pimpy to me. I sympathize with feminism the same way I identify with gay people and with people of color, because I know what it’s like to look over the side of the fence and then to climb over the fence and to feel like you don’t belong, or be reminded at the worst moment that you don’t belong.

Take Rachel Menken, the department-store heiress in the first season of Mad Men. She’s part of what I call the nose-job generation. She’s assimilated. She probably doesn’t observe the Sabbath or any of these other things that her parents did. That generation had a hard time because they were trying desperately to be buttoned-down and preppy and—this is my parent’s generation—white as could be. They were embarrassed by their parents. This is the story of America, this assimilation. Because guess what, this guy Don has the same problems. He’s hiding his identity, too. That’s why Rachel Menken understands Don, because they’re both trying desperately to be white American males.

Of all of them, Peggy is my favorite. I identify with her struggle. She is so earnest and self-righteous and talented and smart, but dumb about personal things. She thinks she’s living the life of “we.” But she’s not. And every time she turns a corner, someone says, “You’re not part of ‘we.’ ” “But you all said ‘we’ the other day.” “Yes, we meant, ‘we white men.’ ”

INTERVIEWER

It’s strange that you wrote the hour-long drama Mad Men just when you were succeeding as a half-hour sitcom writer.

WEINER

I didn’t see a future in situation comedy. There wasn’t room anymore for something like M*A*S*H*, where they would have sentimental moments and episodes that could sneak up on you and make you cry.

When I started out, there were few dramas on TV. They were out of style. There were four news magazines a week, and there was Who Wants to Marry a Multi-Millionaire?, or whatever, and the procedurals and the game shows. Reality TV hadn’t happened yet. Then, while I was doing it, situation comedy went from being the most lucrative and exciting place to be in television to disappearing. All the things that people hate about network TV were starting to fail economically, and still the networks were asking, How do we re-create Friends? By the time I wrote the Mad Menpilot, the syndication market had dried up. Survivor happened when I was writing on the sitcom Becker. Survivor, The Sopranos, and Lost all happened within a few years of each other. By then, drama had become really big. And then David Chase hired me for The Sopranos based on my script for Mad Men.

INTERVIEWER

You worked on three seasons of The Sopranos before you went back to your Mad Men pilot. Did that change your conception of your show?

WEINER

Mad Men would have been some sort of crisp, soapy version of The West Wing if not for The Sopranos. Peggy would have been a climber. All the things that people thought were going to happen would have happened. Even though the pilot itself has a dark, strange quality, I didn’t know that that was what was good about it. I just wanted an excuse to exorcise my demons, to write a story about somebody who’s thirty-five years old, who has everything, and who is miserable.

The important thing, for me, was hearing the way David Chase indulged the subconscious. I learned not to question its communicative power. When you see somebody walking down a dark hallway, you know that they’re scared. We don’t have to explain that it’s scary. Why is this person walking down a dark hallway when he’s on his way to his kids’ school? Because he’s scared about someone telling him something bad about his kids. He’s worried about hearing something that will reflect badly on the way he’s raised his kids, which goes back to his own childhood. All that explanatory stuff, we never even talked about it. And I try not to talk about it here. Why did that happen? Why do you think? You can’t cheat and tell people what’s going on, because then they won’t enjoy it, even if they say they want it that way.

You know how sometimes I give you a note that says, Why don’t you do X? and you say, That’s the thing I wanted to do? That’s what I learned at The Sopranos. That’s the note I try to give to everyone who writes here. Take the risk of doing the extreme thing, the embarrassing thing, the thing that’s in your subconscious. Before The Sopranos, when someone said, Make it deeper, I didn’t know what they meant. Or really, I knew in my gut—but I also knew that it was the one thing that crossed my mind that I wasn’t going to do. To have Peggy come into Don’s office after he’s had the baby and ask for a raise and be rejected, and look at the baby presents, so we know she’s thinking about her own baby that she gave away, and then to have her tell Don, “You have everything and so much of it.” There is something embarrassing about that. A scene that was really just about her getting turned down for a raise became a scene about her whole life. That was the sort of thing I learned from working with David Chase.

Another thing that happened when I began writing on The Sopranos was I noticed that people were always telling me anecdotes. They would throw out a line of dialogue they’d heard somebody say or that someone had said to them—and that was the story. I did not know how important that shit was. There’s an episode where Beansie and Paulie are reminiscing and Tony dismissively says, “‘Remember when’ is the lowest form of conversation.” And it’s devastating. David Chase had witnessed that actual statement. Now I have a ton of stuff like that I’ve saved, things people have said to me that are concise and devastating and sum up some moment in their lives. When I’m talking to some woman on an airplane, and she says, I like being bad and going home and being good, that is very useful.

INTERVIEWER

Did you cultivate your memory for those moments?

WEINER

I always had that kind of memory, I just didn’t know there was any value in it. One time we were doing a research call at The Sopranos. It was a two-hour conference call with a guy talking about emergency medicine. At the end of it, the writer’s assistant, who was taking notes, had a bunch of medical facts, but all of us writers had written down the same two ideas. All of us. Just those same two ideas in two hours.

INTERVIEWER

What were they?

WEINER

He said that everyone with insurance is a VIP. And he used the expression “wallet biopsy.” I think they’re self-explanatory. But that’s what being a writer is. I don’t know what makes something a story, but I know one when I hear it. Mad Men was a show I wanted to see. I really wanted to tell a story about that period. I thought it was sexy. I wanted to live in it a little bit, and I wanted to remind people that they have a misconception about the past, any past.

INTERVIEWER

What sort of misconception?

WEINER

You know in Reds, when they’re interviewing the witnesses, and Henry Miller says, People today think they invented fucking? That kind of thing. The old people you’re looking at, they may have been more carnal than we are—drunker, less responsible, more violent. So many of those film noirs are about how soldiers reintegrate themselves into society. The private detective is haunted by the shadow of having killed people in the war. Don’t even get me started on The Best Years of Our Lives. The move to the suburbs, the privacy, the conservatism of the fifties—that’s all being driven by guys who, for two years, had not gone to the bathroom in privacy. I’m not the first TV person to be puzzled and fascinated by the fifties. The two biggest shows of the seventies are M*A*S*H* and Happy Days. Obviously that moment is some sort of touchstone for culture. Is Hawkeye not related to Don Draper? He’s an alcoholic Boy Scout who behaves badly all the time. I just wanted to go back and look again.

So I spent a lot of money buying videotapes to watch movies from the period. I hired somebody to do research for me. Then, because I was working all day, I stumbled on the idea of dictating. I found that I was constantly thinking of dialogue and couldn’t write it down fast enough. I heard that Billy Wilder did it, too. He walked around with a riding crop while his writing partners would type. Joseph Conrad did it. So did Henry James. I’ve since kept track because some of my writer friends think it’s cheating. And it’s hard to believe you can be as eloquent as your characters, but you can be if you have the topic and you’re channeling them. Then you get to fix it afterward. It’s way better than sitting there and procrastinating while you write a new piece of description and try to perfect the sentence.

INTERVIEWER

Will you describe how you write the show now?

WEINER

At the beginning of the season I dictate a lot of notes about the stories I’m interested in. Then for each episode, we start with a group-written story, an outline. When I read the outline, I rarely get a sense of what the story is. It has to be told to me. Then I go into a room with an assistant and I dictate the scenes, the entire script, page by page.

INTERVIEWER

I’ve seen you do whole scenes without pausing.

WEINER

I can see it in my head. And I don’t look at the dictation. I try and keep it in my head. That’s why the fatigue gets so bad. And why it’s crucial to have the right assistant. It requires the chemistry, it requires them reading my mind a little bit so they know when I’m moving back to an earlier person who’s talking or which person is saying it—because sometimes I stop identifying the speakers. After a while I’ll talk in different voices. I don’t even know what I’m doing when I walk around making up those scenes. But I wrote my play the same way, and my second movie, You Are Here. If you compose that way, it means the dialogue can all be said. John Slattery and I had an argument about something in the second episode, where there was a bit of a tongue twister. He was supposed to say, “Coop is going to want a carbon with your hand-picked team for Nixon on it. And I warn you right now, it includes Pete Campbell.” He said it was impossible to say, but I knew it could be said because I’d said it. I rattled it right off to him. Then he smiled and performed it and everything else I wrote for him. I started writing more tongue twisters for John. My favorite was, “He knows what that nut means to Utz and what Utz means to us.”

INTERVIEWER

What’s the main difference between writing for someone else’s show and writing for your own?

WEINER

It’s one thing to hear Tony Soprano say your dialogue. That is ridiculous. That’s a totally surreal experience. It’s another thing to create an entire environment and walk onto the set of this fake office from a different era and see Peggy in her ponytail and bangs and Joan looking like Joan. It was better than I could have imagined. I am a controlling person. I’m at odds with the world, and like most people I don’t have any control over what’s going to happen—I only have wishes and dreams. But to be in this environment where you actually control how things are going to work out, and who’s going to win, and what they’re going to learn, and who kisses who...

INTERVIEWER

And then you have the challenge of doing episode after episode, season after season. You once said to me, “I’ve written hundreds and hundreds of scenes with two people in them. You have to know what kind of scene it is.” What did you mean?

WEINER

When I was just starting out, a writer explained to me the meat and potatoes of situation comedy. For instance, a scene where one guy thinks he’s talking about one thing and the other guy thinks they’re talking about something else sounds like a big clicheÌ. But guess what? That’s comedy. The question is, Can you do it well? I’ve personally written some of the most clicheÌd comedy scenes on Mad Men.

INTERVIEWER

Like what?

WEINER

Like the first season, when Pete goes to return that chip-and-dip at the store. He tries to hit on the officious clerk and she rejects him, then that other guy comes in and hits on her, and she loves it. That could be a scene on any situation comedy in the world, right down to waiting in line. To me, waiting in line is one of the funniest things in the world.

Or think of the premiere of season 3 of Mad Men, where Ken and Pete both get promoted to head of accounts. I put them in the elevator so that each of them can magnanimously congratulate the loser. I wanted to see how long we could sustain the dramatic irony. When I got to The Sopranos, I realized that I hated it when one character would just help another character through the scene. “I got something to tell you.” “Well, uh, what have you got to tell me?” “It’s kind of hard to say, Ron.” “Well, I’m listening.” I don’t know about everybody else, but I find that whenever I really want to say something, there’s a huge obstacle. Except in this interview.

INTERVIEWER

What about all the scenes you do with four or five or six people? Or more? You have all those status meetings, all those partners’ meetings.

WEINER

Those are tough, and the hardest part of my job is dealing with exposition. So populating those meetings with a lot of characters gives you a chance to bury it. But I find that giving each of the characters their own goal in the scene helps them talk in my head. And that’s usually the place for the most drama. Characters go in the story from having a private problem to having a public problem, even if they just lie about it. Which I guess is some convoluted definition of dramatic irony. Take the meeting in the episode “Hands and Knees.” Don has almost been caught by the government. Pete has to turn down North American Aviation and lie for Don or Don will go to jail. Pete also knows that Don is sleeping with Dr. Faye. Lane has been beaten by his father with a cane. Roger has lost their biggest account and sent Joan alone to get an abortion. Joan has not gotten an abortion. And Cooper is just there—he doesn’t know anything. So there are six secrets in the room, and when I was writing that scene, the hardest part was forcing the characters to talk about anything. Luckily we had the structure of another dumb meeting. The audience has so much information, and the characters don’t have any.

In addition to writing, I happen to go to a lot of meetings, and I find them hilarious—the rules of order, old business, new business, it’s not just from the Marx Brothers. But you know, every scene is comic to me.

INTERVIEWER

The first time I walked onto the set, I saw a stack of mail sitting on a secretary’s desk. Every single letter was addressed to a character on the show, from a client they have in the show, stamped and postmarked 1965. How do you make it so real, so detailed?

WEINER

Well, I have a bunch of people who delight in re-creating that physical reality. But as for the writing, I don’t make any special effort to write “period.” I try to be realistic, but the characters are smarter and more eloquent than regular people. It’s part of why I have them talk so slowly—or, really, listen so much—because I didn’t want the dialogue to be repetitive and snappy and sound phony. I wanted there to be real things like people saying, What? when they didn’t understand something, and coughing—things like that. The director of the pilot wanted it to look “1950s.” He actually wanted to do it in black and white. Then he wanted it to be spoken faster. But if you speak that fast, you’ll have to keep repeating the information. I did not want to do that. I didn’t even have the characters address each other by name because it felt phony. And after two seasons of the show, Roger Sterling was known as “the white-haired guy.”

One thing we did agree on was that we were looking for a commercial cinematographic style. We were very interested in the ceilings, in the low angles. The cinematographer, director, production designer, and I all shared a point of reference in North by Northwest, which is a story about an advertising man. Even though it’s very stylized and it’s a thriller and it’s Cary Grant, it was made in 1958, a couple years before the pilot took place, and we were influenced photographically by that.

A lot of these things were decided, like so many good decisions, by financial necessity. In the pilot, I wrote an overhead shot of men coming into the Sterling Cooper building, because I knew that was the cheapest angle to make period. Looking straight down, you have the side of the building—and the buildings hadn’t aged much—and you have the tops of people’s hats, which might not require full costumes, and some cars, and you get the sensation of period. When we did the flashbacks, our first glimpse of Dick Whitman’s childhood, I remembered how, in Death of a Salesman, they had staged the flashbacks in the regular sets, and I thought, Why don’t we just put this in Don’s dining room? We’ll stage it in a sort of theatrical limbo.

INTERVIEWER

Often you’ll say, That just doesn’t sound period. And someone will go research it and discover that you’re right. How are you so connected to a period that you experienced only as a small child?

WEINER

I cut out any slang that I didn’t know organically. Even as a kid, you hear certain expressions and then you stop hearing them. I had heard people say, “Make a hash of it.” They don’t say it anymore. Also, I intuitively cast actors who had a certain formality to them. It turned out they were almost all from the Midwest. They have old-fashioned manners.

But you know, these questions of verisimilitude have a lot to do with the framing and the editing. The original director, Alan Taylor, is a huge fan of Wong Kar-wai, and so am I. What Wong Kar-wai does is let scenes develop in front of your eyes. In a conversation, the point-of-view shots will include parts of people’s shoulders and heads. He has a shot design that appreciates the space, puts the people in the space, puts the audience in the space. Music and mise-en-sceÌ€ne are part of it, but the editorial style was most important of all. We don’t use overlapping dialogue. Usually, when you cut a scene between two people talking, you keep cutting to the person who’s listening. It allows you to use material from different performances. It’s also supposed to keep the audience in the scene. But I felt that, since these actors were so good and they pulled off these transitions in front of our eyes, why cut away? So I’d stay with their performance. They would do the entire speech, and then there would be a pause on one side or the other for the other character to respond. That, to me, magically creates a first-person experience, though none of this was intellectual. That’s kind of the way I experience the world. It feels normal to me.

INTERVIEWER

Once you had directed the show, did it change the way you wrote for it?

WEINER

I try now to write every script as if I would have to direct it. I do not leave vagaries of position or gesture. I do not have vagaries about the set. I try to specify who the characters are. It’s a blueprint. I will always give visual clues. I’m not talking about the props only, but a visual motif. People sitting or standing. I will write those things in. Where they are in the room, I write that in the script. You don’t have to do that, and I used to not write that. Betty has a seat in the kitchen. That’s one of my things. Your mom has a place where she sits, if she sits. Directing has made me not write impossible crap like somebody “plops into a chair” or “turns beet red” or “rolls their eyes.” That means that there’s no cheating in the stage directions—“He’s never felt this way before.” “He reminds her of her father.” You can’t write how someone feels, you have to show it in the scene.

The miracle of writing Jon Hamm sitting on the steps at the end of the first season and, as the camera pulled away, seeing his face physically change in a way that . . . It was exhilarating. So much emotion. I’m too embarrassed a person to ever do that job. I don’t know how actors do it.

INTERVIEWER

On the level of the scene, you’re always searching for a surprising way into a moment, or a way that a moment can turn into something you don’t expect.

WEINER

You know that scene in Rebecca when Joan Fontaine is exploring the room where everything is monogrammed “Rebecca,” and George Sanders just appears in the window? It’s a ground-floor room, and he’s sitting in the window. He just slides his leg over the sash and walks into the room. You’re like, That guy could’ve come in through the front door, but I know so much about him because he came in the window. We all love moments like that.

How many people say at the beginning of a story that the character is bored, and they start telling all these things about how he’s bored—he does this, and he goes to his mom’s house, and she’s talking, and he’s staring off, and then you go to his job and it’s the same every day. But actually, it only takes one shot to explain to the audience that the character is bored, and I mean bored with everything in their whole life. They did it on The Sopranos. When Tony was supposed to be laying low, they had a shot of him on the escalator in the mall.

The story is not, We built this great bridge, let’s watch people go across the bridge. The story is, The bridge is out, the bridge is broken, I’m going to try to build one. And then it gets blown up right before I finish it.

INTERVIEWER

Do you read any of the commentary on Mad Men?

WEINER

I stay off the Internet.

INTERVIEWER

Now you do.

WEINER

Yeah, I couldn’t take it. It’s like being on trial for a crime you didn’t commit and having to listen to the testimony with a gag in your mouth. I did learn, though, that what I intended something to mean is not always what it means. That’s okay. It’s actually kind of amazing.

INTERVIEWER

You directed a movie last year. You write plays and poetry. How do you feel about being labeled a “TV writer”?

WEINER

I don’t even understand what that is. That’s going to be a big joke to everyone in ten years because everyone’s going to watch things on the same screen. The movie industry is clinging to its perceived role as the dominant form in the culture, but you know, I was just reading an interview with Stanley Kubrick from the late fifties where he talks about how movies, if they want to have any impact, have to start being more like television, or better. He was talking about the artists in TV at that time—among them, Woody Allen, Larry Gelbart, Neil Simon, Rod Serling, Paddy Chayefsky, Reginald Rose—and the directors who went with them—John Frankenheimer, Sidney Lumet, Delbert Mann. In the next ten years, they all went into the movies. The movies took that business away. But really, the fifties was the golden age of television.

INTERVIEWER

What made the fifties a golden age?

WEINER

Social consciousness and a respect for the audience. This was the same moment as the blacklist, so there was so much subversion. There’s poetry, there’s great speeches, there’s incredible eloquence in those early made-for-TV dramas, but they are derived from real life. There are actors in them who are unattractive. There are recognizable milieus, like automats. Before the 1950s, something like 12 Angry Men wouldn’t have seemed like a promising subject for a Hollywood movie. It had to be a ninety-minute TV show first. But that’s how it goes. Americans are subversive and they depend on their entertainment to express it. So thankfully, all subversive entertainment eventually succeeds.

INTERVIEWER

Do you ever worry about losing your touch?

WEINER

In show business, careers are always seen in terms of hot or cold. Hot and cold doesn’t interest me. That’s dependent on the world. Are you in style or are you not in style? My kids have no Faulkner on their reading list. Thomas Wolfe—completely gone. You never know what’s going to go and what will stay. But on the creative side, you’re either wet or dry. That’s what a writer asks himself. Am I going to dry up? The repetition is the hardest part. You know—you deal with it every day. You witness me trying not to get caught with my pants down doing something I’ve already done. Remember Allan Burns, from my high school graduation? Well, I had lunch with him after my freshman year of college. I asked him, How do you write? He said, My rule is quit when I’m hot. When I’m in the middle of something and it’s good and I know where it’s going to go, that’s where I stop, so when I get back tomorrow I can get back on it. Underneath this was obviously the fear that he could wake up tomorrow and not be able to write. That terrifies me, too.

INTERVIEWER

Do you have other superstitions about your work?

WEINER

I have a pen I use to check off numbers on the outline. I’ve been using that pen since Becker. I will borrow other people’s superstitions. But I’m most superstitious about hubris. I am terrified about having things taken away from me because I finally relax. When I wrote the pilot of Mad Men, I was saying, I’m already successful, why am I not happy? Now it’s become, You didn’t even know what success was. What if your dreams came true?

#Don Draper #Jon Hamm #Matthew Weiner #Mad Men #this is loooooong #hopefully some of you are into this #also if some of you versed in law tell me if this is legal? i give credit so i should be good right #right??

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mykatesingh-blog · 5 years

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I love that we have the choice of running water, we can watch funny things on TV, and with the press of 3 buttons our laundry does itself and comes out fresh and clean (sometimes). I love flushing the toilet and being able to stock my pantry with a few shopping trips at stores filled with pretty jars and brightly colored boxes. And the vacuum, God bless it, let us not forget the vacuum.

I’ve added a few other items to my life to bring some modern ease into my domestic duties; a bread maker from the Hospice thrift and…hum, well I guess that is it. I did get a handheld milk frother but that isn’t so modern. I guess when held up to say a Nescafe Dolce Gusto, it seems victorian.

I once dreamt of owning a Dolce Gusto coffee and latte machine. I had it on my Christmas list. With Christmas, my husband and I don’t get each other gifts. We indulge the children and I make candy and cookies for neighbors and friends. I cook for family as their gift. But this is a magical time that I adore and I usually grant myself a wish or two as a Christmas gift to myself. It is usually an item to decorate the home to make it more charming like a lovely quilt for the family bed or a kitchen gadget to bring more joy into the adults lives like a stovetop Italian espresso maker. I think that is fair and fine.

I love old fashioned things to use in my house. I use them mostly to force me to slow down and be present when cleaning or cooking. I learned this from the Amish. Not that I’ve ever been around them but I’ve read enough Amish fiction and philosophy to get what they are working at. A connection and communion with the Creator, Spirit. You must slow down and get very quiet to hear that the Universe has to share.

I percolate my coffee on the stove to smell the aroma waft through the house in the morning and I use a wooden broom to sweep my wooden floors. That was inspired by Tibetan monks. Don’t ask.

Modern technology was meant to make life easier but people are so busy now. Busier than an 1800’s farmer. They at least slowed down in the winter. Most people cram jam as much into a day and week and monthly schedule as possible. And most people are using liquor or pills to calm down. Interesting, right?

Why not mimic some of farmer grandma’s ways? Let’s take some of great grandma’s frugality and thrift from the Depression Era. Then borrow a little 1950’s housewife scheduling and work, add modern tools and voila!! You have a balanced, cozy, pleasant life.

Farmers used to go with the seasons. Maybe they still do but I read about the old days often so I don’t know what farm life is like today. I would think they went by the natural days light and each season had its specific chores and routines. They worked hard but all the work was for their family, their farms, their land, their homes. They worked long hours when it called for it and had slow days in between. Although the farmer’s work is ongoing and can be grueling, it is also natural. Farm work is done with the hands, takes focus and being in tune with the flow of seasons and the needs of creatures that depend on them, and it’s mostly outdoors in nature with sunshine, fresh air, and the domestic and wild critters. No long days under fluorescent lighting and ringing phones and instant messages, and constant dinging cell phones. The commute is to the barn, to the fields, back to the barn, to the house and repeat.

Depression Era, now here is a subject that has fascinated me lately. I had a book suggested to me ( We Had Everything But Money) that changed my whole perspective on what we really need and how to live simply to survive any financial crisis…or to just have a peaceful existence and not be a slave to money. You learn to wisely work with the money to best have it serve the families needs.

Depression Era homemakers were shrewd, wise, creative. They learned to work with very little, repurpose everything and anything that came into their home and how to be sustainable and resourceful. They made dresses from flour and sugar sacks, had kitchen gardens instead of lawns, and knew how to can any food imaginable. They made every penny count and wasted nothing. They were living greener than anyone in this day and age.

The 1950’s housewife was still making things from scratch and hand cranking the laundry but life was getting easier with washing machines, supermarkets, and vacuums. Now she didn’t need the kitchen garden and canning was already done at the factory. It was new gadgets and a car in the driveway. However, there was still a woman in the home and a focus on tending to the running of it and the care of the family.

Now we have everyone at work and school, after-school activities, long nights at the office, longer commutes, sports and extracurricular classes for the kids, quotas to meet, standardized testing, hours of homework, bringing work home…how depressing just thinking of it.

People were driven by simple living and dreams, family and faith. Now they are driven by money, pride, greed, a desire for titles, raises, promotions, and success.

Children are being driven beyond breaking and literally crazy by the pressure. I was reading in Free to Learn by Peter Gray, that suicides have quadrupled since the ’50s amongst children under 15 years old. And yet we still keep increasing the hours at school and homework and now most kids study during the summer. There is no play, no relaxing, no being a child.

And adults…where do I start? There is definitely not much fun or time for much of anything outside the job work and housework and running errands and taking the kids around to forced classes. And it is all for what in the end?

If you wound up on your death bed tomorrow, what would you think of this life? Would you still be thinking of the files on your desk at work and the laundry? Or would you luxuriate in sweet thoughts of the last few days with your family and playing in your garden or baking sweet bread in your kitchen?

All this hustle and bustle is for kids to get into that college and for us to get that raise or promotion. Then there is the desire for more money. But when is it enough and where do we stop and say, “that is just about right”. We don’t. We want more and more and more.

I see it on YouTube where I live part time myself with my vlog and researching canning and homesteading. Some vloggers are very successful but the more successful they become the fancier and fandangled they get and the YouTubers start selling things and promoting companies that sponsor them…even though they are making more than enough and talking about sustainability and simple living. Ha! We get greedy, it’s in our cells. We are hunters and gatherers by heart and we just keep collecting, consuming, gathering, pushing…

I was getting a bit driven myself and became irritable and didn’t have that much time for my children and play. Play? what is that, good Lord?

Then I deleted all my social media. Ahhh…that felt nice and a cool breeze swept through the valley. Then I stopped writing books at my corporate pace. I stopped forcing things and setting goals. I took up colored pens and filled the kiddie pool. I’m baking more bread, purging the house of clutter because I’m tired of cleaning and organizing “stuff”. Have I completely changed my life? No. I’m still figuring it out because I have been on a hampster wheel myself with working and producing.

But what is helping me find that sweet spot is my memories of our lives in Walnut Grove, when we lived on a fruit farm by the river. We had just moved there from our community by the coast and it was isolated. The town had less than 800 citizens and four miles away. The large town was a 40-minute drive if you wanted to purchase groceries or shop at Walmart or any super store. My husband worked long hours and six days a week. We had one car and walking anywhere was out of the question. The river road had no sidewalk and people drove wild and fast. The only place to walk was around the alfalfa fields or through the orchards. Trips to town were planned once a week. All my friends and family lived hours away now and I only had one elder named Alice to keep me company and help me adjust to life in a pear orchard and scorching hot days.

Alice and my family along with a vacation house for the owners of the farm were the only houses there. We listened to the thick chirp and chatter of birds in the morning and the howls and calls of coyote at night.

It was lonely but one of the most peaceful and pleasant times of our lives. I had small children that required nothing more than lots of love, nursing, and me sitting nearby as they played with sand toys and blocks. We had an antenna but didn’t watch much TV. We just had these slow days of hanging out. The babies played and explored with me just there to make sure they didn’t get into dangerous situations or eat too much sand and I read stacks of Amish fiction, made casseroles, baked treats, hung my clothes on the old clotheslines, and cleaned my home.

On a farm, you feel the full seasons. In the summer you have routines to keep the house cool such as opening and closing blinds with the suns direction, running the whole house fan, and doing chores early and taking walks in the evening. In the winter you get up early to build a fire to warm the house and you bake and cook a lot to keep the house warm. You rise with the sun naturally and go to bed soon after the sunset and cleaning the kitchen. You learn what fruits are in season when and pick them at the peak of ripeness. You only go to town once a week and you make it count.

I wasn’t working on a writing career or any other side work back then. I was just tending to my house and family and I had all the time in the world to read luxuriously under our huge olive tree. We used to take drives through the country and farms to explore our area in the summer evenings. Friends loved to visit because it was so calm and quiet. We would lounge about eating good foods and talking endlessly.

Today I’m busy by my own making of goals and challenges and the boys are bigger and full of energy. We have gardens and homeschooling. But I crave that slower life once again. So, I’m on a quest to downsize and remove all that isn’t bringing this family enjoyment or enhancing the quality of our lives. I purposely buy gadgets that slow the pace and I do things by hand or make food from scratch.

My suggestion is to clear the calendar, clear out the clutter, clear that schedule, try to reduce work so there are times you put in a long day and times you sit about reading all day. Find ways and reasons to work and play outside. All that cement and fluorescent lighting aren’t good for the soul. Stop signing your kids up for all those classes. What will make them smarter, happier, healthier, and more confident is having time to be children, to play freely and if you would just let them be.

As for you the working parent or homemaker…find ways to simplify and learn to savor life. Plant a kitchen garden, start making your own bread, take time to learn sewing or painting, can jam. These things are like a balm to the soul.

Rates of suicides amongst children and rates of depression and stress-induced death amongst adults are rising faster every year. It is a serious thing and it is self-induced to keep up with the trends and chase the almighty dollar. No title, no promotion, no amount of money will be worth all the lost years with family and friends, with your children…with yourself. Take back your life, scale down life to something small and delicious and find ways to save money and live smaller by growing your own food, canning, mending clothes, living under your means, having one car, getting rid of cable and whatever else to bring down the bills.

Trust me, the less you have the more you thrive if done wisely.

Homemaking like our grandmothers. I love that we have the choice of running water, we can watch funny things on TV, and with the press of 3 buttons our laundry does itself and comes out fresh and clean (sometimes).

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officialroyalqueen · 5 years

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Wisdom Eight BECOMING SOCIAL MEDIA WISE S - Societal O- Obsession C – Constantly I – Influencing + A – Affecting L – Lives M – Making E – Entertainment D – Distractingly I – Interesting A – Always. When the purpose of a thing is not known abuse is inevitable. This is what comes to mind, when I think of social media and its effects on youths. Please don’t get me wrong, social media has been greatly useful in so many ways. With social media we are able to socialize, listen, watch, download our choice music and videos, share beautiful pictures and communicate with our family, friends regardless of the distance. We study and conduct researches, pay bills, get information via Google, Facebook, Twitter, blogs, YouTube, etc. So no doubt, social media as enabled by internet has been profitable. A little more about its benefits; we are able to purchase, sell and make our brand and product more popular through it. We find jobs on social media. Some have found love and marriage through it. It has equally made public servants a bit cautious and responsible especially those in political positions in developed countries. Well, so many people believe it’s one of the best things that have happened in our generation. According to Rex Cleanus, “It is the voyage that modernity rides on to safe landing”. Even though social media is important, it could be abused when we don’t priorities adequately. We need to be cautious, when on social media, it can be addictive. It can make you become who you never thought you would be. I don’t follow most celebrities because sometimes they get petty, they talk without caution. They vent out on anybody that does not seem to agree with them. I don’t want to be like that, ‘so why should I follow’? If you follow celebrities on social media platforms without caution, you might begin to feel they have everything the world has to offer. Before the emergence of Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, snapchat, etc life was simple and people where a bit more respectful, accommodating and purposeful. When smartphones were introduced some youths lost self-control. Young girls were ready to do anything for anyone that offers to get them a smart phone especially here in Africa. Yes! Smart phones, pads and other devices accessing social media platforms have come to dominate our world. We have no choice but to become social media wise. What happens if you’re not social Media-wise? Waste of Time Social media can consume more than a quarter of your time. An average person has three to five social media accounts and spends around 1 hour, 40 minutes browsing these networks every day on average of about 45 hours per week. It is disturbing to know that teenagers live in this massive 24/7 digital media technology space without proper guidance. Note that some youths spend about 9 hours on social media each day and it’s not for making researches or for assignments but on their social-media handles. This is totally a waste of time, one that ought to be curtailed. Some teenagers have lost focus; they don’t even have a clue of what lies within and ahead. I’m talking about people that should be world-class inventors, creative directors, professional athletes, authors, producers, entrepreneurs, etc rather they’ve spent their valuable time surfing aimlessly on social media. You might think you have your life all figured out, wait until you start paying more attention to your set goals. You’ll realize that greater innovative advancement is gained, more skill acquired, the vision becomes even more clearer and your approach more direct and productive. Therefore, allow productive task swallow up your time. I always ask young people what they would like to do after school, and they often tell me, actress, actor, social media influencer, PR, music artists, comedians. Yeah! They’re all interesting professions and do attract popularity. Although I’m persuaded to believe that the time they spend on social media is having effect on their choices and dreams. They are mostly influenced by those celebrities that show off constantly on social media. So they love the glamour and do think of living such lives. It is all about the smartphone camera and the fame pursuit. ‘9 hours on social media for a young lady’? Please how and where will she learn the basic virtues that will make her a successful career woman, a good wife and mum? I asked a 16 year old girl that came to stay in my home to make pap (Nigeria corn meal made from wet corn starch) for my kids; she told me boldly, she doesn’t know how to do it. I was shocked, but then I realized why. Although she stayed briefly with me, I realized she literally lived in the digital space. She spends the whole day petty-chatting online. Before this social media obsession teenagers knew what they were supposed to know, they took proper care of their families but today, most teenagers have become pros at managing their social media accounts only. Some can’t go a day without thinking about the trend they might have missed. It has become an obsession for many teenagers of today. How would a young man/woman that should be concerned with discovering his/her talent and nurturing it, succeed? when he spends his whole day chatting and surfing the net majorly to see what celebrities are up and about to do. The social media can be deceitful for youths; don’t allow it dictate your life by becoming obsessed with it. Don’t spend your youthful age admiring other people successes while failing to build up your own career. Now, everybody seems to live in the cyberspace. This is also one of the foundational causes of family issues; some people are no more living a real life but a fake one. You must place your priorities right. That way you will not be cut in the frenzy or drama that it propagates. You’ll be able to ride on it with purpose and safeguard yourself from falling prey to its distractions and time wasting invitation. SEXUAL EXPLOITATION You must esteem yourself and never succumb to trampling on your dignity. Social media makes it easy for you to be enticed and indulge in activities that could mess up your personality. And sometimes the damage done could be irrevocable. A teenage girl met some men on social media, they promised to help her achieve her dream of becoming an actress. She got carried away by all their ‘sweet lies’. They invited her over and demanded she tells no one about it. They said she needed to be discreet because sometimes family and friends are obstacles that hinder dreams (aspiration). She left her town without informing anyone of her where about, the awful part been she doesn’t know anyone in the city she was going. She got there late and finally met with the men. The moment she saw them she became uneasy, but it was too late to back-out. She was ‘gang raped’ and sent back home the next day. I’m sure if she had resisted or threatened they might have killed her. Another ugly incident happened in 2012; a girl traveled from Abuja to Lagos to meet her Facebook friend. She was robbed; gang raped and was killed in a hotel room by her so called ‘Facebook friend’. In her case the damage is irrevocable because she lost her life as a result. Very sad indeed! However, these identifies with the reasons why I desire to have you well informed. So that you can afford to guide your life with pride and walk on that safe pathway. You probably might have heard similar stories, the experiences of so many teenagers who in like manner have lost their lives or may have sustained life time scars. Another issue that falls within sexual exploitation is called sexting. Sexting is an act that some adult and teens alike engage in by sending explicit/nude photos and videos to each other for fun, some to please their partner and in some cases, they are pressured to do so. Why forward a photo, or anything in a text, that you wouldn’t want to be made public? We shall discuss more about ‘sexting’ in the next chapter. Grudge If you are not social media wise, it will be a huge part of your life and can detect your mood, countenance and shape your character. This can rear its ugly head when your friends do not reply to your messages, like your posts or comment on your photos; you feel bad and take it personal. And as a revenge tactics, when they post their photos, you see it but will ‘never’ like or comment on it. To you it’s payback time! Isn’t it funny? We existed even way before social media. At that time all conversations often took place face-to-face and people connected well. Most of the teenagers that’ll read this book grew up within the smartphones era but before then, people had friends. The difference is that; people were more committed and connected with their friends physically. While growing up, I observed how my elder sisters relate with their friends. I noticed how their faces glow each time they send or receive a letter from friends. They don’t chat on WhatsApp or Facebook with them but when they meet, they cherish every moment. Did you know they were able to communicate with everyone in their inner circle without having to constantly text or be on social media? Yes! It’s not exactly like what we have now. Today people use emojis (pictograms) that are sometimes the opposite of what they feel in reality. Don’t be a slave to these things. Social media shouldn’t make you lose control, it doesn’t matter if a friend likes your picture or not. It doesn’t matter if they fail to comment or reply your text, they are living their lives. You should not allow their actions shape or distort the wonderful person you are. Learn to resolve issues with friends by exploring reasonable alternatives. Never allow social media buzz and quest for recognition boost your anxiety and undue grudge. Depression We all have ways we handle our emotion. If you understood the first chapter of this book, you will understand this chapter effortlessly. Social media and its activities could trigger your stress hormones, for instance, you could be worried if you are going through a challenge and all you see on social media are happy people. You surf the net and all you see are people that are already where you desire to be. You see photos of your friends at exotic places having good time and they captioned it, “blessed beyond words”, “Living my best life”, “Cruising around the world”, etc. You could be going through a financial challenges and you see your friend’s pictures on social media with wads of cash and exotic cars. To top it all, they look so happy enjoying life to the fullest. This could make you feel sad and pressured. You might not feel jealous but you feel bad concerning your situation because what comes to your mind is that their lives are perfect and yours is in shambles. ‘Things are so working for them but not for you’. But it never occurred to you that everyone is packaging; no one will put up the ugly side of their lives on social media. All we see are only but a small slice, often the best slice. Possibly they had issues minutes before or after the photo, but the sweet moment is what everyone sees on social media handles. Social media can drive you into negative competition and if you don’t measure up, it could sink you into depression. This is often because of a common ‘deceitful’ perception that everyone is done sorting out their lives and you’re the only one still struggling. You must come to terms with the truth that there are lots of people in this world whom you think they know how but in reality have no clue concerning how to build an organized and meaningful life. Stay alert, keep away from the bad folks, work a little harder to find your path and associate with ‘the good people’ who can help you grow, develop and create a life worthy of emulation. Influence Social media is a platform that has influenced a lot of people. You can’t afford to follow what you see celebrities do blindly. You should have the discerning ability to separate the wheat from the chaff. Some updates written on social media platforms that are presented to be facts are not. The vast majority are just opinions and personal views. Believe me; those people might be clueless or less informed about the issue. They might not know as much as you think they do. The choices you make as you surf the internet could shape your life. Be prudent and watchful to avoid the footsteps that lead to destructive end. Distraction I was in a church one day and while the sermon was going on, I noticed some teenagers were busy surfing the internet. I wasn’t particularly surprised at all. Over time I’ve come to realize how interestingly distracting social media has become. We ought to prioritize by not letting less important things distract us from the more important things. Social media can distract one from ‘more needful’ things such as having quality time with family. It can make you pay less attention to studies. Remember that inner voice (intuition) that wants to help you discover and explore opportunities? How do you hear such a ‘voice’ when you are so distracted by social media? Don’t forget we are discussing about distraction as a means through which social media usurp our self-control. Therefore, we need to remain sensitive and checkmate our social media related activities, invest more time in productive venture and less time on social handles. Bragging You were thought to always ‘do good’ and not let your right hand know what you do for charity. Well! Social media says; ‘hell no’! ‘Take some pictures so your friends will know you visited the orphanage home.’ One of the attractions promoted on social media handles is showy display of one’s means of life. Showy display is often motivated by the intent to brag. Those who do are often cut up with the burden to show off more in other to remain relevant. The intent to brag on social media says; “take beautiful pictures tell them that you are not in the country”. It says; “they need to know you achieved this and you achieved that already’. The idea is often to showcase. So as a pastor they need to know your church is growing massively. As a business man they need to know you’re making so much money, travelling around the world. As a celebrity, they need to know you’re very rich, has state of the art cars, mansions and holidays in best beach resorts of the world. Somehow bragging has got its wings rooted on social media. If we are to do the same thing we do on social media in real life. It will be a situation like this: You make a large picture frame of you or your family in exotic place. You go around the neighborhood with it lifted up above your head, screaming; “Miami Beach USA was on point, nice time with my family. Neighbors come out to see the photo; it’s an amazing photo that depicts the luxury we all enjoyed while in Miami Beach”. It could also be a situation like this: You prepared a delicious meal and took it round the neighborhood screaming; “See what I’m having for dinner, it looks and tastes delicious. I’m having the best meal ever”. It will amount to one displaying all his awards on the street for people to see and applaud. Sounds ridiculous right? Yeah! I thought as much. Why would anyone post nudes on social media and cover up in reality. For me, it’s like living a double life. Social media is a beautiful thing as I’ve noted earlier, everything has been made so easy with it. I mean you can learn anything, just about anything on the internet through, Google, YouTube, etc. You can learn how to bake, how to be a public speaker, even how to speak other languages. You can even study a degree/certificate course through the internet. I enjoy all these benefits; I love the fact that studying and researches are a lot easier now, unlike the days with no internet. Being social media wise is vital for total management of your time and prevention of acts that promote bragging. Cyber bullying Cyber bullying is not good at all. The people on the internet are humans with emotions, blood runs through their veins, they read what you say and they get hurt because you don’t have a clue of what they have been through and who they are. It is sad when one comes on social media to mock and say something derogatory about another, especially when such information is false. Such an act could break you, so why break others? Becoming social-media wise makes you moderate and considerate individual. When you are social-media wise you find it strange using the platform to display flamboyance and lavish lifestyle. This is one of the reasons why there is increase in crime. You ought to live life intentionally with fairness and virtue as bedrock. You can ask yourself some vital questions to know where you stand; 1. How long do you spend on social media? 2. What do you do most times when you are on social media? 3. Does it encroach the more needful; like school work, home chores, communication with your family? 4. Would you be proud of your posts in the next ten years? 5. How would you want your children and grandchildren to see you when they search for those posts or check up your social media handles? 7. The people you follow on social media, how impactful have they been? 8. The celebrities you follow on social media, how do they react to criticism? Do you react to issues in similar fashion? 9. Do you have the power to abstain from social media for a while? 10. How do you think you can become social media wise? Sincerely answer these questions to see how you fair and what necessary changes you’ll need to make. You need to starve your distraction and feed your focus. Please kindly donate to have wisdom undiluted given out to those it was written for. Thanks

http://www.royalqueen607.com/2019/03/becoming-social-media-wise-wisdom.html

#tech #blog #Supercars #news #Inspirational

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malediviana · 7 years

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I think the last time I actually wrote about my holidays was when I was maybe in 5th grade. First day of class in the new-year, they ask you to write an essay describing what you did during your term break. Here I am now, 17 years on, attempting to write about the holiday I just got back from. So pardon me if it’s not the best you’ve read.. Also, you could probably just look at the pictures and not read if that suits you!

Recently, I’ve been taking Bobbé on small trips for his birthday. Two years back, I took him on a weekend trip to Barcelona as he’s an avid supporter of FCB. Last year, I took him to Lake Como in Italy as he has always been keen on driving a speed boat and I thought the lake would be a good place for him to have a go at it. This year, I decided to venture a bit further than Europe. The Qatar Airways Travel Festival discount offers could not have been announced at a better time. After exploring the destinations and prices, I finally booked a week-long trip to Bali for the two of us for £800 return. Score!!!

First order of business, I decided, was to watch Eat, Pray, Love. (as cliché as it sounds) Bobbé had never watched the movie so we had a movie night to watch it. I simply love the movie, and so did Bobbé. (luckily!) We decided then and there that we must visit Ubud in Bali as we fell in love with the rice paddies and just the overall chilled lifestyle of the town portrayed by the movie. As Bali is quite a big island, (contrary to what Balinese people will tell you- hey, I’m from Maldives.. any island bigger than 2km from one end to the other is very big for me ok!) we decided to stay at a second town too. We decided on Semenyik as it’s close to the beach but not too crowded as it’s counter-part Kuta. I’m not going to bore you with our planning phase, instead I’ll just get right to it.

3rd March – Friday

Our flight was at 8.30pm so we left Southampton around 4pm to get to London Heathrow. The journey was just under 1.5 hours (which is a nice change from our usual drive to London Stansted which is 2 hours). Had an Italian dinner at Carluccio’s before our flight and did some duty-free window shopping. We were buzzing.

4th March – Saturday

After an 18 hour flight (including the transit in Doha, Qatar), we finally landed in Ngurah Rai International Airport in Denpasar, Bali at 11.15pm. May I add that Indonesia is one of the few countries to which Maldivians don’t require a travel visa. This may seem trivial to most people, but for us IT IS A BIG DEAL!

After 18+ hours of travelling, we’re finally in Bali! Poster reminding us we were in Bali in case we forgot

5th March – Sunday

We arrived at “Ayu Homestay” in Ubud at around 1.30am. They provided a hotel pick-up service at a cost of £28. We could’ve gotten it for cheaper, but we went with it anyway, given we landed around midnight and we were quite far from Ubud.

3 nights stay at this homestay cost us £30 and it included a great breakfast too! The place itself looked like a temple (To be honest, everywhere in Ubud looked like a temple!) It’s beautiful. It’s located right in the heart of Ubud near the monkey forest.

Room for the next 3 nights. £10 a night including breakfast. Well worth the money.

Clean toilets at Ayu Homestay

Free breakfast at Ayu Homestay made fresh to order <3

Outside our room

Entrance to Ayu Homestay

Bear in mind, at this point, we had travelled almost 24 hours door to door. We were knackered. But jet lag kicked in (plus all the excitement about exploring Ubud) and we struggled to fall asleep. We finally fell asleep around 5am and slept through both our alarms set for 7.30am. (it happens to everyone I guess? Ha!)

Fast-forward to 11am when we finally woke up, got dressed and headed out.

First thing we wanted to do was indulge our taste-buds with some Nasigoreng at Ibu Rai Bar & Restaurant. (Indonesian fried rice). Being Maldivians, we’ve always known and loved Nasigoreng as it’s quite popular back home. We were in Nasigoreng heaven. *drooool*

First Nasigoreng of the trip!

After a big breakfast/lunch/brunch (whatever you wanna call it), we spent a few hours just walking around and getting a general feel for the town. We were loving the chilled vibe!

Beautiful handmade works of art seen everywhere in Ubud

Walking the streets of Ubud

We rented a scooter for the 2 days we were going to be in Ubud. After all the travelling, eating and walking we decided to head to a spa. We drove to Karsa Spa (set in the midst of rice fields and offered reasonable prices) in hopes of booking an appointment. Unfortunately, the spa was fully booked for the next two days, so guys, we suggest booking in advance! The trip wasn’t a complete waste though; we ended up going to Karsa Café which is right next door and it offers stunning views of the rice fields.

Driving to Karsa Spa

Petrol sold in Vodka bottles

Peaceful huts to just relax and have some food and drinks

Enjoying a cold coconut (not enjoying being asked to pose tho)

Views from the hut

Rice fields seen from Karsa Cafe

Ubud is full of spas of all price ranges. Just because Karsa Spa was fully booked it didn’t keep us from not getting a massage. We ended up getting a massage near our homestay for under £6 for the both of us.

We ended the night with a delicious dinner at Warung Melting Wok.

6th March – Monday

We booked white water rafting in the Ayung River through Ayung Bali Rafting. Cost for the two of us was around £60, which included transport to and from hotel, rafting equipment, insurance, lockers, changing/shower area and lunch. Oh the lunch! Their website claims the buffet lunch is prepared by a 5 star chef. Not sure how true this is, but the food was definitely 5 star in our opinion.

Ready to set off!

Rapids of Ayung River. The guy would shout BOOM BOOM when it’s time to get ready for a big drop.

The pressure from the waterfall was intense!

Posing for pics.

Back to rafting.

Fun rapids!

Five star buffet lunch provided by Ayung Bali Rafting

We got back to our homestay around 1.30pm, rested for a bit, got dressed and headed out on a mission to conquer Tegalalang Rice Terrance, Goa Gajah and Tegenungan Waterfall. We also stopped at a café serving Luwak Coffee for a taste of Indonesia’s infamous “poop coffee”. The taste was interesting to say the least..

Views of Tegallalang rice terrace. Considered trekking down and seeing the fields up close but umm it was too hot. You can still admire its beauty from this view point!

Luwak coffee – made from part-digested coffee cherries eaten and defecated by the Asian Palm Chivet.

Goa Gajah aka Elephant Cave

Exploring Goa Gajah (the elephant cave)

Washing your face with the water being poured out from the bowls is meant to give you good health

Entrance to the cave. Feels like you’re being swallowed!

Huge tree in the temple grounds of Goa Gajah

For most temples, you’re required to wear a sarong if you’re not wearing a full-length dress/pants

Tegenungan Waterfall

The beautiful waterfall just a 20 min drive from Ubud.

Managed to get a shot without the crowd

After a day filled with activities, we treated ourselves at the spa…

Afterwards, we had dinner at Warung Sjaki. We were told that the money they make from the restaurant helps fund the “Sjaki-Tari-Us” school; a school for children and teenagers with mental disabilities. We were given a tour of the school right next to the Warung by two lovely ladies volunteering from Europe. There is also a small shop next to the school and restaurant that sell the teenager’s works of art. Worth visiting this place!

7th March – Tuesday

Last day in Ubud. Need.More.Time!

After Ayu Homestay’s filling healthy breakfast, we headed to Pura Ulun Danu Beratan which is a 1.5 hour ride. Along the way, you get to enjoy spectacular views of the rice fields and mountains.

Exploring temple grounds of Ulun Danu Beratan

Don’t you just love the clouds in the background making this picture of the temple even more perfect??

I gave Bobbé a tiny hat haha

This beautiful temple tho..

On the way back to Ubud, we stopped at a Warung called Spesial Bakmi Ayam Akai with rice terrace views. It cost us only £6 for 2 delicious nasigorengs and 2 soft drinks. How awesome is that?!

Highly recommend this restaurant for cheap eats with this scenic view!

All this for £6!!! We love our Fanta Strawberry

Happy and tanned us

Views of rice fields from the Warung

We came back to Ubud around 2pm. Had some dessert at Grandpa’s Coffee and Eats and decided to spend a few hours at the spa. Feeling refreshed, rejuvenated and any other synonyms you can think of, we headed to Ubud market for some serious haggling.

Haggling.

Beautiful dream catchers!

Are you seriously trying to sell for that price? haha

At around 7pm, we took a cab to Seminyak from Ubud for £12. The driver was lovely. He told us a bit about his life and dreams and how he wants to go to Paris someday with his girlfriend. How cute is that? We wish him all the best with his dreams :) If you’re looking for a driver in Ubud, give him a try! His name is Wayan Nur and you can call or WhatsApp him on +6285792666099 or +6287860338206.

Have I convinced you yet that you should be booking flights to Bali? If not, maybe this will sway you to go: our hotel “Sweet Room Sweet” in Seminyak for just £25 per night!

Bedroom at Room Sweet Room, Seminyak for just £25 per night

Huge shower area

Very clean and modern bathroom

Pool at Room Sweet Room

8th March – Wednesday

4th day in Bali and I’m getting lazy to write, so let me just do some bullet points.

Breakfast at The Coffee Library. Their Dragon Fruit Smoothie is ah-mayy-zinggg!

Drove to the Green Bowl Beach, one of the many hidden beaches in Bali

Sightseeing in Pura Uluwatu (sea temple)

Seafood dinner at Lia Cafe in Jimbaran Beach

Spa time in Seminyak

In love with the dragon fruit smoothie!

Green Bowl Beach

Trekking down towards the hidden beach

Beach views from inside the bat cave

Enjoying the peace

Or maybe just posing. who knows?

Uluwatu Temple

Uluwatu

Cliffs at Uluwatu

Off the beaten path..

Cheeky monkey pouncing on an unsuspecting Chinese tourist when he turned around

And stole his sunglasses!

Seafood dinner at Lia Cafe in Jimbaran Beach

Some seafood loving in Jimbaran Beach

9th March – Thursday

When we planned our trip, we decided that our stay in Bali would not be complete without spending a few nights at a private villa. Also, Bobbés birthday is the 11th of March, so we had an excuse to splurge a little.

After a hearty breakfast at Sisterfields we checked in to Bali Prime Villas which is just a 15 minute drive from Seminyak centre. We stayed here for 2 nights for a total of around £200. Included in this price was breakfast, 1 lunch, 1 dinner, 1 hour spa in the villa, private pool and transport to the airport/hotel. (We happened to stumble upon a really good deal on booking.com) We think this was very reasonable, especially given we saved a lot on the first two hotels.

Pool area

Kitchen/Dining area

Bedroom

Bathroom

Being showered by a half naked statue haha

After a good amount of time enjoying our private pool, we headed out for lunch at a place called Le Labu Health Centre. It’s a vegetarian restaurant with a yoga studio set in the middle of a rice field. We were the only ones there and we loved it. We then headed to Pura Tanah Lot for sunset.

Lunch at Le Labu. So chill!

Enjoying Le Labu’s Mango&Moringa smoothie

Nasi Campur. Must try!

Tried seaweed for the first time..

Pura Tanah Lot

How many Asian Palm Civets can you spot? This was at one of the café’s in Tanah Lot

Tanah Lot

Beautiful views of the temple at sunset

10th March – Friday

I have been wanting to go parasailing for a while now. Bobbé decided to treat me to a Parasailing Adventure in Nusa Dua in the morning. Whoop whoop!!!

Can you see how happy I am?

Thrilling!!!

So much fun!

Parasailing selfie

Got back to Seminyak around 1.30pm and headed to Totem Room Escape; our first time playing this! We were well excited and it was great fun. Sadly, we were just not smart enough to escape the final room. (Maybe next time?)

Quick lunch and then back to our villa for some spa time in our room and then off for a coffee at “Someplace Else Coffee & Lounge” before Bobbé’s birthday dinner that night. We also stopped for some great photo opportunities at a rice field on the way!

Good pancakes and chilled vibes..

Look at this cool chair!

Beautiful fields. Could not pass by without some pictures..

So much of this in Bali!

Dinner decorations

Bobbe’s birthday in our beautiful villa.

11th March – Saturday

It’s Bobbés birthday!!!

After a Nasigoreng breakfast (we probably had a bastha of nasigoreng that week), we went to Waterbom in Kuta which is meant to be the 2nd best waterpark in the world. Boy did we have fun!!! Unfortunately we only have videos from Waterbom and can’t upload videos on free wordpress account :( Came back to our villa around 1pm after getting a take-away Smoothie Bowl from Spicy Coconut.

We chilled out in the villa for the rest of the day till we checked out and headed to the airport promising ourselves we will be returning to this beautiful island with the kindest people we have met.

Bali, you have been a dream come true.

A week in Bali, Indonesia I think the last time I actually wrote about my holidays was when I was maybe in 5th grade.

#Asia #bali #indonesia #seminyak #Travel #ubud

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officialroyalqueen · 5 years

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#SEO #Local SEO training

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