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apparitionism · 3 years

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Why

I want to wish a very happy Gift Exchange Day to @mysensitiveside ! This gift, a short and sweet AU, will keep on giving for a while, in that I wasn’t able to fling the whole thing across the finish line for you today. (No surprise, I’m sure, given my posting pace over the past... um... some time.) A second part will appear sooner rather than later, however, and I hope that the whole thing will be to your liking. Thanks of course go to @kla1991 for the organization of the whole @bering-and-wells-exchange extravaganza... and I do just want to say that, as for my own reasons (reasons as such being quite relevant to this story), I still love Myka and Helena, and everybody in this bar, very much.

Why

“Why are you here?” Myka Bering asked of the dog she discovered in the hallway, gazing up at her, when she opened the door of her apartment one Saturday morning.

The dog blinked.

“Aren’t you Sam’s dog?”

The dog blinked again.

Things happen for a reason.

Myka had always been sure of that. So much so that it had shaped her idea of heaven: surely, the experience of paradise was nothing more, less, or other than finally being in possession of all the reasons.

When she was small, her “WHY?” refrain hadn’t distinguished her from her peers, but while most other children eventually gave up the incessant repetitions of that question, she never did. She discovered early on, however, that knowing whom to ask made an enormous difference in the quality of the answers she received: her mother’s exasperated “Because” was endlessly frustrating, as was her father’s equally unsatisfying “It’s magic.”

Which was why she became a research chemist, her choice of career happening for just that reason: it was always going to be a science of some sort, for the “why” questions—which she tended to ask internally now—had answers, if she put enough effort into finding them.

So it struck her as strange, that morning, to find herself asking “why” of a neighbor’s dog, out loud. The quality of any answer she got wasn’t likely to be high.

She had never seen the dog this dirty before. He... was it a he? maybe? she thought she’d heard “boy” at some point... had always seemed a little disheveled, his coat fluffed but lopsided, like he always slept on it wrong and nobody bothered with a comb. But never like this. Never with actual dirt.

She picked up the dog—he weighed less than she expected; she hadn’t realized how much of him was fur—and with some trepidation went to knock on Sam’s door.

No answer.

Myka took the dog back to her apartment. “Are you hungry?” she asked him. He blinked.

She had no idea what dogs ate, other than dog food, and she had no dog food.

She discovered that dogs ate several slices of cheese, a ham sandwich, a peanut butter sandwich, and a corn tortilla. Then dogs took a nap, no doubt exhausted from all the eating.

After numerous fruitless attempts at Sam’s door throughout the day, Myka called Mr. Nielsen, the super. “Sam moved out,” she was told. “Couple weeks ago. No forwarding address.”

“But I have his dog.”

“That’s nice of you,” Mr. Nielsen said.

“You don’t understand. I didn’t intend to have his dog.”

“Then maybe it isn’t nice. It’s not my problem either way.” He hung up.

Myka hadn’t liked Sam. He had asked her out, and she had said no, because he made her nervous. Anyone asking her out made her nervous, but this felt... different. She sensed she’d been right to turn him down, for he got visibly offended, in a way that made her even more nervous, such that she avoided him as much as possible afterward. He didn’t seem like a good person. But to move away and leave his dog behind?

She considered taking the dog to the animal shelter. What was she going to do with a dog? “What am I going to do with a dog?” she asked the dog in question. He blinked.

“I guess it’s you and me, dog,” she said after that Saturday turned into a weekend, the weekend into a week, one week into two.

And he looked at her as if to ask not “why?” but “what took you so long?”

She bought a leash. A bed. Actual dog food. So many products. “I’ve never shopped this much for myself,” she told him. She couldn’t decipher his blink in response to that information. Was it “But of course you should buy more for me” or “You should buy more for yourself”?

As it happened, he was a responsibility in ways she had not expected to enjoy. She had to leave work at midday, every day, to go home and walk him. She had that thing to do, and she did it. Her lab neighbor Abigail teased her about the dog being just an excuse to escape the lab, an excuse who probably didn’t even exist. “He’s real,” Myka protested. “I even had to come up with a name for him.”

Abigail laughed. “Sure you did.”

“Leukotriene.”

Pause. “Okay, now I’m convinced. Mostly. But I still want photo evidence.”

It hadn’t occurred to Myka to take a picture of the newly named Leukotriene, but she did so that night. She included a ruler in the photo for scale, lest Abigail mistake him for a Pomeranian, which was the breed—as far as Myka could tell, given her limited dog knowledge—he most resembled. The next day, “That’s him,” she said.

“Your dog.”

“I guess so.”

“He’s really... pretty.”

At home that night, she told him, “Abigail thinks you’re pretty.” He did the blink. “Yes,” she affirmed, “I do too.”

She shortened his name to “Leuko.” He didn’t seem to hate it. Then again, he wasn’t very vocal, positively or negatively.

She took him on walks, increasingly long ones, on the winding trails of the city’s largest park. She had never been a walker, but Leuko was... well, no: he was a trotter. A delighted, peppy trotter. Myka tried to match his bright energy, but she didn’t ever feel the same shine. It made her unaccountably happy, though, to see him that happy.

When she bathed him, he suffered it (no bright energy there), but she had a sense that he knew how impressive he looked when he was clean. His fluffy tan coat expanded into even greater glossy magnificence, an invitation to sink fingers in, and it rewarded the venture.

The best part, though, was when she would sit on the sofa, reading a journal or, less frequently, a novel, and he would lie against her, sighing as she rested her hand against his soft, warm body.

It was easy to forget that Sam had ever existed. Easy to sink into the belief that she and Leuko had always been a team. That this new texture of her life—this sneaky, responsibility-laden velvet—was a reality that had simply been held in abeyance until the right time. And now was that time.

One Saturday, as they walked in a nearly empty park, enjoying an early cold snap, Myka heard from a great distance an exclamation: “Monty!” She wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but suddenly her leash hand was empty, and Leuko was tearing across an open field, toward a solitary female figure, barking, making noise like he’d finally learned, or just remembered, that he had a voice.

Myka took off after him, drawing near at the moment he leapt—yes, leapt—into the woman’s arms.

She was striking, with dark eyes that rhymed with Leuko’s... in fact, she rhymed entirely with him, with his beauty. She looked up from him to Myka, those dark eyes widening, seemingly shocked to find another person present. “This is my dog,” she said, a little halting, as if she were trying the words out. Or as if she were coaxing them back into her mouth from far away.

Myka’s breath seized. “No,” she said, forcing the word out. “He’s my dog.”

“He is not. He’s mine. You can see it.”

Myka could see it. It drove ice in her heart to see it, to see him so ecstatic to see someone else, but it was there to be seen. It was there to be heard, too: Myka would never, she was sure, forget that declarative bark.

“He was lost for so long. How did you come to have him?” the woman asked, and Myka, trying to hide that heart-ice, explained about Sam. The woman said, shortly and with pain, “So that’s what happened.” She didn’t offer anything more, and while Myka wasn’t the most sensitive of souls, she could tell that this was not the sort of thing a stranger could ask any question about, not why or wherefore or anything at all.

A stranger. She was a stranger to both of them now, this woman and her dog, a stranger in their way, on the path in front of them—on a path she never should have been on in the first place. And if there was one thing Myka knew how to do, it was get out of the way.

She tried, mightily, to tell herself that that was what she should do: just step away. Let them carry on down the path. You didn’t have a dog before, and you were fine.

Leuko—Monty—looked at her from his perch in the woman’s arms. He blinked.

In response to that, Myka found herself babbling, “Can I... I mean, would you maybe let me... walk him sometime? Because he and I. I mean, or maybe just me. I. I’ll miss... it all.”

“I’m disinclined to let him out of my sight,” the woman said, with seeming care.

Myka didn’t have to ask why. “I don’t mean alone,” she said. “Just to see him.”

The woman looked at the dog in her arms. Did he blink? Whatever he showed her, it was enough. “All right,” she said. “Next week?” At Myka’s nod, she continued, “I should introduce myself. I’m Helena Wells.”

Myka understood even that was a matter of trust. “I’m Myka Bering,” she said, “and let me give you my number so you—”

“I’d rather not,” Helena Wells said, with the same care.

Not overmuch trust. “I can bring you what I bought for him,” Myka said, and maybe it was a flail to show that Helena Wells did not need to doubt her intentions. “If you want.”

“Thank you, but I still have all his things. Always holding out hope.” She said that with a quirk of her lip that Myka envied. Hope—what was it?

But of course Helena Wells had held out hope. Even after Myka’s own short time with Leuko—Monty—she would have done the same thing. Had he suddenly been gone, had she not known why.

The next Saturday morning, Myka spent some time pondering a very strange question: what do you wear to walk your ex-dog with someone who probably wants to forget that you exist?

The relief Myka felt when Helena and Leuko—Monty—appeared... it nearly felled her. There he is, she thought, and he’s all right. Not that she had expected anything different, but it was a relief. After a week she had not understood as a ratcheting up of anxiety, she at last felt relief.

They walked, side by side, Leuko—no, Monty—leading the way, shining even more brightly than Myka had known he could. “I didn’t intend to have your dog,” Myka started. “I didn’t mean to keep him... I mean, to keep him from you. The super can testify to the timeline, and I—”

“It’s all right,” Helena said. “I see that.”

“But I’m trying to tell you why this happened.”

“It doesn’t matter why. He’s here, and I told you, it’s all right.”

“Of course it matters! You’d care if I did try to steal him.”

“But you didn’t,” Helena said, and her words were gentle. “You cared for him. You didn’t have to.”

That left Myka strangely perplexed, because now, in retrospect, what else could have happened? “Of course I did.”

And Leuko—no, Monty—looked up at her, and he did the blink, and Myka knew what it meant: “Of course you did.”

Meeting, walking. They fell into a regular Saturday-walk schedule. As the weeks progressed, Myka’s anxiety gave way to, made room for, anticipation. Leuko—Monty—never barked when he saw Myka, but he did pull on the leash as she approached and gave her a nuzzle when she knelt to greet him.

“Why did you name him Monty?” Myka asked, one Saturday.

That made Helena smile. “I didn’t. His breeder did.”

“His breeder?”

“He’s a Mittelspitz.”

“He’s... a medium? A medium spitz?” Well, that explained his looking like a Pomeranian.

“Precisely.”

Myka felt dim. “But what does that have to do with being called Monty?”

“Nothing, as far as I know. The breeder named his litter after the stars of A Place in the Sun; he’s Montgomery Clift. His sister is Shelley Winters, and his brother is Elizabeth Taylor.”

“His brother? Why?” Myka really did try to limit the asking of that question out loud, but this seemed extra-justified.

“He’s even more beautiful than Monty.”

Did Monty the Mittelspitz turn his head and harrumph at such blasphemy? Myka surely was imagining that. He must have just seen a squirrel. “Poor Shelley Winters, though,” Myka said.

Helena laughed... and Myka felt that she should name that laugh “Elizabeth Taylor” as well. Helena said, “No, no, she’s pretty too. A remarkably lovely litter, and in fact Shelley was the only one who was show quality. If beauty were all it took, Liz would have ruled the circuit.” Another harrumph. “Don’t pout, darling,” Helena said to the dog, then to Myka, “Why did you name him Leuko?”

“After a peptide,” Myka admitted. “Well, a group of peptides.”

“A peptide.”

That was an implicit “why,” and Myka was strangely comforted. “I’m a chemist,” she said.

“A chemist.” Helena furrowed her brow. “How funny that I didn’t know that. How have we not got around to professions?”

Myka wanted to say, “Because when we get close to anything about our real lives, one or both of us backs away.” They still had no contact outside the park, and even as they shared and deepened this strange long-walk familiarity, Myka did not know where the line was. Had it shifted? If not, would it ever? She tried, very cautiously, “I don’t know. Will you... will you tell me yours?”

“I teach writing.”

For some reason, Myka couldn’t hold back her next question, even though it was not justified: “Why?”

“I have knowledge and expertise to impart. Due to having studied writing. And having made a living in the past as a writer myself.”

“That’s a good reason,” Myka said, and she thought, That’s more than you’ve said about yourself in weeks of walks. Was something different about this day?

“Thank you. Though I may not need your imprimatur, I’m pleased to have it.”

Was she... teasing? “I like good reasons,” Myka tried to explain.

“Good reasons. Recognizing them is not inapplicable to the craft of writing.” Helena said this with a funny little bow of her head.

Myka’s facial capillaries flooded with blood.

She knew why, but she hid the answer in her heart, for she remembered all too well Helena’s desolate “So that’s what happened.”

On one of their earlier walks, they had run into Abigail. “How’s little Leukotriene?” she asked. “Or I guess he’s not so little. That’s weird; I thought he was a Pom.”

Myka resisted the impulse to remind her of the ruler in the photo.

The next day, “Who’s your girlfriend?” Abigail asked.

It was the first time Myka really registered that she had continued her habit of going home in the middle of the day. To no purpose at all, she went home, stood in her kitchen, ate a sandwich that no one else wanted any of, and then went back to the lab. It was not a responsibility anymore, and it did nothing for her. She resolved to stop.

“Not my girlfriend,” Myka said, but she was appalled at herself: for a rash moment, she had wanted to let Abigail believe otherwise.

“Walking your dog with her?”

“Not my dog.” On that point, of course, Myka wished she could let herself believe otherwise.

“Pretty sure the dog matched that picture you showed me.”

“He’s her dog.”

“You were trying to pass your girlfriend’s dog off as yours?”

“She’s not my girlfriend. And he was my dog... for a minute.”

Walking in the park every week was not a responsibility. It was a reward.

And as Myka enjoyed her reward, each week, she studied Helena’s face, listened to her words. She tried to tell herself she was merely continuing to assess Helena’s relationship with Leuko. No: Monty. And she was doing that... but she was doing so much more.

How much could Myka continue to hide in her heart? And for how long?

As if in answer, the Saturday following their “professions” discussion, Helena (and Leuko—no, Monty) failed to appear. Myka, desolate at the absence of them both, walked by herself. It was terrible.

The park was empty of them the following week as well. Still, Myka walked, taking the isolation as her punishment for having misunderstood lines and crossing them, for having been so foolish as to let any part of her secret heart show on her face.

The aftermath of that second lonely walk left Myka restless, anxious. Should she try to find Helena and ask her why she had so abruptly decided against... whatever they were doing? Could she then beg her to reconsider walking a dog together to no purpose? “I’ll stop wanting anything more than that,” Myka thought to tell her. “I promise.”

But of course trying to find her was out of the question; if Helena didn’t want even to walk with Myka, she surely didn’t want to be stalked by her.

So Myka did the only thing she could do: the next Saturday, she returned again to the park. And she hoped.

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Why #B&W Holiday Gift Exchange #bering and wells gift exchange #bering and wells exchange #mysensitiveside

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nny11writes · 3 years

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For we will raise you, in safety and peace

Okay, tumblr ate the first attempt at this post, hopefully it doesn’t devour this one as well! Here’s the deal, I can’t seem to figure out a good ending for this fic to save my life and I don’t want it to languish in the pile of unfinished wips. So I’m going to post what I have here on tumblr to at least get it out there somewhere. If anyone has suggestions for an ending I am all ears! HUGE shoutout to @venn364 for helping me figure this fic out to this point and for helping me Horde-ify hush a by baby!

Rating: Teen (for some cursing) Category: F/F/F Relationship(s): Glitradora (Glimmer/Catra/Adora) Characters: Glimmer, Catra, Adora Warnings: None apply, this is a fluff fic Additional Tags: Multiple PoVs, fluff, happy fic, happy ending, crushes, idiots in love, dorks in love, young children, Catra deals with the curse of being cute, Adora is a massive dork but what else is new, Glimmer tries to flex on her crushes by singing, lullaby, hush a by baby, post war, post canon Summary: During the post-war reconstruction of Plumeria, Glimmer volunteers herself and voluntells her crushes to take care of the local children to keep them out from under foot. She just, didn’t expect the Horde to require childcare as part of their regular duties and rotation. Or Three Sapphics watch one another interacting with young children and go, “Well guess I’m somehow more in love, cool cool cool.”

Adora and Catra looked at one another and shrugged. “Yeah okay.”

Glimmer was relieved, don’t get her wrong, but that was…not exactly what she’d expected. “Just like that? That simple?”

It wasn’t like she’d expected them to just hop on board with her, even if she’d wanted this to all pan out.

Catra rolled her eyes, a bit too theatrically thanks, before answering, “Well, I mean, sucks to be doing Cadet chores again, but, whatever. Just a buncha kids.”

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Glimmer grumbled, rubbing a hand at her neck. “You’re not trying to act too cool, and you’re not freaking out enough.”

They shared another confused look before Adora spoke up. “I mean, why would I? We’ve done a bunch of rounds at the Infant Pods, more than our fair share in fact.” That last part she said with a pointed look at her oldest friend.

Catra stretched lazily, “I will not apologize.”

“Point is, we can do this. It’s pretty simple over all, especially with you there as a third!”

Glimmer laughed, “Wait. Hang on, seriously? I’ve never babysat before but you two have?”

“Really? Weird. But, uh, yeah. Everyone in the Horde has some child rearing experience, it’s literally part of your Cadet chores and rotation.”

The galaxy must be on it’s side right now. The Horde, the EVIL Horde, had enforced babysitting chores. “Why?”

Adora shrugged, “Well someone has to make sure they’re clean and fed, doing their homework-”

“Not destroying property or getting in dangerous situations before we could send them to the meat grinder-”

“Keeping them out from underfoot, and getting their energy out too.”

“Also the whole, sometimes babies just die when you don’t, like, hold them enough thing. ...What? Did you think Hordak was at the Pods rocking them to sleep?” Catra laughed.

It certainly was an image. Glimmer giggled as she pictured Hordak overwhelmed by a literal wave of babies. “No, I just never thought about it I guess. You’ll have to teach me.”

They both grinned and Glimmer felt her heart skip a beat. It was, look, don’t judge, it was a really, really good look on them, okay?

It only took a few minutes to arrive at the temporary nursery Perfuma had set up. While Plumeria was still being cleaned up, she’d wanted a safe place for the children to go, and only needed a few extra hands to help as she pulled her subjects to help redesign their homes. Not that she’d put it like that. Something about syncing their harmonies while reconnecting with their innermost roots? The point was that Glimmer had offered to help mostly to help and partially to avoid another extremely long and boring meeting, but one teleporting queen with no childcare experience was not ideal. Perfuma had been the one to suggest Catra and Adora, seeing as the reconstruction really relied more on Perfuma regrowing the homes in this particular space.

So, they were working with what they had. And apparently that meant Horde soldiers. Experienced Horde soldiers who knew what to do with kids. Weird!

When they arrived, it was chaos.

Catra couldn’t help the small grimace she wore, she’d never been fond of IPD. Kids are loud, they don’t have boundaries or respect for other’s boundaries either. She doesn’t know how many times some toddler or Junior Cadet had petted her or pulled her tail and ears with their mysteriously sticky little hands while covered in snot. But she could also say that the one good thing about it was, without fail, some baby was going to think you were the hottest shit ever. And it had done wonders for her low self esteem as a Cadet to know that she’d always collect a gaggle of kids who everyone claimed were impossible to handle doing exactly what she wanted.

It had actually been kind of hilarious out in the Crimson Waste to use some of the tactics she’d learned in the IP against grown gangsters and thugs.

Catra could also say that the very next best thing about it was watching Adora either slowly unravel into a total mess or watching Adora get all the other kids under her thumb. Not that Adora would think of it like that, the goody two shoes, but kids seemed to naturally either love the blonde or desire nothing more than to destroy her.

Especially at the time, Catra could relate.

She was actually kind of interested to do this now just to see Adora go at it again.

And also Glimmer apparently had no experience with kids and Catra would kill to watch that skiff wreck. No, ugh, she had promised to help hadn’t she? Alright, no watching that skiff wreck unless it happened before she could intervene.

She snickered a little as, just like she used to, Adora gave the attention claps that none of these particular kids would know. Embarrassingly, the old rhythm still made Catra’s back straighten a hair just thanks to the amount of times she’d heard it.

Adora’s voice rang loud and clear across the little fenced in area, “Atten-shun!”

The kids mostly stopped, but Catra had a feeling that was due to an adult shouting and not out of their training. Did rebellion kids have training? They had to get some kind of education for sure. Huh. Probably should look into that, like, now that it was post war and all.

“Hello, salutations, and greetings!” Adora started her old spiel as if she’d never stopped, putting on her ‘force captain’ voice which was almost a mockery more than anything else. Not that Adora realized that. “I am Adora, this is Catra, and this is Glimmer. Today we will be watching, caring, sharing, and not botching a wonderful day of enrichment with you. Starting now we will do our very best to educate, captivate, and celebrate without need to castigate! It is time to have fun and run, uh, under the sun! Can I get a hoo-ra?”

The part about their newly acquired sun was a nice touch, Catra mental gave Adora extra points for finally having learned to change it on the fly. Catra weakly lifted a fist to mutter ‘hoo-ra’ with a few confused kids. Oof. Rough, but not unexpected. These ankle biters hadn’t been trained to respond promptly and loudly to Horde commands.

Yet it still had about the same effect. The children were already split down the middle looking at Adora like she was a complete idiot or like she was the best thing ever. Soon more of them would think she was the best thing ever than not, kids loved Adora’s canned speech. It always got a few laughs. Kids were easily entertained by someone clearly putting on a show and rhyming.

Adora put on an over the top look of bewilderment, putting her fists on her hips in some sort of quasi-power pose before asking, “What kind of hoo-ra was that? I want you to shout from deep in your lungs, you won’t sound dumb when it’s all in good fun! Now can I get a HOO-RA?”

Catra gave a slightly more enthusiastic call, and was delighted when Glimmer gamely screamed her head off and then blushed as the kids stared at her, because they had still not shouted. Alright, this had already paid off! Nothing better that watching Glimmer blush like that.

Adora was smiling warmly at the queen, that was always a good look on her. “I SAID HOO-RA!”

This time they managed to get most of the brats on board. A whole army of kids no taller than her waist who were thrilled to scream, a few even did it more than once. It was kind of nostalgic.

“THAT’S what I call a call! I am floored by this horde-” Adora’s eyes widened in panic as she tried to pivot her pre-written speech for a second time. “-o-of wards! Floored! I am floored!”

Aaaand twice was one too many alterations. As much fun as it would be to watch Adora fall apart over it, Catra knew it was mean. And she was trying to, you know, to be less mean.

“Ca-Adora,” wow this was harder than she’d thought. She hadn’t almost called Adora a Cadet in years. “Will be working with any of you who’d like to play a singing and marching game. Line up in front of Adora if you want to join.”

Catra grabbed Glimmer’s hand to pull her forward, which really was only for the benefit of getting to hold Glimmer’s hand. “Anyone who does not want to play a game can join us, we will be taking care of the infants so it’ll be quieter.”

She was not surprised when most of the children flocked to play. There were always a few quiet ones or nervous ones who would hang back, and she was counting on it. Sure enough four kids shuffled their way instead of towards Adora, who was already sorting her little platoon into rank and file, teaching them a quick sound off to learn their names.

Catra motioned between her and Glimmer, “You know our names, what are yours?” The kids shifted awkwardly, looking at one another to start. Catra smirked. “If you don’t want to say I will give you a nickname. For instance, this is now Sparkles.”

Glimmer glared at her, but Catra didn’t stop or let her get a word in edgewise. She pointed at the first kid with glasses, “You can be Specs, short for specification.” A bold faced lie if she’d ever told one. “Stripes, I like your shirt!” Less of a lie. “Flower Power just like Princess Perfuma,” she nodded to the boy with a flower crown. The last kid was nervously shifting hoof to hoof, “And Two Step you got some fancy looking moves.”

“And what do you all think we should call Catra?” Glimmer asked, grinning evilly, as if the kids wouldn’t just suggest kitty or fluffy or whiskers. Maybe tails if someone was feeling creative.

“Kitty!”

Catra chuckled, it was like clockwork. “How about Big Cat? It’s cooler than Kitty!” They nodded gamely to the change. “Cool. Now, does anyone want to help me with the babies? We just need to hold them.”

That was how Catra found herself leaning back against a tree with an infant sleeping on her chest after she’d situated Glimmer and the quartet. All while snickering at some of the concerned looks being shot their way as Adora got the platoon marching and singing. If they weren’t gonna get their asses in gear to manage all the hyper kids, then they could suck it up. Besides, it wasn’t even that intense of a song.

“I think that learning is cool!” The kids echoed after Adora. “Which is why I will stay in school!”

It was schlocky and dorky, if she’d been over there she’d have died of embarrassment already.

Still, Catra couldn’t help but melt a little as Adora exaggerated a high march and then kids behind her did basically whatever they wanted as she marched them around the nursery. It was nice. Even if it made Adora look really dumb, it also made her look happy. Something Catra hadn’t seen a lot of from her in years. Oh no, she was getting mushy about this now?

Disgusting. She needed a distraction stat.

“Anyone have a good story?” Catra asked and after a beat of silence, promptly ignored the kids as they started almost talking over each other to tell something about their day or who knows what. Thankfully Glimmer seemed interested even if a little stiff and awkward. Catra was grateful that her fur hid a sudden blush as she watched Glimmer holding a baby and being enthusiastically engaged in the kids' stories.

Wow.

She gets away from the Horde for less than a year, and now she’s getting sappy over Sparkles.

Gross.

Adora, of course, had a plan. A good one with details and everything!

She was using her patented IPPA (thankfully, things had to be going pretty bad for her to resort to Infant Pod Plan B) and so far things had gone well. She’d taught her platoon to march, even got them to make up some rhymes to sing for it (even if she’d had to backtrack after one of the boys said ‘butts’ and everyone then started to just scream sentences with little sense ending with ‘butts’). After a bit of that she got them doing some basic exercise with her. Jumping jacks and running, she’d then start a game of charge and was already wincing in sympathy pains as some of the kids hurled themselves full speed at the enemy team only to fold in half around their linked arms. Still, the point was to give them free reign here to lose their minds and wear out their bodies a little in preparation for a well earned nap or quiet play time.

After making sure that Catra had eyes on her group, Adora left to hunt down water for everyone, and maybe spent a little time making heart eyes across the field.

Catra, despite what she thought, was pretty good with kids. Especially little infants. Between her fluff, heat, and purrs she was an instant baby soother. Adora would know, she was once the only big baby that Catra would soothe the same way. When they’d been younger, Catra used to lose her temper during IPD, but the older they got the more she’d pull it together. There had always been something heartwarming about watching Catra sit down with a kid who was upset and listen to them intently.

Then there was Glimmer. Gosh, she’d been so nervous going in, but seemed to be quickly becoming a favorite. Because Glimmer always listened to people, no matter their age, and her high energy responses appeared to be winning her fans. The more she integrated with the kids, the more she relaxed too. And there was something absolutely mind blowing about watching her bounce a little baby in her arms, while gasping in genuine delight at something a kid had scribbled into the dirt with a stick.

Adora didn’t even blush, didn’t feel a lick of shame as she quietly got affirmation that yes, girls.

“Ew,” one of the kids snickered after finishing their water, looking right at her before making a face.

She smiled, shrugging and offered her best, worldly advice. “Girls are great.”

“Ew.” They repeated before giggling and skipping away to their friends.

Whether they eventually agreed with her, liked boys instead, like everyone, or even no one, Adora felt very assured in her assessment of wow girls pretty, so she let it slide.

Later, standing at the barrel and handing out gourds of water or helping kids re-apply their protective balms (the sun was nice, but the sun could apparently burn you which was insane), she did another check. Taking note of any particularly worn out kids to send over to Catra’s group, and was very pleased that no one seemed to be really injured. Man, this was way easier than manhandling Recruits who were about to be Junior Cadets. Maybe she could do this more often? Without all the jockeying for power and praise it was actually fun.

After another thirty minutes whizzed by according to her internal clock, Adora decided it was time to start her platoon’s cool down for water and snacks. Maybe a nap after that. It was all smooth sailing!

Adora managed to make eye contact with Catra, flashing a quick few hand signs they’d made up when they were eight and almost lived in the pods between Adora’s clumsiness and Catra’s random bursts of high energy. Catra nodded, both hands occupied as she bottle fed one of the infants, and Adora almost died. First of cuteness, because Catra was looking so cute! But also from laughter because Glimmer’s tongue was sticking out between her teeth in concentration as she carefully fed another infant. And also because she looked super cute doing it!

What a sight! It took her another minute to realize she was just standing there staring at them with a horrifically soft smile on her face. And Catra was staring back with an equally mortifying soft look. And Glimmer was now looking between them with her own embarrassingly tender look.

So this is how I die, public affection.

For some reason this was the thing that set her off. Blushing as red as her jacket, Adora pivoted around to call the platoon to get some snacks and more water. Which, considering most of them were either still singing or making up marching songs, took a little bit to organize.

The snack and water break had been decently timed, they had just finished burping the last of the babies when Adora called all the kids over. Catra waited with Glimmer until everyone else had something to eat, before mingling as best she could. It was more second nature to keep her head on a swivel, making sure no kids were making a jailbreak and no one was beating someone else’s face in. Although that probably wasn’t a concern on the Rebellion side. Maybe she’d have to rescue a kid from suffocating under a bunch of hugs?

She shrugged and got a gourd of water, barely finishing it before Two Step tugged at her hand. They’d only gotten more energetic the longer they’d been helping, so she wasn’t even surprised when they asked, "Can I pet your fluff!?"

Catra sighed heavily. This is what she got for wearing a crop top around children. She turned to look at the Two Step and smiled as best she could while also dying inside. If she didn’t let it happen following her own rules, many kids would simply find a way to make it happen anyways. Better to get it out of the way and without sticky hands. Seriously what do kids even do that makes their hands that sticky? "Sure, but only if I can touch your antlers, they look fuzzy."

They almost stabbed her in the stomach with said nubbly antlers in their excitement, apparently oblivious for at least a moment about how fragile they were. Two Step was still wiggling around the way they had the whole afternoon as they rushed to explain, "They are! They’re new and growing in bigger and my dad says that someday they’ll be HUGE like his!"

She ran a few fingers carefully along the warm velvet and nodded, it was softer than she’d actually expected it to be, and it almost seemed like she could feel the blood pumping in them? Or maybe her brain was messing with her? Either way, weird. "Neat. Your turn kiddo."

Catra did her best to not groan in annoyance when the girl simply leaned forward to rub her face on the fluffiest part of her belly.

"You said pet."

"I am petting!"

"Petting is done with your hands, not your face."

"Says who?"

Well shit, had her there. “...alright, well played.”

She glared as the trademark a high pitched whistling sound of cooing alerted her to Glimmer and Adora looking at her with hearts in their eyes and sparkles around their faces. Not literally, but she could picture it. The traitors. She could see Glimmer mouthing the words so cute and groaned. She was not cute! Ugh!

“Okay, I think that’s enough.”

Two Step grumbled but let go. “Thanks!” And with that they skipped away to hang out with the other kids.

Oh yeah, definitely time to put the kids down for a nap if they could.

It had taken longer that Glimmer expected to calm down the kids. A small handful of them went tearing off around the field cackling like loons as Catra easily loped after them on all fours. Which of course resulted in more kids wanting to get chased for some reason, shrieking in delight each time Catra put on a hair more speed to tap their arms or legs. Eventually even they were exhausted and fell panting into the grass for Adora and her to watch while Catra continued herding. It was adorable and Glimmer was never, ever gonna let her live down her afternoon of being a sheep dog. If only Bow or Entrapta were here to take a picture!

Glimmer reluctantly left her post of watching and jeering at ‘Big Cat’ to help Adora get the youngest ones situated and sleeping rolls or blankets laid out. For the ones who refused to take a nap (whether because they weren’t tired or wanted to pretend they weren’t tired), Glimmer asked around to find a few decks of cards for them to use. She wrangled a promise from each group to be quiet so their friends could sleep, and by the time she’d finished that it was tempting to take her own nap.

Adora was efficiently sorting kids into sleeping spaces, and Glimmer smiled a bit at the way she let pairs and groups just pile up together. Having seen the impossible looking ways Adora and Catra could be found tangled up after a nap, she felt pretty confident that they knew what they were doing.

When Catra finally arrived with the last two kids, both of whom she carried under her arms as they giggled, Glimmer was grateful for the chance to relax a little with her friends. She nudged Adora’s side as they passed and whispered, “Maybe afterwards you can use She-Ra? You know, give them a climbing gym or swing them around.”

Adora blinked rapidly before breaking out in a huge grin and did a little over the top flexing before they made their way over to sit with Catra. And for a few minutes they sat in a peaceful silence, enjoying the sounds of the forest and leaning against one another.

“Pssst,” Stripes rolled over to look at them, making huge puppy dog eyes before asking, “Sing us a lullaby?”

Glimmer’s eyes sparkled as she turned to watch Adora and Catra apparently debate the issue, because hello! Getting to hear them sing lullabies! They rapidly signed back and forth, faces squashing and stretching as they added emphasis to the conversation before they turned and nodded.

“Okay,” Adora said softly, “but you can’t laugh, we only know Horde songs.”

“The Horde had songs?” A little boy asked, popping up from his blanket with a huge smile.

“Yeah we did. To be fair, they’re not uh,” Adora faltered and quickly looked at Catra, which to be fair Glimmer hadn’t considered that the songs they knew might be inappropriate. She quickly decided that she also didn’t really care.

“Adults probably wouldn’t like them here.” Catra supplied with a mischievous grin, apparently knowing that the kids would all be desperate to hear them now.

“Catra!” Adora hissed in what was probably supposed to be a whisper.

“I want to hear!” Glimmer added fuel to the fire and snickered at the look of betrayal on Adora’s face. “What? I do!”

She threw her arms in the air before huffing in her fake annoyed voice, “Fine, I’ll sing a song!”

There was a moment before Adora shakily started to sing both a very familiar tune set to very different lyrics.

Hush-a-bye baby, your crying will cease For we will raise you, in safety and peace If the walls crumble, there’s no need to bawl We’ll burn the villains, princess and all

Glimmer sputtered, accidentally ending it before it even started, not just because the lullaby included a line about burning rebellion citizens to death including princesses. But also because her mother used to sing this to her! “Wait, wait, wait, that’s- that’s not how that song goes!”

“Wha- yes it is!” Adora huffed, arms crossing as she blushed, “I said you couldn’t be mean!”

“First of all, you said I couldn’t laugh and I didn’t! Secondly,” Glimmer cleared her throat to sing her version. She’d always loved singing, even took lessons when she was younger before deciding she’d rather do it for fun. But what was the point of being able to sing flawlessly under pressure if not to flex on your crushes?

Rock-a-bye baby, thy cradle is green; Father's a nobleman, mother's a queen; And Buckley’s a washer, who wears a gold ring; And Tambour’s a drummer, who drums for the king.

Not that she got any further than Adora did before being interrupted as well.

“Ew, it’s all princessy!” Catra jeered playfully getting a few giggles from the kids.

“Uh, yeah, my mom sang it to me when I was a baby!”

“Gross. Ours is better!”

Adora laughed nervously, apparently unsure what to do as their play fight went down in front of a room full of impressionable children. Which, really, was her own fault for not expecting it.

Glimmer puffed up and leaned forward, tapping Catra on the nose just to be a brat before issuing the challenge she knew would get results. “Prove it!”

Ah, the good old stand by of “prove it”, as equally effective as a double dog dare!

So Catra, looking genuinely affronted, took a breath and sang in a wholly and unfairly good voice.

Hush-a-bye baby, your crying will cease For we will raise you, in safety and peace If the walls crumble, there’s no need to bawl We’ll burn the villains, princess and all

Baby is drowsing, valiant and brave With Hordak’s power, disorder we’ll stave Though cadet’s sleeping, her dreams we all share For order and harmony’s, our duty to bear

Hush-a-bye baby, do not you fear Never mind, baby, your squad is right here Strong little fingers, but eyes must shut tight Stay sound asleep now, until morning’s light

“People sang to you as babies about Hordak’s power and burning people?” Glimmer asked, both perplexed at the Horde-ified version and slightly disturbed. No wonder some of their soldiers bought the Evil Horde’s propaganda if this was what they were taught from the cradle!

“Glimmer, I love you, and I say this with as much respect as I can,” Catra said without an ounce of respect in her body or soul, “We grew up in the Fright Zone under the eyes of commanding officers of the Evil Horde. What did you think they sang to us about?”

Well shit, had her there.

#Glimmer #Adora #Catra #Glitradora #SPOP #she ra #fanfiction #fanfic #dorks in love is just *chef kiss*#the Horde sings lullabies to their babies #surprisingly familiar but wildly different lullabies #halp this fic won't let me wrap it up in a satisfying manner so I'm throwing it into the wind to see what falls out #this could absolutely end with them going into a relationship #or it could absolutely end with them just crushing on one another #suggestions are welcome!

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organabanana · 3 years

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Leaves of three, let it be [1/?] || harlivy

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: DCU (Comics)DCUHarley Quinn (Comics)Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel

Characters: Pamela Isley, Harleen Quinzel, Selina Kyle

Additional Tags: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of batman fucking bats, most of this is straight up idiocy tbh, i just finished watching the cartoon so everyone swears like a sailor i'm sorry, rated for (ahem) happenings later on, ivy/harley/catwoman frenemies

Series: Part 1 of the Cliché a Week 2021 series

Summary:

Aided by a terrible hangover and a severe lack of impulse control, Harley accidentally drinks an unknown substance at Ivy's apartment and suddenly remembers why Ivy goes by Poison Ivy in her professional life. Luckily for Harley, she's immune to Ivy's toxins. Unluckily for Harley, she may not be immune to her love pheromones, and turning into a human-plant hybrid is not her idea of a good time.

Telling Ivy so she can give her an antidote may seem like the obvious course of action, but there are very few things Harley hates more than disappointing Ivy with her poor decision-making skills. Besides, like Selina said, if she'd drunk pheromones she'd be in love with Ivy by now, right?

And Harley Quinn is absolutely not in love with her best friend.

Notes:

This was (loosely) inspired by Prompt #1104 by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor: “Hey, do you know if potions expire?” “I think it depends on the potion. Why?” “Well, I was really hungover this morning and grabbed the wrong glass and I feel super weird right now.” And "Everyone knows they’re dating except them” from the Cliché A Week Challenge by @montocalypse. The plan is for this to be 4-5 chapters at most BUT I'm not ready to commit to a number just yet so we'll see how that goes!

[ao3 link]

Harley wakes up with a pounding headache that makes her wonder if someone stole her bat and tried to crack her skull with it last night.

"Ughhh..." she groans, squeezing her eyes shut. Her mouth feels like sandpaper. Her throat feels like... like sandpaper. Listen: she's not in any kind of mood for elaborate, imaginative similes right now. Everything is pain and/or sandpaper. Deal with it.

"Fuck me." It comes out in a whiny, pathetic little voice, and Harley is almost more pissed off about that than about the hangover itself. Where is she, anyway? She forces herself to sort of... perceive the world around her without moving a muscle or opening her eyes, which may not be the best approach but it works anyway because she totally knows Ive's apartment by smell.

As friends do.

Once that's settled, and she knows she's in fact safe (how could she not be? She's at Ivy's!) Harley moves her right hand and feels around for the bedside table, but apparently she didn't climb into her usual side of the bed (friends have sides of their friends' beds, obviously) because what she feels on her right side is soft and warm and definitely not a bedside table.

"Sorry." She mumbles, affectionately patting Ivy's ass before turning over to the other side and trying again. She does find a table this time, and she nearly cries in relief when she finds a little water bottle waiting for her parched lips to drink.

Score.

It's only when she's downed the whole thing that she realizes two things:

One, that did not taste like water.

And two, there is a reason Pam goes professionally by Poison Ivy.

"Shit," Harley stage-whispers, blue eyes now wide open as she stares at the empty bottle in her hand, "shit, shit, shit."

Harley knows she's not dying. She knows she's immune to toxins, and she's cuddled the fuck out of Ivy (as friends do) on enough occasions to know she doesn't break out in hives at Ivy's touch. But the thing about Ivy is, she's kind of an overachiever. There aren't just toxins to worry about. Harley could be about to turn into a fern or something, and nobody could do anything to prevent it.

Well, except Pam.

But you know what? Considering the kind of mood Ivy gets in when Harley makes a less than stellar choice, she's gonna risk turning into a plant rather than waking her up.

"Morning, sunshine." Selina walks -- nay, prances -- into the bedroom looking flawless as always, which is pretty fucking unfair considering her presence at Ivy's can only mean she was there for whatever hangover-causing shenanigans they all happened to get into last night. But of course, Selina Kyle is above looking like shit while hungover.

" Selina ," Harley all but hisses (which is fitting, considering Selina's... you know), showing her the empty bottle, "I fucked up."

"When do you not fuck up, Harley?" It comes off as both smug and somehow charming, which is, again, pretty fucking unfair. "What did you do this time?"

Harley shows her the empty bottle once again, shaking it slightly like she cannot believe Selina isn't getting the gravity of the situation right away.

"What? I don't get it-- ohh ." Selina lets out a quiet chuckle that sounds almost like a purr. "Yeah, you fucked up."

"Dammit, Selina! What if I turn into a fucking succulent?"

"Oh come on, don't be dramatic. What color was it?"

Harley stares at her. "Don't you think I'd have known not to drink it if I'd looked at it?"

"I mean, I tend to assume people look at things before putting them in their mouth. But you did fuck Joker, so..."

"Hurtful." A beat. "Fair, yes, but still. Hurtful."

As if on cue, Ivy rolls over in her sleep, draping her arm across Harley's lap. Harley smiles, momentarily forgetting the bottle and its contents and the potential result of her having drunk them, because Ivy is just such a good friend. Protecting her from Selina's... well. Selina-ness even in her sleep.

"You guys need some privacy?"

Harley doesn't stop gently tracing the vines on the back of Ivy's hand, but she does look away from soft green skin to shoot Selina a teasing look. "Aw, does someone need scritches? Here, pussy pussy..."

Selina rolls her eyes. "Fine. Turn into a fucking sequoia for all I care. At least you'll be good for climbing."

The soft movements of Harley's fingers stop as Selina's words fully sink in. "Wh- what?" Harley's voice sounds a bit deflated, like one of those sad clown balloons after a sad balloon fart.

"I'm just saying. Pheromones and chill forever as a human-tree abomination? Kind of her signature move."

Harley just stares at Selina, horrified at the prospect of spending the rest of her life as a brain-dead tree and trying (and failing) to come up with a plausible reason why there is no way Ivy's pheromones were in that bottle.

"Anyway!" Selina sighs, stretching her arms up over her head. "I should get going. I have cats to feed."

"Wait. Wait!" Harley stage-whispers, and she's suddenly extremely thankful for Ivy sleeping like a log.

Heh. Like a log .

"You can't leave me, Selina! What if you're right?"

"Oh, come on, kitten," Selina says over her shoulder, already on the way to the door, "if it was pheromones you'd be in love with her by now."

The sound of the door slamming shut behind Selina is enough to finally wake Ivy, and Harley feels her best friend's arms tighten around her as Ivy stretches awake.

"Mmmhey, Harls." Ivy mumbles, voice rough and heavy with sleep as she moves even closer to Harley.

Normally, Harley would've just sunk back into the most comfortable bed ever (there's a reason she rarely sleeps in her own!) and gone in for a round of lazy morning cuddles. She'd have basked in the smell of Ivy in the morning (freshly cut grass sparkling with dew drops) which is so different from the floral notes of Ivy at any other time of the day. She'd have pressed a kiss or two to Ivy's warm skin, felt her lips tingle with the sweet taste of a poison she's very much immune to, and maybe even fallen back to sleep listening to Ivy's heartbeat and the soft rhythm of her breaths.

You know. As friends do.

But today, thanks to Selina (the fact that nobody forced Harley to drink that stupid bottle is irrelevant, of course), Harley can't relax. She stiffens, even, becoming virtually un-snuggable and making Ivy fully open her eyes to give her a questioning look.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course, Ive!" The enthusiasm is as fake as her smile, and the way Ivy's eyes narrow tells her it's been very much noticed. "Bit hungover, that's all."

It takes a couple of seconds for Ivy to speak. Like she's pondering whether to mention there's never been a hangover bad enough to keep Harley from getting her cuddle on or to just let it go for now. Harley's delighted to see the second option win in the end.

"Want me to give you something for the headache?"

"Nope!" Harley's on her feet in two seconds flat, practically jumping away from Ivy's warm body and her warm eyes and the warm offer of some nice natural drugs. "Thanks, though. You're sweet as pie, butter...fly."

"Butterfly." Ivy deadpans from the bed, looking more and more like she's mere seconds away from researching actual mental health facilities in Gotham (Arkham does not count).

"Buttercup doesn't rhyme with pie. Listen, I should go. I have so much to do. There are-- well, you know! Havoc won't wreak itself, right? Gotham needs me."

"To... wreak havoc."

" Pre cisely. Gonna wreak it real good. You know me! Won't settle for a half-wroken havoc."

"Wro... ken?"

"Oh, for sure, for sure!" What is she even saying? Harley grabs her bat and swings it a little like she's holding a purse and not a weapon, but thankfully she doesn't break anything in Ivy's room, which is great. "Text ya later, yeah?"

Ivy looks like she's struggling to even begin to process everything that's happened in the five minutes she's been awake. And honestly, Harley's grateful for it. She hasn't noticed the missing bottle, and she's not forcing Harley to stay and answer questions, so it's a win/win/win situation if you ask her. You know... other than the potential mutant tree issue.

"Okay!" Harley grins. "Good talk. Bye, Red. Love ya!"

Shit .

Harley freezes for a moment. She's told Ivy she loves her before. Of course she has! She loves Ive, and Ivy loves her. They're pretty vocal about that. But today isn't just any other day. She always loves Ivy as a friend, of course. As her best friend she adores and would absolutely kill and die for. The most important person in her life. The one person who's ever made Harley feel safe and loved and appreciated unconditionally. She loves Ivy in a way that makes her feel like her heart is a bit too big for her ribcage and sometimes it gets so crowded in there she's afraid she may pop a rib out of its socket or something, but then Ivy holds her and everything settles again.

You know. A friendly kind of love.

But does she love Ivy? Harley looks at her hands like she's expecting a few leaves to have sprouted there already.

"Harley. Seriously, are you okay?"

Ivy's voice snaps her out of her funk, and Harley knows she needs to get out before she's forced into a whole conversation about this thing.

"Peachy keen, Pam-a-lamb." Harley forces herself to walk towards the door without looking back, just in case. Just in case suddenly Ivy's surrounded by a pink fog of love, or whatever the fuck people see when they look at her while under the influence of her pheromones. I mean, she can't look even more beautiful than she does normally, right? That's not even possible. So it must be like... a heart emoji filter or something. She really doesn't want to find out. "Talk later!"

***

Harley looks at the melting cheese on her third egg sandwich like she's expecting it to hold the meaning of life. Or, at the very least, an answer to today's big conundrum. Is she or is she not turning into a tree?

And sure. Sure! She could ask Pam. This would be solved immediately, she knows. She could just ask Pam what was in the bottle and confess she's drunk it and just... put up with her mood for a while. No big deal! Except she really fucking hates disappointing Ivy, you know? When she gets all... cold and detached, and feels more like lettuce than lush tropical foliage.

Listen, trust her, okay? Sad salad buffet lettuce Ivy is just the fucking worst.

So she takes a bite of her sandwich and tells herself whatever she drank can't have been anything too dangerous. It's been a couple hours now, so she should've felt some kind of effect, right? She should be feeling a bit plant-y, at the very least. Maybe a bit nauseous or something. But she feels fine.

Well-- not fine , fine. She's still kinda rattled, but that's Selina's fault.

She's fine.

***

"Are you sure you're up for this?"

Ivy lets Selina handle the entry point (you'd think Gotham millionaires would've given up on skylights by now) and looks at Harley with a mixture of concern and distrust in her eyes. She clearly hasn't forgotten about their conversation in the morning.

"I'm fine!" Harley swings her bat around just to loosen up her bat-swinging muscles. She's fine. Not a plant, not in a love fog, not in any way dying. Totally fine. And , most importantly, not dealing with limp lettuce Ive. "It was just a hangover."

Ivy's eyes narrow just enough to make it crystal clear how little she trusts Harley right now, but for once Selina Kyle makes Harley's life easier instead of harder when she speaks.

"Ladies. This is a truly riveting conversation, but I have shit to do.”

“Like fucking a bat-fucking bat?” It may be a cheap shot, but it makes Ivy stiffle a laugh, and Harley kinda thinks that makes it the best joke ever.

But Selina simply cocks an eyebrow at Harley. “Are you sure you want to discuss regrettable sexual partners?”

Ouch. “Fair enough,” Harley concedes, already jumping through the hole Selina’s cut in the glass, “come on, we have an oil tycoon to kill.”

“Not an oil tycoon, Harls.” Ivy glides down on a vine, looking all majestic like some kind of forest nymph, and Harley simply has to stare and smile because how can she not? Look at her friend! “He’s been using an experimental fuel that causes—“

“Does it matter?” Selina sighs like even interrupting Ivy is exhausting, plucking a shiny gold ornament from a nearby table and making Harley wonder (honestly, not for the first time) if she just keeps shiny trinkets hidden in her catsuit like a magician to make it seem like she’s finding them everywhere. “Guy’s loaded.”

“It matters to me, Selina. Not all of us have the moral compass of a magpie.”

Harley giggles at Ivy’s joke. You know what? It may not even have been a real joke, because Ivy’s sense of humor is not exactly her best quality. But it was funny anyway.

“And if it matters to Ive, it matters to moi .” Harley points at herself with her bat and winks at her best friend, and honestly, who the hell cares what this guy does, exactly? Maybe he’s single-handedly destroying the Amazon, or maybe he just happens to walk through the grass instead of using the little paths when making his way across the park. Whatever it is, it’s important to Ivy. And if it’s important to Ivy, it’s important to Harley. And if it’s important to Ivy in a way that makes her smile like she does when Harley winks at her? Well, then this is absolutely Harley’s top fucking priority.

Things get interesting as soon as they turn a corner and step onto the plush carpet of the experimental fuel (hey, she actually listens when Ivy speaks) tycoon's private wing. And you know what? Harley's delighted to hear the alarms go off and a bunch of goons crawl out from their hidey holes like buff armed cockroaches. She knows Ivy and Selina prefer the whole... well, you know. In and out, clean and easy kind of approach to murder and robbery, respectively. But Harley's an action gal. She has the energy to burn and a bat to swing, and most of all, she has shit to not think about.

So she's delighted when this guy's goons happen to be relatively okayish at fighting, which is much more than can be said for most men she fights in this city.

"I'll go deal with him before he can escape," Ivy says, already walking towards the door to his office. "You guys all right out here?"

"We're great ." Selina says in that tone she has where she pretends she's annoyed but you can tell she's having a blast.

Honestly. Who wouldn't be having a blast? It's like whack-a-goon!

"So," Selina says as soon as Ivy's out of earshot, which Harley can appreciate as an act of friendship, "no pheromones, I take it?"

"Nope!" Harley punctuates the word by slamming her bat into some guy's face. "None at all."

"Huh."

"What?" She's distracted enough by Selina's reply that she actually takes a punch to the face, which only manages to piss her off. She turns to look at the guy who delivered the blow just so he can see the look in her eyes before she completely obliterates his face. "Holy shit, dude. Can't you see we're having a fucking CONVERSATION !?"

For the next few minutes, Harley focuses on getting rid of the last few men around them so they can finish talking. Sure, beating up idiots is fun, but that little 'huh' was just mysterious enough to grab Harley's interest. What could possibly be so huh-worthy about her being fine?

By the time they're done, there are a number of unconscious goons scattered all over the place. Harley pants, using her hand to wipe blood (mostly not hers) and sweat (mostly hers) off her face as she catches her breath.

"Whew. That was fun, right?"

Selina, as usual, manages to look spotless even if Harley saw her deal with several men with her own two eyes. Is Selina Kyle secretly magic?

Could be.

"I've had better." Selina uses one of her claws to unlock an ornate little box and gather the jewels inside. Can she smell expensive stuff? "Come on, let's go get Ivy."

"No, no, wait." Harley lowers her voice like she's scared Ivy may hear them somehow. "What did you mean earlier?"

"What do you mean, what did I mean?"

"You know," Harley motions in the general direction of the spot where Selina was when they were talking before, "with the huh."

"The what ."

"The huh, Selina! The huh!" Dark olive eyes narrow in confusion (and annoyance), and Harley groans because she can't believe Selina Kyle is being this thick. "I said no pheromones. And you said huh."

"Oh, that." Selina uses a polished silver platter as a mirror to reapply a lipstick Harley is frankly not sure where one would even carry in a skin-tight leather jumpsuit. The more time she spends with Selina, the more convinced she is she just doesn't abide by the laws of physics.

And the more time she waits for Selina to elaborate, the more Harley realizes she just... isn't going to, apparently.

"Uughhh!" Harley groans and uses her bat to smash a nearby sculpture. "You're killing me, Selina! What the fuck did you mean!?"

Selina cocks one perfectly manicured eyebrow (Harley can tell it's happening under the mask) and gives Harley a look like she can't believe she'd have the audacity to speak to her in that tone.

"I meant," Selina's tone is a warning, like she wants to make it clear she could have made Harley suffer more if she wanted, but she's choosing not to, "I found it surprising. You looked a bit loved up to me."

"What? Pffft." Harley lets out a chuckle and nudges one of the pieces of the sculpture with her foot. "Cut back on the catnip, Selina."

Loved up. Ridiculous. Does she love Ivy? Of course. Is she loved up? Of course not . There's no heart emoji fog. None at all.

"If you say so." Selina gives her A Look. The kind of look says she doesn't believe Harley, and she wants Harley to know that even if she won't engage in an argument about it right now. Selina Kyle can say a lot with one look.

For a moment, Harley considers pushing the issue. She could insist. She could give her a list of reasons why she's absolutely not loved up at all whatsoever. She could tell Selina how what she shares with Ivy is actually true friendship, and Selina would know if she was capable of bonding with anything other than cats and jewelry. She could tell her how there's nothing even remotely mind-foggy about her feelings for Ive (she could bring up she's seen that mind fog in action the many times Ive's put Batman under her spell, even). Harley could tell Selina how her brain always feels a bit foggy in a vague kind of way -- just foggy enough to keep Harleen quiet and let Harley take the wheel -- but being with Ivy makes her feel more lucid, more real , than anything else in the world. How when Ive says she loves her Harley feels it right in her bones, in the very marrow of them, in the deepest, darkest, longest-forgotten parts of her brain where no other feeling can ever reach.

She could tell her how wildly different all that is from a silly potion-induced love fog. But she doesn't think Selina would understand their friendship even if Harley actually spelled it out. So she doesn't.

Instead, she silently follows Selina towards the office where Pam's been doing her thing. Where Pam's still doing her thing, actually, and Harley can't help but smile and lean against the doorframe to watch her best friend doing what she loves most (after Harley) in the world: eco-conscious murder.

"I fucking swear ," Ivy hasn't realized they're there, so she must be talking to what Harley can only assume is the tycoon himself even though only one of his legs can be seen outside the enormous mouth of a very happy-looking carnivorous plant, "how hard is it to not print out e-mails? Look at all this shit. Do you know how many trees had to be killed so you could print out your shitty... whatever the fuck this is?"

Ivy groans like she's frustrated she can't use her powers to just will all the papers scattered everywhere to turn back into trees. There are vines everywhere -- like nature reclaiming the furniture and the walls and the floors and really every surface of his office. There's a strange beauty to it, Harley thinks. Haunting, like those pictures of abandoned buildings covered in grass and moss and weeds. Even when she's angry -- and oh, she's angry right now -- Ivy really can't help but make the world a more beautiful place, can she?

Even when she was on the other side of the reinforced glass, wearing her glasses and her white coat, Harley never fully understood why Poison Ivy was lumped in with the rest of the psychos in Gotham.

Harley doesn't know how long she stays there. Selina's happily working on the safe next to the carnivorous plant, and Harley's more than content to just watch Ivy in her element for a while.

And then, it happens.

Ivy's going on a rant about a bunch of single-use coffee cups she's found in the trashcan by the desk when she suddenly stops in her tracks. Harley can't see what she's looking at until Ivy turns around with a small flower pot in her hand, a sad-looking, mostly dry plant limply hanging off its side.

"Fuck him."

Ivy touches the plant and her brow furrows, and Harley knows she's feeling the thirst and the pain in the little plant as if it was her own. "You're okay now," Ivy says as the plant starts to recover, and her voice is so soft -- so full of love for a dry, nearly dead plant -- that Harley swears she feels her heart grow at least a couple sizes. She watches her best friend breathe life into a little plant, watches it turn from brown to green, brighter and taller, watches it sprout new leaves that make it look like it's stretching after a long sleep. And then she watches a bright yellow flower bloom, and when Harley finally manages to tear her eyes away from the flower to look at Ivy instead, she swears she feels her heart stop dead in its tracks.

Ive's always beautiful. Always, without fail, no matter what time of day or night, lounging at home or brooding in an Arkham cell. Pam is beautiful always. But Harley doesn't think she's ever seen her look more beautiful than she does right now, with her hair slightly disheveled after a fight and some blood (not at all hers) splattered on her face and clothes. It's the way she's smiling at that little plant. The way her smile grows and softens when she notices Harley looking at her. Harley's so enthralled by Ivy that she doesn't realize what she's thinking until it's been running through her mind for a while.

God , Harley's in love with her.

And that's when she realizes. That's when she hears the proverbial record scratch in her brain and her eyes widen in horror because there it is. There's the pink fog before the botanical mutation, right? I mean she can't exactly see a literal pink fog, but she may as well. She can feel her heartbeat all over the place. The butterflies in her stomach. The nearly all-consuming need to grab Ivy and kiss her until neither of them can breathe.

"Shit. Shit, Red, shit, shitshit shit ."

Ivy's no longer smiling. At all.

"Oh God, Pammy. I fucked up." Harley feels her eyes well up with tears as she rushes towards her best friend because this is no longer a hypothetical: this is happening. She did drink something dangerous. And suddenly keeping Ivy from finding out and getting mad at her feels less important than fucking surviving. "I fucked up, Ive, I drank a potion and now I'm turning into a fucking plant, please tell me you have an antidote."

"Harley. Harl, look at me." Ivy looks so genuinely concerned Harley's sure the ridiculous amount of love she can see in green eyes must be part of the potion's effects. She's hallucinating, isn't she? "What potion? You're immune, Harley, you know that. Calm down."

"No, no! Not poison, I mean--" Harley shakes her head but has to stop when Ivy places her hands on Harley's cheeks to hold her head steady and look into her eyes like she's wondering if Harley's on drugs or something. "I mean a love potion, Ive! Shit, I thought it was water and I just drank the whole thing and I thought maybe it was nothing because I felt fine but now I know for sure I fucked up because I'm so in love with you like-- just feel this!" Harley grabs one of Ivy's hands and moves it from her cheek down to her chest, pressing it right where her heart is still skipping all over itself. "Right?"

"I-- I don't-- Harl, what potion ? You're immune to all of my--"

"The pheromones! I don't know what it was! God I'm such a fucking fuck-up and now I'm just-- shit I hope I at least turn into a rhododendron bush or something because I don't want to be a succulent, Ive. Don't let me turn into a succulent." Harley's really crying now, black mascara running down her cheeks and staining Pam's hand as she struggles to breathe through her words. "I know I should've told you but I didn't want you to be disappointed and now I'm in love and it's just-- Selina, you tell her!"

"Selina?" Ivy turns around like she's just realized Selina is still in the mansion, let alone in the room with them. "What's going on?"

Harley was expecting Selina to tell Ivy exactly what happened that morning. She was expecting Selina to tell Ivy all about Harley being an idiot who drinks things without looking first, about the pheromones and chill, about Harley's refusal to tell Ivy right away. Instead, Selina looks... almost like she's the one who's been caught in a lie.

"Selina, what the fuck did you do?" Ivy's voice sounds like she's mere seconds away from feeding Selina to the plant, too. Harley can feel the anger like tingles where Ivy's hands are still pressed against her skin. "What did you give her?"

Selina lets out a sigh. "Margarita mix."

"What?" Harley feels a lightbulb go off inside her brain. That was the weird taste when she drank whatever was in that bottle. Fucking margarita mix. But just.. "Why? What the fuck, Selina? Why would you let me think it was pheromones? I know Batman doesn't actually fuck bats, probably. Come on, it was a joke! Mostly!"

"Will you relax?" Selina sounds like she can't believe Harley may be a bit agitated after spending a whole day thinking she's going to die and/or mutate into a plant. "I'm sick of watching you two idiots pretend that ," she points in the general direction of Harley and Ivy, "is just a couple of gals being pals. Figured I'd help you out."

"Help!?" Harley could just-- God , she could just smash Selina's face in with her bat. But she suddenly realizes there's a much more pressing issue to handle before revenge can even begin to be considered. "Shit, Red," Harley takes one step back to look at Ivy, and for the first time ever she's surprised to see she can't read the look in her eyes, "I didn't mean-- you know I didn't mean any of it, right?" For a split second Harley swears something like pain flashes behind green eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it appeared. "I was just worried and I-- I got in my head about it. But you know I didn't mean it. You know , right? Pammy?"

It takes Ivy a few seconds to answer, and when she does she sounds... different. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

For some reason, it doesn't sound as reassuring as Harley though it would.

"Come on, Ive--" Selina tries to keep talking, but Ivy cuts her off.

"Listen, we're done here. So I'm just gonna..." Ivy shakes her head like she's trying to physically clear it of thoughts and feelings and general clutter, "I'm just gonna go home."

Harley feels like she's stuck to the floor. She just stands there, silent and frozen in place as she watches Ivy leave. She knows this isn't right. She knows something just happened -- something she can't quite wrap her brain around right now. All she knows is Ivy's leaving, and she wants her to stay but she doesn't know how to make her body move or make any noises until her gaze drops to the desk and she sees the little plant right there.

"Ive!" Harley grabs the pot and runs out just in time to see Ivy's vines lifting her up through the same skyline they used to get in. "Ivy, you forgot the plant!"

But Ivy doesn't come back.

#harlivy #harley x ivy #fic #harley quinn/poison ivy #cliche a week 2021 #this is my first chaptered fic i can't guarantee it won't be a hot mess #comics #dcu #poison ivy

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michellewritesthings · 4 years

Text

Naptime

Word Count: 2,771

A/N: Thanks to the lovely @lazytickles I’ve been on another baby!Sides kick. Plus, I used the lee mood I was in to my advantage and for a good cause so that’s cool. Enjoy! ~Michelle 🤍

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To say it was an easy task to put down Logan and Roman for a nap in the afternoons would be lying for Patton. He loved his two-year-old sons so very deeply but it was in the afternoons when he just wanted a break. And he knew they did too. They were very good during naptime, but the process of getting them to agree to naptime was the challenging part. One in the afternoon is what Patton prepared for each day. Some days were very easy, but some days were very hard. But today was in the middle.

Patton was in the kitchen washing the boys’ dishes from lunch. He looked back into the living room and saw the two playing together on the playmat Patton set up for them. He smiled. They were always so kind to each other. Once he finished up with the dishes, he wiped his hands and mentally and physically prepared himself for the inevitable struggle all three were about to have. He walked over to the playmat and watched the boys laugh with each other. He wasn’t sure what game they were playing but they were sure enjoying it.

“Hello my kiddos. Whatcha doin’?” Patton asked sweetly. Roman simply pointed at the toy cars.

“Race!” He squealed as Logan nodded with a big smile.

“A race? Oh my goodness I wish I was here to watch it!” Patton pouted. Logan was the first to toddle over and hug Patton.

“Next time!” Patton couldn’t help but giggle and kiss Logan’s cheek.

“You’re right, there’s always next time. Like later today you can start another race because it’s naptime, boys.” He said gently, that sweet smile not leaving his face but his heart was racing. Both Roman and Logan looked at each other then at their daddy and started to get upset.

“No nap. Not tired.” Logan grumbled. Patton sighed then looked over to Roman.

“Keep playing…” Roman sat down and looked like he was about to start crying. Roman was a cryer. No tantrums though. He knew better than to throw a tantrum. Patton couldn’t stand to see his boys so upset, especially see one of them cry. But he knew naptime was essential. He knew that the boys always woke up happier than before.

“I know you wanna keep playing, honeybee. But you’ll be able to play later once you wake up. And you’ll feel a trillion times better and have more energy to show daddy how good you are at racing!” Patton moved some of Roman’s hair from his face. He looked at Logan.

“Nu-uh. No nap.” Logan stated simply. Patton looked at him and rubbed Logan’s tummy since he was standing next to his head.

“Yes nap. Now c’mon, I’ll read you two a story. Anything you want. How’s that sound?” Patton stood up and held his hands out for both boys to take one. He saw a tear fall from Roman’s eye and Logan start to rub his own. Patton’s heart broke. He needed to get them to take a nap but he also wanted to avoid his sons’ crying. He had an idea. He’s done it before, but never for naptime. Why not try it out now? Patton crossed his arms.

“Okay well if you two don’t want to take a nap by yourselves, I know someone who can get you to take a nap~.” Patton looked down at Logan and Roman. They both looked at each other, Roman wiped his face of the tears.

“Who?” Logan was the first to speak up. Patton tapped his cheek in false thought.

“Well I’ll give you a hint. Anytime he shows his face, a smile for you awaits.” Patton always used rhyming clues for them. It helped them learn different riddles and ways to give hints in a less direct manner. Plus, it was fun! Logan looked to Roman for an answer. Roman’s tiny eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Another pwease?” Patton’s heart became whole again. Oh how he loved when Roman said ‘please’.

“Okay how about this: When he’s around, you will be found. When his fingers wiggle, they’ll make you giggle.” Patton was sure that would get them. It wasn’t a surprise to him that Logan understood it first and Roman was just looking down at his feet in front of him in thought. Logan whispered the answer in Roman’s ear and he gasped. Their daddy stood in front of them with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. Both boys looked up at him as Logan helped Roman stand up.

“He’s coming. You should start running. Cause the Tickle Monster has arrived, and he’s gonna get those sides~.” Patton gave them the answer, along with a little clue as to which spot he would attack first. Logan and Roman both had extremely sensitive sides so as soon as they heard that, they both squealed and toddled up the stairs, holding hands and ran to their room to try and find a hiding place. Patton didn’t turn around to watch them run. He simply turned his head just a small bit to listen to them run upstairs.

After a minute, Patton calmly made his way upstairs and into their room. He knew that was the first place they would go. Roman hid behind his bed, his feet sticking out of the side. And Logan hid behind their dresser. Patton knew the boys saw him come in because he heard soft laughter.

“Oh boy! Logan and Roman’s daddy called me because they need to take a nap! But I just can’t find those little ones anywhere! I guess I better start looking around here~...” Patton looked inside their closet, under Logan’s bed, in each corner, near Roman’s bed and the side of the dresser. He knew where each boy was, the suspense was what was best. He decided Roman was the first one to catch, he was making his hiding spot quite obvious anyway.

“Hmmm… I’m sure they’re around here somewhere. Let’s try behind the beds- oh! What do we have here! Patton bent down near Roman’s feet.

“What an adorable little pair of feet we have here! I wonder who they belong to~. Well, only one way to find out!” With that, Patton gently but quickly pulled on Roman’s feet to drag him out from behind his bed. Patton gasped.

“Oh my, my, my! Roman, I found you! I thought I never would!” Patton picked a squealing but squirming Roman up onto his hip and dug his left hand into Roman’s tummy. Roman’s laughter was like church bells. So sweet and beautiful. He tried to push Patton’s hand away but Patton kept dodging it and walked with Roman in his arms and walked around the room.

“You know, I kept looking all over this room and I just couldn’t seem to find you. I checked in the closet, under the beds, near the dresser and even in all four corners of this room. I was about to give up, but here you are! here you are, wiggling and giggling in my arms! Boy, what a precious little gigglebug you are!” Patton continuously switched from Roman’s tummy to his sides.

“Dahahahahaddy!! Nohohoho more!!” Roman laughed out, bending over to try and protect his tummy.

“Daddy? Oh honeybee, your daddy isn’t here right now. Your daddy sent me to come and get you so you can get ready for naptime! You don’t know who I am~?” Patton stopped his fingers from moving to give Roman a breather and the chance to say his “name”.

“Tihihickle monster?” Roman giggled as he breathed in and out. After Patton noticed Roman gained his composure, his fingers started moving from Roman’s tummy to his sides once more, he soaked in the scream Roman gave him.

“That’s right! I’m the Tickle Monster~! That’s me~!” Patton twirled them around a few times then stopped, making sure they both didn’t get dizzy.

“Well not only do you need to take a nap, your brother needs one too! Do you happen to know where he is hiding, gigglebug?” Patton asked. Patton knew Roman would never rat out his brother. It wasn’t nice. Roman shook his head quickly.

“Aww well you have to have some clue as to where- oh my goodness, who’s little arm is hiding behind that dresser~?” Roman’s head was now laying on Patton’s shoulder, frantically giggling. That’s when Logan started giggling himself. Patton gently pulled at Logan’s arm and was delighted at the smile that was on his face.

“Logan! I knew I’d find you somewhere!” Logan started to run away. Patton ran with Roman in his right arm and scooped up Logan with his left arm and placed him on his left hip.

“Where do you think you’re going, mister~?! Huh~?! Don’t you know better than to run away from the Tickle Monster?” Patton was able to wiggle his fingers into Logan’s left set of ribs and blow a tiny raspberry on the right side of Logan’s neck. His laughter became louder and louder. Logan’s laughter was completely different from Roman’s but it was still as precious. Full of squeaks and hiccups. It was like sweet music. Roman started to laugh at Logan, and that just simply wouldn’t do.

“And what are you laughing at over here~?!” Patton gave Roman’s neck a raspberry this time and Roman screamed. With Roman’s laughter filling up Patton’s right ear and Logan’s laughter filling up his left ear, Patton couldn’t help but laugh himself.

“I think it’s time for the grande finale~!” Patton ran to his room, making sure to bounce the boys in his arms to get happy laughter instead of tickle laughter. He gently dropped both boys onto his bed and lifted up their shirts. Logan and Roman knew what was about to happen.

“Nohohohoho!! Nohohoho rahahaspberries!!” Logan begged, kicking his little chubby legs. GOODNESS Patton could just eat those legs up!

“Sorry, sunshine! It has to happen~! But we’ll start with Roman first~...” Roman tried rolling away but Patton caught his sides just in time. He didn’t hesitate to blow a raspberry right on top of his bellybutton as he skittered his fingers on Roman’s sides, when he finished up the raspberry, Patton covered Roman’s tummy in kisses. He backed off of Roman and did the same with Logan. He then sat up and looked at his work. Two very exhausted, tickled out two-year-olds giggling their hearts out.

“Whew! Well that was a bucketload of fun! Thanks for sharing those laughs with me and being so, darn precious!” Patton booped both boys' noses and they blushed. He rubbed their tummies and smiled.

“Would you like to see your daddy now?”

“Yes pwease…” Logan and Roman said in unison. Patton giggled. He got up from the bed and backed away with a smile.

“Until we meet again, gigglebugs~...” Patton backed out of the room and waved. He waited a moment then walked back in the room.

“Hello there, little loves! I was lookin’ all over for you two. I see someone found you for me though~.” He crossed his arms and looked at the two boys still smiling and regaining their breath. Patton sat in between them. He saw Roman rub his eyes and Logan let out a tiny yawn. He did it. They were sleepy.

“Are you two ready for naptime now?” They both nodded and reached out for Patton to pick them up. He did as gestured and held Roman in his right arm and Logan in his left and walked them back to their room and laid each boy on their beds. Logan in his astronaut bed, covered in stars and Roman in his prince bed, covered in crowns and dragons. He tucked them in but saw that they were still a little sad that playtime was over. Patton thought of something else.

“How about a song?” They both nodded. They always loved Patton’s lullabies. Patton had been working on a new one. The boys had just watched Hamilton a couple days ago and they loved it! However, there was one song Patton liked that he kept in the back of his head for occasions like this. But he wanted to revise it just for his baby boys. He sat down on the side of Logan’s bed and laid his pointer finger in the center of his eyebrows and gently moved it down to the top of Logan’s nose. A technique he created when they were younger to help them fall asleep. He started to sing in Logan’s ear.

My dear Logan, what to say to you?  Those gorgeous eyes. That perfect little smile

When you came into the world, you cried and it broke my heart

He saw Logan give him a soft smile at what he was singing. He recognized the song and his smile became bigger.

I’m dedicating every day to you

Domestic life, has always been my style

When you smile, you knock me out, I fall apart

And I thought I was so smart

Logan gave him another yawn but tried to keep his eyes open to continue listening to Patton sing for him. But the movement of Patton’s finger, plus the song in his ear was a bit too much for him and he was fighting the sleep. Patton smiled.

You will come of age with our young nation We’ll bleed and fight for you, we’ll make it right for you If we lay a strong enough foundation We’ll pass it on to you, we’ll give the world to you

And you’ll blow us all away… Someday, someday

Yeah, you’ll blow us all away

Someday, someday

Logan finally let his eyes shut without letting out one final yawn. Patton gently took his glasses off from around his head and laid them on his nightstand. He kissed his head while humming the rest of the song. He then made his way over to Roman. He looked a little jealous. Patton gave him a different smile as if to say ‘You didn’t think I’d forget about my honeybee, did you?’ Patton placed his finger in the middle of Roman’s eyebrows and dragged it down to the tip of his nose, just like Logan. He started to sing in Roman’s ear now.

Oh Roman, when you smile I am undone

 My son

Look at my son. Pride is not the word I’m looking for

There is so much more inside me now

Oh Roman you outshine the morning sun

My son

Roman’s smile was toothy and bright. He loved what his daddy was singing. It was about him… that’s why. Roman always loved when Patton gave him praise. Little stinker. After a moment, it was Roman’s turn to try and keep his eyes open.

You’ve made me feel so proud

You’ve made walk on the clouds

I swear that

I’ll be around for you

Roman finally closed his eyes with a small smile. Patton got up and kissed his forehead and continued humming as he walked back over to Logan and returned to his original position.

I’ll do whatever it takes

I’ll make a million mistakes

I’ll make the world safe and sound for you…

He saw Logan start to smile in his sleep as Patton rubbed his thumb over Logan’s chubby cheek. He continued to hum the notes of the song. Then he walked back to Roman and returned to his original position.

…will come of age with our young nation

We’ll bleed and fight for you, we’ll make it right for you

If we lay a strong enough foundation

We’ll pass it on to you, we’ll give the world to you

And you’ll blow us all away…

Roman had a problem with sucking his thumb as he slept. Patton has been trying to break that habit so once he saw Roman had his thumb in his mouth, he very gently pulled his hand away from his mouth and Roman put his hand in a fist and laid it on his pillow. Patton giggled softly and kissed Roman’s cheek as he got up and went to kiss Logan’s. He then turned on their nightlight which was just a lamp that projected stars onto the ceiling. He turned off the actual light to their room as he stood near the door.

Someday, someday

Yeah, you’ll blow us all away

Someday, someday

Patton saw their chests slowly move up and down. Patton finished the song and sighed. Goodness gracious, he was so lucky. Those precious little kids were his.

“See you later, my precious boys.” Patton closed the door halfway.

#my writing #sanders sides tickle #sanders sides tickle fic #lee!roman #lee!logan #ler!patton #baby!roman #baby!logan #tickle community

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tessiete · 4 years

Note

“Perhaps, I killed a Jedi and took it from him.” Clumsy fingers beneath sleek synth leather gloves close over the hilt, the silver of it glinting merrily in the grasp of a cold fist. “Impossible,” Lord Vader says. “I am growing tired of your games, boy. I shall only ask once more: who gave it to you?” “I cannot say,” he replies. “Cannot?” says Vader. “Or will not?” “I will not.” His voice is firm, and does not shake. He reaches again for that serenity: a flash of copper hair, [...] of blue eyes.

This is for the writer’s ask where you ask about 500 characters of one of my fics, and I do a deep dive analysis! <3 Thank you for indulging me.

Alright! Better late than never but I’ve been overthinking this because I DO SO LOVE process and meta! So let’s dive in. The commentary.

First of all, let me say that I am a huge proponent of Korkie Kenobi - and yeah, I’d love to see it canonised - but I think my relationship with this character is a bit more nuanced than people give me credit for.

I was all for arospec/acespec Obi-Wan. That’s the canon I loved. And I was very much not interested in Satine when she first appeared in TCW. But the thing was, once it happened, once they introduced a love interest who played a significant enough role in the story, I felt I could either ignore it...or roll with it. See what it changed. See what it created.

Obviously, the relationship - on a surface level (and tbh probably the only level which the writers considered) is meant to mirror Anakin and Padme. They are the road not taken. Where Anakin and Padme chose each other, Obi-Wan and Satine chose their duties.

This is a...I don’t like this take as an exclusive one, and here’s why: it implies that Padme was also selfish, and made the wrong choice. And yet everything in canon tells us the opposite. She continued working. She jeopardised her career and her reputation to fight against the rise of the Empire. She gave her life trying to prevent it. To put her as a direct mirror of Satine is messy, and to me, cannot justify the creation of Satine enough to convince me.

But I also don’t want to throw away such a huge chunk of TCW narrative. So the other option is to reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally lean in.

At which point, you have to examine not just the immediate symbolism of the relationship, but what each character individually brings. You have to give Satine her own agency. She has to become her own person. Suddenly, all the little bits of information that would normally be overlooked become important. We get so little of her, that everything becomes significant.

And Korkie - who hangs around for a couple episodes, but otherwise has no real importance, suddenly becomes significant.

And that, for me, is the crux of the issue. I hate, hate, hate wasted story elements, and if Korkie is so superfluous as to be negligible, then why did we waste not just money, and time, but story on him. And if he is unimportant, then his relationship to Satine is unimportant. And if that relationship is insignificant, then we lose something integral and revealing about Satine, and now suddenly there is less of her to relate to Obi-Wan, and so anything revealed about him becomes less important, too.

Maybe this feels like a stretch, and maybe it is, but to me, Korkie feels very much like Chekhov’s gun.

And it would drive me CRAZY if he were to go unexamined, and unused.

So this whole story was an examination of “What does Korkie tell us about Obi-Wan that we didn’t know before? And what can Korkie tell us about Vader?”

Because what is Vader if not Obi-Wan’s Fallen son?

This was essentially the thesis for this piece: despite the fact that Vader/Anakin had all of Obi-Wan’s attention, love, and time it is Korkie who truly embodies the legacy of his father.

And while I know that “found family” is a massively important part in the SW universe, I think there’s a larger discussion to be had about other aspects of family. The answer isn’t always that Blood is Bad, and that heritage is shameful or unimportant. Sometimes, where you came from does matter. Some people do find strength, and pride, and hope, and motivation, and support in their origins - even if it’s something they’re divorced from in a physical or temporal way.

For me, Korkie is an opportunity to examine a father/son relationship where neither of the two people have an attachment beyond blood, but -

There is still one of love.

But instead of Anakin’s selfish, possessive love for his family, both Obi-Wan and Korkie relate to each other, and treat each other with empathy, compassion, and respect. Their love is noble. Selfless. They put entire worlds before each other. And Korkie learned that from his dad.

A personal pet peeve is this constant depiction of kids whose parents are in high stakes jobs feeling neglected or abandoned. How many cop shows have bratty kids acting out because their dad is never home to share dinner? How many medical dramas show the children of doctors lashing out because mom spends more time at work than at ballet class?

It drives me crazy.

As the child of a medical worker with an on-call schedule, I can say that neither I, nor my siblings, nor any of the other children of my mum’s coworkers have EVER felt neglected. We have never felt unfairly or selfishly entitled to our parents’ time. Because we knew - because someone (another parent? A grandparent? A teacher?) explained to us, and taught us at a young age that what our parents were doing was important. We understood that there were life or death stakes, and that we were very loved, and very much the priority - just not every second. Because sometimes, a life was on the line.

And Obi-Wan Kenobi was fighting to save a galaxy.

I just cannot in any way believe that a child whose mother was a ruler of a planet plagued with civil unrest and a significant terrorist group, and whose father was a Jedi Master, and in charge of securing peace and freedom across the stars would ever be so selfish, and so uncompassionate as to begrudge the sacrifice of his parents.

Korkie Kenobi is an abject example of selfless love. The kind of love the Jedi aspire to. The kind of love that Anakin absolutely does not understand, and fails to embrace.

And it’s not because Qui-Gon died (Korkie never had that kind of paternal relationship), and it’s not because Shmi was killed (Korkie’s mother also dies tragically), but because of the maturity of the person, and the quality of Korkie’s character.

So to pit a Korkie just coming into his own as an adult, aware of his father, and recently bereaved of his mother against a Vader just coming into his own as a Sith…

That, to me, evoked very interesting narrative avenues to explore.

In this universe, Korkie and Obi-Wan have recently reconnected (Korkie having helped Boil retrieve Obi-Wan from an ill-advised trip to Mandalore where Obi-Wan learned that Anakin had become Vader for the first time), and they both know what they are to each other. Obi-Wan has begged for forgiveness, and given Korkie his lineage, and his legacy in the form of Qui-Gon’s lightsaber - something that Anakin never got. Vader wants it.

So let’s get into it:

“Perhaps, I killed a Jedi and took it from him.”

This first line - it’s like poetry, it rhymes.

Vader asks where Korkie got the blade, and Korkie replies...in Qui-Gon’s words. He doesn’t know this, of course. It’s just a coincidence. But the remains of Anakin hear it. Anakin recognises it, and it galls him that this boy - Obi-Wan’s replacement of him - seems to be able to claim the lineage he wishes he had. Korkie is stealing his family. And he doesn’t know them. He doesn’t deserve them. He’s not entitled to them the way Anakin is.

And this is also one of the first things Anakin ever heard a Jedi say. This was the beginning of Qui-Gon’s promise. This is a moment in which Anakin first thought he might find salvation. It was the start of his life, in some ways. This was pure, good, and trusting Anakin Skywalker.

It’s an absolute anathema to him, now. Now, when he’s lost everything. When he’s filled with doubt, and hate, and fear, and suffering. It makes him angry. Because he doesn’t want to see that he was Korkie. He doesn’t want to see that he had this chance, and blew it. And Korkie - who never had Qui-Gon, who never had Obi-Wan - can speak the words without even (in Anakin’s mind) earning them.

Also, and most obviously, Anakin killed the Jedi. And yet...he didn’t kill Obi-Wan. He did not kill that Jedi, and take this blade.

Korkie is alive. Obi-Wan is alive. Anakin resents it. Obi-Wan should not exist without him. Obi-Wan should have no legacy but Vader. Because Anakin doesn’t.

Clumsy fingers beneath sleek synth leather gloves close over the hilt, the silver of it glinting merrily in the grasp of a cold fist.

To me, it was important that we see the weakness of Vader. His hands are not his own. The flesh of Anakin Skywalker is gone, and beneath the serenity of the mask, and the shadow of black, he’s fumbling. Korkie’s wrong-footed him, and he feels young, and insufficient in the face of this boy. This is all about Anakin’s insecurity.

Korkie speaking words he shouldn’t know - speaking in the voice of a literal Jedi - so calm, and so collected (negotiating with the serenity of his father) scares Anakin. He’s hearing and seeing the ghosts of the people he betrayed.

And the blade itself is merry because it belongs in the hand of Korkie. It knows (and the narrative knows) that it won’t be long in Vader’s grasp. It transcends the dark. It glints, and is optimistic. It’s a symbol of faith. It’s delight in being claimed by Korkie is symbolic of Qui-Gon’s own approval of his legacy. Qui-Gon Jinn chooses Korkie Kenobi.

But the thing is, it’s not because he’s a Kenobi. It’s because he chooses to act, and speak like a Jedi. Anakin fears - and knows - he never received this blade because Qui-Gon Jinn would not approve of what he’s done. This is Qui-Gon’s repudiation of Anakin Skywalker. The blade is laughing at Anakin.

“Impossible,” Lord Vader says. “I am growing tired of your games, boy. I shall only ask once more: who gave it to you?”

And then Anakin answers the same way he did as a child. He is still a selfish, defiant, fearful child. He denies the possibility that Korkie could have killed a Jedi.

Now, of course, he knows that the Jedi are dead, he knows that Korkie is not a Jedi, and he’s also denying the possibility that Korkie could have done it.

And, more than that, he’s denying the very possibility that Korkie could speak - could somehow know - Qui-Gon’s words. There is no way that this boy should be speaking with that voice. It’s impossible.

It’s a three-fold denial.

As a more technical thing, Vader’s voice was really hard for me to do, because this Vader still had to be recognisable as Anakin. He’s only been Vader for about a year at this point, maybe a little longer, and he’s just been thrown back into his childhood by memory, so the voice had to hit this balance point between Anakin and Vader.

This is an Anakin who uses language to build himself up. He doesn’t quite buy his own authority - it is so easily undercut by an unarmed boy, here, after all - so he makes himself sound like the seat of power...Obi-Wan. He mimics the slightly elevated phrasing of his former master, and condescends, calling him “boy”. He speaks to Korkie in the voice of Korkie’s father. But it’s distorted, and clunky because it is not Anakin’s voice to claim. And he hasn’t had all the practice that the next 18 years will provide him with, yet.

So theoretically, if I did it right, the motivation - the drive of the sentence - is Anakin, but the pattern is an echo of Obi-Wan.

I also think this is probably the third time Vader’s asked Korkie (iirc), and that’s just a classic storytelling technique - things, especially questions, lessons, or events, happen three times.

Korkie replies differently every time.

“I cannot say,” he replies.

So, at first, Korkie answered a question with a question. He was brash, young, and openly defiant. He replied in the way that Anakin or Obi-Wan may have if they’d been captured. He asked who Vader was. He didn’t know him - he doesn’t know him.

Vader is his brother, and yet Vader - Anakin - has been erased. His own family doesn’t know him. Has no reason to. He isn’t a person anymore. He’s a monster with no face, no name, no history, and no future. He has no claim to his own past.

Then, when Vader asks again, Korkie asks why it matters.

It’s a slight change of tactic, but one that Korkie thinks might put him on a more even playing field. If he knows why it’s important, then maybe they can work out a deal. Maybe he can...negotiate. Again, Vader hears shades of Obi-Wan’s cunning in this kid’s voice.

It also forces Vader to confront the reason he wants this blade - but that reason is intimately connected to Anakin. So Korkie is humanising him. He’s offering Vader a piece of himself. But Vader won’t take it.

Then, after Korkie’s spoken like Qui-Gon, Vader asks again, and Korkie denies him utterly. He cannot say. It’s impossible. It’s something beyond his control.

“Cannot?” says Vader. “Or will not?”

“I will not.” His voice is firm, and does not shake.

Or is it? Because then, Korkie does what Vader does not. He takes responsibility for his choice. It’s not out of his hands. He’s choosing - deliberately, and decisively - to deny Vader. And he does not flinch. He does not hide. He looks into Vader’s face, knowing he might condemn himself to suffering, and death, and chooses that.

This is Korkie as a Jedi. He makes the same sacrifice the Jedi make - he looks into the Dark and chooses the Light.

And in this instance, he has replaced Anakin because he’s protecting Obi-Wan. Korkie is at Obi-Wan’s back. Korkie is making a choice to shield the person he loves - though he hardly knows him - because it is right. He loves freely, and selflessly. He loves Obi-Wan in a way that Anakin betrayed, but Korkie will not betray Obi-Wan here.

He reaches again for that serenity: a flash of copper hair, of soft robes, of blue eyes.

Korkie Kenobi is Force sensitive. Of course, he is. He is the culmination of a series of Light choices, and selfless sacrifice. He, at the end of the Clone Wars, comes out as the very thing they were fighting for. It’s not lost. Obi-Wan isn’t lost - he still shaped Korkie. He still saved something - something of the Force, something of the Light, and something of himself. He saved Satine. He saved the Jedi. He’s not fought and sacrificed in vain.

And so, though it is still rough, and untrained, though, like his relationship with his father, it’s still new, Korkie instinctively seeks to soothe himself, to find peace, so stay calm. In this moment where he is confronted with a Sith Lord, alone, and unarmed he chooses to reach for peace…

And his peace, his hope, is Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He reaches for his dad.

Just like Obi-Wan reaches out for Qui-Gon’s ghost. Just like Anakin reaches out for Obi-Wan (seriously can’t have one conversation without mentioning him). Just like Luke reaches out for Anakin.

Korkie seeks comfort in the Force through the person he most finds solace in. And it doesn’t matter that he and Obi-Wan are nearly strangers, because they choose not to be. And because Obi-Wan is the ideal that Korkie strives for.

Obi-Wan has taught him something about serenity, and bravery, and hope. So when Korkie thinks of calm, and thinks of making his father proud, he sees Obi-Wan. Just flashes in his memory.

And the colours of Obi-Wan are symbolic - the fire of his hair, the chaos of the galaxy and war, the colour of the sand on Tatooine, the heat of its suns, and the shared blood between them. The blue of his eyes like water in the desert, an oasis, a salvation, an open sea, the clear sky, something vast and all encompassing and cool. The soft robes are an embrace. Obi-Wan is a home in the Force.

(Ironically, this is also what Anakin as Vader thinks of, and is thinking of because he also knows Obi-Wan, and so the next beat of this scene shows Vader and Korkie accidentally sharing thoughts. An easy mistake, as they’re essentially running into each other at the same restaurant!)

ANYWAY -

A, um, brief analysis of this passage from Or Else I Shall Be Lost

I hope you enjoyed it!!! And thank you so much @tree-scapes for tagging me!!!!!

#korkie kenobi #meta #sw fic #obi-wan kenobi #korkie #darth vader #writers #gffa #anakin skywalker #qui-gon jinn

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bomberqueen17 · 4 years

Note

There are also a lot of real Epic Story Moments in Home Out In The Wind &sequels, like, Poe's mess hall concert, and the scene when he finds out he went viral- "play it another million times, I meant every word"- and the entire conversation when Poe finds the middie cruise, and the RETURN OF THE LITTLE BEEP SONG oh my gosh.

I was SO pleased with myself when I managed to get the Little Beep song to be plot-significant in the end. I was so delighted. I can’t do outlines of stories at all, I really have to just sort of go for it and see where things take me, and that can sometimes mean you get a chaotic mess. But that-- the whole Star Wars epic was notable for several things, firstly that I actually got some of it beta-read before publishing which I’d never done before, and probably more importantly that I FINISHED IT, it’s a completed series, and maybe I had a few more extras I was thinking of tacking on the end but I actually completed all of the bits of plot and it has a defined structure and I clearly planned the whole thing.

Some of this was accomplished by very clearly shunting the resolution of some of the plot points off to a never-to-be-made sequel-- the battle ends unresolved, the villains flee, but Our Heroes have a plan, and meanwhile are safe. Past epics of mine had floundered from this because I felt like a story had to encompass every possible plot point, so this was pretty significant writerly growth for me too.

I haven’t reread the whole series lately but I was looking for the Little Beep Reprise and found, instead, my favorite dialogue exchange of BB-8 ever:

“Kill them all,” BB-8 said, vibrating slightly in eir intensity.

“Sick,” R2-D2 said approvingly.

oh but the little beep reprise is just after that! oh gosh. well, one of them.

“Little Beep,” several of the droids murmured, and the only way to describe their tone was reverent.

“That was the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my life ,” Rey said fiercely, shocked at how protective it made her feel..

“I made up that song when BB-8 was new,” Dameron said, his expression a jumbled mixture of pained, embarrassed, and incredulous. “Ey liked it when I gave em a pep talk before recharging. And the other droids got jealous so I’d sing to them too. And I didn’t have time to do it all the time so I had em record it.” He shook his head slightly, rolling it a little side to side before quickly and obviously deciding that the motion was too much, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and grimacing. “I figured ey’d share it with some other droids but I never thought about them making copies .”

“We all listen to the Little Beep song when we recharge,” the power droid said, something hushed and reverent in his tones.

“It’s terrible,” Dameron said, “it doesn’t rhyme, I’m like, twelve years old, the guitar’s not even in tune properly, I recorded that for my astro like fifteen years ago--”

“No one else has ever sung to these droids,” Rey said, looking at the way they were all staring, all of them with their sensors pointed at Dameron, all of them perfectly motionless.

ahhhh the droid rebellion! I really should reread these whole stories.

#buttons-beads-lace #home out in the wind #asks answered

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secretadventuresociety · 3 years

Text

Episode 27 Recap

What’s up SASholes?! I’m Bren; resident SAStorian and note-taker extraordinaire. Welcome to Episode 27: Under New Management.

The Xarus Problem

We last left off with Kess staring down her jilted ‘lover’ (I mean, if you can call an arranged husband a lover), Xarus, who had just revealed he now owns her childhood home. Well, I say home. I guess childhood MANSION is technically more correct. Anyway, as this red-headed scum delights in Kess’ confusion, a flock of guards file in behind him all dressed in black; anticipating an attack. True to form, Pearce leans over to Kess and asks if he should shoot him, and she waves him away, blowing the whole thing off as a joke. Turns out that ole Xarus lost his humor in a tragic Born-Without-A-Soul accident, so he stares back flatly and invites the group to dinner; suggesting the trio clean up beforehand.

Kess loudly announces that her mother (Norse), Zev, Kü, and Pearce are going to… help… brush her hair? And Xarus just accepts it?? So the definitely-not-suspect group file up to Kess’ bedroom, led by Norse. The party takes in their spotless lavish surroundings in a mixture of disgust and disbelief-- and then they find their destination. The room might as well be adorned with a neon sign reading ‘Messy Kessy’. The colors inside are dark and earthy, with flora and drawings of fauna littering the walls, lit by a majestic bay window. In an awkward silence, Kü compares the living space to the shit-covered walls of his cavern home, then switches gears to ask if all fathers come with so much tension.

Norse gently explains that Xarus isn’t Kess’ father, but was her husband-to-be, who recently took over the house and the super-secret ‘family business’. Surprise-- Kess’ family is a band of merry Robin Hoods who keep Mardosta eating with silver spoons. Despite being there the whole time— Norse doesn’t quite understand how the boring, ginger-haired square of a man grew the balls to overthrow their reign of thievery; but she momentarily morphs into fantasy Vin Diesel (not actually, I know it’s a little weird ‘cause technically she’s a changeling and very much COULD do that) and tells Kess they can handle it As A Family.

An Iris by Any Other Name

After assuring The Nobodies aren’t going to kill Xarus in his sleep, Mama Shadowmore pulls Kess aside and leads her to the family greenhouse. It smells overwhelmingly like smoke, and as they enter, Kess sees hundreds of her black and white flowers. You know the ones. Norse then tells her how they tried to cover Kess’ absence, the way she would go into the greenhouse to just sit somewhere that smelled like her daughter (OUCH, dude), and all about the first night she saw one of the Irises appear. From that night on, Norse and Kess’ father Arthur would sit and wait for a flower to bloom; knowing somehow it was connected to their daughter’s safety. Now, if you thought your teeth were rotting out from the sweetness already-- that’s when Kess hugs her mom for the first time in years, and sometime during the embrace, Norse drops her high elf facade and embraces her daughter in all her changeling glory before Kess grows a flower just for her. Touching stuff. You crying yet? No? Just me?

Dry those eyes, though, because now we’re on to some shenanigans. As Kess and her mom are off repairing their relationship, Pearce and Kü attempt to make themselves at home. After grabbing a drink with Zev, the pair stake out a guest bedroom with an adjoining bathroom. Pearce ushers Kü inside and offers to guard the door as he showers, which the kobold has CERTAINLY done before. Tons of times. In his underground home. Despite this setback, Kü figures out the tub quickly, but the challenge becomes when he needs to drain the water. He finds a bucket, remembers that the toilet gets rid of its own fluid, and scoops up the grimy bathwater like a scaly Mickey Mouse. But that’s not all. Getting to the bottom of the tub, he notices a chain floating in the dregs and hauls out a crowbar to liberate it.

Pearce, hearing a sudden thump and fearing a sneak attack, manhandles his way into the bathroom and finds a wet Kü who laments about the ‘necklace’ at the bottom of the tub. The gunslinger quickly realizes it’s a chain for the drain (heh, a rhyme) and shoves Kü out. He then takes a pile of Zev’s clothes he found and dresses, appalled at the deep-v tunic and skin tight leather pants he is now sporting. Being his only choice, he chastely covers his bare chest and spikes his hair, coming out of the bathroom to help Kü shine his helmet. Yes, that helmet. Pearce is making Mother’s skull GLEAM. Kess, after realizing she could just change her form in lieu of ACTUALLY bathing, brings Kü a long silk tunic to replace his dress and steals a white button-up from her dad for Pearce. Now they’re Awkward Dinner Party ready!

Evil Exes, Amirite?

In case you’ve forgotten, Kess has a Brady-Bunch-worthy family. She runs into her dad, and later all three of her brothers: Zev, his twin Voss, and Rook. However, these aren’t all of the introductions the party is subjected to. As they enter the dining room in what I can only imagine is Oh My God They’re So Hot Slow Motion (with Kess donning her owl, Tibbins, for intimidation), they lay eyes on an unfamiliar and unimpressed elven woman who Xarus introduces as Sienna-- his current fiance. Well, he sure did move on fast. Between Sienna’s eye rolls, Kü’s harried feasting, and EVERYONE’S overwhelming discomfort, Xarus describes how he grew suspicious when Kess disappeared. After a little digging, he found out about the family’s arrangement with the city’s mayor, Vendreth; how he caught her criminal parents and promised them protection if they used their forces to help his failing city thrive.

Kess doesn’t see any issue, but Xarus laments that the townspeople have no idea who is running the show. It’s a clear threat, as Kess realizes the denizens would run them out of Mardosta if they knew the truth. Happy with himself and his mind games, Xarus invites his elven mistress to retire to their chambers with him…. if you know what I mean. She emotionlessly agrees, and the two leave the family alone. The Nobodies excitedly chatter about their exploits; no adventure going untold. Kü even introduces his mother, Marrow, and spends a moment praising Norse for being a good mother too. Pearce changes the subject to their treasure map, showing it briefly to Voss. He has no idea what the X’s could mean, but implores them to keep him updated. Norse then asks how long the party is staying-- enticing them with an upcoming festival that is SURE to have stickmeat. Kess proposes they stay for a while, saying they could make use of the family library and also figure out what the X closest to Mardosta hides.

Pearce not-so-subtly asks about the family’s trading habits, mostly trying to gauge if they have any dealings with his absent father. Turns out this ain’t an arms race, it’s a goddamn scene, and with routes halted in Larsham and Evercrest, the business has slowed down to a trickle. Kess breaks the business talk with a proposal for her companions and her siblings to go out on the town, and so they all prepare for a night in Mardosta. Pearce grabs his gun, Kess raids Rook’s training room for daggers (noticing a hefty potion collection), and everyone bundles up for the biting weather as they walk to the docks.

The Return of Nice Ghost

Kü spots a stationary boat in the water, with a rumpled dragonborn climbing out of it. Sus. As they get closer, they notice that it’s not a boat at all, but a disguised opening to a meeting spot called ‘The Underfrost’. Kess leads them down the cavernous tunnel lined with torches until they reach the bottom. Once there, they feast their eyes on merchants, a bar, and an imposing fighting pit-- all teeming with figures of all races. Kü jumps on the chance to, as he so eloquently describes it, ‘fuck shit up’; racing off with Voss and Zev in tow to sign up to battle. Kess instructs Pearce to place bets for the both of them as she grabs drinks… which turns out to be a monumentally bad idea. Pearce throws down 500 gold on Kü for himself but-- without express instructions from the druid-- dumps out her bag and wagers all of her 1,275 pieces of gold.

It turns out Kü is the next challenger to face… get this… Dickius Muscular. Is it his fantasy God-given name or a stage moniker? The world may never know. In any case, fervent hands push him toward the pit-- one attempting to remove his helmet. In retribution, Kü bites the tip of the offending person’s pinkie off, keeping his adornment as he summons a flood of shadows from it to cover him in armor. Thus the fight begins, and the massive goliath Dick...ius attacks our boy Kücifer with a mace in a blinding rage. Kü retaliates with his Bonemerang-- and when that does less damage that he expected, he summons Nice Ghost to keep him company. The spectral being chases after the goliath relentlessly; booping him any time he can come close. Dickius flees from the spectre, pursuing Kü-- who wreaths himself in shadow and disappears. Out of the darkness comes two fireballs, liberated from the kobold’s dwindling necklace.

Amazingly, this blast does not take his opponent out-- so Kü chugs a health potion as his vision suddenly goes green. He smells smoke and hears Mother in his head, asking to take a turn. He can do nothing but stare at Dickius as the shadows leave Kü to snake around the goliath and squeeze. Though deeply in pain, Dickius breaks free and heaves one last attack at Kü-- rendering him unconscious and sending Nice Ghost back into oblivion. With that, Kess rushes in to heal her friend, momentarily pissed at Pearce for losing all her money. Back on his feet, Kü shakily requests to be taken to bed, and the gunslinger scoops him up like a child and carries him; only to be repaid with a flow of vomit down his back as the kobold recovers slowly from his trauma. Still, Pearce keeps his composure and reassures Kü that he fought well, but begs him to try to sleep.

The Scream Heard ‘Round the Mansion

The group groggily returns to the family home and branches off to their respective rooms. Pearce gently lays Kü down and tucks him into bed before searching for a piece of paper and a writing utensil to pen a short note. He slips 200 gold into it and scrawls ‘I’m sorry’ onto the page. He slips out of the guest room to try and find Kess’ door-- and the one he picks, unbeknownst to him, is her parents’. However, our boy tried his best, so he returns to Kü; watching him as he sleeps. This dad-like worry Pearce has got going on makes me SOFT, y’all. I need MORE.

Kess, however, forgoes sleep for a time and instead grabs a bottle of wine from the kitchen. She takes it to the greenhouse and attempts to grow her second flower of the day-- which she has never done before. It takes a little more effort, but it does sprout, and she pleadingly asks to speak with the friend she grows them for. She waits, but no answer comes. Kess finishes the wine and stumbles up to her room, leaving the window open for good measure. She and Kü are sleeping soundly while Pearce fitfully wakes up from his perch on the sleeper sofa every so often to watch Kü’s chest rise and fall (PASS ME THE TISSUES). During one of his half-awake moments, Pearce watches the candle in the room extinguish and simultaneously hears a scream coming from downstairs.

Leaving the passed out kobold, Pearce takes off, only to be intercepted by Kess, who we all know has the passive perception of a dog waiting for you to drop that pepperoni on your pizza, Karen. She pulls him into the stairwell and they end up at the opening of Xarus’ chambers-- Sienna standing speechless in the doorway. When she ends up being less than helpful, the duo slip into the room, immediately laying eyes on the lifeless body of Kess’ failed groom. I wish I could say I was at all upset about this revelation, but I would be lying to you, dear readers. However, we now have a murder mystery on our hands! WHODUNNIT?!

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TL;DR

Our heroes attended a dinner party more uncomfortable than all of my family reunions put together. Talk about second-hand anxiety!

Kü is the Underfrost Fighting Pit Champion in my heart and I hope he gets a rematch against… *checks notes* the Goliath’s dick.

RIP, Xarus— ex-fiancé and stick in the mud. See you in hell.

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Kess’ed Be and catch the next session over at twitch.tv/lochness on July 21st at 7:30CST/8:30EST! AND if you’d like to watch THIS episode, you can find it at the link below: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xyi5JkW-SNY

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 4 years

Text

The Guardian’s Oath, Part Two

Here’s the second part in the series! You can read the first part here (and you probably should, since it won’t make any sense otherwise and because there are some plot points in there that will come up again later).

Pairing: Feargal Devitt/ Finn Balor x OFC

Word count: 2,978

Content advisory: Nothing for this part, however there is adult content to come in later sections, so if you’re underage or prefer to avoid sexual material, you might as well spare yourself the time and effort of reading these early sections.

I rose early the next morning, my body aching from fruitless attempts to get comfortable enough to do more than doze off for a few minutes. The children were still in bed but Kate was already hard at work in the kitchen. Seeing my face, she quickly prepared me a cup of coffee.

“Are you having a time of it trying to sleep, dear?” she inquired.

I gave a wan little smile. “It just feels quite different than what I’m used to. I’ll get used to it soon enough.”

She fried some toast in the skillet with bacon fat and served me, Telling me a little of her life and of Bray as we sat in the kitchen together. I learned that the reason people referred to both “the town” and “the village” was to differentiate the newer and more prosperous area- the town- from the older settlement that had been home to the tenant serfs dating back to when the area had been part of a large estate. Kate had lived her whole life in the town, while Susan, who I had yet to meet, was from the village. The way she put it, it felt like the difference between the two parts of Bray marked everything, down to two women who both made their living as servants.

Susan arrived at six-thirty. She was younger than either Kate or I, although taller by some measure than either of us. She gave a friendly greeting and her pleasant demeanor lasted until she began to sort through the basket of clothing to be washed.

“Not again,” she grumbled. “They’ve gone out in the rain and just look at the state of these stockings! I’ll never get the grass stains out!”

“Mind your tongue, Sue,” Kate cautions her in a kindly enough tone. “They’re children. Even the best ones can’t help but get into some mischief.”

As she turned to say more to the girl, I saw her expression change.

“Miss Miles, did you not have any of your own clothing to be washed?”

“I didn’t want to trouble anyone. I can wash them myself. I’m afraid that there’s sand and salt on them and I didn’t want to make any more work for…”

Susan gave an exasperated sigh.

“You’ll have your hands more than full with the children, ma’am. Susan, go collect Miss Miles’ clothing from the garrett and add that to the washing.

Susan made a show of balancing the already full basket on her hip and her footfalls were heavy as she proceeded to mount the stairs to the attic.

“I should have gone to fetch them myself.”

“Don’t let her moods get to you,” Kate answered. “She’s a good girl but she’s got a lazy streak. If you give in to her, you’ll end up doing all her work as well as your own.”

Eager to change the subject, I decided to tell her of my discussion with the children the night before.

“The children were regaling me with other stories of Bray before I could get them to sleep last night. Stories of all the fairies and monsters you have here.”

“Oh yes,” she sighed, “they do love their stories. A bit too much if you ask me, although I’m partly to blame because I’ve told them enough myself.”

“They recited a dark little rhyme for me about something named Finn Balor that can’t have helped me sleep any.”

Kate pursed her lips as Susan flounced back through the kitchen and out the back door, my clothes piled on top of the others.

“They’ve heard that from her,” she muttered with a sharp glance back towards where Susan had exited. “I’ll tell them some stories my grandmother used to tell me but she goes telling them all manner of ghoulish things and getting them all excited over it. They’d no business bringing it up to you.”

“Oh it was just one of the things they wanted to share, like the ghost in the cemetery or the Bog Queen. We have a version of her where I come from too. I believe Balor must be unique to this place, or to the coast. Is it a common story?”

“Common enough, certainly. It’s the sort of thing parents tell their children or young women to frighten them. But Master William and Miss Sophia seem to delight in that sort of thing.”

“Well I hope that I can find some healthier outlets for their imagination.”

Kate collected the mugs and my plate and took them to the sink.

“I suppose I should go and wake the children so that we can get their lessons started.”

As I rose, I saw Kate staring at me. Her face was tilted and filled with concern and her fists closed tightly on her apron.

“Their father, the Reverend, is as good, as gentle and as pure a man as God ever made,” she began haltingly. “I liked to think that I come from good folk but he is truly unmatched in his character.”

I started to agree with her but she spoke again, her tone darkening a little.

“The children, though, have a little too much of their mother in them. She was… she was a wild animal. I know I’ve no business speaking of my former mistress this way but you’ll hear it from the townspeople asif you don’t hear it from me. He brought her back from a mission to the Brittany coast and she was peculiar at the best of times. I’ll not burden you with any stories but I can tell you that no other man would have indulged her the way Reverend Devitt did. He treated her well throughout her life and mourned her passing with his whole heart.

“I would never say that the children are bad. They are smart and they can be as gentle as angels. But they do have her blood in them and it makes them prone to a certain amount of… mischief and trickery. And I beg your pardon for speaking so far beyond my station but I know that the other governesses have struggled to take them in hand.”

I shook my head to indicate that I had no problem with her speaking in this way. “How many other governesses have there been?”

“You’re the fourth ma’am.”

“The fourth? How long ago was it that their mother passed?”

“She died when Miss Sohpia was five and her brother four.”

My jaw slacked a little. “There have been four governesses in four years?”

“They are good children but they are always easy to manage. I told you when you first arrived that I felt right away that you could be at home here. I believe I can see a spark in you that the others lacked and I would hate to see your chance to flourish thwarted when I could have offered you a warning. Treat the children with a sense of caution and keep in mind that they are prone to tricks and mischief, more so than they should be. Don’t be afraid to assert yourself.”

I nodded and thanked her before ascending the stairs to rouse my young charges.

Over the next days, as I settled into the best pace for their lessons, I could see the truth in Kate’s words: much as they had on that first night I had read to them alone, the two of them had little routines designed to lead me where they wanted to get me. They were innocent enough but it made me wonder how far they could push their advantage. It also made me wonder about their mother and what strangeness they might have inherited from her.

They were fast learners, and the greatest challenge was keeping them from growing bored. It was when they were bored that their tendency to misbehave presented itself. Both of them loved hiding things the other needed and making them work clues to find it. Both loved seeing how far they could push a rule imposed on them without actually breaking it. I had to admit that even their bad behavior was interesting because there was so much thought put into it. After a couple of months, I started to come up with puzzles and games of my own to help them remember and focus on what we were learning. I knew that this would have been frowned on by any school and by most other employers. I gambled that Reverend Devitt would be unlikely to question any method that saw his children happy to be learning.

The times the Reverend was at home were brief but I treasured all of them. Those times were dominated by the church service on Sunday mornings over which he presided. He went early and we would follow afterward, taking our places near the front, the children and me, as if we were all a family. I loved that hour of the week when I sat looking up at him, flanked by his angelic-looking children. Even more, though, I loved that he almost always invited me to join them for dinner, as if I were an equal. His attention was focused on his son and daughter, of course, but I was never left out and as he saw how much and how quickly they were learning, his warmth toward me grew greater than ever.

Once when he was back for more than just the day, we packed a picnic lunch and made our way to a rugged area along the water, just past the crescent beach where I had first seen the ocean. I tried to preoccupy myself with the children but it was the height of summer and they only wanted to run around, leaving me for an extended period alone with my employer.

“Please be careful,” I pleaded with William as he deposited a couple of new shells for his collection onto the blanket. “The path down to the beach is steep and rocky here. You could fall and hurt yourself.”

William was off again without another word. I was about to call to him but the Reverend waved his hand to indicate I shouldn’t bother.

“Let him work off his energy,” he sighed. “The tide’s out, so if he falls making his way down the hill, maybe the scrapes will teach him the lesson he needs.”

“I just worry that he could-”

“Helen,” he insisted, “they’re children. And you worry too much.”

“I’m sorry, Reverend,” I murmured. “I just don’t want to see any kind of harm befall them, no matter how small.”

“It’s Feargal,” he said softly, leaning back on his arms and regarding me through his long lashes. “I prefer you to call you Helen and I would prefer you to call me Feargal.”

“Of course, sir.”

He laughed and rolled onto his side to face me. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, Helen,” he told me. “You’ve been a marvel with the children. I’ve always known they were smart but they’ve never learned as fast or as well as they have with you. Most times when I’ve come home, they’ve found something to grouse about with their governesses, but with you, it’s quite the opposite. They adore you. And Kate loves you, by the way. She always makes a point of telling me what a humble, kind woman you are.”

“I am greatly flattered,” I answered, desperately wanting him to say he had similar feelings for me. “I can’t imagine that anyone could be unhappy working in your home and with your children.”

“I assure you, it’s possible,” he said wistfully.

I thought he might say more but William and Sophia rushed up, dropping handfuls of seaweed on the blanket. Some bits were dry, but most was sodden and stunk. I tried to hide my distaste for the scent but William and his father spotted it right away and teased me a little. We all laughed and I told myself that I would adjust to things such as these strange plants over time.

“Look at this one!” William exclaimed, scrabbling up next to me and brandishing a new specimen. “Look at these!”

The weed he held was unlike the others he’d brought. It was still soaked but it was built like a vine and it was covered in blister-like growths. I found this one even nastier than the others and my face showed it, even though I tried to contain my dislike.

“Watch!” William ordered.

He pressed down hard on one of the blisters and it popped, the viscous contents spraying out and hitting my face. I made a sound, muffled slightly because I didn’t want to open my mouth in case some of the weed guts fell into it.

Sophia laughed delightedly but the Reverend upbraided his son.

“That was terrible behavior. I think it’s time I took a switch to the back of you again.”

William looked terrified and I heard Sophia give a little gasp.

“No, please, sir. It’s just a plant. I overreacted.”

“You’re too kind, Miss Miles. But if I catch any more behavior like that, I can assure you that a hiding will follow.”

There was a moment of silence, after which William tossed his seaweed samples off to the side and wound his arms around my waist. I let my arm rest on his shoulder, unsure of the appropriate amount of affection to show in my position. He clung tighter and I rubbed circles on his shoulder, trying to quell the nervous tension I felt in his arms.

During the summer, I often delayed going to bed. The garrett was pleasant enough but it was hot even if I opened the window. I was much happier to retire to the drawing room once the children were in bed, where I could write in my journal or read a little. I had finally settled in enough that I was able to sleep a little but the heat robbed me of that. I tried to fight through the fatigue and nerves but sometimes it overwhelmed me.

One such night, Kate could see that I was in such an overtired state that she insisted on putting the children to bed herself, so that I could rest in the drawing room in peace for a little. It was not quite dark, although the sun had gone. I could see the last streaks of light trailing towards the west, the last traces of a glorious summer day.

Looking out the window, I saw a dark figure next to the gate. My first thought was that it was an itinerant laborer from the village looking for any work he could find. It wasn't unusual for them to stop at the cottage, but none had ever passed so late. My only other thought was that he was a gypsy hawking door to door. I'd seen a few near the town. I'd never seen one alone, or in this area, but I knew very little of their ways.

I watched the man for a few minutes and realized that he was making no move towards or away from the house. He stayed still and silent. If Mr. Jones had been there, I would have dispatched him to deal with the situation but the gardener had gone home for the night. I didn't want to confront a strange man on my own but I felt a sense of danger coming from him. I had been charged with caring for the two children and that meant protecting them.

I stepped outside and waved my hand to get his attention.

"You there! What do you want?"

He showed no sign that he'd seen or heard me and so I walked a few steps on the path towards him. In the distance, I could hear the waves crashing and the branches of the trees clattered overhead, but the wind seemed light in the yard, so there was no chance the man did not hear me when I called to him again. Nevertheless, he paid no attention and I was forced to approach closer still.

As I did, I observed that he was striking at the gate post with his hand. It took me a moment to see that he was holding a rock and that he was actually marking the post with a few scratchy lines.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, stopping just out of arm's reach. "Move on and don't let me catch you hanging around this place again."

It was difficult for me to see much of his face, for he wore a brimmed hat that kept most of it in shadow. He had on layers of clothing, completely inappropriate to the heat, that appeared old and dirty. I thought his face remarkably dark but when I looked at his hand, still grasping the rock he'd been using to mark our gate post, it seemed like there was dirt clinging to his skin as well.

"I told you to be off," I snapped.

For the first time, he reacted to me, a sneer crossing his lips. His eyes flickered in my direction, shaded by his hat, and some ugly, guttural sound came from his throat. I could smell a mix of salt and leather and smoke hovering like a pungent blanket around him.

The sneer spread and I could see a quick flash of teeth before he tightened his grip on the rock and raised his hand.

I gave a little cry and took a quick step back, believing he was about to hurl it at me. However, he simply lowered the hand and placed the rock on the post before disappearing in total silence. I went over and pushed the rock away, tossing it to the far side of the street. There were three parallel lines roughly scratched and nothing else.

#finn balor imagine #finn balor fanfic #wrestling imagine #wwe fanfiction #nxt fanfiction #nxt imagine #wwe imagine #wayward wrestle writing

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getreadytosmash · 4 years

Note

][All questions for the otp meme for Jen + Rhys!][

@blind-mutant

Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop?

Jen's favourite coffee place is the only place that has strong enough chairs to hold her weight and who puts far more caffeine into her drink than any Starbucks should allow. She's grateful for this, more so to the little barista who always stares with wide eyes and smiles brightly when she comes in. Jen can smell the crush (and admittedly lust) off him and he's cute, but she doesn't want to scare him off. And lose her coffee place.

Rhys? God, he wishes that he could see and write a phone number down at least. Jesus, he wishes that he wasn't a worker so he could ask her out. For a date or a fun night. Things change though when Rhys trips one day and goes face first into Jen's chest while spilling coffee all over her. He's upset and worried that he's hurt and embarrassed Jen, but she just reassures him that coffee can't burn her...and he can always take her out to help buy a new shirt along with some dinner to make up for it.

Highschool/College AU: Who is the straight-A student, and who’s the backrow slacker?

Jen tries hard. Like, really hard. She needs good grades to get into the top law school and even with the worries and strains of her home life, it becomes easier to get lost in her work than think about how her aunt is dead and how Bruce is still left without answers and how her family did nothing. So it's easier to get lost in work and to try and stay out of the way of parties. If only that annoying boy Rhys would drop it and leave.

Rhys...he knows that he's a stupid guy and that he's only here because a fancy college is better than being kept at home with parents that don't want you around. Jen is pretty, but most importantly, she's smart. Rhys keeps hoping that at some point she might offer tutoring, but she just...doesn't? He wants to try and ask for help but Rhys doesn't want to spill that he's a mutant, not to mention the fact that Jen...always looks a little scary when someone talks to her.

Rivals to loves AU: Who takes their rivalry seriously, and who is half in it just to push the other’s buttons?

Rhys knows that he's part of the Brotherhood of Evil mutants and that means that anyone who isn't a mutant shouldn't be...well, he shouldn't feel attraction to them. But its HARD when said enemy is 7'5 and knocked the Blob out in one punch. God, Rhys can's survive this when he's faced with being lifted with ease and the moments where Jen flirts as she fights and teases him!

Even worse is the fact that Jen is fully aware of Rhys's little crush and likes to take full advantage of "Little Nighty". Most of the time it's to help win a fight and to not hurt Rhys, but maybe on occasion Jen flirts with honesty. Rhys is cute and yeah, he's a criminal but like, he's a cute and easy criminal!

Enemies to lovers AU: Which one switches sides?

The world fears the hulks ever since every gamma mutate banded together against the world. If Krakoa could do it, then so could they. Jen loves finally being free with people just like her without any worry from humans or other heroes judging them all the time or worrying that the hulks will kill everyone in their rage. It's a good time, to simply just be with the others until Jen realises one day in an attack that other heroes have decided to turn on hulks too. Of course, some people have decided that it's easier to leave the human world and to join over with hulks instead.

Of course, Jen worries about that. Some humans don't survive being turned into hulks but if it's what they want...not many have specific gamma forms, but a particular mutant, Rhys, definitely stands out to her. He has big wars, dark skin and glowing eyes as he towers above mostly everyone. Samuel still complains about Rhys being a dumbass and letting anyone walk into that giant tuff of fur. But Jen still spares him a lot of sweet smiles and words.

Soulmate AU: Who is eager to meet their soulmate? Who absolutely does not want to meet their soulmate?

Rhys is...nervous about meeting his soulmate, but excited. He wouldn't have a soulmate that loved him, but he kinda at least wants to see what they're like. He isn't expecting the goddamn She-hulk to be bis apparent other half and boy oh boy does that send his heart into terrified palpitations. How can he be good for someone like her? He didn't even think it would be another woman and yet here he was, trading Blue for Green.

Jen's thrilled but worried herself about meeting the other half of her heart. She had always been worried about not being good enough and now she had to worry about being green or too freakish for someone. Rhys is small and cute and the rudest man she has met so of course Jen is purring, absolutely delighted that her soulmate is someone not creepy or someone who can't control her mind and feelings again. Rhys is shy but Jen is willing to wait and spoil him until he melts and accept that she wants him forvever.

Single parent AU: Which one is the single parent? (Alt. if they’re both single parents: Which one is open to starting a new relationship from the start? Which one is never planning on finding love again… Until they meet the other and are instantly smitten?)

Lyra isn't technically her daughter. But Thundra had been interested enough in Jen that it was kinda a romance? Lyra doesn't exactly want a father anyway and that's how she ends up with a teenage hulk in her care. That still doesn't explain how Jen also ended up with her niece snarling and holding up a small man and something about thieving. Rhys didn't mean to get caught, but he isn't exactly arguing when Lyra's hot aunt comes to sigh and stop him from being killed.

Jen is...gosh, big lady who is protective of her niece? Is there a word for aunt milfs? Rhys definitely wants to try and uh, apologise to Jen for causing such a ruckus and really! He isn't always such a bad guy! Jen finds it pretty amusing and what the hell, agrees to go out with him while Lyra asks whether they just let criminals go now. Rhys has earned the joys of a big green woman adoring him but....he's going to suffer a LOT of shovel talks from a teenage hulk who doesn't understand the human world.

Doctor AU: Which one is the longsuffering doctor? Which one is the patient?

O K. Rhys,,,in the hospital the same time as when Jen first hulks out??? Baby boy nervous about being there and god, the giant green woman doesn't help-

Hold on.

Rhys needs to follow whatever the hells going on and, well, any excuse to get out of the hospital, right? The giant woman is fucking incredible and it's a shock to see her turn into a small regular woman but Rhys isn't too bothered. He's still starstruck, even through helping her change into something more modest as Jen dazedly asks who Rhys is and what's been going on.

They get coffee later because even as a no one mutant, Rhys thinks that Jen is new to the powered world and needs some help navigating it. He's right and Jen is more grateful for it than he'd ever know.

Bodyguard AU: Who is the bodyguard? Who are they protecting? Which one is secretly pining for the other?

Rhys's powers come in handy for being a bodyguard. He's practically unknowable, his shadows can help hide people and god knows they make a good offence up close. His client is some fancy little lawyer and originally Rhys tuts at having to follow around some human woman, even if he is being paid rather well. Jen on her hand seems to think its hilarious that she's been told she has Rhys to guard her, which doesn't help the internal insecurity.

It isn't until the week is almost up that an hit is attempted on Jen and yeah, Rhys stops it, that that human lawyer, but it isn't until he turns around that he finds himself faced with a 7'5 green woman and it only now hits him why Jen found the idea of being guarded so funny. She says it's alright and that if he wants, maybe he could...talk about guarding her heart?

It's a terrible pickup line and god does Rhys agree to it.

Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this?

Jen is polite and sweet mannered on land, but the moment she steps onto her ship, Jen can finally return to the wild ways of curly hair, high waisted pants and cloth shirts that show off her clevelege. Rhys is a beautiful prince who she plainly and outwardly flirts with happily, even with the anger of his parents. It gets even better when such a beautiful little prince flushes so prettily.

Rhys himself can't help but admire the strong and beautiful pirate. He wants adventure! He wants to get out of the tight suits and to wear tight pants and free flowing shirts...but alas he has been fated to a horrible castle where he isn't even the heir to the throne. So what then if he decides to flee in the middle of the night and try to pay the hot pirate woman off to have her take him with her and the rest of her crew? A boy can live!

It isn't...the best plan. What with a bounty being placed to return Rhys back, but for now, all he really cares about it Jen's strong arms around his waist, teaching him the tricks of the sea.

Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older?

Rhys and Jen are friends to the end. It's a cute rhyme that they come up with that makes all the adults laugh, even Jen's older cousin Bruce who is always quiet around anyone who isn't his mom or cousin. They're friends for years until Rhys practically drops off the face of the earth one day and his parents don't say anything at all. Jen's dad doesn't say or do anything either, even though her dad is a sheriff and should be able to do anything.

He didn't do anything when Uncle Brian killed Aunt Rebecca either though. So Jen pushes it down deep enough until hears later, where she's green and wild and strong, her feelings of rage and grief don't come back out until one day where she sees Rys again, remembers him down to her veins and bones as he picks a fight in the bar. After that it gets a little fuzzy.

Rhys uh, he remembers beaming and blushing back when Jen would share cookies with him. But he's pretty sure she wasn't a mutant so that doesn't quite explain why the asshole he was pissing off had gotten tossed into the air with a primal scream. Jen is mortified that she reacted in such a way and made an entrance like that, but Rhys is enamoured! He's touched that someone wanted to protect his dignity like that...and it was hot as fuck. He's up to see her toss more people as they begin to reconnect from years apart.

#ask #blind-mutant #green goddess (jen)#headcanon

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perfectlyandrogynousbouquetworld · 4 years

Text

Gilbert & Anne in Anne of green gables’ book

« That's Gilbert Blythe sitting right across the aisle from you, Anne. Just look at him and see if you don't think he's handsome." Anne looked accordingly. She had a good chance to do so, for the said Gilbert Blythe was absorbed in stealthily pinning the long yellow braid of Ruby Gillis, who sat in front of him, to the back of her seat. He was a tall boy, with curly brown hair, roguish hazel eyes, and a mouth twisted into a teasing smile. Presently Ruby Gillis started up to take a sum to the master; she fell back into her seat with a little shriek, believing that her hair was pulled out by the roots. Everybody looked at her and Mr. Phillips glared so sternly that Ruby began to cry. Gilbert had whisked the pin out of sight and was studying his history with the soberest face in the world; but when the commotion subsided he looked at Anne and winked with inexpressible drollery. "I think your Gilbert Blythe IS handsome," confided Anne to Diana, "but I think he's very bold. It isn't good manners to wink at a strange girl." But it was not until the afternoon that« things really began to happen. Mr. Phillips was back in the corner explaining a problem in algebra to Prissy Andrews and the rest of the scholars were doing pretty much as they pleased eating green apples, whispering, drawing pictures on their slates, and driving crickets harnessed to strings, up and down aisle. Gilbert Blythe was trying to make Anne Shirley look at him and failing utterly, because Anne was at that moment totally oblivious not only to the very existence of Gilbert Blythe, but of every other scholar in Avonlea school itself. With her chin propped on her hands and her eyes fixed on the blue glimpse of the Lake of Shining Waters that the west window afforded, she was far away in a gorgeous dreamland hearing and seeing nothing save her own wonderful visions. » « Gilbert Blythe wasn't used to putting himself out to make a girl look at him and meeting with failure. She SHOULD look at him, that red-haired Shirley girl with the little pointed chin and the big eyes that weren't like the eyes of any other girl in Avonlea school. Gilbert reached across the aisle, picked up the end of Anne's long red braid, held it out at arm's length and said in a piercing whisper: "Carrots! Carrots!" Then Anne looked at him with a vengeance! She did more than look. She sprang to her feet, her bright fancies fallen into cureless ruin. She flashed one indignant glance at Gilbert from eyes whose angry sparkle was swiftly quenched in equally angry tears. "You mean, hateful boy!" she exclaimed passionately. "How dare you!" And then--thwack! Anne had brought her slate down on Gilbert's head and cracked it--slate not head--clear across. Avonlea school always enjoyed a scene. This was an especially enjoyable one. Everybody said "Oh" in horrified delight. Diana gasped. Ruby Gillis, who was inclined to be hysterical, began to cry. Tommy Sloane let his team of crickets escape him altogether while he stared open-mouthed at« tableau. Mr. Phillips stalked down the aisle and laid his hand heavily on Anne's shoulder. "Anne Shirley, what does this mean?" he said angrily. Anne returned no answer. It was asking too much of flesh and blood to expect her to tell before the whole school that she had been called "carrots." Gilbert it was who spoke up stoutly. "It was my fault Mr. Phillips. I teased her." Mr. Phillips paid no heed to Gilbert. "I am sorry to see a pupil of mine displaying such a temper and such a vindictive spirit," he said in a solemn tone, as if the mere fact of being a pupil » « When school was dismissed Anne marched out with her red head held high. Gilbert Blythe tried to intercept her at the porch door. "I'm awfully sorry I made fun of your hair, Anne," he whispered contritely. "Honest I am. Don't be mad for keeps, now" Anne swept by disdainfully, without look or sign of hearing. "Oh how could you, Anne?" breathed Diana as they went down the road half reproachfully, half admiringly. Diana felt that SHE could never have resisted Gilbert's plea. "I shall never forgive Gilbert Blythe," said Anne firmly. » « Mr. Phillips's brief reforming energy was over; he didn't want the bother of punishing a dozen pupils; but it was necessary to do something to save his word, so he looked about for a scapegoat and found it in Anne, who had dropped into her seat, gasping for breath, with a forgotten lily wreath hanging askew over one ear and giving her a particularly rakish and disheveled appearance. "Anne Shirley, since you seem to be so fond of the boys' company we shall indulge your taste for it this afternoon," he said sarcastically. "Take those flowers out of your hair and sit with Gilbert Blythe." The other boys snickered. Diana, turning pale with pity, plucked the wreath from Anne's hair and squeezed her hand. Anne stared at the master as if turned to stone. "Did you hear what I said, Anne?" queried Mr. Phillips sternly. "Yes, sir," said Anne slowly "but I didn't suppose you really meant it." "I assure you I did"--still with the sarcastic inflection which all the children, and Anne especially, hated. It flicked on the raw. "Obey me at once." For a moment Anne looked as if she meant to disobey. Then, realizing that « there was no help for it, she rose haughtily, stepped across the aisle, sat down beside Gilbert Blythe, and buried her face in her arms on the desk. Ruby Gillis, who got a glimpse of it as it went down, told the others going home from school that she'd "acksually never seen anything like it--it was so white, with awful little red spots in it." To Anne, this was as the end of all things. It was bad enough to be singled out for punishment from among a dozen equally guilty ones; it was worse still to be sent to sit with a boy, but that that boy should be Gilbert Blythe was heaping insult on injury to a degree utterly unbearable. Anne felt that she could not bear it and it would be of no use to try. Her whole being seethed with shame and anger and humiliation. At first the other scholars looked and whispered and giggled and nudged. But as Anne never lifted her head and as Gilbert worked fractions as if his whole soul was absorbed in them and them only, they soon returned to their own tasks and Anne was forgotten. When Mr. Phillips called the history class out Anne should have gone, but Anne did not move, and Mr. Phillips, who had been writing some « verses "To Priscilla" before he called the class, was thinking about an obstinate rhyme still and never missed her. Once, when nobody was looking, Gilbert took from his desk a little pink candy heart with a gold motto on it, "You are sweet," and slipped it under the curve of Anne's arm. Whereupon Anne arose, took the pink heart gingerly between the tips of her fingers, dropped it on the floor, ground it to powder beneath her heel, and resumed her position without deigning to bestow a glance on Gilbert. « but when she met Gilbert Blythe on the road or encountered him in Sunday school she passed him by with an icy contempt that was no whit thawed by his evident desire to appease her. Even Diana's efforts as a peacemaker were of no avail. Anne had evidently made up her mind to hate Gilbert Blythe to the end of life. « She flung herself into her studies heart and soul, determined not to be outdone in any class by Gilbert Blythe. The rivalry between them was soon apparent; it was entirely good natured on Gilbert's side; but it is much to be feared that the same thing cannot be said of Anne, who had certainly an unpraiseworthy tenacity for holding grudges. She was as intense in her hatreds as in her loves. She would not stoop to admit that she meant to rival Gilbert in schoolwork, because that would have been to acknowledge his existence which Anne persistently ignored; but the rivalry was there and honors fluctuated between them. Now Gilbert was head of the spelling class; now Anne, with a toss of her long red braids, spelled him down. One morning Gilbert had all his sums done correctly and had his name written on the blackboard on the roll of honor; the next morning Anne, having wrestled wildly with decimals the entire evening before, would be first. One awful day they were ties and their names were written up together. It was almost as bad as a take-notice and Anne's mortification was as evident as Gilbert's satisfaction. When[…] » « When Gilbert Blythe recited "Bingen on the Rhine" Anne picked up Rhoda Murray's library book and read it until he had finished, when she sat rigidly stiff and motionless while Diana clapped her hands until they tingled. » « Then, just as she thought she really could not endure the ache in her arms and wrists another moment, Gilbert Blythe came rowing under the bridge in Harmon Andrews's dory! Gilbert glanced up and, much to his amazement, beheld a little white scornful face looking down upon him with big, frightened but also scornful gray eyes. "Anne Shirley! How on earth did you get there?" he exclaimed. Without waiting for an answer he pulled close to the pile and extended his hand. There was no help for it; Anne, clinging to Gilbert Blythe's hand, scrambled down into the dory, where she sat, drabbled and furious, in the stern with her arms full of dripping shawl and wet crepe. It was certainly extremely difficult to be dignified under the circumstances! "What has happened, Anne?" asked Gilbert, taking up his oars. "We were playing Elaine" explained Anne frigidly, without even looking at her rescuer, "and I had to drift down to Camelot in the barge--I mean the flat. The flat began to leak and I climbed out on the pile. The girls went for help. Will you be kind enough to row me to the landing?" Gilbert obligingly rowed to the landing and Anne, disdaining assistance, sprang nimbly on shore. "I'm very much obliged to you," she said haughtily as she turned away. But Gilbert had also sprung from the boat and now laid a detaining hand on her arm. "Anne," he said hurriedly, "look here. Can't we be good friends? I'm awfully sorry I made fun of your hair that time. I didn't mean to vex you and I only meant it for a joke. Besides, it's so long ago. I think your hair is awfully pretty now--honest I do. « Let's be friends." For a moment Anne hesitated. She had an odd, newly awakened consciousness under all her outraged dignity that the half-shy, half-eager expression in Gilbert's hazel eyes was something that was very good to see. Her heart gave a quick, queer little beat. But the bitterness of her old grievance promptly stiffened up her wavering determination. That scene of two years before flashed back into her recollection as vividly as if it had taken place yesterday. Gilbert had called her "carrots" and had brought about her disgrace before the whole school. Her resentment, which to other and older people might be as laughable as its cause, was in no whit allayed and softened by time seemingly. She hated Gilbert Blythe! She would never forgive him! "No," she said coldly, "I shall never be friends with you, Gilbert Blythe; and I don't want to be!" "All right!" Gilbert sprang into his skiff with an angry color in his cheeks. "I'll never ask you to be friends again, Anne Shirley. And I don't care either!" He pulled away with swift defiant strokes, and Anne went up the steep, ferny little path under the maples. She held her head very high, but she was conscious of an odd feeling of regret. She almost wished she had answered Gilbert differently. Of course, he had insulted her terribly, but still--! Altogether, Anne rather thought it would be a relief to sit down and have a good cry. She was really quite unstrung, for the reaction from her fright and cramped clinging was making itself felt. » « Previously the rivalry had been rather onesided, but there was no longer any doubt that Gilbert was as determined to be first in class as Anne was. He was a foeman worthy of her steel. The other members of the class tacitly acknowledged their superiority, and never dreamed of trying to compete with them. Since the day by the pond when she had refused to listen to his plea for forgiveness, Gilbert, save for the aforesaid determined rivalry, had evinced no recognition whatever of the existence of Anne Shirley. He talked and jested with the other girls, exchanged books and puzzles with them, discussed lessons and plans, sometimes walked home with one or the other of them from prayer meeting or Debating Club. But Anne Shirley he simply ignored, and Anne found out that it is not pleasant to be ignored. It was in vain that she told herself with a toss of her head that she did not care. Deep down in her wayward, feminine little heart she knew that she did care, and that if she had that chance of the Lake of Shining Waters again she would answer very differently. All at once, as it seemed« and to her secret dismay, she found that the old resentment she had cherished against him was gone--gone just when she most needed its sustaining power. It was in vain that she recalled every incident and emotion of that memorable occasion and tried to feel the old satisfying anger. That day by the pond had witnessed its last spasmodic flicker. Anne realized that she had forgiven and forgotten without knowing it. But it was too late. And at least neither Gilbert nor anybody else, not even Diana, should ever suspect how sorry she was and how much she wished she hadn't been so proud and horrid! She determined to "shroud her feelings in deepest oblivion," and it may be stated here and now that she did it, so successfully that Gilbert, who possibly was not quite so indifferent as he seemed, could not console himself with any« belief that Anne felt his retaliatory scorn. The only poor comfort he had was that she snubbed Charlie Sloane, unmercifully, continually, and undeservedly. » « They had met and passed each other on the street a dozen times without any sign of recognition and every time Anne had held her head a little higher and wished a little more earnestly that she had made friends with Gilbert when he asked her, and vowed a little more determinedly to surpass him in the examination. « not a word could she utter, and the next moment she would have fled from the platform despite the humiliation which, she felt, must ever after be her portion if she did so. But suddenly, as her dilated, frightened eyes gazed out over the audience, she saw Gilbert Blythe away at the back of the room, bending forward with a smile on his face--a smile which seemed to Anne at once triumphant and taunting. In reality it was nothing of the kind. Gilbert was merely smiling with appreciation of the whole affair in general and of the effect produced by Anne's slender white form and spiritual face against a background of palms in particular. Josie Pye, whom he had driven over, sat beside him, and her face certainly was both triumphant and taunting. But Anne did not see Josie, and would not have cared if she had. She drew a long breath and flung her head up proudly, courage and determination tingling over her like an electric shock. She WOULD NOT fail before Gilbert Blythe--he should never be able to laugh at her, never, never! Her fright and nervousness vanished; and she began her recitation, her clear« sweet voice reaching to the farthest corner of the room without a tremor or a break. Self-possession was fully restored to her, and in the reaction from that horrible moment of powerlessness she recited as she had never done before. When she finished there were bursts of honest applause. Anne, stepping back to her seat, blushing with shyness and delight, found her hand vigorously clasped and shaken by the stout lady in pink silk. » « I wouldn't feel comfortable without it," she thought. "Gilbert looks awfully determined. I suppose he's making up his mind, here and now, to win« the medal. What a splendid chin he has! I never noticed it before. I do wish Jane and Ruby had gone in for First Class, too. » « Gilbert Blythe nearly always walked with Ruby Gillis and carried her satchel for her. Ruby was a very handsome young lady, now thinking herself quite as grown up as she really was; she wore her skirts as long as her mother would let her and did her hair up in town, though she had to take it down when she went home. She had large, bright-blue eyes, a brilliant complexion, and a plump showy figure. She laughed a great deal, was cheerful and good-tempered, and enjoyed the pleasant things of life frankly. "But I shouldn't think she was the sort of girl Gilbert would like," whispered Jane to Anne. Anne did not think so either, but she would not have said so for the Avery scholarship. She could not help thinking, too, that it would be very pleasant to have such a friend as Gilbert to jest and chatter with and exchange ideas about books and studies and ambitions. Gilbert had ambitions, she knew, and Ruby Gillis did not seem the sort of person with whom such could be profitably discussed. There was no silly sentiment in Anne's ideas concerning Gilbert. Boys were to her, when she« when she thought about them at all, merely possible good comrades. If she and Gilbert had been friends she would not have cared how many other friends he had nor with whom he walked. She had a genius for friendship; girl friends she had in plenty; but she had a vague consciousness that masculine friendship might also be a good thing to round out one's conceptions of companionship and furnish broader standpoints of judgment and comparison. Not that Anne could have put her feelings on the matter into just such clear definition. But she thought that if Gilbert had ever walked home with her from the train, over the crisp fields and along the ferny byways, they might have had many and merry and interesting conversations about the new world that was opening around them and their hopes and« ambitions therein. Gilbert was a clever young fellow, with his own thoughts about things and a determination to get the best out of life and put the best into it. Ruby Gillis told Jane Andrews that she didn't understand half the things Gilbert Blythe said; he talked just like Anne Shirley did when she had a thoughtful fit on and for her part she didn't think it any fun to be bothering about books and that sort of thing when you didn't have to. Frank Stockley had lots more dash and go, but then he wasn't half as good-looking as Gilbert and she really couldn't decide which she liked best! » « Anne worked hard and steadily. Her rivalry with Gilbert was as intense as it had ever been in Avonlea school, although it was not known in the class at large, but somehow the bitterness had gone out of it. Anne no longer wished to win for the sake of defeating Gilbert; rather, for the proud consciousness of a well-won victory over a worthy foeman. It would be worth while to win, but she no longer thought life would be insupportable if she did not. » « Jane promised solemnly; but, as it happened, there was no necessity for such a promise. When they went up the entrance steps of Queen's they found the hall full of boys who were carrying Gilbert Blythe around on their shoulders and yelling at the tops of their voices, "Hurrah for Blythe, Medalist!" For a moment Anne felt one sickening pang of defeat and disappointment. So she had failed and Gilbert had won! Well, Matthew would be sorry--he had been so sure she would win. And then! Somebody called out: "Three cheers for Miss Shirley, winner of the Avery! » « I don't know it. I guess you're going to teach right here in Avonlea. The trustees have decided to give you the school." "Mrs. Lynde!" cried Anne, springing to her feet in her surprise. "Why, I thought they had promised it to Gilbert Blythe!" "So they did. But as soon as Gilbert heard that you had applied for it he went to them--they had a business meeting at the school last night, you know--and told them that he withdrew his application, and suggested that they accept yours. He said he was going to teach at White Sands. Of course he knew how much you wanted to stay with Marilla, and I must say I think it was real kind and thoughtful in him, that's what. Real self-sacrificing, too, for he'll have his board to pay at White Sands, and everybody knows he's got to earn his own way through college. So the trustees decided to take you. I was tickled to death when Thomas came home and told me." "I don't feel that I ought to take it," murmured Anne. "I mean--I don't think I ought to let Gilbert make such a sacrifice for--for me[…] » « I guess you can't prevent him now. He's signed papers with the White Sands trustees. So it wouldn't do him any good now if you were to refuse. Of course you'll take the school. » « The beauty of it all thrilled Anne's heart, and she gratefully opened the gates of her soul to it. "Dear old world," she murmured, "you are very lovely, and I am glad to be alive in you." Halfway down the hill a tall lad came whistling out of a gate before the Blythe homestead. It was Gilbert, and the whistle died on his lips as he recognized Anne. He lifted his cap courteously, but he would have passed on in silence, if Anne had not stopped and held out her hand. "Gilbert," she said, with scarlet cheeks, "I want to thank you for giving up the school for me. It was very good of you--and I want you to know that I appreciate it." Gilbert took the offered hand eagerly. "It wasn't particularly good of me at all, Anne. I was pleased to be able to do you some small service. Are we going to be friends after this? Have you really forgiven me my old fault?" Anne laughed and tried unsuccessfully to withdraw her hand. "I forgave you that day by the pond landing, although I didn't know it. What a stubborn little goose I was. I’ve« been--I may as well make a complete confession--I've been sorry ever since." "We are going to be the best of friends," said Gilbert, jubilantly. "We were born to be good friends, Anne. You've thwarted destiny enough. I know we can help each other in many ways. You are going to keep up your studies, aren't you? So am I. Come, I'm going to walk home with you." Marilla looked curiously at Anne when the latter entered the kitchen. "Who was that came up the lane with you, Anne?" "Gilbert Blythe," answered Anne, vexed to find herself blushing. "I met him on Barry's hill." "I didn't think you and Gilbert Blythe were such good friends that you'd stand for half an hour at the« gate talking to him," said Marilla with a dry smile. "We haven't been--we've been good enemies. But we have decided that it will be much more sensible to be good friends in the future. Were we really there half an hour? It seemed just a few minutes. But, you see, we have five years' lost conversations to catch up with, Marilla. » « Something about the firm outlines of Anne’s lips told that Mrs. Rachel was not far astray in this estimate. Anne’s heart was bent on forming the Improvement Society. Gilbert Blythe, who was to teach in White Sands but would always be home from Friday night to Monday morning, was enthusiastic about it; and most of the other folks were willing to go in for anything that meant occasional meetings, and consequently some “fun.” As for what the “improvements” were to be, nobody had any very clear idea except Anne and Gilbert. They had talked them over and planned them out until an ideal Avonlea existed in their minds, if nowhere else. » « I could never whip a child,” said Anne with equal decision. “I don’t believe in it at all. Miss Stacy never whipped any of us and she had perfect order; and Mr. Phillips was always whipping and he had no order at all. No, if I can’t get along without whipping I shall not try to teach school. There are better ways of managing. I shall try to win my pupils’ affections and then they will want to do what I tell them.” “But suppose they don’t?” said practical Jane. “I wouldn’t whip them anyhow. I’m sure it wouldn’t do any good. Oh, don’t whip your pupils, Jane, dear, no matter what they do.” “What do you think about it, Gilbert?” demanded Jane. “Don’t you think there are some children who really need a whipping now and then?” “Don’t you think it’s a cruel, barbarous thing to whip a child…any child?” exclaimed Anne, her face flushing with earnestness. “Well,” said Gilbert slowly, torn between his real convictions and his wish to measure up to Anne’s ideal, “there’s something to be said on both sides. I don’t believe in whipping children much. I think, as you say, Anne, that there are better ways of managing as a rule, and that corporal punishment should be a last resort. But on the other hand, as Jane says, I believe there is an occasional child who can’t be influenced in any other way and who, in short, needs a whipping and would be improved by it. Corporal punishment as a last resort is to be my rule.” Gilbert, having tried to please both sides, succeeded, as is usual and eminently right, in pleasing neither. Jane tossed her head. » « Anne gave Gilbert a disappointed glance. “I shall never whip a child,” she repeated firmly. “I feel sure it isn’t either right or necessary.” “Suppose a boy sauced you back when you told him to do something?” said Jane. “I’d keep him in after school and talk kindly and firmly to him,” said Anne. “There is some good in every person if you can find it. It is a teacher’s duty to find and develop it. That is what our School Management professor at Queen’s told us, you know. Do you suppose you could find any good in a child by whipping him? It’s far more important to influence the children aright than it is even to teach them the three R’s, Professor Rennie says.” “But the Inspector examines them in the three R��s, mind you, and he won’t give you a good report if they don’t come up to his standard,” protested Jane. “I’d rather have my pupils love me and look back to me in after years as a real helper than be on the roll of honor,” asserted Anne decidedly. “Wouldn’t you punish children at all, when they misbehaved?” asked Gilbert. “Oh, yes, I suppose I« shall have to, although I know I’ll hate to do it. But you can keep them in at recess or stand them on the floor or give them lines to write.” “I suppose you won’t punish the girls by making them sit with the boys?” said Jane slyly. Gilbert and Anne looked at each other and smiled rather foolishly. Once upon a time, Anne had been made to sit with Gilbert for punishment, and sad and bitter had been the consequences thereof. “Well, time will tell which is the best way,” said Jane philosophically as they parted. » « What is the matter?” asked Gilbert, who had arrived at the open kitchen door just in time to hear the sigh. Anne colored, and thrust her writing out of sight under some school compositions. “Nothing very dreadful. I was just trying to write out some of my thoughts, as Professor Hamilton advised me, but I couldn’t get them to please me. They seem so stiff and foolish directly they’re written down on white paper with black ink. Fancies are like shadows…you can’t cage them, they’re such wayward dancing things. But perhaps I’ll learn the secret some day if I keep on trying. I haven’t a great many spare moments, you know. By the time I finish correcting school exercises and compositions, I don’t always feel like writing any of my own.” “You are getting on splendidly in school, Anne. All the children like you,” said Gilbert, sitting down on the stone step. » « Gilbert had finally made up his mind that he was going to be a doctor. “It’s a splendid profession,” he said enthusiastically. “A fellow has to fight something all through life…didn’t somebody once define man as a fighting animal?…and I want to fight disease and pain and ignorance…which are all members one of another. I want to do my share of honest, real work in the « world, Anne…add a little to the sum of human knowledge that all the good men have been accumulating since it began. The folks who lived before me have done so much for me that I want to show my gratitude by doing something for the folks who will live after me. It seems to me that is the only way a fellow can get square with his obligations to the race.” “I’d like to add some beauty to life,” said Anne dreamily. “I don’t exactly want to make people know more…though I know that is the noblest ambition…but I’d love to make them have a pleasanter time because of me…to have some little joy or happy thought that would never have existed if I hadn’t been born.” “I think you’re fulfilling that ambition every day,” said Gilbert admiringly. And he was right. Anne was one of the children of light by birthright. After she had passed through a life with a smile or a word thrown across it like a gleam of sunshine the owner of that life saw it, for the time being at least, as hopeful and lovely and of good report. Finally« Gilbert rose regretfully. “Well, I must run up to MacPhersons’. Moody Spurgeon came home from Queen’s today for Sunday and he was to bring me out a book Professor Boyd is lending me. » « In the twilight Anne sauntered down to the Dryad’s Bubble and saw Gilbert Blythe coming down through the dusky Haunted Wood. She had a sudden realization that Gilbert was a schoolboy no longer. And how manly he looked—the tall, frank- « faced fellow, with the clear, straightforward eyes and the broad shoulders. Anne thought Gilbert was a very handsome lad, even though he didn’t look at all like her ideal man. She and Diana had long ago decided what kind of a man they admired and their tastes seemed exactly similar. He must be very tall and distinguished-looking, with melancholy, inscrutable eyes, and a melting, sympathetic voice. There was nothing either melancholy or inscrutable in Gilbert’s physiognomy, but of course that didn’t matter in friendship! Gilbert stretched himself out on the ferns beside the Bubble and looked approvingly at Anne. If Gilbert had been asked to describe his ideal woman the description would have answered point for point to Anne, even to those seven tiny freckles whose obnoxious presence still continued to vex her soul. Gilbert was as yet little more than a boy; but a boy has his dreams as have others, and in Gilbert’s future there was always a girl with big, limpid gray eyes, and a face as fine and delicate as a flower. He had made up his mind, also, that his future must be worthy of its goddess. Even in quiet Avonlea there were« temptations to be met and faced. White Sands youth were a rather “fast” set, and Gilbert was popular wherever he went. But he meant to keep himself worthy of Anne’s friendship and perhaps some distant day her love; and he watched over word and thought and deed as jealously as if her clear eyes were to pass in judgment on it. She held over him the unconscious influence that every girl whose ideals are high and pure, wields over her friends; an influence which would endure as long as she was faithful to those ideals and which she would as certainly lose if she were ever false to them. In Gilbert’s eyes Anne’s greatest charm was the fact that she never stooped to the petty practices of so many of the Avonlea girls—the small jealousies, the little deceits and rivalries, the palpable bids for favor. Anne held herself apart « from all this, not consciously or of design, but simply because anything of the sort was utterly foreign to her transparent, impulsive nature, crystal clear in its motives and aspirations. But Gilbert did not attempt to put his thoughts into words, for he had already too good reason to know that Anne would mercilessly and frostily nip all attempts at sentiment in the bud—or laugh at him, which was ten times worse. “You look like a real dryad under that birch tree,” he said teasingly. » « Gilbert Blythe was probably the only person to whom the news of Anne’s resignation brought unmixed pleasure. » « But there’ll be so many clever girls at Redmond,” sighed Diana, “and I’m only a stupid little country girl who says ‘I seen’ sometimes…though I really know better when I stop to think. Well, of course these past two years have really been too pleasant to last. I know somebody who is glad you are going to Redmond, anyhow. Anne, I’m going to ask you a question…a serious question. Don’t be vexed and do answer seriously. Do you care anything for Gilbert?” “Ever so much as a friend and not a bit in the way you mean,” said Anne calmly and decidedly; she also thought she was speaking sincerely. » « Then she locked the door and sat down under the silver poplar to wait for Gilbert, feeling very tired but still unweariedly thinking “long, long thoughts.” “What are you thinking of, Anne?” asked Gilbert, coming down the walk. He had left his horse and buggy out at the road. “Of Miss Lavendar and Mr. Irving,” answered Anne dreamily. “Isn’t it beautiful to think how everything has turned out…how they have come together again after all the years of separation and misunderstanding?” “Yes, it’s beautiful,” said Gilbert, looking steadily down into Anne’s uplifted face, “but wouldn’t it have been more beautiful still, Anne, if there had been no separation or misunderstanding…if they had come hand in hand all the way through life, with no memories behind them but those which belonged to each other?” For a moment Anne’s heart fluttered queerly and for the first time her eyes faltered under Gilbert’s gaze and a rosy flush stained the paleness of her face. It was as if a veil that had hung before her inner consciousness had been lifted, giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities. « Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it « revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps…perhaps…love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath. Then the veil dropped again; but the Anne who walked up the dark lane was not quite the same Anne who had driven gaily down it the evening before. The page of girlhood had been turned, as by an unseen finger, and the page of womanhood was before her with all its charm and mystery, its pain and gladness. Gilbert wisely said nothing more; but in his silence he read the history of the next four years in the light of Anne’s remembered blush. Four years of earnest, happy work…and then the guerdon of a useful knowledge gained and a sweet heart won. » « They were leaning on the bridge of the old pond, drinking deep of the enchantment of the dusk, just at the spot where Anne had climbed from her sinking Dory on the day Elaine floated down to Camelot. The fine, empurpling dye of sunset still stained the western skies, but the moon was rising and the water lay like a great, silver dream in her light. Remembrance wove a sweet and subtle spell over the two young creatures. "You are very quiet, Anne," said Gilbert at last. "I'm afraid to speak or move for fear all this wonderful beauty will vanish just like a broken silence," breathed Anne. » « Gilbert suddenly laid his hand over the slender white one lying on the rail of the bridge. His hazel eyes deepened into darkness, his still boyish lips opened to say something of the dream and hope that thrilled his soul. But Anne snatched her hand away and turned quickly. The spell of the dusk was broken for her. "I must go home," she exclaimed, with a rather overdone carelessness. "Marilla had a headache this afternoon, and I'm sure the twins will be in some dreadful mischief by this time. I really shouldn't have stayed away so long." She chattered ceaselessly and inconsequently until they reached the Green Gables lane. Poor Gilbert hardly had a chance to get a word in edgewise. Anne felt rather relieved when they parted. There had been a new, secret self-consciousness in her heart with regard to Gilbert, ever since that fleeting moment of revelation in the garden of Echo Lodge. Something alien had intruded into the old, perfect, school-day comradeship -- something that threatened to mar it. "I never felt glad to see Gilbert go before," she thought, half- resentfully, half-sorrowfully, as she walked alone up the lane. "Our friendship will be« spoiled if he goes on with this nonsense. It mustn't be spoiled -- I won't let it. Oh, WHY can't boys be just sensible!" Anne had an uneasy doubt that it was not strictly "sensible" that she should still feel on her hand the warm pressure of Gilbert's, as distinctly as she had felt it for the swift second his had rested there; and still less sensible that the sensation was far from being an unpleasant one -- very different from that which had attended a similar demonstration on Charlie Sloane's part, when she had been sitting out a dance with him at a White Sands party three nights before. Anne shivered over the disagreeable recollection. But all problems connected with infatuated swains vanished from her mind » « Gilbert Blythe and Charlie Sloane, both trying to keep as near the elusive Anne as possible » « She enjoyed the evening tremendously, but the end of it rather spoiled all. Gilbert again made the mistake of saying something sentimental to her as they ate their supper on the moonlit verandah; and Anne, to punish him, was gracious to Charlie Sloane and allowed the latter to walk home with her. She found, however, that revenge hurts nobody quite so much as the one who tries to inflict it. Gilbert walked airily off with Ruby Gillis, and Anne could hear them laughing and talking gaily as they loitered along in the still, crisp autumn air. They were evidently having the best of good times, while she was horribly bored by Charlie Sloane, who talked unbrokenly on, and never, even by accident, said one thing that was worth listening to. Anne gave an occasional absent "yes" or "no," and thought how beautiful Ruby had looked that night, how very goggly Charlie's eyes were in the moonlight »« worse even than by daylight -- and that the world, somehow, wasn't quite such a nice place as she had believed it to be earlier in the evening. "I'm just tired out -- that is what is the matter with me," she said, when she thankfully found herself alone in her own room. And she honestly believed it was. But a certain little gush of joy, as from some secret, unknown spring, bubbled up in her heart the next evening, when she saw Gilbert striding down through the Haunted Wood and crossing the old log bridge with that firm, quick step of his. So Gilbert was not going to spend this last evening with Ruby Gillis after all! » « They started gaily off. Anne, remembering the unpleasantness of the preceding evening, was very nice to Gilbert; and Gilbert, who was learning wisdom, took care to be nothing save the schoolboy comrade again. Mrs. Lynde and Marilla watched them from the kitchen window. "That'll be a match some day," Mrs. Lynde said approvingly. Marilla winced slightly. In her heart she hoped it would, but it went against her grain to hear the matter spoken of in Mrs. Lynde's gossipy matter-of-fact way. "They're only children yet," she said shortly. Mrs. Lynde laughed good-naturedly. "Anne is eighteen; I was married when I was that age. We old folks, Marilla, are too much given to thinking children never grow up, that's what. Anne is a young woman and Gilbert's a man, and he worships the ground she walks on, as any one can see. He's a fine fellow, and Anne can't do better. I hope she won't get any romantic nonsense into her head at Redmond. I don't approve of them coeducational places and never did, that's what. I don't believe," concluded Mrs. Lynde solemnly, "that the students at such colleges ever do much else than flirt. » « Gilbert and Anne loitered a little behind the others, enjoying the calm, still beauty of the autumn afternoon under the pines of the park, on the road that climbed and twisted round the harbor shore. "The silence here is like a prayer, isn't it?" said Anne, her face upturned to the shining sky. "How I love the pines! They seem to strike their roots deep into the romance of all the ages. It is so comforting to creep away now and then for a good talk with them. I always feel so happy out here." "`And so in mountain solitudes o'ertaken As by some spell divine, Their cares drop from them like the needles shaken From out the gusty pine,'" quoted Gilbert. "They make our little ambitions seem rather petty, don't they, Anne?" "I think, if ever any great sorrow came to me, I would come to the pines for comfort," said Anne dreamily. "I hope no great sorrow ever will come to you, Anne," said Gilbert, who could not connect the idea of sorrow with the vivid, joyous creature beside him, unwitting that those who can soar to the highest heights can also plunge to the deepest depths, and that the natures which enjoy most keenly are those which also suffer most sharply. » « But there must -- sometime," mused Anne. "Life seems like a cup of glory held to my lips just now. But there must be some bitterness in it -- there is in every cup. I shall taste mine some day. Well, I hope I shall be strong and brave to meet it. And I hope it won't be through my own fault that it will come. Do you remember what Dr. Davis said last Sunday evening -- that the sorrows God sent us brought comfort and strength with them, while the sorrows we brought on ourselves, through folly or wickedness, were by far the hardest to bear? But we mustn't talk of sorrow on an afternoon like this. It's meant for the sheer joy of living, isn't it?" "If I had my way I'd shut everything out of your life but happiness and pleasure, Anne," said Gilbert in the tone that meant "danger ahead." "Then you would be very unwise," rejoined Anne hastily. "I'm sure no life can be properly developed and rounded out without some trial and sorrow -- though I suppose it is only when we are pretty comfortable that we admit it. Come -- the others have got to the pavilion[…] » « Gilbert did not love any of them, and he was exceedingly careful to give none of them the advantage over him by any untimely display of his real feelings Anne-ward. To her he had become again the boy-comrade of Avonlea days, and as such could hold his own against any smitten swain who had so far entered the lists against him. As a companion, Anne honestly acknowledged nobody could be so satisfactory as Gilbert; she was very glad, so she told herself, that he had evidently dropped all nonsensical ideas -- though she spent considerable time secretly wondering why. » « Gilbert, to be sure, was still faithful, and waded up to Green Gables every possible evening. But Gilbert's visits were not what they once were. Anne almost dreaded them. It was very disconcerting to look up in the midst of a sudden silence and find Gilbert's hazel eyes fixed upon her with a quite unmistakable expression in their grave depths; and it was still more disconcerting to find herself blushing hotly and uncomfortably under his gaze, just as if -- just as if -- well, it was very embarrassing. Anne wished herself back at Patty's Place, where there was always somebody else about to take the edge off a delicate situation. At Green Gables Marilla went promptly to Mrs. Lynde's domain when Gilbert came and insisted on taking the twins with her. The significance of this was unmistakable and Anne was in a helpless fury over it. » « You mustn't work too HARD," said Anne, without any very clear idea of what she was saying. She wished desperately that Phil would come out. "You've studied very constantly this winter. Isn't this a delightful evening? Do you know, I found a cluster of white violets under that old twisted tree over there today? I felt as if I had discovered a gold mine." "You are always discovering gold mines," said Gilbert -- also absently. "Let us go and see if we can find some more," suggested Anne eagerly. "I'll call Phil and -- " "Never mind Phil and the violets just now, Anne," said Gilbert quietly, taking her hand in a clasp from which she could not free it. "There is something I want to say to you." "Oh, don't say it," cried Anne, pleadingly. "Don't -- PLEASE, Gilbert." "I must. Things can't go on like this any longer. Anne, I love you. You know I do. I -- I can't tell you how much. Will you promise me that some day you'll be my wife?" "I -- I can't," said Anne miserably. "Oh, Gilbert -- you -- you've spoiled everything." "Don't you care for me at all?" Gilbert asked after a very dreadful pause, during« which Anne had not dared to look up. "Not -- not in that way. I do care a great deal for you as a friend. But I don't love you, Gilbert." "But can't you give me some hope that you will -- yet?" "No, I can't," exclaimed Anne desperately. "I never, never can love you -- in that way -- Gilbert. You must never speak of this to me again." There was another pause -- so long and so dreadful that Anne was driven at last to look up. Gilbert's face was white to the lips. And his eyes -- but Anne shuddered and looked away. There was « nothing romantic about this. Must proposals be either grotesque or -- horrible? Could she ever forget Gilbert's face? "Is there anybody else?" he asked at last in a low voice. "No -- no," said Anne eagerly. "I don't care for any one like THAT -- and I LIKE you better than anybody else in the world, Gilbert. And we must -- we must go on being friends, Gilbert." Gilbert gave a bitter little laugh. "Friends! Your friendship can't satisfy me, Anne. I want your love -- and you tell me I can never have that." "I'm sorry. Forgive me, Gilbert," was all Anne could say. Where, oh, where were all the gracious and graceful speeches wherewith, in imagination, she had been wont to dismiss rejected suitors? Gilbert released her hand gently. "There isn't anything to forgive. There have been times when I thought you did care. I've deceived myself, that's all. Goodbye, Anne. » « Phil," pleaded Anne, "please go away and leave me alone for a little while. My world has tumbled into pieces. I want to reconstruct it." "Without any Gilbert in it?" said Phil, going. A world without any Gilbert in it! Anne repeated the words drearily. Would it not be a very lonely, forlorn place? Well, it was all Gilbert's fault. He had spoiled their beautiful comradeship. She must just learn to live without it. » « Life was very pleasant in Avonlea that summer, although Anne, amid all her vacation joys, was haunted by a sense of "something gone which should be there." She would not admit, even in her inmost reflections, that this was caused by Gilbert's absence. » « Gilbert would never have dreamed of writing a sonnet to her eyebrows. But then, Gilbert could see a joke. She had once told Roy a funny story -- and he had not seen the point of it. She recalled the chummy laugh she and Gilbert had had together over it, and wondered uneasily if life with a man who had no sense of humor might not be somewhat uninteresting in the long run. But who could expect a melancholy, inscrutable hero to see the humorous side of things? It would be flatly unreasonable. » « Fred and Diana drove away through the moonlight to their new home, and Gilbert walked with Anne to Green Gables. Something of their old comradeship had returned during the informal mirth of the evening. Oh, it was nice to be walking over that well-known road with Gilbert again! The night was so very still that one should have been able to hear the whisper of roses in blossom -- « the laughter of daisies -- the piping of grasses -- many sweet sounds, all tangled up together. The beauty of moonlight on familiar fields irradiated the world. "Can't we take a ramble up Lovers' Lane before you go in?" asked Gilbert as they crossed the bridge over the Lake of Shining Waters, in which the moon lay like a great, drowned blossom of gold. Anne assented readily. Lovers' Lane was a veritable path in a fairyland that night -- a shimmering, mysterious place, full of wizardry in the white-woven enchantment of moonlight. There had been a time when such a walk with Gilbert through Lovers' Lane would have been far too dangerous. But Roy and Christine had made it very safe now. Anne found herself thinking a good deal about Christine as she chatted lightly to Gilbert. She had met her several times before leaving Kingsport, and had been charmingly sweet to her. Christine had also been charmingly sweet. Indeed, they were a most cordial pair. But for all that, their acquaintance had not ripened into friendship. Evidently Christine was not a kindred spirit. "Are you going to be in Avonlea all summer?" asked Gilbert. » « It was filled with lilies-of-the-valley, as fresh and fragrant as those which bloomed in the Green Gables yard when June came to Avonlea. Gilbert Blythe's card lay beside it. Anne wondered why Gilbert should have sent her flowers for Convocation. She had seen very little of him during the past winter. » « On the accompanying card was written, "With all good wishes from your old chum, Gilbert." Anne, laughing over the memory the enamel heart conjured up the fatal day when Gilbert had called her "Carrots" and vainly tried to make his peace with a pink candy heart, had written him a nice little note of thanks. But she had never worn the trinket. Tonight she fastened it about her white throat with a dreamy smile. » « Say, Anne, did you know that Gilbert Blythe is dying?" Anne stood quite silent and motionless, looking at Davy. Her face had gone so white that Marilla thought she was going to faint. "Davy, hold your tongue," said Mrs. Rachel angrily. "Anne, don't look like that -- DON'T LOOK LIKE THAT! We didn't mean to tell you so suddenly." "Is -- it -- true?" asked Anne in a voice that was not hers. "Gilbert is very ill," said Mrs. Lynde gravely. "He took down with typhoid fever just after you left for Echo Lodge. Did you never hear of it?" "No," said that unknown voice. "It was a very bad case from the start. The doctor said he'd been terribly run down. They've a trained nurse and everything's been done. DON'T look like that, Anne. While there's life there's hope." "Mr. Harrison was here this evening and he said they had no hope of him," reiterated Davy. » « Marilla, looking old and worn and tired, got up and marched Davy grimly out of the kitchen. "Oh, DON'T look so, dear," said Mrs. Rachel, putting her kind old arms about the pallid girl. "I haven't given up hope, indeed I haven't. He's got the Blythe constitution in his favor, that's what." Anne gently put Mrs. Lynde's arms away from her, walked blindly across the kitchen, through the hall, up the stairs to her old room. At its window she knelt down, staring out unseeingly. It was very dark. The rain was beating down over the shivering fields. The Haunted Woods was full of the groans of mighty trees wrung in the tempest, and the air throbbed with the thunderous crash of billows on the distant shore. And Gilbert was dying! There is a book of Revelation in every one's life, as there is in the Bible. Anne read hers that bitter night, as she kept her agonized vigil through the hours of storm and darkness. She loved Gilbert -- had always loved him! She knew that now. She knew that she could no more cast him out of her life without agony than she could have cut off her« her right hand and cast it from her. And the knowledge had come too late -- too late even for the bitter solace of being with him at the last. If she had not been so blind -- so foolish -- she would have had the right to go to him now. But he would never know that she loved him -- he would go away from this life thinking that she did not care. Oh, the black years of emptiness stretching before her! She could not live through them -- she could not! She cowered down by her window and wished, for the first time in her gay young life, that she could die, too. If Gilbert went away from her, without one word or sign or message, she could not live. Nothing was of any value without him. She belonged to him and he to her. In her hour of supreme agony she had no doubt of that. He did not love Christine Stuart -- never had loved Christine Stuart. Oh, what a fool she had been not to realize what the bond « was that had held her to Gilbert -- to think that the flattered fancy she had felt for Roy Gardner had been love. And now she must pay for her folly as for a crime. Mrs. Lynde and Marilla crept to her door before they went to bed, shook their heads doubtfully at each other over the silence, and went away. The storm raged all night, but when the dawn came it was spent. Anne saw a fairy fringe of light on the skirts of darkness. Soon the eastern hilltops had a fire-shot ruby rim. The clouds rolled themselves away into great, soft, white masses on the horizon; the sky gleamed blue and silvery. A hush fell over the world. Anne rose from her knees and crept downstairs. The freshness of the rain-wind blew against her white face as she went out into the yard, and cooled her dry, burning eyes. A merry rollicking whistle was lilting up the lane. A moment later Pacifique Buote came in sight. Anne's physical strength suddenly failed her. If she had not clutched at a low willow bough she would have fallen. Pacifique was George Fletcher's hired man, and George Fletcher lived« next door to the Blythes. Mrs. Fletcher was Gilbert's aunt. Pacifique would know if -- if -- Pacifique would know what there was to be known. Pacifique strode sturdily on along the red lane, whistling. He did not see Anne. She made three futile attempts to call him. He was almost past before she succeeded in making her quivering lips call, "Pacifique!" Pacifique turned with a grin and a cheerful good morning. "Pacifique," said Anne faintly, "did you come from George Fletcher's this morning?" "Sure," said Pacifique amiably. "I got de word las' night dat my fader, he was seeck. It was so stormy dat I couldn't go den, so I start vair early dis mornin'. I'm goin' troo de woods for short cut. » « Did you hear how Gilbert Blythe was this morning?" Anne's desperation drove her to the question. Even the worst would be more endurable than this hideous suspense. "He's better," said Pacifique. "He got de turn las' night. De doctor say he'll be all right now dis soon while. Had close shave, dough! Dat boy, he jus' keel himself at college. Well, I mus' hurry. De old man, he'll be in hurry to see me." Pacifique resumed his walk and his whistle. Anne gazed after him with eyes where joy was driving out the strained anguish of the night. He was a very lank, very ragged, very homely youth. But in her sight he was as beautiful as those who bring good tidings on the mountains. Never, as long as she lived, would Anne see Pacifique's brown, round, black-eyed face without a warm remembrance of the moment when he had given to her the oil of joy for mourning. Long after Pacifique's gay whistle had faded into the phantom of music and then into silence far up under the maples of Lover's Lane Anne stood under the willows, tasting the poignant sweetness of life when some great dread has« been removed from it. The morning was a cup filled with mist and glamor. In the corner near her was a rich surprise of new-blown, crystal-dewed roses. The trills and trickles of song from the birds in the big tree above her seemed in perfect accord with her mood. A sentence from a very old, very true, very wonderful Book came to her lips, "Weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning." XLI Love Takes Up the Glass of Time "I've come up to ask you to go for one of our old-time rambles through September woods and `over hills where spices grow,' this afternoon," said « Gilbert, coming suddenly around the porch corner. "Suppose we visit Hester Gray's garden." Anne, sitting on the stone step with her lap full of a pale, filmy, green stuff, looked up rather blankly. "Oh, I wish I could," she said slowly, "but I really can't, Gilbert. I'm going to Alice Penhallow's wedding this evening, you know. I've got to do something to this dress, and by the time it's finished I'll have to get ready. I'm so sorry. I'd love to go." "Well, can you go tomorrow afternoon, then?" asked Gilbert, apparently not much disappointed. "Yes, I think so. » « Is that the dress you're going to wear tonight?" asked Gilbert, looking down at the fluffs and frills. "Yes. Isn't it pretty? And I shall wear starflowers in my hair. The Haunted Wood is full of them this « summer." Gilbert had a sudden vision of Anne, arrayed in a frilly green gown, with the virginal curves of arms and throat slipping out of it, and white stars shining against the coils of her ruddy hair. The vision made him catch his breath. But he turned lightly away. "Well, I'll be up tomorrow. Hope you'll have a nice time tonight." Anne looked after him as he strode away, and sighed. Gilbert was friendly -- very friendly -- far too friendly. He had come quite often to Green Gables after his recovery, and something of their old comradeship had returned. But Anne no longer found it satisfying. The rose of love made the blossom of friendship pale and scentless by contrast. And Anne had again begun to doubt if Gilbert now felt anything for her but friendship. In the common light of common day her radiant certainty of that rapt morning had faded. She was haunted by a miserable fear that her mistake could never be rectified. It was quite likely that it was Christine whom Gilbert loved after all. Perhaps he was even engaged to her. Anne tried to put all unsettling hopes out of her heart, and reconcile herself« to a future where work and ambition must take the place of love. She could do good, if not noble, work as a teacher; and the success her little sketches were beginning to meet with in certain editorial sanctums augured well for her budding literary dreams. But -- but -- Anne picked up her green dress and sighed again. When Gilbert came the next afternoon he found Anne waiting for him, fresh as the dawn and fair as a star, after all the gaiety of the preceding night. She wore a green dress -- not the one she had worn to the wedding, but an old one which Gilbert had told her at a Redmond reception he liked especially. It was just the shade of green that brought out the rich tints of her hair, and the starry gray of her eyes and the iris-like delicacy of her skin. Gilbert, glanc« ing at her sideways as they walked along a shadowy woodpath, thought she had never looked so lovely. Anne, glancing sideways at Gilbert, now and then, thought how much older he looked since his illness. It was as if he had put boyhood behind him forever. The day was beautiful and the way was beautiful. Anne was almost sorry when they reached Hester Gray's garden, and sat down on the old bench. But it was beautiful there, too -- as beautiful as it had been on the faraway day of the Golden Picnic, when Diana and Jane and Priscilla and she had found it. Then it had been lovely with narcissus and violets; now golden rod had kindled its fairy torches in the corners and asters dotted it bluely. The call of the brook came up through the woods from the valley of birches with all its old allurement; the mellow air was full of the purr of the sea; beyond were fields rimmed by fences bleached silvery gray in the suns of many summers, and long hills scarfed with the shadows of autumnal clouds; with the blowing of the west wind old dreams returned. "I think," said Anne softly« that `the land where dreams come true' is in the blue haze yonder, over that little valley." "Have you any unfulfilled dreams, Anne?" asked Gilbert. Something in his tone -- something she had not heard since that miserable evening in the orchard at Patty's Place -- made Anne's heart beat wildly. But she made answer lightly. "Of course. Everybody has. It wouldn't do for us to have all our dreams fulfilled. We would be as good as dead if we had nothing left to dream about. What a delicious aroma that low-descending sun is extracting from the asters and ferns. I wish we could see perfumes as well as smell them. I'm sure they would be very beautiful." Gilbert was not to be thus sidetracked. « I have a dream," he said slowly. "I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends -- and YOU!" Anne wanted to speak but she could find no words. Happiness was breaking over her like a wave. It almost frightened her. "I asked you a question over two years ago, Anne. If I ask it again today will you give me a different answer?" Still Anne could not speak. But she lifted her eyes, shining with all the love-rapture of countless generations, and looked into his for a moment. He wanted no other answer. They lingered in the old garden until twilight, sweet as dusk in Eden must have been, crept over it. There was so much to talk over and recall -- things said and done and heard and thought and felt and misunderstood. "I thought you loved Christine Stuart," Anne told him, as reproachfully as if she had not given him every reason to suppose that she loved Roy Gardner. Gilbert laughed boyishly. "Christine was engaged to somebody in her« home town. I knew it and she knew I knew it. When her brother graduated he told me his sister was coming to Kingsport the next winter to take music, and asked me if I would look after her a bit, as she knew no one and would be very lonely. So I did. And then I liked Christine for her own sake. She is one of the nicest girls I've ever known. I knew college gossip credited us with being in love with each other. I didn't care. Nothing mattered much to me for a time there, after you told me you could never love me, Anne. There was nobody else -- there never could be anybody else for me but you. I've loved you ever since that day you broke your slate over my head in school. » « I don't see how you could keep on loving me when I was such a little fool," said Anne. "Well, I tried to stop," said Gilbert frankly, "not because I thought you what you call yourself, but because I felt sure there was no chance for me after Gardner came on the scene. But I couldn't -- and I can't tell you, either, what it's meant to me these two years to believe you were going to marry him, and be told every week by some busybody that your engagement was on the point of being announced. I believed it until one blessed day when I was sitting up after the fever. I got a letter from Phil Gordon -- Phil Blake, rather -- in which she told me there was really nothing between you and Roy, and advised me to `try again.' Well, the doctor was amazed at my rapid recovery after that." Anne laughed -- then shivered. "I can never forget the night I thought you were dying, Gilbert. Oh, I knew -- I KNEW then -- and I thought it was too late." "But it wasn't, sweetheart. Oh, Anne, this makes up for everything, doesn't it? Let's resolve to keep this day« sacred to perfect beauty all our lives for the gift it has given us." "It's the birthday of our happiness," said Anne softly. "I've always loved this old garden of Hester Gray's, and now it will be dearer than ever." "But I'll have to ask you to wait a long time, Anne," said Gilbert sadly. "It will be three years before I'll finish my medical course. And even then there will be no diamond sunbursts and marble halls." Anne laughed. "I don't want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want YOU. You see I'm quite as shameless as Phil about it. Sunbursts and marble halls may be all very well, but there is more `scope for imagination' without them. And as for the waiting, that doesn't matter. We'll just be happy, waiting and working for « each other -- and dreaming. Oh, dreams will be very sweet now." Gilbert drew her close to him and kissed her. Then they walked home together in the dusk, crowned king and queen in the bridal realm of love, along winding paths fringed with the sweetest flowers that ever bloomed, and over haunted meadows where winds of hope and memory blew. » « Gilbert lifted Anne from the buggy and led her into the garden, through the little gate between the ruddy-tipped firs, up the trim, red path to the sandstone step. "Welcome home," he whispered, and hand in hand they stepped over the threshold of their house of dreams. » « Anne, this is Captain Boyd. Captain Boyd, my wife." It was the first time Gilbert had said "my wife" to anybody but Anne, and he narrowly escaped bursting with the pride of it. » Extrait de: L. M. Montgomery. « The Complete Anne of Green. » iBooks.

#anne with an e #gilbert blythe #anne shirley #anne of green gables #shirbert

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bertytravelsfar · 4 years

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Ten Years - Ten Fics

Ten years of Sherlock deserves marking, and for me, the best bit about Sherlock is the fans. What a talented bunch of buggers you are! You embroider, knit, rhyme, sing, paint, draw, crochet, role-play, photograph and manip, quilt, bake, cosplay, discuss, meet up and write some of the best fanfiction there is. This is my tiny contribution to today’s proceedings - my (current) favourite ten fics and why -hey, maybe you have missed one of these. Who knows?

I watched from the first episode and I read from about 2015 but didn’t pick up a pen until 2017 when life gave me a little hiatus of my own. I thought I’d written my last story and that I was a very lucky reader to be in such an active, skilled fandom, but the lure of Sherlock and John pulled me back into writing and I’m thrilled that they did. I’ve read a lot of stories and have been amused, entertained, devastated, enthralled and delighted by the range of work out there. So here are my current top ten (which was as hard as hell to pick!). Ask me next month and it will different again, but on this anniversary day, these are the stories that fill me with Sherlock-y love and appreciation for this incredible fandom.Read the tags before you partake in the feast - my cup of tea might not be yours! In no particular order —

The Ice Skating AU - Working on the Edges by earlgreytea68.

What can I say about this one that hasn’t already been said? This is a recognisable John and Sherlock but in a totally AU field. Sherlock is a figure skater, John is a hockey player and it’s the Winter Olympics. The supporting cast are all there and I was on the edge of my seat the whole time as I read it. The dialogue is spot on, the excitement is hold your breath-worthy. One of the first things I read in Sherlock fandom and has never been out of my top ten since.

The Mountain Rescue AU - Whiteout by sincewhendoyoucalme_John.

Based on The Horn, this is a story about AirZermatt - the mountain rescue helicopter crew. Their rescue expert is Sherlock Holmes and their paramedic is John Watson. Again the rest of the cast are in there somewhere, cleverly placed. This story is a punch in the heart and saves the biggest one until the end, when you see the story behind it. Written like an episode, it follows the action as a camera crew filming a documentary, which gives it an extra twist as John and Sherlock try to avoid the cameras. It’s top ten because of the tension, the evasion and the epilogue.

The Friends to Lovers Fic - What Friends Do by agirlsname.

This story took my breath away. Stunning voices and flawless writing in a story about Sherlock’s naivety when John moves in with him. He has no reference point, never before having had a friendship like the one he has with John. And John, although nominally in the wrong here, is just as adrift as Sherlock is, in his way. A gorgeous, delicate dance of falling in love and feeling betrayed. Also, because I fangirl-ed the author SO hard on this one, she became a friend instead of telling me to stop being weird, as she should have done!

The Dark Materials Crossover - The Republic of Heaven by Blind_Author.

Even if you haven’t read Philip Pullman’s classic series, this story is a treasure. In a world where everyone has a daemon, John and Sherlock and their friends are misfits, thrown together by chance. Moriarty is the new whisper on the underground and as the boys and their daemons become embroiled in this new danger, it’s their differences that will be the deciding factor. I’m a sucker for soul-mates like the daemons in this story, and even when the boys are being slow about it, their interactions are gorgeous.

The Classic - The Quiet Man by ivyblossom

All in John’s POV, this story has a place in the all time Sherlock Hall of Fame. After the Fall, John is not doing very well, and even when his friend is returned to him, John still struggles to keep reality and dreams apart. It is heartbreakingly immersive as we watch Dr Watson struggle, written as this is, in the style of an inner monologue. Fascinating, affecting and stylish.

The Hot One - The Great Sex Olympics of 221B by XistentialAngst.

This list wouldn’t be complete without the story that has made a lot of Johnlockers VERY happy. This story is one that takes you by surprise, expecting x-rated shenanigans (which you get, oh yes!) but with a side order of brilliant character work. Oooooh! at the good times, Awwwwww! at the sweetness and sigh with happiness at the ending. And a good time was had by all.

The Folk Tale Story - The Curse of the Cool Coat by IncognitoBae

From my incoherent notes, I believe I enjoyed this one quite a lot! It’s a retelling of the Selkie myth with Sherlock as the Selkie and John as the man who falls in love with him. It’s beautiful and wistful and clever, with great voices. With an unusual style and at just under 5K words, it’s not long, but every word has impact. A beautiful story, well told.

The Classic II - Points by Lifeonmars

In my notes on this story I have written, ‘If John had to have a Mary, this is the Mary he deserved.’ A fix-it, it is a long, sweet, slow build towards what we always already knew and they did too, ultimately - that Sherlock and John were made for each other. Lovely, lovely, lovely.

The WIP - Noctiluca Scintillans by Alexaprilgarden

I don’t normally read WIPs. I have read too many that have left me high and dry. This one is one I have made an exception for. And AU, teenlock story it begins with two boys on holiday without their parents for the first time. Meeting on a campsite in France, the writing in this story is so visceral that you cannot help but be drawn in by their emerging love affair. Sunshine, sand, sea and angst - the boys are just how I imagined teenaged John and Sherlock would be. It has two more chapters to come, but with so much to savour I can wait.

The Go-to Happiness Fic - Because Blah Blah Blah Happy by cwb

This story has saved many a day for me. Feeling low, feeling worn down, feeling anxious - whatever it is, this story brings a grin to my face and a lightness to my heart. It’s hilariously written but with a sweet message and I want to leave more kudos than I’m allowed to avoid scaring the author! John has had it with Sherlock’s ways and writes him a list of grievances. Laugh out loud funny and wipe a tear from your eye happy!

The truth is I could go on and on - there are SO DAMN MANY PERFECT STORIES in this fandom and a hundred other authors whose work I want to highlight here, more 10/10 fics than I can pick from. Writers who are still here, others who have moved on, some who turn out brilliant work over and over, and others who write one perfect story and call it quits.

Again, if you want to read any of these, then read the tags! Most are M or E, and some of the have trigger topics in them.I’d love to read anyone else’s top ten, if they can narrow it down and I look forward to writing my next top ten - maybe for my birthday later this year.

So thank you, Sherlock Fandom. Congratulations on being Ten Years Old!

Remember - Read Safely - Watch the Tags - Feed the Authors with kudos!

#johnlock fic recs #my top ten #thegameisstillon #ten years of sherlock

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts: Oz the Originator Steps Into the Spotlight

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

When Kipo and the Age of the Wonderbeasts was released in January 2020, many viewers quickly became fans of not only the show but the music contained within, particularly that of in-show producer Oz the Originator. The tracks of Oz were especially loved because they brought main character Benson and his crush Troy together, a rare example of queer characters in kids animation. The two bonded over their favorite old world MC, with Benson in possession of several of his albums.

Only small snippets of the songs were heard in the series but it was enough to make the audience seek out the voice behind the songs. What they found was the multi talented Andra Gunter, a rapper, music producer, writer, and skate boarder who called the response from fans “unbelievable.”

In a previous interview with Den of Geek, Kipo creator Rad Sechrist sang Gunter’s praises, particularly for his scriptwriting. Co-showruner Bill Wolkoff echoed that sentiment, adding, “Andra is this amazing talent. Keep your eye out for him. He’s a great writer and great musician.”

But you don’t go from relative obscurity to being on a show and getting the praise of showrunners just like that. I was interested in learning not just about Gunter’s work on Kipo but everything that got him to that point as well. From his 2009 start in making music to his influences and even how his ADHD affects his work, Gunter let me into his thought process and how all that (and skateboarding) lead him to working on Kipo. We also discussed the Oz the Originator character, his new ‘Brave War’ album, and his screenplay work.

Gunter had a lot to say and I was delighted to sit back and listen as he shared both his and Oz the Orginator’s story, the two of which are more connected than you might realize.

DEN OF GEEK: Tell me a little of your story. I mean, this is a huge question, but how did you get to where you are today in terms of music?

ANDRA GUNTER: Well, definitely started music after seeing my brother make music. I always rapped and made music. I have heard numerous stories from my family of me trying to make music on radios and tape decks and stuff like that. But me remembering that I really wanted to do this, it was probably 2009.

What sort of music were you making then? Is it similar to what you’re doing now? What were some of your first big compositions then?

Well, at first, I was just starting off just probably a newb at it. Obviously, that’s how it starts off for everybody; you’re not that good at it. Eventually over time I started just concentrating on it every day by myself. I made my first real song, probably, 2010. I was making just pretty much all types of music, just anything that I could find the beat to and I could rhyme to it, I was pretty much doing it. I just wanted to make music, that was just the point, like, “Yo, whatever they got on the internet, whatever I can learn, then I’m going to do.”

What sort of things were you putting in your lyrics at the time? Was it just anything goes, or was there any specific themes that were coming out?

Well, I mean, 2010 was a really funny era for music. I feel like that time was Wiz Khalifa and Joey Badass, and that was the beginning of Tyler, the Creator. So it was a really expressive form at that time. Anything went. If you knew who Tyler, the Creator was in 2010, man, you knew what the rules were in rapping at that time.

There’s a long span of time between 2010 and now, how did your music evolve over that time? Obviously, it got better, as it does for any creative person, right? But what sort of things did you find yourself zeroing in on, a style that you liked or different themes that you wanted to use?

Well, I can say, in 2011 I was introduced to this type of music called jerk music, It was this really crazed dance called jerking in the black community, and I feel like all over the world. It was everywhere you could possibly think people wanted to dance. I got into making that music for my brother and his little cousin, and that music opened up my ear to just kind of everything, because at that time it was almost like dubstep music or like rave music in a different sense. Definitely doesn’t sound the same. It has the same point of sampling a lot of music, ranging from Anita Baker all the way down to System of a Down.

Samples were everywhere at that time, because it was a lot of new producers just going on the internet, finding something and trying to create their own sound. So that’s what gave me my style of just being all over the board and not really staying in one box. Even though jerk music was definitely one box, I feel like everybody that was doing jerk music had a range of a lot of different things.

And in that, did you find yourself sampling other people, and if so, what kind of samples were you using, or was it just anything goes?

Yeah, pretty much anything went. I mean, in those early days, I wasn’t really sampling because I was still really new to producing. So I didn’t really understand that part of it yet, but once I got a hang of it and I understood, then I was sampling like crazy. I definitely range all over the board too. The first thing I’ve ever sampled was a Earth, Wind & Fire song. Nowadays it’s more of listening to really weird that I’ve been finding through playlists and things like that. All the way from alternative, to deep soul, to punk rock, I sample everything now.

This is the music nerd question, what programs do you use to make your music?

Oh, yes. My favorite question of all. My first time ever using a program was FL Studio. It was FL Studio 9. My brother threw the USB at me, and was like, “Download this on the computer and learn how to use it.” After that, and he introduced me to that program, I never really turned back or tried to really go into a new program. I do know how to use programs because, I mean, they’re all kind of the same, but if I had to choose a program to use, it’s definitely FL Studio.

How did you eventually end up working on Kipo?

I want to say 2014 or ’15, I met Rad Sechrist, the creator of Kipo, through skateboarding. All my life I’ve been skateboarding, and at one point I got really good. I had a group of friends, and one of my friends in that group by the name of Isaiah, he was like, ” Yo, I got this friend. He works in animation, and he does this and he does that.” And mind you, Isaiah’s sort of that friend that you just don’t believe. You’re looking at him like, “Dude, what the fuck are you talking about? Who is this guy?” So this dude pulls up, and we’re 17, 18 years old at this time. It’s Isaiah’s 16th or 17th birthday, and this old white dude pulls up. I’m like, “Who’s this guy?”

So didn’t pay too much attention to Rad at first, but I guess from my personality and the way I talked to people that day, he just hit me up one day, was like, “Yo, I was really fucking with you, just your vibe in the car. So come through and check out some of the stuff I’m doing.” And I was like, “All right.” And then that’s when I believed that he was an animator and storyboard artist, because he brought me to one of his offices where he was working on this movie about a dragon, and it was fucking crazy. I’m in this place and I’m watching him draw on a Cintiq for the first time with all this crazy artwork on the wall, and I’m just amazed.

At this time, there was a company he was running, it was a skateboard company called Plastic Walrus. He was like, “Yeah, I want you to ride for my company and stuff like that,” and I’m like, “Bro, I will do anything you want me to do. Look at the office here.” At that point I just started hanging out with Rad a little bit more. I was going out to Silver Lake, because I live in Watts, California. I was going all the way out to Silver Lake, catching three trains just to go meet up with him and get boards and stuff.

Then, eventually, I checked into college, Los Angeles Trade Tech College. And then that’s when I got into pretty much being a writer because at first I was really uncertain on what I wanted to do, in general. But I got into writing, I got in this English class in college and started writing. I was writing these poems and writing these short stories for class and sending them around, and Brad’s like, “Yo, you’re a writer, dude. You should try to write.” I was like, “I don’t really want to write. I got this music for you though,” and I sent him a whole bunch of music. And then that’s how I got considered for Kipo, him pretty much introducing writing to me and me telling him, “I am already a writer. I write music,” and then sending him my music.

I spoke with Rad before this interview and he mentioned that originally he was just hoping you’d temp on the tracks but then the higher ups at DreamWorks loved it so much they put it into the show. When did you find out about that?

That shit just happened random, dude. Obviously, you don’t know what’s really going on in the office. You just send in an email and you hope for an email back. I sent maybe 30 songs and there was a whole bunch of different years I did these songs. One era it’s from 2012 to 2014, and the others continue to 2015 to now. I wasn’t sure they were even going to consider it. So I’m texting Rad, and I’m like, “Dude, I need to find something else to do.” At this time, I didn’t have a job. I had just checked into college. They weren’t trying to give me financial aid. So I was like, “I need something to do, dude, to get money.” He’s like, “Dude, I got you. I know they have something for you. You can be a writer if you start writing.”

He’s telling me all the things I need in order to get a writing job over at DreamWorks, and I’m not listening to that. I’m just like, “Dude, just send them my music, just please, that’s what I do. There’s nothing else I can do but make music.” So after a hop, skip, and a shove I get an email from the music department over at DreamWorks, and then they tell me they’re considering a couple of songs. I’m pretty sure that shit just happened random. Rad probably was in their ear so much that they’re like, “All right, we’re just going to hit this kid up.”

So was it just that they took what you had existing, or did they ask you to adapt it to fit the show more?

(Of the) 30 songs I sent in maybe two of them were considered. In episode ten when Benson finds Troy, that part where the tape deck falls out of his backpack, that song is an original song I did probably when I first met Rad. It was before he even knew I did music. That song was definitely not altered to fit the show.

There’s another episode where (the characters are) eating breakfast. That song is also an original song that I made in my room, and they didn’t make me alter it, they didn’t make me re-edit it or anything. It was perfect enough to just go inside the show.

I know you were listed as vocal contributor on the credits, did you end up recording more music specifically for the show?

Rad was hitting me up like, “Yeah, dude. They’re loving the shit you sent, and we’re pushing towards putting that in the show, for sure.” He was telling me every step of the way about my original songs. He’s like, “But there’s more.” I was like, “What’s more?” And he’s like, “Well, they’re trying to record original songs because the Kipo script is pretty much musically based. It’s almost like a musical.” So he’s like, “I got this guy that we’re hiring, his name’s Daniel Rojas.” He gives me the whole rundown on this dude, and I’m already kind of fan crazed, because he brings up Hans Zimmer. He told me Daniel used to work with Hans Zimmerman, and I’m like, “Dude, what the… Do you know who Hans Zimmerman is in the music world?” You know what I mean? So instantly, right there, I’m like, “Yo, set me up with this guy. I got to see who this is.” So we set up a meeting with Daniel, and I go to his studio.

You know how Jonah Hill looks like he’s fricking 21, but he’s almost 40 years old? That’s what Daniel looked like. He’s this really young looking older dude. So already I was really intrigued by this guy. I’m like, “Yo, you look like a baby man.” He’s like, “Yeah, we get real cool. We chop it up. I got a couple of songs that I produced for the show, and I want you to rap over these beats.” So that’s when we got to the point where they were trying to get me to make songs for the show.

When you were rapping over it, did they give you lyrics, or were they just like, “Just freestyle over it.”

Oh, no. If they would’ve gave me the verse, I don’t think I would’ve got credit. So, (I) definitely wrote the verses. I was so excited, I wrote those verses in like five minutes.

Oh, wow. Did they give you any directives about what they needed to be about, or was it just like, “go for it”?

At first it was like, “Go for it so we can get a feel,” but once I started showing them and rapping it out loud, Rad’s like, “There’s certain things you can’t say in the song.” During the song they were telling me what I could say and what I couldn’t say, and what I could make it about and what I couldn’t make it about. They didn’t coach me through it. They let me do my thing, but, ultimately, told me there was an outline of what I needed to be talking about.

I was comparing the songs from Kipo to the ones on your recent Brave War album. The Kipo songs feel a little bit lighter. Your own music feels heavier. Can you talk a little bit more about those differences?

I definitely had to tone it down a bit for the DreamWorks songs. Obviously, DreamWorks is not going to let me go talk about what’s going on in my mental health. Kipo a kids’ show. The songs I had originally made; I was younger and my head space was in a way different space from what I’m making now.

Talk to me about the Oz the Originator character that your songs are attributed to in the show. Did they give you an outline of who he was?

His story and his outlook of who he is, (his) songs are supposed to speak for him. Those songs are pretty much saying exactly what he’s going through in those times of whatever he’s going through in his miscellaneous life. Oz is like Tyler, the Creator in an alternative universe. That’s the way I would like to see it.

So then, let’s talk about your album ‘The Brave War.’ You’ve said it’s an introduction to who Oz the Originator is. Tell me a little bit about the kind of songs that you want to have under that name, especially, because I know that you changed your name from what you originally had, right?

I’m Andra, at the end of the day, I’m Andra Gunter, but I definitely have different characters I portray, like Oz the Originator and Tim Lynch and that’s probably it right now. I’ve portrayed so many characters over the years, but those are the two main ones right now that are for sure people.

What would you say is the difference between the Lynch character and then Oz the Originator, in regards to the sound or how you’re going through the music? What are the differences?

Tim Lynch just doesn’t give a fuck about anything. That guy is more of the hard core hijinks that we all love and miss from the early ’90s. I feel like that’s what Tim Lynch is all about, just the hijinks era, and just being free and being able to express yourself the way you want to express yourself. I

Oz is, I want to say, the 2.0 version of Lynch. He’s what Lynch was supposed to be. They’re brothers. Oz and Tim Lynch are brothers, because The Brave War comes from a script, my first script I ever wrote, and technically, The Brave War album that I dropped is the soundtrack to the script. So Tim Lynch and Oz are definitely brothers, and Oz is supposed to be carrying the torch for Tim Lynch, because Tim Lynch is a era that rose and died recently. I let go of trying to pursue the Tim Lynch name early 2020, just because I wanted to concentrate more on writing and stuff. I’ve been Tim Lynch since 2009, dude. So, I was ready to give him his proper burial.

What made you want to switch?

Well, I write screenplays. Right now I’m working on a feature film, but Oz was just… He was just a really cool idea, at the time, and he developed into what he is now. I don’t really think Oz was supposed to go this far, but obviously some things you just can’t stop. The Oz the Originator character is a really dope character, in my opinion. He’s one of the tightest people I’ve ever seen on the mic. The way I see it is, it’s real, but it’s not. Oz is an illusion.

In terms of ‘The Brave War’ album, I love that you said that it was the soundtrack for a script you wrote. Tell me more about either the making of the album or the feeling behind it. What are you trying to put out to the world with that album?

I just wanted you to see the brave war that you would have to go through, inside of yourself. That whole album is pretty much me going through the brave war. As of a year and a half ago, I lost my mom due to cancer, stage four liver cancer. My whole life, obviously, did a complete 360. So what Oz is, is like my afterbirth after my mom passed. Tim Lynch is when my mom’s around, and then Oz is after, to express the original feelings.

Oz is an expressor. That’s what that whole album is about. It’s about expression, me getting people to understand what my mental health state is, and what Oz is going through. The script is definitely based on my life, but it’s not. It’s obviously altered. It’s pretty much me going through my emotions as I get through my life in the script. So it’s just the emotions of the script, just everything you could possibly feel as a skateboarder, as an up-and-coming rapper, skater that just lost a parent and has to be on their own now.

Going forward career-wise are you more focused music, the writing, or skating? Is it all three?

Well, I don’t really want to compare myself to nobody, but I’m going to be one of those guys who does it all. I definitely am inspired and look up to Donald Glover, who is also Childish Gambino. He writes movies, he writes TV shows, he acts in TV shows, he makes music, he’s one of the greatest artists on the planet. So pretty much just the Donald Glover outlook. It’s a little bit of everything.

Is there anything else that you are working on right now that you can talk about, or the stuff that you want to be writing? What’s the big writing stuff for you?

I can say I am going to be dropping some new music on SoundCloud when July comes and the summer starts. Obviously, everyone needs some new tunes to cook some barbecue to. So I’m definitely going to be dropping some new songs as Tim Lynch and some new Andra Gunter songs. I kind of want to retire Oz, but I won’t say I retire him yet. We’re going to throw Oz in the air and say, “We don’t know what’s going to happen with him right now,” but there’s definitely going to be new music.

You said you had retired Lynch before. Are you going to bring him back in now?

Well, the idea of Lynch is that he went off to the Navy. Now he’s coming back, and Oz is… he’s taking a hiatus right now. We have some legal issues going on with the album, so we’re trying to settle those out right now.

What’s the reaction you’ve gotten from Kipo fans? What’s it been like to get that attention?

Oh, man. I’ve been making music for a long time, like I keep saying. This year alone has showed me that there are people who actually like me. As a artist, you go through the motions of everything, who likes me, this and that, and you don’t really know where you are until people tell you in music. For a long time didn’t know my musical worth and where it was going to go. I did know that I was definitely going to have my song in a TV show, just because of personal reasons. I have an uncle, by the way, who was in Afro Samurai. He did the same thing I’m doing, he did a couple of original songs for the show.

I already had a outlook of what I wanted to do in my life, so when this came about, I definitely took the opportunity and I ran with it. The response of all the people showing me love is just… it’s kind of unbelievable. I have actual fans now and people who ask me questions and people who want to actually know what’s up with me, which is a new feeling. This definitely doesn’t feel like it did before, so it’s pretty crazy.

What’s it like knowing that your music is the favorite of a fictional cartoon character that unites this fictional cartoon boy with another boy?

I think that’s just dope, dude. This is some of the craziest things to be involved with. I told a lot of people that this is making history. This show is doing so many things that have never been done in the history of animation. When I found out Benson liked Oz the Originator, I was pretty ecstatic. I was like, “Yo, that kind of changes my life, in a way, because now I have to live up to Benson’s expectations. What are his expectations now?”

What other messages do you have for the people out there?

I am an advocate of kids with ADHD. So, for anyone who’s out there questioning their worth or not knowing how they’re going to get through the mental breakdowns we go through every 20 minutes, I want them to know that our minds are important. Our fast-paced moving minds are very important. We’re important. That’s what I just want to say.

Can you talk a little more about working with ADHD when you’re writing scripts or music?

Working with ADHD definitely is a fucking uphill battle, dude. I struggle, still, every day with a lot of things but I feel like it helps me. My uphill battle is a fun uphill battle. It’s not completely just digging into the dirt. I get to go here and get to go there because my mind has this thing where it hyper-focuses on certain things I want to do. I think working with ADHD is a good thing and a bad thing, all at the same time. I feel like my mind is a couple steps ahead of a lot of people’s at some times, because I’m hyperly thinking at all times. I feel like my ADHD has gotten me to where I am today.

If wasn’t for that, I don’t think I would be in the show. I don’t think I would be able to write a script. There’s a lot of things I don’t think I would be able to do had I not had ADHD, but I’m not going to glorify it. So, it’s a good and bad thing.

Any other messages you want to throw out there?

Yeah. Go check out my music, please.

You can check out Gunter’s music and all his other work here, where you can stream all of his music and more!

The post Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts: Oz the Originator Steps Into the Spotlight appeared first on Den of Geek.

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mothmanhamlet · 5 years

Text

A Few Angsty Haikus

Analogical, 2584 words, high school au, fluffffffff, I don’t think there are any warnings to speak of.

Roman gets Virgil to use his services to ask out his crush. Bad poetry ensues.

Roman Prince was many things. He was a jock, a self proclaimed “Matchmaking God”, and the biggest theater nerd Virgil had ever known. Most importantly, Roman would be dead if he didn’t stop begging Virgil in the next 30 seconds.

“Come onnnnnn, please,” Roman begged. They were pinning flyers for Roman’s new “business” idea to the corkboard outside of their math class. Or rather, Roman was pinning flyers, Virgil was just there for moral support. Moral support apparently included attempts at making him Roman’s first customer.

“No,” Virgil said, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall.

“Listen, it benefits both of us! I need my services to get out into the world and you happen to be the perfect candidate!” Roman reasoned, moving his hands a concerning amount for someone who was holding sharp objects.

The services in question were a complicated list of steps Roman called a “confession session”. The idea was that someone filled out the application and Roman would plan out an elaborate display of something that he promised would be spectacularly romantic.

“No. Absolutely not.” Virgil didn’t even bother looking at Roman, his eyes were too busy scanning around the hallway. School ended not even two minutes ago, so there were still people there. He looked to see who could see him, who could see the poster. Pitifully, Logan was still there, Virgil’s super-genius crush. If Logan saw that poster, his opinion of Virgil would immediately drop. He was too good for that kind of thing.

Roman, sadly, caught Virgil looking just a little too long at Logan and got a brilliant idea. “Well I say you should get a second opinion. Oh Lo-”

Virgil’s hand practically flew to Roman’s mouth, nearly tackling him in the process. Logan, thankfully, didn’t move an inch.

“Do it and you’re dead,” Virgil whispered through gritted teeth. Against his palm, Virgil heard a muffled noise that sounded something like “But can you stop me?”. He looked back at Logan, who was still trying to fit three books and a globe into his already full backpack, and then at Roman, who was looking at Virgil with his eyebrows raised as if to say, “Your move”. At least if he let Roman do this, the embarrassment would be delayed.

“I’ll say yes if you don’t yell when I remove my hand.” Roman nodded and Virgil released his grip on his face, slight red marks where he had pressed rather aggressively. Roman pulled out his phone and started typing.

“I’m emailing you a link to the website. Fill out the form so I can make it spectacular!” Roman said, all too cheery for someone who had to blackmail him into doing it. Virgil just rolled his eyes and started walking down the hallway, trying to shake the small bits of attention that their (rather loud) conversation had gained.

****

Virgil sat down on the purple bean bag chair in his cluttered room and reached for his computer. It was a light grey color and covered in various stickers, his headphones a permanent fixture in its side. He clicked on the link and was immediately redirected to a flashy red and gold website that used hearts like they were commas and used clip art that probably hadn’t seen the light of day since the 90’s. Roman was creative, but sometimes his execution was subpar and unfortunately this was one of those times. Virgil leaned back and read over the questions.

1. What is your prospective boyfriend/girlfriend/datemate’s favorite love song?

2. What type of flower best encapsulates their personality?

3. Balloons, streamers, confetti, or all?

The rest of the questions followed suit in a similar fashion, and there were a lot. Maybe 30 or so until Virgil got to the end of the application.

“Who the hell has a favorite kind of sprinkle?” Virgil muttered to himself, trying to work through the questions. Even more surprising than how specific the questions were, was that Virgil actually knew most of the answers. He had never really bought into the whole pining-after-someone-he’d-never-met thing (pretending he even had a choice in the matter), so obviously he had to fall for his lab partner/project partner/person he sat next to in every class. Apparently the teachers thought it was funny to pair up the kid named “Sanders” and the one named “Saunders”. It was that, or just some alphabetization. Either way, it meant they had spent a lot of time together in their first three years of high school. Logan was distant at first, but after a while they opened up to each other. Which was a little weird because Virgil was pretty much the world’s worst lab partner, always assuming so strongly what would happen and planning to mess up, which in turn tended to mess them up. Now they seemed to talk about anything and everything, Virgil’s speaking ability permitted. Logan loved tea and Sherlock and classic literature (Victorianism not Romanticism) and jam and being right and debates and space. He really loved space. Whenever anyone brought up space his eyes lit up and it practically made Virgil’s heart do backflips. He was just glad one of the questions wasn’t “what do you like about them?” because Virgil could have written an essay. What was there, however, was far worse.

27. Write 10-20 poems about them.

Now Virgil was an emo nightmare of a person, but he did deviate from the trend in one key factor: He couldn’t write poems. No angsty sonnets for him, no haikus about suffering, no half-baked attempts to write his own songs. Nothing.

Virgil got up from his comfortable chair and started sifting through boxes on the floor, looking for something he’d rather forget. Underneath one particularly dusty pile of biology notes, he found what he’d been looking for, a beat up composition notebook that had served as his 6th grade English notebook. He flipped through the pages, stopping when he finally found the page labeled “poetry rules”. How he remembered this page, he had no idea, but was at least partially thankful for it.

Haikus: 3 lines. 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables. Doesn’t have to rhyme.

Well that seemed easy enough.

****

Your eyes look really nice

Magnified by your glasses

Blue as the ocean

Your hair looks fluffy

I want to touch it sometimes

So soft and shiny

****

Logan anticipated a lot of things. He anticipated his AP World History teacher to say something dull or ignorant during class. He anticipated the way his earl grey would taste every morning, bitter with hints of citrus. He even, on occasion, anticipated the perpetrator in his mystery novels, attempting to figure it out before the detective did. What Logan did not anticipate was two of his friends running towards him before he could enter school for the day.

“Logan, something absolutely delightful happened inside,” Dolos said, dressed in a peculiar combination of a suit and rubber gloves. Remus nodded vigorously next to him, munching on what seemed to be frosting in an empty deodorant bottle.

“There’s something inside your locker Nerdy Wolverine!” Remus said, making an attempt at teasing out his own curiosity while simultaneously applying a neon green fake mustache to his upper lip.

“Remus, if it is rats again, I am really not interested, especially after last time-” Logan began, thinking back to the year they had decided to share a locker.

“Of course. Because we totally put it in there,” Dolos interrupted, rolling his eyes.

“I personally think it’s a jar full of angry hornets that’s set to break when you open your locker, releasing into the school and stinging everyone but Dolos says that’s “unrealistic” because he’s no fun,” Remus said, waving his hands around to simulate a hornet infestation.

“But if you didn’t put anything there, how do you know there is something in there to begin with?” Logan asked.

“There was a sign on your locker,” Dolos said, gesturing to the door, “But don’t worry, it’s super tasteful.” With that, the two walked off, snickering. Despite the fact that school started in 20 minutes, they walked away from school.

Logan arrived at his locker, not knowing what exactly to prepare for. What he found, was his locker covered in dark blue paper hearts, “There’s a surprise inside” written on them. It was more distinctive than he would have liked, but it certainly wasn’t the worst thing he could have come across. The hearts managed not to cover his lock, so he could easily open his locker, however what was on the inside proved the hearts correct, for it was definitely a surprise.

His locker was covered along the walls, flowers, candy, and streamers occupying any blank space along the sides. In the back of his locker, there was blue poster paper with words Logan didn’t bother to read. On the small shelf he had in his locker, he found sugar cookies in the pattern of the Microsoft logo, littered with little blue sprinkles.

The most interesting thing however, was on the side of the door. Around twenty pieces of paper folded into little red paper hearts stuck with string onto the inside of his locker door. What was even more intriguing was the fact that there seemed to be words written on them. Carefully, he plucked one of them and unfolded it.

You smile so bright

Your laugh makes me want to cry

But in a good way

Ok, so it wasn’t a great poem, but nevertheless Logan thought it had a particular quaint authenticity to it. He pulled them off, one by one, careful not to rip them. In every heart, he found a haiku of similar quality and theme. Virgil would probably enjoy them, and for a moment Logan considered giving him something like this. Virgil seemed to have a certain affection for particularly bad poetry, and Logan had an affection for Virgil. Besides, it seemed that some of the poems were just lyrics from some of Virgil’s favorite songs, something about falling boys and chemistry.

When he had finished reading through the poems, Logan decided to have a better look at the poster in the back of his locker. Looking at the giant words on the paper answered some of his questions, but caused even more. Logan, I like you a lot. Go out with me? - Virgil.

It made sense, that this whole display was a confession of sorts, however what didn’t make sense was the fact that it wasn’t, well, Virgil. Virgil was a little bit extra sometimes, but from what Logan knew of him, he was far too nervous to do something like this. And if it was Virgil, then where was he? Unless he had run off somewhere-

Virgil had definitely run off somewhere. He looked at his watch. He had fifteen minutes till class started, which was probably enough time to find him.

****

Virgil was, for lack of a better phrase, freaking the hell out. He got to school really early, early enough to intercept Logan, who got to school like half an hour before he really needed to. The night before, he realized he couldn’t go through with the showy confession. Logan would probably hate it and then maybe hate him, which would of course happen after Logan rejected him so then Logan would stop talking to him because Virgil embarrassed him with it and then Roman would hate him because it didn’t work and then his life would fall apart. So instead he decided to get to school early enough to intercept Logan and confess to him before he could see the giant confession, then explain what had happened when he got rejected and got it so Logan was never surprised with whatever Roman planned. He would wait in the empty classroom Logan spent study hall in (he worked out an arrangement with the science teachers) and wait for Logan, who usually came there before his locker. He felt like such a stalker knowing that, when in reality he just asked Logan’s friend Dolos.

Which would have worked out great, except Virgil couldn’t stop freaking out. He was just staring at the clock, anxiously waiting for him to come in, all the while mentally running through every worst case scenario. He had around 13 minutes before school started, which meant Logan had to be there. It would be any minute before-

“Hello?”

Logan was there, dressed formally as always, hair slicked back with a polo shirt and tie. Virgil was there too, but he was sitting on a table, staring at the clock above the door.

“Hi Logan,” Virgil said as calmly as he could, which happened to be not calmly at all. “I have, uh, something for you.”

Virgil reached behind him for the card he had made. He painted a swirly blue sky with Logan’s favorite constellation on it. Hopefully he would like it more than the giant display.

“It’s very nice looking,” Logan commented, looking at the front. “It even has Vega on it, my favorite.”

Logan probably didn’t even know what was going on. Virgil thought he was amazing, but even he had to admit Logan was clinically oblivious. Logan opened up the card, looking a little confused and surprised. But not angry or disappointed. So that was a step in the right direction.

Logan flipped around the card to show him the inside. Logan, would you like to maybe go out with me? “Yes? Assuming you are asking what it seems you are asking, I would love to go out with you.”

What?

Virgil wasn’t sure if he was happy or confused or surprised, the emotions blending in the pit of his stomach. But he said yes. Logan said yes.

“Y-yes? Are you sure?”

“Yes Virgil, I’m certain.”

Virgil let out a breath. He was in a calmer place and honestly a little light-headed. Logan sat next to him on the table, looking like he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Ok. In that case, be careful when you visit your locker. There’s something in there that’s a little, uh, extra,” Virgil said, trying to be as vague as possible. Logan’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“If you’re talking about the confession you made, I have already seen it. I apologize if I ruined any surprises.”

“You- But- You saw it? And you don’t hate me now?” Virgil asked, it a bit of a frenzy.

“No, not at all. I particularly liked the poems.”

Virgil was surprised. Flabbergasted. Betrayed. He could no longer tell if he wanted to punch or hug Roman. Maybe both.

“It was actually Roman’s idea, but I’m glad you don’t hate me,” Virgil said, wringing his hands and looking at Logan. “I also don’t have too much planned for the actual, um, date. I kind of assumed you’d say no.”

“You do like jumping to conclusions. Fortunately, I am prepared. There’s a new documentary on one of Jupiter’s moons, Callisto, and it will be playing Friday at seven thirty. Does that sound enjoyable?”

Virgil simply nodded with a smile.

“Perfect, I will pick you up at seven. It is, as they say, a date.” Logan said, surprisingly well prepared for someone who didn’t know he would be asked out. Both of them slid off the table, standing back on the ground. Just as Logan began to leave, Virgil reached out and tentatively caught his hand. Logan’s eyebrows raised for a moment, then turned more relaxed.

Slowly and happily, the two walked out together, hand in hand.

#analogical #fluff #high school au #sanders sides #sanders side fic #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #remus is there but just for like five seconds

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