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duhragonball · 3 years

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Hellsing Liveblog Ch. 7-10

This is the “Dead Zone” arc, featuring Luke and Jan Valentine.

This arc is set around... uh, September 3rd-ish, I think. By now, Hellsing has had time to investigate this recent uptick in vampire incidents, and she calls a meeting of the “Convention of Twelve” to discuss her findings. This group represents the heads of various important agencies, political leaders, and noblemen, and the manga states that they “essentially” run the British Empire. I’m not sure how to read that, exactly. Kouta Hirano appears to be establishing one of two things:

1) Parliament Shmarliament, everything is really controlled by this secret group of oligarchs sitting at a table.

2) This is a collection of all the big wheels in British society, so they might as well be calling the shots even if they aren’t a true governing body.

I’m not terribly concerned about which one it is, since we left real-world Great Britain behind a long time ago. The Hellsing U.K. seems to put a lot more power in the monarchy, for example. Also there’s friggin’ draulas runnin’ around everwhere.

Anyway, Integra reveals that the vampires they’ve been killing lately all have microchips installed in their bodies. She says the chips “define the vampire’s status, behavior, intent, and aggression.” I don’t know if that means outright control or a more subtle manipulation. It might exaplain why the couple in Chapter 3 weren’t exactly being subtle.

Moreover, these vampires haven’t been following the conventional rules laid down back in Chapter 1. Vampire bites can turn a person into another vampire, but only if the victim is a virgin. Otherwise, they turn into ghouls. Destroying the head vampire will destroy all the ghouls he’s created. But that hasn’t been happening. The couple in Chapter 3 killed a lot of children, but they all became ghouls. And in Badrick, Anderson killed the vampire, but the ghouls remained active long enough for Alucard and Seras to fight them.

At least, that’s what Integra is saying. We never actually saw any ghouls in Chapter 3, and Anderson killed the vampire in Badrick off-panel, so we don’t know the exact timing. But I’ll take Integra’s word for it.

Something that got lost along the way was the matter of what happens to Seras if someone managed to kill Alucard. According to Chapter 1, she’d die immediately, but we never actually see that play out, and Seras is the only vampire created by another vampire in this story. We never see ghouls die en masse, either, because there’s never a situation where their master dies first, and the ghouls we see from here on out are these rule-breaking microchippy kind anyway.

Never mind that shit, here comes the Seras part. Walter has replaced her bed with a coffin. Apparently she had a bed in this dank-ass dungeon, and then one day Integra got a wild hair and decided “Oh, yeah, she should be sleeping in a vampire bed.” She’s been a vampire for like two months now. I feel bad for Walter, having to lug that big-ass bed down here, only to have to take the damn thing right back out. He must have known it was going to end this way. You’d think he would have said something before.

Seras hates this idea, but Walter relays a second order, one from Alucard: Seras has to sleep in the coffin. Well, that seems kind of redundant, but I guess Seras might have tried to sleep on the floor or something instead. The main thing I find interesting about this is that Seras is mostly irritated by Integra ordering the coffin, but she takes it much more seriously when Alucard is mentioned.

According to Walter, since Seras hasn’t drunk any blood, her powers will weaken... unless she sleeps in a coffin lined with soil from her birthplace. So maybe it’s an either/or deal. Integra was fine with Seras using a big girl bed because she assumed Seras would be drinking blood. But without it, she has to use a coffin, or she’ll be no good to the team. And after two months, it’s become clear that Seras has no intention of drinking blood, even bags of donated blood, like the one Alucard snacked on in Badrick.

Even Seras doesn’t know exactly why she won’t do it, which Alucard finds baffling. If this was a dealbreaker for her, she should have just died as a human in Cheddar.

But Al isn’t entirely unsympathetic either. His words are harsh, but they’re the truth: Seras is a vampire now, and there’s no going back. She keeps trying to resist this, but it’s already happened. Denial will only make this more painful for her. I think that’s part of the reason he offered his own blood to her in Badrick. I mean, there weren’t a lot of other options, but from an ethical standpoint, drinking Alucard’s blood seems reasonable, since it won’t kill him. The unspoken sentiment here is: Listen, I know this is difficult for you, and I’ll try to make this as easy as possible, but you need to do this and there’s no way around it. But even that doesn’t seem to work, and Alucard’s in no particular hurry, so he’s willing to table the matter. Which I suppose is how the coffin thing came about in the first place.

Walter also takes this moment to give the vampires their new guns. Alucard wanted something special for the next time he tangles with Alexander Anderson. Recall that Al already has a special cosmogun with an infinite supply of magic bullets, and he shot Anderson in the face and it didn’t stop him. So Walter builds him “The Jackal”, which is basically the same as his first gun, only even bigger and with a black finish. It also says “Jesus Christ is in Heaven Now”, which drives me nuts because I don’t know if that’s like a message to Anderson, or just some random thing. Kouta Hirano puts these nonsense religious slogans all over Hellsing, and I’m pretty sure he’s just doing it for effect, and not particularly concerned over whether there’s any religious significance to the words.

As for Seras, she gets a giant bazooka-looking think called the Harkonnen, named after a Dune character. One of these days I want to sit down and read Dune. I kind of feel guilty that I haven’t already, because then I could be writing this and get all excited for this moment. “HOLY SHIT!! IS THAT MOTHERFUCKING DUNE REFERENCE?!” Instead I’m like, ho-hum, yes it is.

Let’s move on. This arc is about the Valentine Brothers, two vampires who take the fight to Hellsing instead. They have a small army of ghouls, and their plan is to just drive up in a tour bus and storm the gate. Ghouls are mindless, zombie-like monsters, but apparently they can work a gun well enough, and Hellsing never imagined an enemy would try such a thing.

As soon as Integra finds out about this, she tries to evacuate the Twelve, but their helicopter gets destroyed, cutting off any chance of escape. Then Jan (pronounced “Yon” by the way), calls her on the comm system and threatens to kill them all.

So Integra calls Walter, who already knows what’s happening. Um, how? I feel like the anime explained this better. Maybe Jan’s profanity-laden threats were on a public-address system instead of just for the conference room. But it sure looks like Walter’s just chilling out in a windowless, underground room. But he already knows there’s no hope of reinforcements arriving to save them. He proposes himself and Seras using the ventilation shafts to get to the coference room, where they can defend the twelve, while Alucard can go on the offensive.

Alucard is amused to hear that Walter is going back into action, and calls him “Angel of Death”. We’ll come back to that.

So Walter’s pretty much on top of things here. No one ever considered anything like this happening before. Hellsing is supposed to be a secret organization, so a vampire shouldn’t know to come here in the first place. Moreover, no one dreamed that a vampire would plan it out so well, using ghouls in a military fashion. But he’s optimistic about their chances for survival, because...

Walter has super powers. Specifically, he has these magic wires he can use to bind and slice up his enemies, and this makes short work of the Valentines’ ghouls. He then repeats Jan’s taunts back at him. Okay, so I guess Walter did hear Jan’s message from earlier.

The problem I always had with this development was that it seemed awfully convenient for Walter to have super powers. But then, it took me a while to catch on to Anderson having super powers, and he took a bullet to the face. I think the conceit of the Hellsing world is that these “anti-freak” organizations have to have super-powered operatives, so they use secret techniques and alchemy or whatever to empower men like Walter and Anderson. It’s really not that hard to swallow.

Except that the first vampire-hunter we meet in Hellsing is Alucard, who is himself a vampire. So it seemed like the whole point was that he was the best suited for the job because he had the raw power to do it. Integra doesn’t seem to have any powers, and neither do any of the rank-and-file Hellsing operatives who get mowed down by the Valentines’ ghouls. So it always confused me for Walter to just go “Wassup, I have powers too.” But it only makes sense for Hellsing to have more than one card to play. Clearly, Walter used to hunt vampires on the regular before he retired to become a butler.

Between Walter’s wires and Seras’ giant gun, they manage to subdue Jan easily enough, but he reveals he has a partner, Luke, whose job is to tackle the second half of their mission: to destroy Alucard. Let’s check in on him...

Yeah. I was thinking about doing a blow-by-blow of this fight, but it’s kind of pointless. Luke talks a big game, and seems confident that he’s on a higher level than the vampires Alucard has been fighting recently, and for a hot minute, even Alucard believes that he might be a worthy adversary, “above even a ‘Category A’ vampire,” so he releases his “control art restriction,” to “Level 1″.

I guess I should back up and explain this. Alucard, like all overpowered anime characters, can hold back his full power and reveal it in stages. For some reason he has to announce that he’s doing this, like Windows 10 describing it’s own updating. Presumably, there’s a Level 4 where he usually operates, and that was enough for him to fight Luke evenly. But here, we see him jump all the way to Level 1, which allows him to turn into some shadowy form with lots of eyes and two dog heads.

Also, centipedes. The point is, this is all stuff Luke can’t do. He’s more of a “super speed gun-shooting” kind of vampire, so he’s immediately outclassed. Alucard’s dog form eats Luke and that’s the end of him.... OR IS IT?

Meanwhile, Jan’s ghoul army is beaten, but he still has reinforcements in the form of all the Hellsing soldiers they killed earlier. These men rise up as new ghouls and chase down Seras while Jan makes a break for the conference room where the Twelve are holed up. Walter tries to catch Jan, but only manages to rip off one of his arms. He makes it to the door, only to find...

Integra and the others all have guns, and they shoot him down.

All Jan has left now is his second wave of ghouls, except Seras manages to overwhelm them. At first, she was panicking, but then she freaks out and goes feral on them, to the point where Integra has to jump in and order her to stop. When she does, she seems to have no idea what just happened. This is mostly overshadowed by the sheer horror of Hellsing’s soldiers being reduced to the undead.

All that’s left is Jan, who refuses to talk. He has the same microchip implants as the previous vampires, and the people who sent him are monitoring him in real-time, which means they know he failed, and they can make him self-destruct before he can tell Hellsing anything. As he dies, Jan flips them all off and gives them one word of information: “Millennium.”

After that, Integra tasks Walter with destroying the remaining Hellsing ghouls, until Sir Irons, one of the Twelve reminds Integra that this is the duty of a commander. As Hellsing’s C.O., it’s her responsibility, so she agrees and starts shooting the ghouls in the head.

Meanwhile, Jan’s mysterious overseers talk amongst themselves, and their leader calls for them to resume their “research”. As devastating as this attack on Hellsing was, for Millennium, this was merely a test.

#2021hellsingliveblog #hellsing #alucard #seras victoria #walter c dornez #sir integra hellsing #luke valentine #jan valentine #i guess i should have said more about the valentine brothers as characters #they're all right but they don't stick around long enough to make much of an impression #i mean everyone loves jan because of his foul mouth but what else can i add to that?

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tinkerd · 3 years

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Interview with www.achuka.co.uk

See Original post here: https://www.achuka.co.uk/blog/meet-an-illustrator-14-david-litchfield/

Meet An Illustrator 14 – David Litchfield APRIL 17, 2021 BY ACHUKA self-portrait © David Litchfield

ACHUKA is thrilled to have David Litchfield as the 14th guest on Meet An Illustrator, an informal weekend feature introduced this year.. Do visit the backpages to read the responses from previous guests.

The Bear And The Piano, David’s debut picture book, was published just 5 years ago, but he is already established as one of the UK’s leading illustrators and picture book creators. That debut title won Waterstones Illustrated Book Prize in 2016. Much more recently he has come to attention as the cover illustrator for David Almond’s Bone Music:

The Bear And The Piano became a trilogy with publication in 2019 of The Bear, The Piano, The Dog And The Fiddle and, this year, with the third title The Bear, The Piano And The Little Bear’s Concert.

A particular favourite of ACHUKA’s is Lights On Cotton Rock:

His 2021 publishing year kicked off with illustrations for A Shelter for Sadness by Anne Booth

and the paperback edition of Rainbow Before Rainbows by Smriti Halls is published this coming week:

Next month (May 2021) we can look forward to Pip And Egg written by Alex Latimer:

and, as we hear below, there is lot lots more to come.

As a child, what were the first illustrations you remember being pleased with?

I think that it was a drawing of a panda. It was in primary school and we all had to draw one. We then put them all on the wall and I remember feeling a bit arrogant and quietly smug that my panda was definitely one of the best ones on that wall.

Who/what inspired you when you were young?

Again at primary school our teacher sat us all down and read us Where The Wild Things Are. I remember being absolutely blown away by Maurice Sendak‘s drawings and characters and totally felt transported away from the reading mat in that classroom to that dreamy monster island. Mr Sendak and Albert Uderzo were absolutely the two biggest influences on making me want to draw every day.

Who inspires you today?

Still mainly Sendak and Uderzo. But I love finding out about new illustrators. There are an infinite amount of styles and techniques and approaches to drawing and I love being surprised by how different people create a spread or tell their stories. My current 2 favourites are Sydney Smith and Frances Ives. They both have such a free and natural style. They are amazing.

Did you study art/illustration?

I actually studied Graphic Design at Camberwell College of Art. Graphic Design felt like the most sensible career choice in the art world. I loved the course and I met some great people there. But I was really shocked at how little drawing was involved. I think more than anything that course showed me how much I really loved to draw and that I just wasn’t a Graphic Designer.

What is your favourite artist tool/product?

It sounds obvious but a pencil and a sketchbook. My absolute favourite part of a project is when it’s just me, a pencil and a sketchbook and I am just letting the idea develop by scribbling and experimenting and making a mess.

Where do you buy your art supplies?

I have two favourite shops here in Bedford. One is called the Arc which sells all kinds of incredible arts supplies and exotic paints and brushes etc. I also like Coleman’s which is obviously more of a standard stationary shop. But I don’t know, I like their pens. I spend far too much money on pens.

What software/apps do you use?

I only really use Photoshop. I tried to get my head around Illustrator but I’m just not that technically minded to be honest. I have had a play with Pro Create but my kids keep stealing my iPad so I have not had enough time to learn it yet.

What was your first commission?

My first commission happened when I was 13 years old and I drew a poster for a local comic shop. They paid me in comics. My first proper paid commission was with The Beano comic. I think that it was in 2013 or so when the editor Michael Stirling found my drawings online. For a few weeks I drew the illustrations that accompanied a poetry section in the comic. It was amazing to be drawing for a comic I had been in love with for most of my life. I will forever be grateful to that team for giving me that opportunity.

What are you working on at the moment?

I am just finishing drawing a pretty epic book written by Gregory Maguire. After that I’m so happy to be working on another ‘Earth’ book with Stacy McAnulty. I love drawing these books, and I learn so much about our planet too. After that I’m starting a beautiful book with the writer Nell Cross Beckerman which is going to be a total stunner. Towards the end of the year I’m creating artwork for my next author/illustrator book too.

Which is all very exciting. I always feel like I’m being very vague when I don’t give too much info but I’m never sure how much I’m actually allowed to say. What I can tell you is that my author/illustrator book is going to be a Christmas story set in Victorian times.

Twitter or Instagram? Instagram I think. I love Twitter but Instagram just feels a lot friendlier. Also as an illustrator it is a great, visual medium to share work on. I have also found so many new great artists from this site.

Coffee or tea?

I love coffee. But I have had to cut back a lot. I was getting the jitters because I drank it so much. Now I just have two cups a day. And only in the mornings.

Cat or dog?

Oh my goodness Dog. Dog every time. I always had dogs growing up. They were my best friends. We got a dog last summer. I was adamant that my two boys should have a dog growing up. My wife wasn’t that convinced I don’t think but now that we have one she loves her as much as we do.

Grape or grain?

Hmmm, both good, but I would have to say grape.

Sunrise or sunset?

Sunset. I don’t know if it’s a getting older thing but I love sitting in my garden as the sun starts to go down. It’s like a magic time of the day where everything is winding down and becoming peaceful.

What do you listen to when you are working?

Mainly loud rock music. But I’ve also started to listen to a fair few podcasts. My favourite ones at the moment are ‘Pod Save America‘- helps me get my head around American politics, which I can sometimes find quite baffling from time to time- and The Force Center – which is a massively geeky Star Wars podcast which has none of the snark and negativity of other fandom type discussions. I recommend it if you are a Star Wars nerd like me.

Where can we follow you on social media? I’m on twitter: @dc_litchfield Instagram: @david_c_litchfield

I also have a blog at:

tinkerd.tumblr.com

and a Facebook page at

facebook.com/davidlitchfieldillustration

-but to be honest I do keep forgetting to update that one.

#illustrator #illustrator interview #illustration

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peculiaridealist · 3 years

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Trouble In Paradise (Literally)

Chapter 3: Reign

“Maggie!” She all but exclaimed when she saw the shorter woman.

“Kara!” Maggie exclaimed as well and made her way towards Kara. “Have you found your necklace?”

Kara nodded far too quickly that she felt a bit dizzy but she paid no mind to it. She focused on the task at hand itself. “I did but, nevermind that. I need to tell you something important.”

“Shoot.” Maggie said and focused her attention towards the blonde as the latter laid the key points of their plan.

After Kara’s explanation, there was a glint of excitement within Maggie’s eyes as she grinned. “Let’s do this.”

Kara grinned at the short woman before an attendant arrived and whisked her away for her scheduled therapy.

After Kara had her conversation with Maggie, the three of them didn’t get the chance to spend some time together anymore that day. They were assigned to some individual activities- which was odd for the blonde because it was the first time they did it- that took their time and made them busy. The hours passed in a blur and before they knew it, it was already dinner. They then regrouped at their usual table. They all shared a knowing look and gave each other a subtle nod before they start to dig in their dinner.

“May I have everyone’s attention, please?” The head of the attendants spoke and all attention were turned towards him, even the trio’s. When he was satisfied that he got everyone’s attention, he continued.

“Once in a blue moon, one of our residents have been so receptive to what we offer that she’s ready to rejoin her loved ones sooner… than expected.” He announced. “Let us all congratulate our very own… Lena Luthor. She would be brought back to her family tonight after dinner.”

The claps of their fellow residents were dulled as Kara felt like she was plunged deep underwater. Her blood ran cold and the color was drained on her face at what she had just heard. She looked at her friends and they both mirrored her expression.

No. Kara thought. This is far too much to be a coincidence.

“A toast, everyone. To Lena.” The head attendant raised his champagne flute and nodded at their direction- or more precisely, toward Lena’s direction.

A chorus of “to Lena” was heard all over the garden as they all took a sip of their drink- though it wasn’t champagne like the attendants have, of course. Lena gave them a smile but Kara saw how one of her eyes twitch as she stood up and made her way towards the comfort room, nodding politely at those who congratulated her.

“Mags…” Kara quietly called out to the shorter woman as she looked at her. Maggie turned towards the blonde and she looked as baffled as Kara herself.

“Go.” Maggie whispered and it was all Kara needed to drink the contents of her cup without actually swallowing it and followed Lena.

When she got inside the comfort room, she immediately spat the drink that was in her mouth on the sink and Lena was immediately at her side, tucking her hair so that it doesn’t get wet with the drink and her spit. After she got rid of it all, she engulfed Lena in a tight hug which the brunette returned without missing a beat.

“Kara… Kara, listen to me, okay?” The brunette partially detached herself from the blonde as she cupped Kara’s face and looked directly at Kara’s sapphire orbs. “You and Maggie are going to take that boat. It’s yours now, you hear me?”

“But how will I find you?” Kara asked as she stared back at Lena’s emerald ones.

Lena pondered for a moment before taking something out of her pocket. The brunette then grabbed Kara’s hand and placed a dark purple that was bordering black glittering rock at her palm.

Kara gasped at how beautiful the rock looked though she couldn’t help but stare at the rock with confusion. “What is this?”

“It’s something that I made myself. Show this to my secretary and tell her that I sent you.” Lena answered softly, a small smile gracing her lips. “You promise we’ll all be together again, right?”

I promise I’ll find you. “I promise.”

Lena rested her forehead on Kara’s for a second before leaning in close to give a soft and delicate kiss on Kara’s lips. Kara closed her eyes as she savored the feel of Lena’s soft lips and before Kara knew it, Lena already pulled away. It was too short for Kara’s liking but at the same time, it was sweet and it made her heart flutter and it made her breath fast. She knew right then and there that she was feeling something for Lena that definitely isn’t platonic. It was something more and she found it quite unfair that it was only short lived. Just when she had figured things out, Lena was already being snatched away from her and it broke her heart to millions of pieces.

“I’ll see you there, okay?” Lena asked while she caressed Kara’s hair down to her cheek, sounding hopeful and Kara found herself nodding almost automatically. There was then a loud knock- or a banging, rather- which startled both women and making them jump and look at the door’s direction.

“Lena, it’s time to go.” An attendant announced.

“Yeah, uh… I’m coming. Just a sec.” Lena informed the attendant and turned her gaze back towards the blonde. Kara did the same. She could see the longing in the brunette’s eyes and she can’t help but to pull Lena again for one last hug.

“Be safe.” Lena whispered and Kara let herself cry. Let herself to show weakness in front of the brunette. She realized that this could probably be the last time she could ever get to hold Lena like this. She could promise to find the brunette, but there wasn’t any certainty that she would even be able to reach Lena with a ten foot pole given who Lena’s family actually were and who Lena actually is. Lena was- is a CEO of a multi-billionaire company while she was just a journalist who’s slightly obsessed with art. The outside world is far different from the ones that they currently have in this small island.

The hug lasted for a few more seconds before Lena reluctantly pulled away, wiping Kara’s tears as she gave the blonde one last kiss on the forehead and made her way towards the door. The brunette casted one last melancholic glance at the blonde before finally exiting the premises and Kara slowly slumped on the floor, biting her lower lip to prevent ant noise coming from her as she cried.

It wasn’t long then when someone entered the room in a hurry and a retching sound could be heard but Kara couldn’t find herself to care as she stared blankly at the floor, letting her tears fall freely. All she could think of was Lena and how stupid she was not to realize that she was already falling for the brunette. Kara cursed herself internally for being too focused with James that she didn’t even bother to check her other emotions. It’s not like she and James were still even together anymore.

She knew she had been spacing out, or more likely that she was too engrossed with her own thoughts, because the next thing she knew was that there were arms that were wrapped around her and she could hear a sniff coming from beside her. She turned her head and she wasn’t surprised to find Maggie on her side.

Though Maggie’s expression was more schooled than hers was, Kara could still see the devastation dancing in her glossy eyes.

“We’ll find her. I know we will. Everything will be fine.” Maggie whispered softly, trying to reassure the blonde.

Kara just nodded silently as she held onto Maggie like the shorter woman was her last lifeline. Like she was afraid that if she let go, Maggie would also be taken away from her and Kara was beyond terrified at the thought.

Bed time came and she found herself wide awake. No grogginess. No lulling her to sleep. Nothing.

“So, Lena was right about them drugging us every night.” Kara uttered softly, knowing fully well that, if the retching sound and the spitting back at the comfort room was any indication, her roommate was just as awake as she was even though she was facing the other side.

Maggie huffed an air of what seemed to be amusement. “Lena’s a genius. Of course, she was right.”

Kara smiled sadly at the thought of Lena but she decided not to wallow in sorrow and focus on how to get out of the facility or the island itself to be precise. The sooner she gets out of here, the sooner she will be able to find Lena.

“You think we can really escape this place?” Kara asked with uncertainty as she turned to face Maggie.

The shorter woman gave her a reassuring smile as she nodded solemnly. “Of course, we can. All you need to have is faith, Kara. Now… are you ready?”

“Alright.” The blonde breathed out a sigh as she returned Maggie’s smile. “I guess I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Let’s go.”

They both sprung up from their mattresses quietly and started to sneak out of their room. When they saw that the hallway was clear, they moved swiftly towards the direction of the main entrance. They treaded carefully because it was quite dark. There were lights but they were dimmed and only little of the moon’s light entered the facility through its glass doors and windows.

Just when they were about to turn in a corner, someone grabbed them which made them scream but only muffled sounds came when someone clamped a hand on their mouth.

“Shh! Hey, hey. It’s me!” A familiar voice tried to shush their screams and when Kara adjusted her focus on the person in question, her eyes widened in recognition when she saw that it was Winslow, the attendant. He then slowly took his hand away from their mouth when they have seemed to calm down.

“Winslow… what are you- I mean, a-are you here to turn us in?” Kara stammered in fear and she pleaded. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t and I’m not here to turn you two in.” He reassured her. “And you can just call me Winn.”

“Alright, Winn.” Maggie eyed the attendant warily. “Why did you stop us?”

“Because if I didn’t, you two would be in a big trouble. There’s a camera right around the corner.” Winn explained. “If security catches you, then that’s it. You’re done.”

“Why are you helping us?” Kara couldn’t help but ask the young attendant.

Winn just then gave her an apologetic smile before answering. “I told you. I don’t trust the way they run this facility.”

“And how exactly do they run this facility?” It was Maggie’s turn to ask and the answer Winn gave them made Kara feel sick.

“A bit of drugging and lots of brainwashing.”

“Fucking hell…” Maggie cursed under her breath. “I knew it.”

“You should go back to your rooms for now. It’s too late to do something about the cameras.” Winn uttered. “Also, my partner’s about to patrol this area and there would also be another pair on your rooms so you should really hurry back to your rooms. I’ll do something about those cameras tomorrow and then both of you will be good to go.”

“How can we know that we can trust you?” Maggie asked again, still skeptic.

“If I wanted you to be caught, you both wouldn’t be standing here anymore. You just have to have faith, Miss Sawyer.” Winn answered, his smile never faltering and Kara remembered that Maggie just told her the exact same thing earlier. “Now go.”

As if on cue, they heard footsteps coming their way and Maggie immediately sprinted back to their rooms with the blonde following behind. As she was about to reach the entrance of their designated room, Kara knew that the attendants were already about to round the corner of their hallway and she tripped and fell. Of all the instances for her to be a klutz, she really picked the very wrong time. Maggie on the other hand had already opened their door and was beckoning for her to hurry up.

For someone so short, she could definitely run so fast. Kara managed to joke on her head despite the situation she was in.

Maggie ran back towards her and tried to help her but Kara stopped her.

“Drop.” Kara whispered urgently as she slumped on the ground and Maggie followed suit without hesitation just in time before the attendants had fully rounded on their hallway.

“What are they doing here?” One of them asked in suspicion.

Kara’s palms went clammy and her heart was pounding loudly as the two attendants approached. It was so loud she feared that the pair that was approaching them could hear her heart.

“The sedative’s sometimes slow.” The second one informed the first. “It must’ve hit them when they were on their way to the bathroom.”

“Should we take them to the processing room?”

“No. It’s not their time, yet.”

Kara felt arms behind her knees and across her shoulders and she was slowly lifted up. She could feel the attendant moving- walking- towards somewhere that she could only assume to be their room and after an agonizing minute, she felt the soft material of her mattress on her back and the sound of a closing door. She risked a peek at the said door and let out a sigh of relief when they were indeed left alone to themselves again.

“Well that was eventful.” Maggie commented.

“It was totally my fault.” Kara said, taking the blame. “If I had just been very careful-“

“Hey.” Maggie cut her off. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Just let me feel bad about it, Mags.”

Maggie huffed. “Fine. But, you know what? I’m betting everything I have that the processing room is where they do the brainwashing.”

“Your guess is just as good as mine.” The blonde muttered then she covered her face with her pillow to muffle her groan. “I’m really getting out of here.”

Maggie then chuckled softly. “I’ll be right behind you, Zor-El.”

“Do I really have to watch that crappy video again?” Kara couldn’t help but to roll her eyes at the attendants that were escorting her to a room which she frequented and had called it “the room of disgust” by now. All they played was Mike’s video every other day and on loop so, yeah. What’s not to disgust?

The attendants ignored Kara’s question (as usual) as the fumbled on the projector and busied themselves in preparing the video.

“Ugh.” Kara made a sound of disgust and rolled her eyes again. “Rude much?”

When they were done, Kara prepared herself for another half an hour Mike consisting video loop.

If you all think that what you’re doing is ingraining in my mind, well you all are wrong. Joke’s on you idiots.

Kara was ready but what they played wasn’t the one she expected. This one she can say was an extremely low blow and a look of shock painted her face. Then her shock slowly turned into sorrow and, eventually, anger.

Tears threatened to escape her eyes as she glared menacingly at the attendants. “Are you fucking with me right now?! Turn it off!”

Kara wasn’t a huge fan of cursing but she couldn’t care any less as to what vile words were spilling out of her mouth. She tried to stand but a firm hand was planted on her shoulders, keeping her on her seat. Now, even though she was already practically screaming in anger, the attendants kept ignoring her as the compiled video played again and again and again, constantly going on loop.

Kara was still glaring daggers at the attendants but she couldn’t help but hear her family’s voice, their laughter accompanied by hers on screen and when she casted her gaze upon the projected video, she saw her mother’s smile as her thirteen year-old version was skipping across their living room. Her father was nowhere to be found on the screen but he was there. He was the one filming the video. They were really happy. Kara remembered that specific day… because that was the day before the death of her parents. The facility also got ahold of the news clip where its headline was the tragedy where a drunken truck driver had rammed a car which consisted of a family. A mother, a father, and their only daughter who turned out to be the only sole survivor of the crash… and that was her and her family.

When the video of the funeral came, Kara can’t keep the tears from falling anymore as she remembered the pain of losing them. The pain of knowing that she won’t be able to see, touch or hold them again. And the pain of knowing that she would be left alone. Every emotion was stirred inside of her and this was too much for her.

After one more loop, the attendants stopped playing the video and as soon as it stopped, Kara stood and shoved them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you people?!” She bellowed. “Isn’t it enough that you’re keeping us here and imprisoned?!”

“Miss Zor-El, we suggest that you calm down.” One of the attendants calmly stated.

“Calm?” Kara let out a humorless laugh. “You expect me to be calm after that? Well guess what? Fuck you and your facility! This place is a lie and I’m not gonna let myself stay here any longer!”

Before the attendants could even stop her, Kara already rushed out of the room as she wiped her tears furiously. She didn’t need to look behind her to know that the attendants were trailing behind her so she started to sprint.

“Miss Zor-El, stop!” An attendant demanded but the blonde didn’t bother to turn around and had just blatantly ignored him.

Kara did successfully got out of the building but was immediately cornered by half a dozen of attendants as soon as she had stepped a few feet away from the entrance. She tried to run past them but she found it impossible. She could dodge one but then another blocks her path. The attendants flanking Kara had grabbed both of her arms and Kara thrashed with all her might and screamed in protest when they started to drag her somewhere.

“Please stop resisting, Miss Zor-El.” One of the attendants pleaded halfheartedly. “We don’t want to hurt you.”

Kara, being a stubborn one, unheeded the attendant’s plea and continued thrashing. When they passed the gardens, she heard a scream.

“Kara! What are you going to do to her?!” Maggie screamed at the attendants as she made her way towards the blonde, only for her way to be blocked by a pair of attendants that was stopping her from getting closer to Kara. “Let her go!”

“Maggie!” Kara called out in desperation as she was dragged away from Maggie when she caught sight of another familiar face.

“Winn! Please help me!” She called out to the young attendant who was looking at her with regret and he slowly averted his gaze away from the blonde.

Kara’s rage was even more intensified as she saw that there was nothing she could do and no one would be able to help her but her rage wasn’t enough to escape the grasp of the attendants that were flanking her. Even though she knew by now that she had no chance of escaping them, she still continued to thrash wildly just to make it hard for them. She was eventually led to the room where she had woken up to on her first day on the island. The blonde was pushed towards the bed and was forced to sit on it then they left her there all alone and locked from the outside. Again, she was in the very same room feeling lost… and now, hopeless.

There she uttered a silent apology to Maggie. If she hadn’t been so brash a while ago, this would never have happened... or that’s what she would like to think. She blamed herself for acting so irrational. Yes, her act was and could be justified but still, it was totally uncalled for especially when they have a plan that she could’ve jeopardized because of her acts. More importantly, she apologized silently to Lena. It might take her a bit longer to find the brunette. Long enough for her to think that Kara might have forgotten about her and her promise… and that was part of what Kara was afraid of.

A few minutes- or possibly hours, she couldn’t really tell- later, the door opened and there were a pair of attendants who entered the room. They strode across the room, wordlessly placing a plate and a cup, which Kara assumed was her meal, on the side table and left. The blonde glared at the door where they just entered and exited a few seconds ago then averted her glare towards the meal they served. She kicked the table, causing for the drink o spill a bit then there was a screech from the speaker which made her cover her ears, wincing at the pain where the sound made.

“Why won’t you touch your meal, little one?” Reign’s voice, much to her surprise, filled the room. “Don’t make this anymore harder for you.”

“To hell with you all.” Kara was seething in anger but she was restraining herself. She won’t give them the satisfaction that they were already getting on her last nerve.

“My, my. Such temper. You know, Kara, the more you resist, the longer you stay here.” Reign stated. “You wouldn’t want that, would you? Do as you are told and we will let you join your loved ones sooner.”

There was another painful screech, which made her wince again, and Kara knew that her conversation with Reign was over. She then sighed as she downed the contents of the cup and just lay on the bed. The blonde thought that she might as well just sleep on this whole ordeal. It’s not like she had been given much of a choice anyway.

Kara stared at the ceiling for a couple of minutes, waiting for the drug to kick in and when it did, her eyelids drooped slowly and she had let herself succumb to sleep.

“Kara dearest.” A tall and beautiful woman with brown eyes - which could definitely rival Lena’s beauty, much as she hates to admit it- who was sitting near at the edge of the pond while reading a book stood and greeted the blonde with a warm smile as soon as she arrived at a part of the garden near the pond. Kara would definitely bet a hundred bucks that the pond was artificial no matter how “natural” it looked like. And why was there a mirror situated between two chairs?

“How are you adjusting?” The woman asked with genuine curiosity.

“Great. I’ve always wanted to go to a place where you can just relax and meditate so this is kinda like a dream come true.” Kara answered, tone dripping with sarcasm.

Though it didn’t go unnoticed, the woman just sat back and looked at Kara with what seems to be concern. “Well, I certainly hope we can change that for you.”

“Please sit and face the mirror.” Her attendant spoke behind her.

She was confused as to why she needed to face the mirror. Was it really necessary? Maybe it was. This was a therapy session after all.

“Please sit down.” The attendant repeated again, stepping forward as if he was about to force her to but the woman, though she still had a smile plastered on her face, gave him a cold glare which made him stop in his tracks. Even Kara had the chills when she saw the woman’s expression and this reminded her of a wolf. Just absolutely terrifying but beautiful.

The woman jerked her head, a signal which he immediately understood. He gave her a nod and stepped back at a respectable distance from Kara and the latter just stared at the woman. She can’t seem to tear her gaze away from those brown eyes. In truth, she was in awe how one second those eyes were full of warmth then voided and cold the next and she decided that she didn’t want to be the receiving end of it.

“Kara, I know that you think that this isn’t the place for you and you may be right.” The woman said when she turned her attention back towards the blonde. “But I’m asking you to please cooperate with-“

“With you and your ridiculously weird attendants?” Kara interjected, cutting off whatever it was that the woman was about to say. “Reign, you know that there is nothing wrong with me!”

The woman’s mouth slightly hanged open in surprise at Kara’s raised voice but not too long when a smile was formed on her lips and huffed out of amusement. Reign then patted the seat in front of her which this time Kara obliged and sat on it without any protest.

“We are our best when we are truly ourselves. Can we agree on that?” Reign asked.

“I suppose.” Kara answered.

“Mirror therapy is about owning your story. It’s about remembering what makes you, well… you. Only the things that you would know.” There was a long pause and when Reign was sure that Kara wasn’t going to give her input, she continued. “Tell yourself a story of who you really truly are.”

“Wait… You want me to talk to myself?” Kara asked in disbelief.

Reign shrugged. “Well, you don’t seem to enjoy talking to me.”

“Touché.” Kara muttered though if this was a different circumstance, she might enjoy Reign’s company and how the way the woman speaks. Not to mention that she is also gorgeous and- Kara assumes- smart, say in the business and medical field. But sadly, this wasn’t a different circumstance.

“How about this…” The woman gave her a pat on the knee. “I’ll ask you a question and answer only if you want to, okay?”

Kara thought about it and this option was definitely much better than being forced to answer and talk about anything and everything private or not so she just gave Reign a shrug and the woman gave her another smile, obviously satisfied.

Kara jolted awake when she heard the door open abruptly and her gaze landed on a pair of attendants entering the room which made her sit immediately.

“Good morning, Miss Zor-El.” One of them greeted her.

She was about to ask when will she be able to get out of this godforsaken room when the two grabbed both of her arms and dragged her out.

“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?!” She alarmingly asked as she thrashed violently in hopes of escaping their grasps which was, of course, futile.

“Ow!” She yelped in pain when the attendants tightened their grip on her arms. “Let me go!”

As always- and Kara had already been expecting it- the attendants ignored her and just dragged her to wherever the hell they were dragging her. The path they were taking her was actually familiar to the blonde and it was enough for her to stop struggling as her heart pounded really hard.

They have reached a double door made of glass with some sort of, what Kara could only assume (because to assume is what she could only do best here) to be, gold on its edges and shoved Kara inside the room and left her alone.

Then when she looked around, it hit her. The room was what Kara had remembered. It was still the same since the first time- and what she had hoped to be the last which apparently isn’t- that she had been there and she couldn’t be mistaken. Where is now is, indeed, Reign’s office.

Inside was spacious and a really good view of the sea could be seen in its wide glass window. A couch was situated at the center of the room and a mini table in front of it. Though there was a bookshelf at one corner, there were still stacks of books found on one of the tables as well as documents and papers but what captured her attention the most was the video, which seemed to be a live footage that was playing on the wide screen TV on the wall near the office table.

Kara’s eyes widened in surprise and her breath hitched when she saw Lena on the screen standing on a podium and giving some sort of speech about her company’s recent development and there was a man standing beside her but Kara couldn’t care any less about the man. Her focus was solely on Lena and how fascinating the brunette still was even on screen.

When Lena’s speech ended, there was a close-up shot of her. This made Kara smile a bit as she unconsciously lifted an arm to reach out for the brunette’s face, only to find out by the time that her hand had landed on the screen, much to her shock, the brunette kissed the man beside her. Everything was like a slow motion as Kara saw how happy Lena looked and all Kara could do was to look down and let out a silent sob. She couldn’t let herself watch any longer without hurting herself.

To say that she was hurt might have probably been an understatement. She was feeling a whole lot of it. She couldn’t believe what she had just seen. Kara felt like her insides were turned upside down and her heart was being clenched tightly, making it hard to breathe.

Hurt… Jealousy… Envy… Remorse… These pretty much sums up everything that Kara was feeling right now.

She was hurt by how fast Lena had gotten over her when the brunette just left a couple of days ago. She felt jealous and envy of the man that made Lena happy when it should be her who makes the brunette happy. Remorse because she should have never taken Lena for granted.

She cursed herself internally. Of course, Lena would find someone new or, if not new, someone who has been waiting for her all along. It’s not like she had shown any interest towards the brunette before and Lena probably thought that the kiss meant nothing but a parting gesture from her.

Just when she had turned her focus back on the screen, someone grabbed her by the shoulder and though it was just gentle, she was still taken by surprise which made her jump and whirl around as she accidentally backhanded the one who had just grabbed her, making the person crash on a desk. When she had realized whom she had just hit, her shock was doubled.

She had just hit Reign.

Kara was rooted on her spot when she saw spots of blood on the broken mirror that was on the desk. Apparently that was where the woman had landed.

Reign stood up and slowly turned to face Kara properly, and Kara swore that there was a flash of anger that dawned on Reign’s face before it had quickly disappeared. “Well, that was an interesting way to welcome someone.”

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Kara stuttered as her heart was beating wildly.

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Reign said in her all soothing voice as she grabbed her handkerchief and dabbed on her bleeding temple that was probably cut by the mirror’s broken shards. Reign then took a stride behind the desk and sat on her chair as she started to stack some papers.

“Now, I’d like to know, Kara. Do you still think this place is a lie? That we can’t, let’s just say, cure you? Look at your friend.” Reign turned to look at the screen where the brunette was being featured. “The treatment seems to be rather effective. What do you think?”

Kara silently stared at Reign, seemingly unable to find the proper words to say. It was like she was placed under a spell that made her rambling persona disappear or made her lose her voice.

When Reign hadn’t pulled a response out of the blonde, she nodded thoughtfully.

“I think her family will be very, very pleased with themselves and, of course, with us- oh!” Reign then raised a finger and had the expression like she had just remembered something and she briefly pointed at Kara. “I almost forgot. I think you’ve got to see this…” She then grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and started to scribble something down. “This… is what Mike and your aunt paid to make sure that you, my dear, would be reformed. Not to mention that they want it to happen as soon as possible, say… two months.”

Kara was still silent as her gaze never left the founder of the facility and she was growing more and more anxious the longer she was standing there, wondering just how much did Mike had really spent. And would a treatment really work within just two months?

When Reign was done writing, which only took her just a few seconds, she ripped the paper and showed it to Kara which made the blonde gasp. The zeroes made Kara’s head spin.

Looking like she was satisfied by Kara’s reaction, she proceeded to query the blonde. “Do you think they would pay this much for a treatment that doesn’t work?”

Kara still couldn’t wrap her head around the information that she was currently getting out of the facility’s founder herself. More importantly, was her aunt really that desperate to get her to marry that sociopath?

“Understand this, Kara. The treatment that we give here is real. You’re just a…” Reign closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head as she crumpled the paper that she held. “… prickly little pear… and now, you’re done.”

Kara’s brows furrowed in confusion and she had somehow found her voice to speak again. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, we’re nearly finished with you, Kara.” Reign informed the blonde as she properly stacked some papers and picked a pen, she then had gestured on the surroundings. “By tomorrow, you’ll be able to leave here forever.”

“Tomorrow?” Kara asked in disbelief as she walked in front of the desk, placing her hands on its edge and looked at Reign in bewilderment.

Reign’s brow shot up as she looked at Kara in what seemed like incredulous and amused. “Frankly, I thought you’d be happier. I was under the impression you couldn’t wait to go.”

And she was. But this didn’t make any sense to her and it made her gears turn. Yes, Kara was really itching to leave this place but, she had only been here for a month and a half and she was sure of it for she had been counting the days since she had been sent here.

Unless…

“How long have I been asleep?” Kara asked as she waited for Reign’s answer in bated breath.

“How long have you been asleep…” Reign’s voice dropped as she muttered to herself and started to count. It didn’t take her long to finish counting when she snapped her fingers. “Oh! Two weeks.”

Kara’s breath hitched and she was stunned by this information and her knees had gone weak that she ended up sitting on the chair that was propped to be for the guests or inquirers. How they managed to keep her asleep that long, she didn’t dare to ask for she already knew what the answer was. Just thinking about the dose of sedative drug they gave her already made her shiver.

Reign was humming to herself as she was writing something down and when she noticed that Kara was still there, she stopped and turned her attention again on the blonde. She looked at Kara for a brief moment before she spoke. “Run along now, little bug.” Reign slowly leaned towards Kara and whispered as if conspiratorially. “Your friend already misses you.”

Giving the blonde a sweet smile- Kara could feel the sarcasm emanating from it though, which was a first- she went back to writing and Kara didn’t need to be told twice and bolted right out of the room to find Maggie.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Maggie asked the blonde.

“Yes!” Kara answered almost immediately.

“They said that you went nuts. That you broke their projector that’s why they quarantined you for the sake of our fellow residents.” Maggie frowned and her brows were furrowed. “Was it true?”

“What?! That’s not-“ Kara groaned in frustration as she ran her fingers to her hair. “You know what? Forget about that. Can we go back to Lena? Look… Maggie, the Lena that I saw on TV wasn’t the Lena that said goodbye to us. I know that they did something to her and I’m not gonna sit here and wait for them to do the same to me.”

Maggie slowly shook her head as if unable to comprehend what Kara was trying to say. “I’m getting confused, Kara. I understand the whole Lena thing but, what do you mean that they’ll do the same to you?”

“Their shipping me back to the mainland tomorrow.” Kara answered and she heard Maggie gasp. “It’s obvious that their treatment isn’t working on me. Not yet, at least, given that I’m just been here for two months. I’m sure that whatever they did to Lena would work on me, as well.

“My talk with Reign has let me realize how this facility really runs and Lena, for once, was wrong about them sending you back to the mainland either they were successful or not. That if they saw that you’re a lost cause and that their treatment isn’t gonna work, they’re still gonna send you back. No, Mags. There’s no room for failure here.”

Maggie was silent as she looked down and this had caused Kara to be alarmed. “Maggie? Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Maggie answered softly. “I just… I just thought that, after all these months, I could rebel against them. That maybe there was a possibility that I could still return to the mainland being still me as a whole and not a reformed one.”

“And you still can.” Kara planted her hands firmly on Maggie’s shoulders. “I’m leaving. Tonight. Just like what we have always planned.”

“But the cameras-“

“Won’t be a problem. They will be rigged.” Kara immediately said, cutting Maggie’s concern short. “Winn said he would help, right? Then let’s go get him.”

Maggie let out a shaky breath before nodding as she looked at Kara with determination. “Okay… Let’s do this.”

#kara danvers #lena luthor #maggie sawyer #winn schott jr #reign #kara #lena #maggie #winn #supercorp #light angst #light humor #light fluff #everything light #'cause idk wtf i'm doing anymore

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neonlustmusic · 4 years

Text

Review of a Review: Pitchfork’s Latest Slashing of Morrissey’s Latest Album

Pitchfork publishes another mindless (and mind-baffling) review, and this time Morrissey is again at the receiving end of their spiteful little daggers. The writer Mina Tavakoli (what kind of name is that??) gave Morrissey’s latest, I Am Not a Dog on a Chain, a score of 6.1 (out of 10), seemingly because the writer does not agree with the artist’s politics or non-musical statements. It is too bad that Pitchfork routinely ignores what should be most important: the music. Granted we have moved away from describing music (using adjectives, adverbs, etc.), but in its absence we should not smuggle in unnecessary biographical information or personal smears or slanders. Out of the many issues with this review, most disturbing is that the writer presumes to know so much about Morrissey, yet doesn’t seem to know anything about him. The writer beholds the artist to the music he released in the 1980s and 1990s; he or she seems disappointed that Morrissey has let them down somehow, so they feel the need to crucify Morrissey. But the Morrissey on IANADOAC is the same miserable Morrissey we know and love.

Morrissey fans should feel offended and confused at the following sentence: “His present fanbase is survived by the morose, the nostalgic, the unaware, a large number of Latinxs, and those who have actively chosen to forgo Morrissey (the man) for Morrissey (the feeling).“ Umm, what? How can the writer make such an absolute and slightly racist statement. As if saying, the only people who like Morrissey are losers and people from shithole countries. Jesus Christ. And the writer seeks to accuse Morrissey of racism? The statement is shockingly unaware. Using the writer’s own claim, can it be said that he or she is a member of Moz’s fanbase? No of course not. The writer calls the artist “a bitchy, fabulous sulk turned something of a red-pill pharmacist.” The writer seems to be ignorant of the fact that Morrissey takes the the baton from the punks of the 1970s, who famously used politics as a springboard, and also used controversial artifacts as aesthetics and statements: punks routinely used nazi imagery, etc. It’s the world that has made Morrissey this way. He is still punk by the book.

The writer seems to have skimmed Morrissey’s Autobiography. She says, “in his fat, florid autobiography—hilariously published directly on Penguin Classics, a literary imprint that doesn’t normally canonize living authors—Moz describes a passion for the early punk band the New York Dolls.” Is the writer of this terrible review jealous of Morrissey? Of course. Secretly, everyone wants to be Morrissey. But I don’t think I’ve ever read such a spiteful and confusing sentence. What does it mean for a book to be fat and florid? And shouldn’t Penguin Classics be allowed to do whatever they want. Like Pitchfork, who seemingly publishes whatever they want, possibly without editing, and without regard for the impact of their words, Penguin Classics and Morrissey, too, can push the limits however they choose. And I find Penguin Classics publishing Morrissey’s Autobiography fascinating. For the people who say “oh look at all the offensive and racist things Morrissey has said,” the man has never killed anyone, or done as much damage as other early Pitchfork darlings, like XXXTentacion, 6ix9ine, or Slavery Was a Choice Kanye West. I would hope the next Kanye West review will take his music to task for his personal beliefs (since Pitchfork’s review of Jesus is King did not go so far as the Morrissey indictment). Better yet, I wish the reviewers would stop injecting so much biographical information into album reviews. When it comes to biographical information, we must take it with a grain of salt; that information is not always accurate or understood. And we don’t know if it’s fiction. Like when Joaquin Phoenix appeared on Letterman, acted crazy, etc., we don’t know if it’s all an act or ruse, performance art. In Kanye West’s case, I do honestly believe that’s what it is, or he has sincerely gone insane. Morrissey, on the other hand, seems sound. And his sound is evolving. I wish the Pitchfork reviewer would have spent more time on the music. At the end of the day, the only truth is the music. I Am Not a Dog on a Chain is the first time Morrissey uses synthesizers in so long! and they sound SICK! But the reviewer passes over that fact by saying one of the tracks sounds “electroclashy.” I wish the reviewer didn’t reveal so much about his or her own ignorance. Using “electroclash” or “latino” as a pejorative is pretty low. Alternatively, the reviewer could have (and future reviewers could) invest more time in researching and discussing the process of writing/recording/releasing the music. That is a history or biography we are interested in. That’s what reviews should be about. Or how about the fact that the album has arrived during a pandemic? It is too bad people don’t get excited about music anymore. It’s too bad the people at Pitchfork are soul-less solipsistic philistines. It seems like a waste of energy and time to write a review that only scorches the artist in flames. I can’t believe people got paid for this. Luckily, Morrissey is familiar with the attacks, and he is not fazed by Pitchfork’s bitchy and petulant review. He will continue to make excellent music (and IANADOAC is his most-listenable album in years). Maybe Mina is not familiar with being constantly attacked by the media and critics. So here you go: Mina, you will never make it as a writer or human with this negative cunty attitude. In the opinion of NLP, Mina must work on her Anger Management problem, then go to a good old fashioned movie with a friend!!!! Oh wait, we’re quarantined. In that case, I wish you lonely, Mina. Welcome to this knockabout world. We give this review 0.0 out of 10. Where is that video of a monkey pissing into it’s own mouth? Here it is!

#morrissey #reviewofareview #pitchfork

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ladyofpurple · 4 years

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answer all of the questions!!

holy SHIT ok bless you omg

(sorry it's a full day late i took this shit SERIOUSLY. don't ask me how many hours this took, i was in A Mood™️ last night. removed the ones already answered xoxo)

angel; have you ever been in love?

yeah. didn't end too well, but i loved him.

petal; favorite novel and author?

this is like asking me to pick a favorite child. i guess favorite author would be stephen king, if only based entirely on the sheer quantity of his books i own alone. favorite book would probably be special topics in calamity physics by marisha pessl, and i'm only saying that because it's been my go-to response for years. i have lots of favorite books. ask me again in five minutes and i'll give you another one.

honey perfume; favorite perfume/scent?

freshly made coffee. lilacs. jasmine. cut grass. the ground after it rains. chocolate chip cookies in the oven. cigarette smoke on skin. my mom's shampoo. my grandma. my dog when he's just had a bath. thanksgiving dinner. acrylic paint on canvas. sawdust. that one cologne i can't name but can smell on a guy from a mile away. mulled cranberry and apple juice. vanilla. coconut. fresh laundry. peppermint.

sweet pea; what’s your zodiac?

virgo sun, pisces moon, scorpio rising ✨

softie; talk about your sexuality.

i'm biromantic asexual, primarily attracted to men more than women (but have had too many crushes on girls to consider myself het), generally sex repulsed when it comes to the thought of having it myself. i prefer to call myself queer in passing conversation, it's easier than explaining asexuality and the differences between sexual and romantic attraction. if someone asks more specifically, i'll usually just call myself bi for simplicity's sake, even though the ace part is a much more important (to me) part of my identity. monogamous as fuck.

i'm still struggling with internalized homophobia and a lot of "am i even queer enough" thoughts, which is super fun. took me a long time to even consider the fact that i might like girls at all. i'll probably never come out to my parents. not that they'd, like, disown me or whatever, but they're juuuuust homophobic/transphobic enough that my few attempts to educate them when they say something A Little Yikes have shown me that i should probably just stay in the closet unless i absolutely have to come out. like i'm getting married to a woman or something.

sugarplum; what’s the color of your eyes and hair?

i usually say my eyes are green because it's easier, and they mostly are, but i have rings of greyish blue around the irises and sometimes they're more hazel in the middle. they always have a green tint to them though, even if the intensity of the green varies.

my natural hair is brown, a little on the darker and slightly ashy side of completely generic. currently a former blonde, although i'm hoping to bleach my fucking YEAR of growout soon, and then go some crazy color as a last hurrah before i have to go dark again. being broke fucking sucks.

wings; coffee or tea?

tea!! black tea. chai, to be specific, with an irresponsible amount of milk and sugar. chai lattes are a fucking drug okay? coffee makes me sick (not a judgement, a literal fact. last time i tried some i threw up).

fairytale; are you a cat or dog person?

cat!! but my family has a chihuahua named sonny and you can pry that little monster from my cold dead hands ok i will fight you.

snowflake; favorite time period?

okay, i wrote and rewrote my answer to this about 10 times. then i tried to divide it up into categories (aesthetics, history, fashion, vibes, geographical location, etc), but that didn't help. so basically: i don't have one, because i have too many.

i like the american 20s-60s for the aesthetic, music/movies, and the fashion. i also like the european 1600s-1800s for the interesting history and also vibe. i love the french and russian revolutions — the fashion! the art! the wars and political upheaval! I FUCKING LOVE HISTORY. then, of course, we can't forget the rennaisance. or the witch trials (pick your continent). and ancient greece? the roman empire? hello?? did i mention empires? how bout we mosy on over to south america — can i interest you in the mayans? incans? aztecs? what about china and japan? korea? vietnam? and don't even get me fucking STARTED on the black plague.

ancient egypt? sign me the FUCK UP. vikings? yes please. the celts? oh boy. the MYTHOLOGY. the ARCHITECTURE. the LANGUAGES and POLITICS and LITERATURE and REVOLUTIONS and GOD HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO CHOOSE BETWEEN ANY OF THESE

i uh. might have gotten a little excited. basically i like history a lot. and mythology. and linguistics. and cultural practices. and the politics and prejudices behind wars and stuff. and learning in general. moving on.

vanilla; do you believe in ghosts?

let's put it this way: i don't not believe in ghosts??

listen. we don't know jack shit. we don't know what happens after we die, there are constant scientific revelations that turn our understanding of the universe completely upside-down, and there is literally no way to know which religions or myths or urban legends could have some grain of truth to them. like, dude, i've literally thought i was haunted before. psychology is bananas and the universe is infinite.

demons could be real. ghosts could be real. what if we just haven't invented the necessary technology to prove it yet? what if we never do, and they just fuck around alongside us, moving furniture and making shadow puppets on the walls just for kicks until the earth explodes? what if that one tumblr post was right and ghosts are actually real people from alternate universes or timelines that we see accidentally bc some cosmic wires got crossed? who fucking knows.

i love horror movies and scary stories and ghost hunter shows just as much as the next gal. but listen. psychics? mediums? people who accept every single creepypasta retold third-hand from their neighbor's kid's classmate's second cousin who "totally knows a guy"? doubt.jpeg

i don't understand the sheer amount of assumptions made willy-nilly about the nature of ghosts and demons and things that go bump in the night. the assumption that "oh this machine that totally doesn't look like a coathanger taped to a walkman will work because ghosts have this temperature and can always communicate like this and are electromagnetic" or whatever just baffles me. to a certain degree, following a general consensus is one thing — some basic things everyone can agree on? that's cool. ghosts can walk through walls and are probably dead people or whatever. but oh my god, taking every single story as absolute, undeniable proof?? taking these stories and expanding on them to infer intentions and scientific facts to something that by it's very nature is unknowable and assuming, like, every spirit is created equal?? and yeah, ghost hunting shows are fun and campy and kinda creepy but like. you really, genuinely don't think any of them have ever faked anything at all??? even if ghosts are real, it's fucking reality tv, my dude. it's the entertainment industry. at least maintain the slightest ounce of critical thought before taking zak bagans' word as the goddamn gospel.

and sidenote, maybe it's just my limited exposure as a white woman in the western world, but of all the shows and podcasts and movies and documentaries and whatnot i've been able to find and consume, there's the constant use of christian ideology applied to every situation that just really burns my bacon. what, there's never been an atheist ghost? if you see a shadow person and you don't know the lord's prayer by heart, are you automatically fucked? why are there never stories about, i don't know, viking ghosts? does your religion in life preclude you from becoming a ghost in the first place? is that why people never mention buddhist ghosts? i don't get it, and that's why even though i'm self-admittedly the most superstitious person i've ever met, true believers make me roll my eyes so hard they almost fall out. makes me come across as more skeptical than i theoretically am. I HAVE VERY STRONG FEELINGS ABOUT THIS OK

but like, you couldn't pay me to fuck with a ouija board. i'm not stupid.

delicate; diamonds or pearls?

both have their appeal and their place, but diamonds, i guess. i like the sparkle. but fake ones!! or synthetic. diamonds are overpriced and artificial scarcity is a scam and i don't need a dumb rock that some poor person in a mine somewhere was exploited and possibly died for. no blood diamonds in this house, thank you very much.

if i ever get engaged, i don't want a diamond ring. i'd want something cool, a little unusual, like a ruby or a sapphire or some other sparkly gem that isn't literally shoved in your face every waking moment as the expected standard symbol of True Love. they're cheaper, they're cool-looking, as a ring they still hold the cultural symbolism of an engagement/wedding ring. and honestly, as long as it's well-made and durable, whatever hypothetical gem it is doesn't have to be real either. i'm a woman of simple needs and demonstrably low standards. no point in going into debt for a fucking piece of jewelry, regardless of ~tradition~.

lavender dream; favorite album?

oh lord. welcome to the black parade, i guess. or anything by panic! at the disco. there are dozens of possible options — my interests are mercurial and my memory is garbage. but i'll always be an emo little shit. black parade and vices and virtues were also the first two albums i ever listened to where i loved every single song on them, and i happened to listen to them for the first time at around the same point in my life (i got into mcr super late. like, 2012 late. rip).

silky; what’s your biggest dream?

it's cheesy but i guess i just want stability and, by extension, happiness. emotional stability, mental stability, financial stability, stable living situation, stable routines, stable relationships... you get the idea. i have ambitions and passions, of course, but my ultimate goal is happiness at this point in my life, and i'm pretty sure stabilizing all those things would go a pretty long way in achieving that goal.

a little apartment with walls i can paint because white walls make me angry. bookshelves and posters and fandom merch on every wall. a computer i can actually play games on again, and somewhere i can paint and draw and record my podcasts. someone who loves me, maybe. a cat, if i'm stable enough. space for people to come visit me, and a place for them to sleep if they need. a tiny balcony, if i really want to shoot for the stars. a job i don't hate. the spoons to hang out with my friends, and the money to not worry about buying little presents for the people i care about sometimes. i don't need much.

strawberry kiss; do you have a crush right now?

nope.

glitter; favorite fictional character?

another loaded question. like books, if you ask me again in five minutes i'll probably give you a different answer. but in this particular moment, caleb and jester from critical role (please don't make me choose between them). i won't go full shipping mode rn, but jester is so funny and silly and sweet, so much more complex than she seems, and she tries so hard to make everyone happy even when she's so sad inside. the healer who treats healing as an inconvenience in battle (she's so fucking valid and also mood), the glue that keeps the party together. and caleb learning to trust again, facing his trauma and coming out of his shell. he loves his friends so much he plays wizard as a support class and i love him so much.

i love the mighty nein in general, of course, and all the guests/honorary members they've had. pumat!! pls don't be evil reani!! keg!! shakäste and grand duchess anastasia!! cali!! kiri!!!! the brotps! empire siblings! chaos crew! nott the best detective agency! i still love molly and all his assholery to bits (fight me), and mourn his lost potential. i adore yasha, even when she's gone; fjord has grown so much; beau and nott and caduceus — i love all their flaws and disagreements and their character arcs and the excitement of watching them grow and learn. but if i had to choose, caleb, jester and molly have always been my top 3 since day 1 and, well, molly isn't really an option anymore.

but like i said, ask me again in a minute. i have a fucking list.

swan; share a quote or passage that means something to you.

a collection of things off the top of my head:

Elinor agreed to it all, for she did not think he deserved the compliment of rational opposition. — Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austen

a tired feminist Mood™️

"What I say is, a town isn't a town without a bookstore. It may call itself a town, but unless it's got a bookstore, it knows it's not foolin' a soul." — American Gods, Neil Gaiman

i got my love of books from my grandma — some of my favorites i got from her. sometimes, as a treat, she used to take my sister and i to bookstores and we'd stay there for ages, getting to pick one out, roaming the shelves, the mental torture of having to choose. the peace of being surrounded by thousands of potential worlds, so much information, so many stories just waiting to be told; being surrounded by strangers who share that same wonder. the anxious drive home so we could read them, being unable to wait that long so i inevitably start reading in the car and make myself sick. telling her in excited detail all my favorite parts. if we were lucky, maybe we got to split a bear claw, or she'd drive past starbucks and get us something there too (tall vanilla soy steamer with one pump of vanilla syrup, whipped cream on top that always melted too quickly and squirted out the hole in the lid, so hot it burned my tongue but so good i didn't care). i have never felt more at home than i do when i'm surrounded by books.

"There are a lot of different types of freedom. We talk about freedom the same way we talk about art, like it was a statement of quality rather than a description. “Art” doesn’t mean good or bad. Art just means art. It can be terrible and still be art. Freedom can be good or bad, too. There can be terrible freedom. You freed me, and I didn’t ask you to." — Alice Isn't Dead, season 1, chapter 2: Alice

as cringey as it is to admit it, this line made me cry a lot after my breakup.

"So you aren't American?" asked Shadow.

"Nobody's American," said Wednesday. "Not originally. That's my point." — American Gods, Neil Gaiman

[side-eyes white america real hard]

there's more, of course. there's always more. don't even get me started on song lyrics, we'll be here all day.

lace; what’s your favorite plant/flower?

lilacs and roses.

mermaid; do you prefer the forest or the ocean? why?

both, i guess. but in different ways, and in different circumstances.

the sea is wild. it is endless and deep and unknowable. it is beautiful and dangerous. i am terrified of the ocean, and yet my favorite place in the world is an empty beach on the oregon coast. i have picked sand from between my toes for days with hair crusted in salt, danced around bonfires and watched the stars while marshmallows burn, gotten pulled under the waves as a child and nearly swept out to sea. picked starfish and crabs from small pools in the rocks, and swum (accidentally) with wild sea lions. in a long skirt, too early in the year to be swimming, i once took off my shoes and waded fully clothed into the water to my waist and just... danced. splashed and kicked and laughed with a boy i barely knew until our throats were sore and our toes were numb, walking home hours later with our soaked clothes clinging to our legs, shoes squelching, dripping algae as we went. the ocean is freeing and overwhelming all at once. i love it and am petrified by it in equal measure.

the forest is beautiful in a different way. it is silent and dense and serene. you are surrounded by life and yet, somehow, completely alone. there is magic in the forest, and history, and even when all else dies, that will remain. the trees grow from the corpses of their ancestors, and some have lived dozens of our lifetimes — with luck, a few dozen more. it is quiet there, peaceful, even the tiniest wood in the middle of a city muffling the outside world through the trees. you can feel the ancient ways deep in your soul as you follow winding paths strewn with fallen leaves, the mystery and wonder and superstitions of your forefathers. you wonder what it would be like, to run your fingers over the moss, to take off your shoes and socks and just run, leaping and dancing over rocks and roots, hair wild and air filling your lungs in deep, pure gulps as you shed the responsibilities and struggles of modern life, for just a moment remembering what freedom tastes like. it is primal, this connection to nature, one we have nearly forgotten over time. and as the sky grows dark and the silence of night presses against you, shadows looming, every footfall deafening, perhaps you begin to understand why some believed in monsters.

honeymoon; do you keep a journal?

i used to. honestly, that's a good idea, i should start doing that again. lord knows i have enough empty journal-type books.

starlight; do you believe in love at first sight and soulmates? why/why not?

i want to. i want to believe there's someone out there for me, the love of my life, someone to whom i'll be the love of their life, and that when i meet them i'll just... know.

but when i met my ex, i didn't really look twice at him for a while — no love at first sight. and when we were together, when i loved him and he swore he loved me back, i thought he hung the stars in the sky and knew i would marry him someday. couldn't even consider the idea that that wouldn't happen. and then when he broke up with me, he ghosted me so suddenly and thoroughly that he even preemptively cut contact with every single one of our mutual friends he thought might side with me in the breakup, before anybody even knew we'd had a fight. so, not soulmates either.

i really want to believe that someday the perfect romance will just fall into place and i can have the happily ever after i've always dreamed of. but the reality is i might never even have another s.o. for the rest of my life. maybe i'll get hit by a car tomorrow, or my hypothetical soulmate moves to argentina to become an alpaca farmer on a mountain somewhere and we never even meet. maybe i'm so traumatized by the betrayal and lies that i'll never have the courage to even try again.

and even so, happily ever after doesn't have to include a fairytale romance, regardless of whether i want it or not. i still like to cling to that hope though, deep down.

princess; what do you value most in people?

i'm going to assume you mean "real people" as in people i have positive relationships with, and not random strangers on the street.

loyalty. kindness. support. humor. similar values. patience. being able to grow together and teach each other things, so we can make each other better. honesty. trust. compassion. confidence. emotional vulnerability. communication. intelligence, or at least a willingness to learn. strength.

#nobody asked me to go this hard and yet here we are #my favorite pasttimes: talking about myself and being pretentious on main #Lady answers stuff #anon good nurse #Lady of Purple's slice of life #ask meme

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dusk-realm · 5 years

Text

Chrysanthemum [Part 8: Arrive with a bang]

Tagging: @featurelengthfics @thedungeonsbat @severussnapesupporter @southsiderepresent

The previous chapters: Masterlist

The landscape moved fast at the other side of the window. It was a large scenery, of soft hills, where the grass grew wild and of a wilted yellowish green under the intense late summer sun.

The rays of the sun illuminated the whole compartment and warmed up (Y/N)’s body. She was already wearing her school uniform, and its dark colour helped the matter. The silver embroidery of the Slytherin’s emblem shined slightly on her chest, which she observed.

She had been thrilled with the idea of coming back, the shopping, seeing the teachers (her saviors), prove herself worthy of being in Slytherin, finally learn new things and do magic. But she couldn’t quite shake off this feeling of uneasiness.

As excited as she was, (Y/N) was also scared of seeing the faces of her classmates, with whom she would be sticking from now on until the end of her career in Hogwarts.

(Y/N) let out a shaky breath and looked at Severus. He was sitting in front of her, with his left leg crossed over the right one and he read a book putting it way too close to his face, as always. He had agreed to accompany her on the Hogwarts Express trip if she helped him organise the classroom and tidy up before the lessons began.

Upon hearing her soft sight, Severus raised his sight above the edge of the book. She was curled up, hugging her own knees and laying against the wall as she stared out of the window.

‘Is there something wrong?’ He asked softly, as if he didn’t want to disturb her. She offered him a little smile before replying:

‘Yeah… It’s just that I’ve felt so… comfortable this summer… I used to think that Hogwarts was the only place I could feel safe at, but I don’t exactly feel the same anymore.’

‘I thought you lived in an orphanage before? What about that place?’

(Y/N)’s smile saddened slightly at that subject, but she answered anyway:

‘I omitted that part of the story, but, when I was 9, I overheard the governess saying that I should go to a foster home. There weren’t many children that turned out good after jumping from one house of those to another, so I got scared and ran away,’ she made a brief pause, letting her words sink in. Severus’ eyes glittered again in that strange manner, but he didn’t say anything, and his expression was half hidden behind the book he held, ‘by that time, I was already aware that I wasn’t a normal girl, so the idea of being assigned to a random family was even more terrifying. That’s why Hogwarts was so important to me. It was like my… shelter.’

Severus set the book aside and opened his mouth to say something, at least until the door of the compartment flung open.

‘(Y/N)!’ The boy exclaimed, and a very oblivious Neville Longbottom stormed into the compartment and hugged his favourite potions partner.

‘Hey, Nevs!’ She greeted, squeezing the chubby lad between her arms.

The professor grunted audibly for being interrupted in the middle of such a delicate conversation. Neville froze at the sound and slowly turned his head towards the source of it. Seeing a very irritated Snape, the young Gryffindor turned pale and sat down at once.

‘I, uh… h-helloprofessorIdidn’tseeyouthere.’ Neville stammered.

(Y/N) tried her best not to burst into laughter seeing how baffled Severus looked, and how Neville was close to shitting himself.

‘So, (Y/N), how was your summer?’ The boy tried his hardest to not keep staring at the scariest professor in Hogwarts. If looks could kill… Well, if that was possible, Snape probably would be able to kill someone with a single glare.

‘It was nice, how was yours?’

‘Eeh... good, as always I suppose.’ The boy answered, not really wanting to mention he spent it with his grandma in front of Snape, although he seemed uninterested on picking on him, he was reading a book.

‘Hey, do you know what? I’ll be joining you in the second course!’ The girl sang cheerfully, bouncing on her seat.

‘Really? I thought you had failed again!’ The professor sneered at the rosy-cheeked boy, who turned more and more red in embarrassment.

‘Yeah, the problem was my wand, it wasn’t obeying me. But I got a new one, and Dumbledore said that I could move on to the next course, so we’ll be together again!’

‘Cool! Listen, do you want to come look for Harry and Ron? I haven’t seen them yet.’

‘Uh…’ (Y/N) glanced at Severus, seeking permission. Since he didn’t bother looking at her, she just assumed that he didn’t mind her absence, so she got up, ‘sure, why not?’ and left.

They walked side by side, peeking at the compartments occupied by the Gryffindors. After searching three whole wagons, Neville spoke timidly:

‘How did you end up in the same compartment as Snape?’

‘Eh… it was just a coincidence.’

‘You could have come with us instead of staying there with him, I was with Seamus and Dean,’ said Neville, ‘do you want to come? There’s enough space.’

‘Eh… not really, you know I don’t have friends in Gryffindor besides you. Plus, Snape isn’t that bad, you know?’

‘Not that bad?’ he echoed, ‘he’s mean, and he only likes his own House.’

‘What?!’ (Y/N)’s pitch raised indignantly, ‘ first of all if you just listened to what he means instead of how he says things you’d realise that he’s not that bad. And you can’t talk to me about favouritism when Gryffindor stole the cup from us last year!’

(Y/N) tried her best to hold back her wrath, but the redness of the tip of her ears was something she could not conceal.

‘But you’ve seen him picking on me, and he always takes crazy amounts of points from us, you just say that because you are in Slytherin!’ The other protested, getting heated up too.

‘Like what, when he deducted one, ONE point from Gryffindor for Potter’s impertinence?’

Neville didn’t reply. He seemed somehow distraught, embarrassed and obfuscated all at the same time.

Severus was the most peaceful man to have around. (Y/N) knew that because she had just spent a whole summer enjoying the tranquility of his home. Fine, he was difficult to decipher and sarcastic and sometimes a bit cold, but that was just a matter of understanding him. It wasn’t that hard to get. On the other hand, though, Neville was her best and only friend in school, she didn’t want to argue with him.

The two friends parted ways without saying goodbye, her going back to her shared compartment with Snape, and him back to the safe company of his Gryffindor fellows.

‘Found ’em?’ asked Severus in a bored tone without looking away from his book.

‘No, not really…’

‘Pity.’ He sarcastically remarked, which made (Y/N) smile softly before plopping herself by his side. Severus remained unbothered.

‘Can I read too?’

And Severus opened the book a bit more and moved it a tad more to the centre, comfortably sharing his space with her.

‘Can I just… skip the ceremony and go straight to the classroom? I’m quite sure there’s plenty of jars to deal with after the summer.’

‘If you think that my protection includes acting at free will, you are mistaken, missy.’ He warned. ‘You must attend the ceremony and the banquet along with the rest of the students.’

‘Alright… Alright. You know I'm not taking anything for granted, don't you? I'm aware that special arrangements were made for me, but I know that I still have to follow the rules, and that I must study as hard as the others.’

‘How sensible.’ The professor commented, pinching her cheek softly.

‘And of course, that includes you too,’ Severus raised an expectant eyebrow, ‘because I'll call you Professor no matter what.’

‘I thought you’d-’

‘Yeah, but school is school and I'm… I'm still a part of your job whether I like it or not and-’ Severus interrupted such a heartfelt speech through a distasteful pull at her cheek.

‘Don't interrupt me. You should call me Professor or Sir only in public. Privately, you can call me Severus, as always. Just don't tell anyone you spent the holidays with me. Did you tell Longbottom?’

‘No, I didn't. I figured out that it would be problematic if it started spreading. I wouldn't want the whole school to think that I'm the teacher's pet.’

‘I see you have things clear,’ he said softly, soothing her cheek with his thumb and resumed his reading after saying:

‘That's a good thing.’

The sorting ceremony seemed to not have an end, and the ceremony was overall unbearable. Professor Dumbledore announced that the new Defense Against The Dark Arts this year was Gilderoy Lockhart, the celebrated writer that was welcomed with an ovation of feminine voices.

Regardless, (Y/N)’s wasn't among those voices. She was sitting next to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of girls, and they were currently having some sort of cold war bragging about how wonderful their summer vacations were in front of the other purebloods, although she was extra loud whenever that Malfoy kid looked in their direction.

That pug-faced girl’s voice was so shrilling (Y/N) thought her ears would implode.

Snape had left dinner early, but of course, (Y/N) didn't have a chance to ask him the reason for so much hurry in the crowded hall.

Not long after, he returned wearing a devilish grin, but only to fetch Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore, who followed behind the other two with a grave expression. To (Y/N)’s surprise, the potions master tapped discreetly at her shoulder and motioned her to follow, which she did after a few minutes of pretending to eat her dinner., just so it didn’t look as if she had managed to mess up as soon as she set foot on Hogwarts grounds.

Obviously, the first place she searched for her professor was the classroom, then his office. Dumbledore was standing in front of the door, deep in thought.

‘Professor?’ (Y/N) asked softly, causing the other to turn around. His robes billowed around him gracefully.

‘Ah, (Y/N), how are you?’ He asked politely.

‘Eh, good… is everything alright? I thought Professor Snape wanted me to-’

“Why didn’t you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have an owl?” McGonagall’s cold voice was audible through the door, and she sounded really, really angry. (Y/N) covered her mouth with her fingers.

‘Professor, I don’t think I should-’

‘Yes, (Y/N); I bet you know Mr. Potter?’

‘Uh… well, not personally but I know who he is.’

“I — I didn’t think —”

“That,” said Professor McGonagall, “is obvious.”

‘Excuse me for a second,’ Dumbledore said before knocking at the door. (Y/N) caught a glimpse of a radiant looking Severus and two heads sitting, one with black hair and a ginger one.

Were those Weasley and Potter? What had they gotten themselves into?

The Slytherin couldn’t hear anything clearly, just the muffled voices of the boys and then Dumbledore’s again, but she couldn’t really make out the conversation until Severus spoke.

“Professor Dumbledore, these boys have flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree — surely acts of this nature —”

(Y/N) gasped. How could these two mess up so much before starting the term?! Are they dumb? This goes much further than breaking the rules of the school, it was the law. They were dealing with the Ministry of Magic.

The director and Severus finally came out of the office, leaving McGonagall behind.

‘Did you have time to have supper?’ Asked the latter in a caring, contempted tone.

‘Yes, I’m alright. Is there anything you need from me, Professor?’ She asked politely, just as she had promised in the train. She could swear that she saw a flash of a prideful smile on his lips.

‘I need you to stay in my office and watch over Potter and Weasley. You can read or tidy up in the meantime, just don’t break anything and don’t touch anything inside the jars.’

‘Understood. Anything else?’

‘No, I’ll come back later, don’t move from here.’ Said he softly, giving a light squeeze to her shoulders. Professor McGonagall finally left the office.

‘(Y/N), it’s been a while. Did you receive my owl, dear?’ she asked, also putting a hand on her back. (Y/N) felt warm having them around. ‘It came back without a note.’ The woman clarified.

‘Ah, y-yes, I received it, I must have tied the note too loosely.’

All lies. The truth was that (Y/N) had been scared of irritating Severus again, and by the time she had come around writing a note expressing her gratitude, Severus had already sent off the owl, and none of them brought up the subject again.

‘But I really liked your gift, Professor. I was very happy to get mail.’ She confessed gleefully. Her smile was so genuine that even her eyes lit up in the darkness of the dungeons.

‘I’m glad to hear so. Now we must return to the feast’ McGonagall declared, and the three professors disappeared upstairs with a rather content Dumbledore rambling about custard tart.

“Can you believe our luck, though?” said Ron thickly through a mouthful of chicken and ham. “Fred and George must’ve flown that car five or six times and no Muggle ever saw them.” He swallowed and took another huge bite. “Why couldn’t we get through the barrier?”

The door creaked open without a warning knock. Ron and Harry froze and nearly choked on their sandwiches, expecting Snape’s huge nose to peek through the crack of the door to give them another scolding. For their relief, it was just (Y/L/N), that Slytherin girl Neville wouldn’t stop daydreaming about after every Potions class.

‘Uh… sorry. Professor Snape sent me here.’ She said in a voice almost as soft as the one who sent her.

‘What did you do?’ The ginger asked through a stuffed mouth.

‘Uhm… nothing, he sent me to watch over you two and tidy up in the meantime.’

‘Great- (Y/N), right?’ Continued the ginger. The girl simply nodded and let him go on. ‘We’re Neville’s friends, he’s all the time talking about you.’

Harry kicked Ron’s shin under the table for being a loudmouth.

‘I’m Ron, Ron Weasley, and this is Harry. THE Harry Potter.’ Ron offered a filthy hand to (Y/N), which she didn’t shake.

‘Nice to meet you,’ she answered rather coldly,refusing to acknowledge the living legend. ‘I know your brothers.’

‘Fred and George?’ Ronald earned a disapproving look from Harry for the way he had introduced him, but he was too absorbed to realise. ‘I also have a little sister, McGonagall says she was just sorted into Gryffindor.’

‘How lucky,’ replied she with not too subtle irony. Harry couldn’t really get why she spoke like Snape, was it a Slytherin thing? ‘anyway, I better get to work, you guys just try not to spill anything on the desk, or we three are dead.’

Ron, bewildered, watched her move around the stocks, he tried to wrap his mind around Snape, old bitter Snape letting a student mess with his collection of slimy stuff. Those jars were not something he’d be able to touch himself.

Harry shrugged. “We’ll have to watch our step from now on, though,” he said, taking a grateful swig of pumpkin juice. “Wish we could’ve gone up to the feast. . . .”

“She didn’t want us showing off,” said Ron sagely. “Doesn’t want people to think it’s clever, arriving by flying car.”

When they had eaten as many sandwiches as they could (the plate kept refilling itself), they rose and left the office, treading the familiar path to Gryffindor Tower.

(Y/N) was left in the empty office with quite a few jars of… things in bad state and an empty tray on Severus’ desk. She thought of taking it to the Great Hall and leave it there for the house elves to get rid of it, but Snape told her not to move until he came…

However, her protector arrived in the office only a few minutes later with a heavy sigh.

‘Ah, Severus. I think these,’ she motioned towards the jars on the desk, ‘are expired, you should check them just in case and-’

(Y/N) couldn’t reach the end of her sentence; Severus shoved her against his chest in a tight hug and rested his nose on her hair. The young Slytherin didn’t know what was going on, but she hugged him back, wrapping her arms around his waist. Severus was so thin…

‘What’s wrong?’ She asked after a while. (Y/N) didn’t pull away, Severus was never this affectionate, so she thought something must have happened.

‘I’m aging fast. These kids…’ He murmured against her hair. Did his voice come out raspy?

‘Oh, don’t worry, they’re McGonagall’s responsibility,’ she murmured in a gentle tone. ‘Just think that no Slytherin was involved into this, I think we’re a tad more disciplined.’

Severus chuckled lightly, if she knew… But this wasn’t the moment to tell her. He searched the room, hoping to find a distraction. His black eyes landed on the multiple objects laid out on his desk.

‘Tell me, do you know any vanishing spells?’ He asked, pulling away only enough to look at her.

‘Uhm… no? I think those are way more advanced.’

‘Come, I’ll show you.’

#hp #potterhead #severus snape #snape community #pro-snape #snapedom #fanfic #fanfiction #harry potter #pro snape #severus snape x reader #xreader #reader insert #severus x reader #hogwarts #slytherin #snape x reader #chrysanthemum

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throwaway-sinfulwriter · 5 years

Text

The Same - Chapter 5 - Martin (1/2)

From 9:00 AM to 5:00 PM patients were allowed to have phone time.

Martin didn't use this privilege before, as he had stopped trying to call Malcolm after his transfer from the prison.

But now.. now he could talk to his son! Whenever he wanted. From 9 to 5, of course. A bit of sweet talk, nentioning his son worked with the NYPD, and a compliment had Martin everything he could want.

Because he was such a "high risk patient", they brought the phone to him.

He didn't even have to move! Martin could read and write while being on the phone all he wanted. From the comfort of his own cell.

He had planned on calling Malcolm that morning, to speak and cherish his boy's voice.

However, his thoughts became much more interesting, much less perverted when the morning paper was delivered.

Dr. Whitly glances up from the paper, at the guard sitting in the corner. David, his nametag said. He smiles, pointing with his free hand to the television poised above the phone.

"Do you mind turning it to the news, David? I do believe my daughter is on at the moment."

Martin sits back as his guard does as asked, raising his eyebrows as his daughter was indeed reporting. A quadruple homicide, huh. How intriguing.

Malcolm was probably already on the case.

Just a bit longer until he could call Malcolm, ask him about this quadruple murder. How exciting, killing four people at once.

It had always been much too risky for Martin himself, but he silently applauded the person who pulled off such an act.

Of course, when he talked to his son, he would act indifferent. Horrified, even. Martin smirks, setting the paper to the side.

Picking up the Peter Pan book and running his fingers over the cover idly as he watched Ainsley speak with another person on the news channel.

"Ring my son, please, David." The doctor requests, smiling politely as the guard dials for him.

"Hello?" His son answered quickly. He must already be doing work for the case.

"Malcolm, my boy, it's dad!" The book rested on top of his crossed legs, his finger intertwined with each other and moving as he spoke. A grin on his face.

"What? How the hell do you have a phone?" His son sounded baffled at the concept, and it was hard not to beam like the cat who caught the canary. He was so very proud of his manipulations of the staff here.

Really, it was almost too easy.

"Oh, I don't, I have "phone time." A critical distinction. My calls had been exclusively reserved for my medical consultations, but I was able to pull a few strings to help the NYPD and their newest profiler.." He teased lightly, like it was a private joke. Both proud and resentful of his son's occupation.

Martin placed his feet on the floor and moved the rolling chair side to side without disturbing the base.

"Sooo, I heard about this quadruple homicide." He crooned, sounding entirely too smug and comfortable.. Martin whistles, tapping the side of his left leg as he spoke.

"That's quite a story." He says conversationally, trying to get more information on the case. Figure out where he was, what he was doing.

A silence follows, and then his son asked him very meek voice, "How do you even know I'm here?"

To the outside eye, Martin would look very surprised at this question. But the devil inside of him was roaring with triumph, proud at successfully manipulating his son into telling him his whereabouts.

"Oh- my, you're actually on the scene?!" He rocked forward, sitting up higher in his chair. Pointing to the television. "Oh, that's great! Go, go stand behind your sister- go on, I bet I'll be able to spot you." Martin grins at the concept, wishing he could see Malcolm.

Yes, he had his picture. But it wasn't the same as seeing him move, seeing his eyes dart around and his brilliant mind work.

"No." His son shuts him down, sounding dark and irritated now.

Perhaps he got too excited.

"No, oh, you're busy. Of course. I get it." He sat back, hands folding neatly in his lap. Getting quieter.

Closing his eyes for a brief moment.

"So, tell me about the bodies." Martin says, trying to sound casual. But sounding all too excited. It had been so long since he saw a corpse, a crime scene. He so craved the art of it.

"Every killer leaves their.. own unique signature." His face scrunched for a moment, a tick he had developed. Martin dearly missed placing his signature. It was always his favorite part of the murder process.

"Now, I want to hear all the details." He inhales sharply, his hands coming up to fold at his stomach. Scrunching his eyes shut and unfolding them, holding them up.

"I want to really," Martin sniffles, mind coming up with thousands of possibilities, each one messier than the last. "Be able to see it in my head."

"I don't need your help." His son said slowly, enunciating each syllable. Martin couldn't help but inwardly preen. Oh, Malcolm. How wrong he was..

His eyes opened, smile turning into a slight frown. "Oh, don't be a killjoy. I have so much to offer." Martin changes his relaxed stance, sitting forward. As if to get closer to the phone, let his words sink in deeper.

Like knives, corrupting Malcolm's thoughts.

"We're both obsessed with murder; like father like son."

He expects a response, but all he gets is a dial tone.

His smile falls immediately.

"Call back, David." He orders, voice cold as he brings his fingers up to his chin. Resting them there. Glaring at the phone.

The calls go on all day. From 9 to 5, without any breaks. David is becoming irritated with him, but Martin doesn't care. He wants to speak to his son.

"Hello, Malcolm, it's dad-"

"Hey, kiddo, it's your father again-"

"Hello, Malcolm, it's your dad. I heard more about the case. Ooh. Gruesome stuff. Anyways, if you want to bounce around some ideas, give me a call."

"Dad here. I have thoughts on the case."

"I respect that you're conflicted about picking up, but as Oscar Wilde said, "The only way to fight temptation is to yield to it."

"Remember Bradford Bishop? Killed five members of his family in '76 and was never caught? I've always wondered.."

"Dad again. It's almost 4:30."

"Hey, kiddo, it's your father. Sun's beginning to set."

"Dad here. I really would like to speak with you."

His irritation grows and grows, slowly building up after every failed call.

"Sir, I really think-" David tries to tell him, and Martin turns his withering gaze onto the guard.

"I do not care what you think, David. This is between my son and I. No one else. Call again. Now."

He tightens his fist, knuckles cracking and David calls and the voicemail ("Bright here.") rings once more.

"I really would like to speak with you. You sounded tired on the phone. You know, maybe I can help with that."

"I don't know. Help with anything. I JUST WANT TO HELP, DAMN IT!" Martin started off sounding calm, but he quickly descended into screaming, standing up and going towards the phone, his tether pulling him back at the last moment.

It's like a switch flipped, completely normal one moment and homicidal the next. The sign of a true psychopath.

David stood up, much taller than him. Glaring down at him. Martin falters, stepping back.

"Well, Malcolm, phone time is ending for the day. A total bust. Thanks for that." Martin sighs, squeezing the top of his nose, feeling a killer headache coming along.

"Well, hopefully we can speak tomorrow. Goodbye, my boy." The phone clicks off. Martin is left feeling jarringly empty. And angry. So, so very angry.

The doctor doesn't sleep well that night, worry and anger eating away at him. Why didn't Malcolm answer his calls? Sure, he had asked about the bodies, but his son knew him well enough to know his obsession with corpses.

So it couldn't be that.. What could it be?

Martin doesn't get an answer until the next day.

He rises with heavy bags under his eyes, feeling fatigued and having even less answers than before. No one could make him so exhilarated and bothered at the same time.

Malcolm was the only one.

After his outburst yesterday, the doctors are refusing to let him see Malcolm without handcuffs around his wrists. It's quite an unnecessary precaution.

He would never hurt his boy.

Well, with his hands, anyway..

As custom, Martin puts his back to the door as his son enters. Turning and smiling at his exhausted, pretty face.

"Malcolm! You got my messages. Come, let's solve a murder." He says eagerly, only to have his son hold up a hand, stopping him.

"There's only one thing I want from you, and that's the truth. Tell me what you did to me." Martin sighs, bringing his rolling chair over and sitting down in it.

"All right, take a seat. Ask me anything." His son complied, and while Martin was incredibly on edge, he felt calmed by his son following his orders.

"I've been remembering things about my childhood."

"Good things?"

"The girl in the box." Alarm ran through Martin, though he displayed an outward expression of indifference. Had he remembered?

"After I found her, did you drug me so I wouldn't call the police?"

The doctor deflected, twisting his expression into one of concern to hide his alarm. "Malcolm, when was the last time you slept through the night?"

"You used chloroform, didn't you? On a ten year old."

Martin swallowed heavily, scratching at his arm nervously.

They make it look so easy in the movies, but it's tricky stuff, you know? The wrong dose can easily kill you," Malcolm opened his mouth with a defiant expression, but his father continued on. "Which is a long way of saying, "No, of course I didn't drug you."

"The girl that I saw-" His son began, and Martin once again shut him down.

"Wasn't real." He says firmly, unwilling to change his stance.

"I may have done some.. bad things, but I never did that."

A silence followed. Malcolm was glaring at him with a resentful expression. It made his stomach turn. He never wanted his son to look at him like that.

Malcolm would understand, once Martin was able to break him down and make him see things from his point of view. The doctor had no choice, he couldn't simply allow Malcolm to go crawling to the police so soon.

For now, he would deny the accusation until he was blue in the face, if he had to.

"Well, don't take my word for it." Martin continued on. "Ask the police, ask your mom. We all agreed there was no girl in the box."

Malcolm stood, stalking to the door. Martin could barely restrain himself from standing and going after him.

"They're wrong and you're lying. Goodbye, Dr. Whitly."

Martin reached out to him. "Wait! Your case." His son turned back to him, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

"You're, uh, after a family annihalator?"

"What?" Malcolm asked him coldly, almost not willing to follow his father's train of thought.

"Your suspect, this, uh, Liam character on the cover of The Daily News.." Martin grabbed a folder off of his desk, holding it up. "Isn't this your profile?"

"My profile is constantly evolving." His son said snarkily, and Martin couldn't help but smile fondly.

"And your method is a mix of psychology and on-the-fly improvisation. I love it." The doctor looked down at the folder for a second, looking up at his son through his eyelashes.

He prides himself in the deep flush that blooms on Malcolm's face.

"Oh, I've always been fascinated by familicide. To.. love one's family that much." Malcolm flinches, barely noticeable to the outside eye. But his father knows all of his little signs.

Signs of attraction, that is. And signs of deep rooted shame.

"Perverted? Yes." Incredibly perverted, the two of them. Playing this little game of cat and mouse. Martin pushing his son until he broke.

"Narcissistic? Sure." Malcolm had developed narcissistic tendencies at a young age, a by-product of his father's methods of caring for him.

Yes, Martin had been delighted when his son first showed signs of being a sociopath. It wasn't quite what he had planned, but it would do.

Afterall, there was only a single type of person who could understand, sympathize with psychopaths. Sociopaths themselves.

His plan, even after being put on hold for a decade, was still running smoothly. Malcolm was still exhibiting emotional responses; guilt, remorse, and sadness.

It would only be a few more years until Martin fully purged those needless emotions from his dear boy. Death was something beautiful, it wasn't something to feel guilt over.

"But it's most certainly love." He tells Malcolm, his tongue poking out to lick his lips.

He doesn't get quite the full reaction he was hoping from his son, only a small flush and a shifting of his feet. Averting his gaze.

"Love? What are you talking about? You didn't kill us."

"Well, I'm not an annihalator. Love didn't drive me to kill anyone. No, it drove me to have you." That was a blatant lie. Malcolm's conception wasn't formed out of love.

It was formed out of lust, and the anger at being trapped with the woman he married. Of course, he wouldn't tell Malcolm this. Yet.

The boy finding out his parents marriage was little more than an act on his father's part would only damage his psych more than it already was.

His son looked disturbed. "I'm leaving." He turns to the door again, and once more falters in his steps. "And you're wrong. It's not always about who they love. It's about who loves them."

Standing in front of him, Malcolm's (Now grown) little boy looked so beaten, so broken down. His eyes staring into his father's soul.

Martin wanted to heal him. Wrap him in his arms and tell him how much he loved him. That he could never not love him.

While he thought this, Malcolm seemed to have a breakthrough. "This annihilator was consumed by his hatred for Aristos, but but Aristos didn't love them back..."

"What's that now?" Martin asks, eyebrows furrowing together as his son went on.

"Liam didn't care enough about his family to kill them. He wanted out. He-he even changed his name! Our killer wanted in." His face lights up, and even though he was doing police work at the moment, Martin was just as excited as him.

Invigorated at the passion in Malcolm's expression.

"Oh, that's good." He says, standing nodding as his boy went on, figuring out the case.

"That's why he made Aristos watch the others die! He was punishing him, taking the one thing that Aristos never gave him, a family."

Malcolm was practically bouncing in place, and Martin wanted to grab him by the shoulders and kiss the living daylights out of him.

"Oh, my goodness, are we solving the crime right now?" The doctor asks, unbelievably excited at the process he got to watch just barely 5 feet away from him.

#prxdigal sxn #malcolm bright #malcolm whitly #martin whitly #malcolm/martin #my fic #my writing #the same #i apologize to this fandom

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virmillion · 5 years

Text

Ibytm - T minus 23 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 2,553

With only two days left to go before the new office is finally open and he can at last return to work, Logan is bored out of his mind. He tilts his head up from his position on the floor with his feet up on the wall and looks at Virgil, who shrugs.

“Just because I know art history doesn’t mean I know anything about whatever modern scene you’re trying to peddle. How should I know what you want to do for fun?”

“We’ve got a functional car now, right? We might as well use it.”

“To do what? The only places we go outside of work are, like, the park. And Patton’s house, I guess, but I don’t know why you’d use your car to go hassle him.”

“We could just get in the car and drive, see where we end up?”

“As if there isn’t literally an endless list of places we could go or random directions we could take.”

“Not like we have any better options. Not like you’re suggesting any, for that matter.”

“You have absolutely got me there, my dude.”

Logan takes this as the most solid of agreements he could hope for and pushes his foot off the wall, doing half of a backwards somersault to get to his knees. Virgil, in a much less graceful manner (despite whatever dance experience Logan is convinced he’s hiding from him), tumbles off the couch and lands in a heap on the floor. He luckily seems to find his footing by the time Logan pockets the keys and insurance papers, doing a spectacular job of not tripping on his way down the stairs.

Logan clicks the lock button on the fob, reassuring himself it still works despite having just gotten it, y’know, yesterday. As he presses the unlock button on the handle, Virgil yanks on the passenger door at exactly the right moment to re-lock his door. Logan sighs and presses it again before sliding into his seat.

For a used lease, it isn’t in the worst possible shape. A few tears in the leather of the seat, some bleach stains, some scuff marks, but certainly good enough that it won’t crap out on them in the middle of a busy highway. At the very least, Kathy’s deal regarding further interests in a motorcycle was more than fair. Logan is pretty sure this car will survive the next couple years in one piece, anyway, so it’s hardly worth worrying about.

Virgil does not agree with this sentiment.

“What if that spot didn’t show up in the trust papers and they charge you for it when you turn it in?”

“Then we’ll be out thirty bucks and the next lessee will enjoy a cleaner car.”

“What if you lock the keys in the car and your phone dies and your late for work?”

“Then I politely ask the nearest shop if I could borrow their phone for roadside assistance.”

“What if you forget the number?”

“Google.”

“What if—”

“Virgil.”

“What?”

Logan sweeps a hand around to indicate the parking lot, from which they still haven’t moved an inch. “If any of that happens, we will deal with it when it comes.” He holds up his phone and swipes away the dormant background apps. “Full battery.” He scratches at a stain on the console with his fingernail, picking it off with ease. “We can always clean it ourselves.” He takes Virgil’s hand in his own, feeling the bands between them. “And if nothing else, we’ve got each other.”

Virgil nods, clearly still unconvinced, but reaches for the aux cord and plugs in his phone. “Dibs on music hijackery.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how dibs work,” Logan says, but he doesn’t protest when Alec Benjamin’s voice pours from the speakers. As they approach a traffic light, Logan assigns each direction a number—left one, right two, straight three. “Pick a number, one through nine.”

“Seven.” Logan clicks on his indicator and pulls into the left turn lane. Once the next light pops up—two directions with a one way street cutting through the middle—Logan reassigns the numbers, one through ten, with going straight being designated as odd numbers.

“Pick a number, one through ten.”

“Four.”

Logan turns, quirking one eyebrow as Virgil rapid-fire skips through a solid fifteen songs in a row, only allowed a discordant opening beat to play each time.

“One through three,” Virgil grumbles.

“Now that’s no fun,” Logan chides lightly. “Where’s the variety, the panache? And three. One through ten.”

“Eight.” Logan sees the word on his lips more than he hears it, turning right as some song about tongues by a horizon band starts blaring from the speakers. The short stints of number selections continue for a good twenty minutes or so, with only the vaguest occasional commentary from Logan, before Virgil speaks up again.

“I’m getting close to the end of my repertoire.” Mind you, he’s played a maximum of seven songs to completion by this point.

“You’ve hardly played anything yet. How many songs do you have?”

“Five hundred forty-two.”

“And you only wanted to listen to seven.”

“Correct.”

“So why not delete the other five thirty-five?”

“’Cause I’m not in the mood to listen to them now , but I might be later.”

“Fair enough. One through nine.”

“Five.”

Logan drives straight, eyeing the strip mall fast approaching on the right. “How about we go to Ikea?”

“Why would we go to Ikea?”

“Could be fun, wandering around and getting lost in the aisles and all that manner of doing. Plus, hey, we could always get some furniture.”

“Right, because the apartment isn’t crowded enough already. Surely more things will fit in the same space.” Logan considers this and shrugs, but nevertheless he flicks on his right turn indicator and pulls into the parking lot. And a spot not too far from the doors. Nice.

Virgil smacks the back of his hand into Logan’s chest when he moves to cut the engine. “Wait, there’s only twenty-five seconds left in this song.” So they sit and they wait for the song to play itself out, Virgil bouncing along and Logan watching how the longer pieces of his dyed hair claw past his undercut to the nape of his neck. “Okay, now we can go.” Virgil climbs out of the car first, already bounding for the entrance by the time Logan locks the doors behind them.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” Logan remarks, scrubbing at a smudge on his glasses with his shirt. He squints at Virgil’s blurry silhouette, which is nearly to the undefined entrance already. “Since when did furniture shopping excite you?”

“Since I remembered that Ikea has, like, the best cinnamon rolls.”

“I never agreed to making any purchases today.”

“You never agreed to making any furniture purchases today. You never said cinnamon rolls were off the table, so hurry up.”

This is how Logan finds himself sandwiched between a family of five in front of him and an elderly lady behind him. Virgil, the little snot, lingers at the edge of the line, nowhere near as cramped as Logan. More than a little squished as he does so, Logan leans over to Virgil and mumbles, “I am not getting you the six pack.”

Virgil hardly seems to hear him, pawing through his wallet (Logan’s wallet, that is) for some bills on the west side of crumpled. “Yeah, sure, cool deal my dude.”

Singular cinnamon roll in hand, Virgil follows Logan from the counter some ten minutes later, the latter being extra careful not to touch the parts of his husband’s hand that are drenched in sugar.

“Skhur khoo gon’t wah skhung?” Virgil asks—well, that’s what it sounds like he asks, but Logan likes to think himself pretty darn decent at reading context clues. That is, the context clues of Virgil’s full mouth and the way he’s prodding the roll in Logan’s direction.

“I’m good,” Logan says, holding up his hands as if to calm a rabid child. Virgil shrugs and tears off another piece, smearing icing across his chin in the process, and Logan wonders whether he should feel enamoured or disgusted. Maybe a little bit of both.

By the time they reach what Virgil referred to as ‘guh koch uk guh gnazje’—’the top of the maze,’ as Logan managed to parcel out—the roll is completely gone and Virgil is licking his fingers clean, pulling them from his lips with a pop .

“You are incorrigible,” Logan informs Virgil, watching him wipe his fingers off on the hem of his shirt.

“Not like anyone else’ll notice.” Virgil zips up his jacket and holds his arms out to the sides, as if to say tada to a nonexistent audience. “See? Good as gone.”

“I suppose.” Logan glances at the arrows underfoot, tracing their path up to a map standee. “Let’s try to figure out where we want to go before we get completely lost.”

“Aw, that’s no fun,” Virgil grumbles. He pokes at an area on the map. “If we’re gonna do it the cheater’s way, I want to hit up the office and study displays.”

Logan nods, dragging a finger along the picture and tapping the you are here dot. “Okay, that shouldn’t be too impossible. We just need to go through bedding here, past the living room section there, and we can bypass the kitchen part with this shortcut here.”

“Works for me,” Virgil says, already a good fifteen feet away. Logan exhales and moves quickly to catch up, following Virgil down the winding path and wondering how long it’ll take them to get completely lost.

“Hey, wait, hold up,” Virgil says suddenly, stopping sharply enough that Logan has to feint right to avoid smacking his face between Virgil’s shoulder blades.

“What is it?” Virgil tilts his head toward a display room in the bedding section, with several blankets and a surplus of pillows and some glow in the dark stars on the wall and a bedside table and—“Why did you stop me for this?”

“’Cause that could be us.” Virgil’s voice takes on a strange quality, sort of airy and wistful, a combination that completely baffles Logan.

“I don’t think I quite follow you.”

“See how normal it is? It’s literally just a bed with some decorations but, like, that’s how some people’s homes actually are. That’s the kind of thing that we could make our normal.”

“I don’t think I quite understand what you’re trying to get across here.”

Virgil gives an exasperated sigh, glances about them, and launches himself at the bed. Logan freezes, his hands caught somewhere between wringing themselves out and trying to stop him. Posing atop the bed, Virgil peeks out at Logan from between his elbows and squints his eyes so they almost look sleepy—more squinty than sleepy, but Logan gets the point well enough.

“This is an actual, genuine, legitimate thing that we could have, and it could just—just be. ”

“I don’t think—”

“Then stop thinking.” Virgil props himself up on his elbows and stares at Logan, more than long enough to make him uncomfortable. (This admittedly doesn’t take very long, but still.) “There’s no, like, grand point I’m trying to make here. I’m just saying that this display is something that some people actually have, and it’s manufactured, yeah, it’s whatever, but it’s still something that exists, and something we could have, something that—it could—I don’t know, I think I lost my point somewhere in there. I can’t really put it into words, but d’you know what I mean? Don’t answer that.” His face taking on a stunning shade of crimson, Virgil slides off the bed and speedwalks to the next department.

“Well, hey, hang on,” Logan calls, jogging to catch up. When he does (by no small amount of effort), he has to hold Virgil’s shoulder in place to keep him from getting away again. “Just because I don’t get it doesn’t mean it’s invalid.”

“Doesn’t mean it is valid, either.” Virgil is staring intently at the ground, as if it might get up and run away when he’s not looking.

“Okay, so then let me try.”

“Try what?”

Rather than answer, Logan steps off the arrow-lined path and stands beside an elbow couch covered in decorative pillows. “This could be us, too, right? A normal, everyday thing that doesn’t mean much to anyone else, but it could be a sort of symbol of the life we choose to forge together? Was that what you meant about the bedding display?”

“Kind of, but not really, but you tried your best.” Virgil stifles a laugh as Logan perches on the arm of the couch and rests his chin on his fist. “What are you doing, dork?”

“I’m thinking…” Logan mumbles, drawing out the second syllable. “I’m thinking… I’m thinking…”

“You are so weird.” Virgil shifts his weight between his feet for a moment, then bolts down the path, easily escaping Logan’s sight as the latter scrambles to get off the couch arm without tripping over himself. Logan weaves between the scattered clumps of people doing, you know, real serious shopping, doing his best not to full out sprint in his efforts to catch up with Virgil’s silhouette as it disappears around the next corner every time he gets it back in his sights.

“Stop doing that!” Logan groans once he finally reaches Virgil, who appears entranced by the fancier displays of kitchenware. “We were supposed to take a shortcut back there.”

“Yeah, but maybe I wanted to look at utensils and stuff.” Virgil spins around and holds up a wooden block shaped like a porcupine, its spines consisting of all manner of forks and spoons and knives. “Look at this one! Her name is Polly.”

Logan cranes his neck to look for a tag declaring as much, electing not to suggest that a better name might be ‘Caesar.’ “Where does it say that?”

“In my heart.” Virgil places the porcupine back on the shelf and continues down the aisle, now checking out a nesting set of measuring cups.

“We don’t need kitchenware stuff, you know.” Logan is confident that his words are falling on dear ears, but he continues his lecture anyway. “We rarely cook anything so complex as to require new tools. We don’t even use the ones we already have.”

“What’s your point?” The question seems too halfhearted to be anything more than vague encouragement for Logan to keep talking as Virgil pokes his nose into a standing hutch display. “Hey, look how nice this wood is! Even better than the frames at the museum. D’you think they’d give me a raise if I went in and criticized their choice of woodwork for displaying the art?”

“Probably not, since you don’t have a legal salary in the first place.” Logan picks up a set of cups, lifting them over his head to inspect the undersides by the fluorescent beam lights.

“Fair enough.” With no further warning, Virgil backs up from the hutch and darts down the path into the next section. Logan sighs, not bothering to call out another ‘stop doing that’ before setting down the cups and chasing after him, narrowly dodging two women leaning their heads together to admire a kitchen display.

#labhwrites #mine #i'll bring you the moon #ibytm

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sparda3g · 5 years

Text

Gintama Chapter 699 Review

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After 10,000 years, this series is free. It’s time to conquer Earth! But seriously, it felt like it has been years since we last have a new Gintama chapter. The last one wasn’t truly the final chapter, but only final to be released in Weekly Shounen Jump. Today, Sorachi is on a mission to finish the series for good with a proper sendoff. What way to make a comeback than delivering a chapter that define Gintama perfectly; hysterical parody, emotional driven characters, and action-packed ride with a gut-wrenching cliffhanger.

By the time you see the color spread, you’ll know we’re off with a great start with Silver Ball Z. It’s remarkable how accurate Sorachi captured the visual work of Toriyama. From the character’s angle to design, it’s well deserved achievement to capture the sensation. Kondo didn’t need alteration though; he’s already a gorilla, so only the style has changed. To make the parody even better, the good portion of the beginning is a recap done in Dragon Ball style.

This is one of the best “previously on” segment that I have ever seen. It’s quite brilliant to take advantage of switching from one magazine to another and start off with a recap to remind the fans what happened while have a good laugh. It’s not only the artstyle that has changed, but even the narration reflects the same way how Dragon Ball has done in the past. All it was missing was the soundtrack. It is gold, or silver, however you want to call this moment. I laughed so hard at Katsura designed as Yamucha, and Takasugi designed as Vegeta. Strangely enough, it captured their character too well. Before the chapter truly begins, Katsura strikes Gintoki with Wolf Fang Fist.

The comedy doesn’t focus only on Dragon Ball parody, but also on Sorachi himself. Apparently, because of more time and switch to Jump Giga, Sorachi is now putting effort to his work with great quality of art, even if it does resort to Dragon Ball. Oddly enough, this seems to be low-key true to other Mangaka, but I digress. Hilarious that Katsura buries Yamucha by calling it a loser role. Rest in Peace, Yamucha. The best part is the ending of the parody. I seriously think Sorachi believes all of it.

Now that Gintama is in another magazine, Gintoki has nothing to worry about. No more worries about One Piece overshadowing him and no more worries about the rising suns that are Black Clover, My Hero Academia, and Haikyuu!!! to overshadow him. He can now overrun the world of Jump Giga, starting with Akira Toriyama’s power. So much so, he pulls the exact same ending shot from Dragon Ball. That is pure gold. Could you imagine if the series did end the same way? We’re going to need Gintama Super then. Takasugi brings the scene back to reality with Galick Gun. Oh how I missed this series.

He does have a point though. If there were silver balls, why bother planning this ambush in the first place? There wouldn’t be any need to sacrifice and nothing will be at stake. Well, thank goodness, it doesn’t exist. We can’t ruin the excitement now. Of course, what Sorachi does best is to segue to a more serious matter from a gag. It’s true with silver balls, life would be much easier on them, but Takasugi has no regrets. He’s thankful that they made it this far with their own hands; no tricks, no magic, just pure talent. All thanks to Shouyo. This is the type of writing I missed from this series. From there on, it’s all action-packed with many things to offer.

I assume with all the time Sorachi has with Jump Giga, he has enough energy to add plenty of details and sequences to the action scenes without wasting so much spaces. Unlike Boruto, it uses the panels wisely for tension and suspense. It’s why the action starts with a bang, literally and figuratively. It’s the Disciples against the cult followers. That panel with all three kicking asses while feeling the excitement is great. Thankfully, it’s not all of the story that was being told here.

Although they reached to the Altana Terminal, the ship that crashed is absorbing the altana. That means Shouyo’s body is absorbing it and soon, Tendoshu will gain a new way for their immortality plan. This does raise the tension higher, now that we establish that they’re on a ticking time bomb. They have to rush all the way up there and when you look at the scene, it’s incredibly difficult. It’s baffling how much people truly desired for immortality this badly. That’s where we receive a really heartfelt moment during the heated action.

While the action goes on as it becomes intense, Katsura begins a heartfelt speech that is shared with others that ties in the morale of immortality and cherish the life you’re given. Even if they were to die, he will have no regrets. It’s hard to say if their reunion was joy or sorrow, but it’s certain if one outlives another, it would be impossible to find another person like them. They have ups and downs, trying to kill each other. Despite all of the troubles, their bonds can’t be severed. It’s the bond that’s worth limiting to. Honestly, I can’t do it justice without the mention of its sequences.

The reason why this was so heartfelt isn’t just because we know their friendship is truly one of the kind or how well-written the dialogue is. It’s the action set piece that drives the emotion home with great sincerity. Not only it was entertaining, but you can grasp the words’ meaning at its best, leaving you feeling really good and emotional. It has great effective use of the flashback panels and the focus view to leave a strong impact. Like how Takasugi holds Gintoki’s hand to show the comradery, the unbroken friendship. It’s so damn good to see this series back again.

Gintoki can relate to the followers on one thing: not wanting to die. He can understand their wishes because he too wants to live long and enjoy the sensation with his friends. The others have their own wish to meet Shouyo. They want to vent out their frustration, but they may never know how much of a beating they will give until they feel satisfied. Not even eternity would do. Those panel shots with all of them enjoying are sublime. That’s how you do friendship. Those three are the best. The one major downside is the old friend of mine: darkness and it raised death flags.

Katsura spots a rocket launcher and push everyone back to dodge. Only he takes the damage from the impact, weakened enough to slow them down. They then gets trapped by both sides of their pathway, which seems like the end for them. While I didn’t think of that, I was a bit worried on what’s about to happen with Katsura injured. Anything goes and that’s what happens next. The explosions erupt from the wall, essentially saving the three from their certain doom. That’s where the other best part of the series comes in: the characters.

It was clear that it was too much for the three to handle all of the enemy alone, which is why it’s a great time to bring back all other characters to the fray. I like how Shinseigumi orders them to comply and if they don’t, then more power to them, because they would love to show their power. It’s not just them, it’s every character that has been around for a long time. It’s like witnessing Super Smash Bros. Ultimate: Gintama Edition; everyone is here! All it was missing was that theme song from Be Yorozuya Forever. Book it, anime staff!

What makes the scenario even better is how they are reflecting the long grueling journey after being ruled by Amanto for 20 years. They went through hell many times, but the result is paying off greatly. After the war, it made them stronger than ever. It’s no wonder earlier in the arc, it emphasized the growth of the Samurai. No more they will feel fear from them; it’s time to take Earth back. It’s a message that reads, “It’s been a long journey for your favorite characters, but they learn and grow, and when they show the result, the journey ends.” It’s already building for the closure that we have been waiting for.

You can’t do this justice without the beloved main characters. Just when Otae blocks the attack, which by the way is the same shot from the anime preview back in Jump Festa, the two come to save the day. Most importantly, after for so long, they can finally say, “Welcome to the country of Samurai.” The monthly release schedule really pays off for the quality panels like the one with Shinpachi and Kagura. So great to see them again. I got to remind myself how heroine is treated as well as a main character that doesn’t overshadow the protagonist. Yorozuya’s reunion is so close. I can almost taste it.

Characters aren’t great without amusing interactions. Matsudaira and Kondo are cooperating from sky and ground, like the good old time. Despite their political differences, mainly on the marriage, they are great friends. No matter what timeline they’re in, it will always be the Era of Samurai. Hijikata and Sougo work alongside with Shinpachi and Kagura, while she rubs in that Yorozuya is better than Shinseigumi as Sougo denies that claim. Some things never change, but that’s the way we like them.

There is an interesting development regarding with Utsuro. Tendoshu are in the process of gathering the Altana, but they are on the verge of losing their cult. The head leader however is fine with the way things are going. Shouyo’s body is slowly gaining a new heart. That will leave his disciples carrying a spare that wouldn’t destroy Tendoshu’s plan. Now the question comes in: why would the head leader needs to revive Shouyo completely? That’s where things get twisted.

If you have watched the preview from Jump Festa, there was a very strange scene with Utsuro mixed with Tendoshu’s body. It turns out that was true and not only true, but Utsuro has stolen their will. All this time, the plan isn’t for the sake of immortality, but instead, to revive Utsuro under his will. It makes sense considering that they consumed so much blood that they just so happen to control it like it belongs to them. The blood is like a virus, soon it will overpower you and a new mind will be inserted; case in point, Utsuro’s. In short, he has returned. This begs the question. Will Shouyo return as Utsuro with a new heart? It’s quite freaky to see three Utsuros in one setting.

The elevator scene is like a checkpoint for Gintoki and others to cool down and talk for a moment. Katsura does the talking while the other two stay quiet. It’s due to what Katsura said about their people and friends; everyone has grown stronger. They aren’t weak to ask them for a favor, rather fighting to help them. You can say they grew accustomed to be the one helping, not vice versa. Jumping ahead for a bit, Takasugi asks Gintoki for the heart; influenced by Katsura’s words, but not really all bright. They have enemies waiting for them, essentially, this scene become calm before storm.

Shinpachi and Kagura are assisted by Kyuubei and her clan, preventing reinforcements to barge through. It is the series’ way to have certain character to say their words or blessing, starting with her. She wishes to fool around a little longer with Gintoki and others like the good old days. She would be happy if they ruin her marriage interview. How charming.

In the midst of tensed action scene with Gintoki and others at the elevator lobby, Tsukuyo and others fight off the reinforcements to open path for Yorozuya. She gets shot through her leg. Damn. Luckily, Sacchan and Zenzou are there to back her up. Interesting though fitting for Sacchan to encourage Tsukuyo to not to die, unless she is with her lover. Strange use of context about the crotch spot, but the meaning holds the significant value. She’s not planning to die; she will live to see Gintoki again. Sorachi sure knows how to please the pairing fans; I’ll take it. I like Zenzou’s words for him as well. If he doesn’t return, then say goodbye to Jump issues. That’s funny yet heartwarming.

It’s hard to review the segment with great justice with its transition between Gintoki and his friends. It’s worth mentioning because how the scenes greatly complements the segment about what Gintoki has lost and gain. Takasugi wants the heart because he wants him to enjoy the life he can still take back. While that is seriously nice of him, Gintoki’s response is even nicer. He is fine with the way things are, because he doesn’t need to take it back. He got everything there. That includes Takasugi; when they fought alongside, when they fought against each other. That’s Gintoki’s reason to be there; never to lose anything. God, I’m going to miss this series.

The ending is crazy, especially the cliffhanger. Just when we got a teary sentimental scene, shit hits the fan when the explosion erupted by the lobby door. Damn you, Michael Bay! The heart slips out and Katsura is the only guy that can grab it. I was struck when his hand almost reaches it, only to get stabbed by the staff. Damn, that looks bad. Hitsugi sends him down crashing. I don’t know where they landed, but if they are fine more or less, I sense a new battle.

The intensity doesn’t stop as Gintoki trying to hold on the rope, which is ripping his skin. Cringe. Takasugi has to make an opening for them to land, so he jumps towards the door and breaks it, badass style. Wow, that was close. That elevator breakout scene was so damn good. Another scene from Jump Festa happens with Takasugi holding his hand out for Gintoki to grab onto. A couple of panels are used for heartfelt friendship scene as well as tension. It’s all fine and well, until Takasugi’s hand weakens. Tendoshu stabbed him with a sword. That’s where the chapter ends. Dammit, Gorilla…

I know Takasugi is semi-immortal, but the fact is he’s running out of time. If anything, this lessen the time even further. For all we know, this could be his last extra life, so if he were to die again, that’s it. Not to mention, it’s Tendoshu or Utsuro behind him, so the battle will be tough for him, even if not killed. This chapter has set up a death flag for each disciple, one in which has the highest. That’s Takasugi. Will he die here? I honestly don’t know.

This chapter was long but that’s expected for a month worth of content. With that said this was a hell of a return. There was a hilarious parody that this series is known for. There were tons of great action with plenty of fun moments. Characters were stellar as usual with believable motivations and relationships. The art is very solid, worth taking a time off. The ending was jarring with a cliffhanger that can make a person skip a heartbeat. It’s Gintama. I don’t know how many chapter we have left, but I will savor this as long as I can. The next chapter can’t come any sooner.

#gintama #chapter 699 #review #spoilers

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silverfootstepswrites · 6 years

Text

Butterfly [30]

summary Welcome and thanks

“But why can’t you just get a job in Tokyo?" Shisui questioned. As he spoke, he pulled the long spoon out of the ice cream parfait. He plucked the long, cigar-shaped cookie out of the glass. Chewing on the tip, he stared at Itachi. Itachi sipped his green tea, saying nothing.

“Also. Follow-up question: Why do you hate me?” Shisui went on.

Itachi set his cup down. “Nii-san,” he sighed.

“Oh no. Don’t worry about me. I just love and care for you. I teach how to shave-”

“My father taught me how to shave.”

“How to tie your shoes-”

“My mom did that.”

“How to drive-”

“And almost got us killed.”

Shisui’s eyes narrowed. “So you do hate me,” he accused.

“....Clearly that’s it,” laughed Itachi, shaking his head.

“Why’re you moving?” Shisui asked again. He took a bite of his ice cream.

“It’s like I told my parents. I think the change will be good for me. I’ve never lived outside the city before. It’ll be a learning experience to be on my own for a bit,” answered Itachi.

Shisui raised an eyebrow while he chewed on a slice of strawberry. Itachi handed him a napkin.

“So. That’s the bullshit answer you gave to Ba-san and Ji-san, huh?” remarked Shisui. And then he demanded, “So what’s really up?”

“It’s not bullshit,” insisted Itachi. Shisui’s eyebrow only rose higher.

Itachi let out a sigh. He crossed one leg over the other, avoiding Shisui’s persistent stare. And finally, he opened his mouth again.

“...I just... don’t want to be reminded of everything I can’t see anymore,” Itachi admitted, still avoiding Shisui’s eyes. The only thing that answered was the clink of Shisui’s spoon against his glass.

“Like I can’t walk past anything without remembering how it used to look to me. It’s just...” Itachi trailed off, rubbing his face with both his hands. He put his elbows up on the table.

Shisui set his spoon down. Licked a drop of ice cream off his thumb. Itachi peered at him from between his fingers.

“You really think moving’ll make you feel better?” asked Shisui. He rested his chin on his fist.

“It won’t make me feel worse,” replied Itachi.

Shisui leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms high over his head. And then he let his arms drape over the sides of the chair, sliding low in his seat. Until his chin touched his chest.

“Well. You still suck. And I hate you for leaving me. But.... it makes sense, I guess,” concluded Shisui.

Itachi had found out about the little town of Konoha through his advisor.

“Do you know the name Iwano Deidara?” his advisor queried.

“His senior project was that big statue on the quad. The bird,” Itachi replied. It was a massive piece that was several meters tall. He was a school legend, known as the ceramics department’s genius.

“So, he was working in a small town in the countryside as an art teacher,” his advisor went on. Itachi must have made a face because his advisor sighed. He ran his hand through his red hair going silver at the temples.

“Iwano-san’s father was diagnosed with cancer. So he moved out there to be with him,” the advisor added. Itachi nodded.

“Apparently he was just arrested for setting the school on fire,” the advisor went on. Itachi’s eyes widened. His advisor flapped a hand at him.

“It was small. No one got hurt. I’m not surprised, frankly. He was always a little too... avant garde in my opinion.”

“I see,” was all Itachi could think to say.

“Anyway, I hear you were looking into finding a teaching job. They’re hiring,” his advisor concluded.

“....Are you sure they’d want another alum from this school.... given their past... fiery experience?” Itachi tried to word his concern with some delicacy. His advisor snorted. He leaned forward to straighten the nameplate sitting on the edge of his desk.

“I was in touch with the principal. She said that it was the most exciting thing that’s happened to them in years. They didn’t seem too upset by the whole ordeal,” his advisor assured him. Smirking a little at the memory.

“Anyway, Uchiha-kun, why don’t you send them a resume? See what happens?”

And a month later, Itachi was standing at the train station. He unfolded the map he had studied on the long ride over. With just a messenger bag, he headed in the direction of the high school. Which, for some untenable reason, sat on top of a mountain in the center of town. He regretted not listening to Shisui’s nagging to exercise when he’d had a chance. He took his time to make sure he wouldn’t arrive to the interview drenched in sweat or looking like madman. Which he shouldn’t have worried about because his interview wasn’t really an interview.

“We want to hire you,” the principal declared almost as soon as he sat down.

“Oh,” said Itachi.

He vaguely remembered being a little worried. But somehow, he was signing his contract and someone was stamping the official paperwork. Less than two hours later, he was sitting in a bar. Someone pushed a beer into his hand.

“To Uchiha-sensei. Welcome!” the principal declared.

The other teachers cheered, crowding forward to clink their glass against his. He bowed awkwardly at them, still a little unsure of what had just transpired. He took a sip of his drink to be polite.

Food arrived at their table. People began piling his plate high with fried chicken and edamame. He bowed at them again.

“Welcome, Uchiha-sensei. I’m Hatake Kakashi. I teach history,” a silver-haired man greeted, reaching across the table. Itachi shook his hand, still a little more than dazed.

“This is Sarutobi Asuma, he’s our gym teacher. And next to him is the lovely Sarutobi Kurenai. She teaches math,” Kakashi began, gesturing to each person as he spoke. Itachi tried his best to pay attention. But by the time Kakashi had gone around the table, Itachi had forgotten everyone’s names, including the silver-haired man who was speaking.

The man sitting to Itachi’s right nudged him with his elbow.

“Did the boss-lady hire you in like... five seconds?” he inquired. Itachi nodded. And the other man smirked.

“Did the same thing to me. She’s a little crazy, but she’s a good person,” he assured Itachi. Itachi smiled.

“Thank you.... uh...”

“Nara Shikamaru. Don’t worry about remembering my name. This whole crew’ll be so drunk in a bit that they won’t remember either,” Shikamaru assured him. That made Itachi laugh. Shikamaru clicked his glass against Itachi’s and they both took a sip.

As the night wore on, Itachi learned that the intimate atmosphere of the gathering wasn’t him just being paranoid.

“I grew up in this town. These old farts used to be my teachers,” Shikamaru told him.

“He loved us so much that he couldn’t stay away,” Asuma interrupted, popping up on the opposite side of Shikamaru. His back to Asuma, Shikamaru widened his eyes, shaking his head just a little. Itachi took a sip of his beer to hide his chuckle.

During a lull in the conversation, Itachi looked around the bar. It was a modest place with a TV mounted in the corner above the bar. It played a news channel with the volume muted. The shelves behind the bar were stocked with a surprisingly varied selection of bottles. Shikamaru had already explained the home economics teacher was married to the owner of the bar and so she helped out at night. She popped in and out of the kitchen, occasionally sitting down to chat.

There were photos decorating the walls. It looked like some of the teachers were in them, arms thrown around each other, eyes squinting into crescent moons. But there was a poster hanging by the front door that didn’t quite fit in with the faded polaroids. It was blue with a name in big kanji. Itachi took a few steps toward it, squinting in the dim light. He realized that it was of a woman wearing a glittering white outfit, one hand on her chest, the other raised high above her head. She wore a crown of flowers

“Oh! This is rare,” Shikamaru remarked. Itachi turned around to find Shikamaru looking down at his phone. It vibrated against the table, screen lighting up.

“What? A woman?” Asuma asked, leaning over his shoulder. But his eyes popped open too. He leaned on Shikamaru as Shikamaru answered.

“Hey! It’s been a while,” said Shikamaru, a smile brightening his face. He paused. And then he snorted.

“Yeah. Ok. We don’t miss you at all,” he retorted.

The smaller pockets of conversation around the table quieted as the teachers nudged one another.

“Is it-?”

“I think it is!” they whispered.

Shikamaru grimaced, teeth clenching. He drew in a sharp breath, free hand rising to rub the back of his neck.

“Oh..... uh.... y-yeah. Well... congrats,” he fumbled out.

Everyone leaned in closer, scrutinizing Shikamaru’s expression. But Itachi lingered by the door, baffled by whatever everyone else seemed to know as they exchanged pointed looks.

“Of course. I’ll let everyone know. Yeah. Good luck,” Shikamaru concluded before he ended the call. And then he sat there, staring at his phone.

Everyone watched Shikamaru. Waiting.

“What is it?” Asuma finally demanded.

Shikamaru swallowed down the rest of his beer before he spoke again.

“Haruno’s getting married.”

“WHAT?!” the exclamation came from everyone around the room. Including the bar’s other patrons.

“When?” asked Kurenai.

“Today,” replied Shikamaru.

“HUH?!” the chorus was even louder this time.

“Yeah, she says she’s in Michigan, wherever that is. Told me she’d send pictures later,” Shikamaru reported. And, Itachi thought, he looked a little upset at that.

“Who’s she marrying?” wondered Kakashi.

“Good question,” muttered Shikamaru. Scratching his head, he twisted toward the bar.

Itachi looked around the room. And then back at the poster by the door. He squinted at the kanji. If he read it one way, it seemed to read ‘Haruno’. But as he scrutinized her face, he had the feeling that he’d seen it somewhere before.

Conversation gradually resumed. Itachi leaned toward Kakashi.

“Who’s everyone talking about?” he queried in a soft voice. Kakashi chuckled. Pulling his face mask down, he took a slurp of his drink.

“Let me get Orochimaru-sensei for you. He’s better at explaining than I am,” Kakashi replied before he called to the science teacher sitting further down the table.

The time in Konoha seemed to go by more slowly than in Tokyo. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

At first, some things had felt odd. People greeting him on the streets all knew his name. And it seemed that everyone knew everyone else’s business. But other than that, the intimacy of the town was nice in its own way.

“Sensei, you’re looking a little thin. Here,” the lady selling steamed buns would say, stuffing two extra ones into the bag.

“These are some radishes from my dad’s field,” Asuma would say, showing up randomly at his apartment. A basket stuffed with the white vegetables held in his arms.

The other teachers made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t just welcome at their after-school gatherings. He was necessary. And it was a little funny. How they all rearranged themselves to make a spot for him. Like he had always belonged in their group. Soon, there were pictures of him decorating the walls of Genma’s bar.

The most surprising thing was his new job. The first day of classes, he had shown up. And the kids sat in the class, staring at him. Just waiting.

“Okay. So I’m your art teacher,” Itachi announced.

Dead silence answered him.

Still, when he instructed them to copy down the diagrams on the board, everyone did so. The first few weeks of class went like this. He taught them perspective and shading. They drew bowls of fruit with charcoal. The scratch of their media against the paper filling the room. Other than saying “good afternoon” and “goodbye”, the students didn’t really speak to him. Itachi had come to accept that this was the way things would go all year.

And then, about a month into the school year, one of the boys declared, “Sensei, this is my favorite class.”

A few of his classmates nodded. Itachi lowered his charcoal. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he peered past his easel to look at the class. They stared back at him.

“What? Why?” Itachi demanded. The boy who had spoken thought for a moment.

“I don’t know. You’re just chill. And this stuff is actually kind of fun,” he said.

“Yeah, Sensei. The other classes we just sit there and listen. Your class is kind of cool,” someone else piped up.

He turned back to his easel and resumed drawing. He was thankful that the big drawing pad hid the blush that rose to his cheeks.

“I see. Well... I’m glad you’re having fun,” Itachi replied.

End Part 6

#writing #butterfly #end of itachi flashbacks #back to the present #real talk my first year of teaching one of my kids said this to me #i almost cried #my kids make me so angry sometimes but then they turn around and say stuff like this

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katrinawritesthings · 6 years

Text

Jonghyun/Taemin; A Year of Sunsets (Part 1/5); PG

listen.... au where taem moves to the forest and paints sunsets every day and jong is his neighbor and also there are wolf shapeshifters

There’s silence for a moment as Jonghyun expects him to say something and Taemin doesn’t have anything to say; then Jonghyun’s lips twitch up and he leans over to open up the box he brought over. “I got you some stuff, like, welcoming presents,” he says.

1-2-3-4-5

Taemin is so in love.

He’s so in love with his new life. His new house, his new empty garden, his new lack of close neighbors. This is what he’s been all about for years. A cute little log cabin in the woods. It’s got a sweet porch that he’s gonna hang some strawberry plants from, a nice big fireplace, a backyard that fades out right into a path into the trees… he stands out front, right where Kibum’s car and the moving van were not five minutes ago, and just looks at his new place with the happiest sigh he’s ever sighed. This is perfect.

The hot June sun is just about getting ready to start setting behind the trees and if Taemin leans a little bit to the left, he can see a thin trail of smoke a little bit away. That’s his closest neighbor, about a twenty minute stroll down the little dirt road through the forest. There are other houses in these woods, but most are unoccupied. Most people live in the little town near the woods, but not actually in them, and even then, it’s not very many. It’s kind of why Taemin got his house so cheap, to be honest; legal shapeshifter forests aren’t exactly prime real estate location.

Taemin doesn’t mind at all; he knows full well that shapeshifter communities that live on actual reserves keep to themselves. It’s not like they're vicious human eaters that just want to maul him in his new bed--and even if they were, there are laws to protect humans from them, just as there are laws to protect them from humans. He expects people that spend the grand majority of their time as their animal forms want even less to do with paperwork than full-time human people do. They’re probably just deeper in the forest, doing their wolfy things, hunting deer, snuggling their pups, not wanting to be human or around humans, the usual. He can relate, kind of.

Taemin’s never really been the social type. He’ll just go to the town for groceries, and take longer drives to the city to visit his friends if he’s feeling lonely, and that will be perfect. He’ll also have to talk to his new neighbor eventually, he guesses, but it’s not like he’s dreading it or anything. He’s sure that they’ll be friendly enough, and if they’re not, they’re a mile away anyway. It won’t be hard to avoid them. If they haven’t come by to welcome him to the foresthood in a week, he’ll go over there and introduce himself just to be polite.

For now, he wraps his arms around himself, hugging himself, because he’s just so fucking happy to have finally achieved his dream. And he’s barely over thirty. He’s got his dream house, his dream location, his dream job.... and speaking of which, he should get started, before the sun goes down.

With one last happy sigh for now, he slips inside of his new home. Passing all of the unopened boxes and lazily arranged furniture, he grabs his easel--the very first thing he unpacked--under his arm. He picks up his box of painting stuff and a pillow as well, and with those under his other arm, he heads straight back outside. He thinks, for his first time, his first painting on his first day here, he wants to paint the view right from the road in front of his house.

He finds that big, flat boulder on the other side of the road he was eyeing up earlier, sets up his easel and canvas in front of it, throws the pillow onto it, sits down, gets all of his colors ready next to him, and paints the sun just peeking out from behind the corner of a beautiful log cabin, tall trees casting shadows against the land, and a little, swirling line of grey in the distance.

When Taemin finishes setting up his little collection of grass Pokémon plushies and one pink glass tentacle dildo on the mantle is when he figures that he should probably go introduce himself to his new neighbor. It’s been five days; he doesn’t really know the etiquette of greeting new neighbors, but he thinks they should at least know each other by now. A few hours remain until it’ll be time to paint the day’s sunset. If he’s asked to stay for a meal or something, it won’t be long enough for him to get too tired out. He turns to face the rest of his living room, stopping for a moment to hold himself again and sigh happily. It’s lovely. Lovely and cozy and warm and perfect.

He practically bounces to his couch, fixes up the blanket thrown over it, and glances into the mirror he hung up above it yesterday. Hmm. His black hair is a little mussed. He runs his fingers through it to make it look “casually” messy instead of “I just spent the last three hours rearranging my living room” messy. It totally works. Passing through the kitchen to leave the house, he pauses to frown at the chips and poptarts he has on his counters. Should he bring something? To be polite? None of this is even good stuff to bring over to someone’s house. And he’s the new one here; he shouldn’t be expected to bring the gifts, right? Ugh. This is why he doesn’t like social shit.

Fuck it, he decides, he’ll just tell them that he was going to bring something but hasn’t gotten settled enough to get any real cooking done. It’s not like it’s not true. He runs his fingers through his hair one more time as he grabs the handle of his front door, and then there’s a knock on his back door.

He turns, confused. Who the fuck is knocking at his back door? Or, well--it can probably only be one person, so--why are they there instead of here in front? He heads back there instead with another glance at himself in the mirror. When he pulls open the door, he’s confident that his hair is pretty okay for a dude that just spent the last three hours rearranging his living room.

Also, when he pulls open the door, he finds someone with tan skin, dark hair, deep brown eyes, and a charming smile.

“Hi,” they say cheerily. They’re holding a box in both hands, so they just lift a few fingers in a wave at Taemin instead of offering their hand to shake or something. Well, good. Taemin gets paranoid about what people think of his handshakes and he always winds up gripping too hard to meet the crushing expectations of masculinity placed upon him by the patriarchy. “I’m Jonghyun,” his neighbor says, “your friendly neighborhood… neighbor.” They pause for a moment with a little frown at their box; Taemin feels like they don’t rehearse things nearly as much as he does. “Friendly neighborhood resident,” they say, looking back up. “Or, person. Empty genderless void. Whatever. He pronouns, though. I’m friendly. That’s the point.” He shrugs with a little smile; Taemin finds himself baffled yet also pleasantly informed. “Sorry if coming to your back door was weird,” Jonghyun goes on, “it’s just, way faster to cut through the woods than go around the actual path.”

“Oh, uh,” Taemin says, realizing that he should probably reply to something that Jonghyun is saying. “No, it’s cool,” he grins. Already he’s learning great tips for living in this area. He was legitimately about to walk the whole twenty minute long way. Maybe he’ll stop exploring the forest in front of his place on his daily searches for good sunset viewing spots and start working on the trees between his house and Jonghyun’s. He notices Jonghyun readjust the box in his arms and curses internally. He’s being rude. “Uh, come in, please,” he says, stepping back and holding the door open wider. “I was just about to go visit you myself, actually,” he admits.

“Ahh, yeah, sorry about that too.” Jonghyun laughs a little sheepishly as he steps inside. He sets his box down on Taemin’s coffee table and turns back to him quickly. “I meant to come greet you before, but I thought you weren’t gonna be here until next week, and then I had to go to the store to get some stuff, and then I didn’t know how early was too early, and then I didn’t want to interrupt your lunch, and I tried coming around after dinnertime yesterday but you weren’t here, and… well, yeah.” This Jonghyun sure does talk a lot, Taemin notes. It’s kind of endearing, how he lets his words get carried by his excitement. It cleared up all of Taemin’s questions about why he hadn’t come to visit yet, at least.

“After dinner isn’t a good time for me, no,” he hums, picking one things Jonghyun’s said to reply to. “That’s when I go out to paint the sunset. Um, see?” He gestures at the first painting he did out here not a week ago at it’s new home above his fireplace. Then he gestures at the empty canvas and box of paints on the kitchen table, waiting for tonight’s adventure. His other paintings from the last few nights are in the mess of boxes and packing peanuts that he’s going to clean up into his art room soon. “It’s kind of my job,” he grins, turning back to Jonghyun. “One sunset a day. They’re really simple, but really fun, and every time they’re different, and I pretend like they take me like, three times as long to paint as they really do so I can charge more.” He shrugs unashamedly. He’s gotta eat.

“Sounds nice,” Jonghyun says. “You’re very talented.”

“Thanks,” Taemin smiles, proud. He does work hard. “Do you want something to drink?” he asks suddenly, remembering that Jonghyun is a guest in his house. “You can sit, too, I gue--yeah. Feel free.” He smiles politely to cover up how bad he is at talking. Jonghyun smiles back, looking vaguely sympathetic to Taemin’s efforts, as he sits. As long as he doesn’t point it out.

“Water, please,” he says, and Taemin nods. Water. He can do that. He slips into his kitchen and fills up a glass. Halfway through, he realizes that he hasn’t even told Jonghyun his name yet. Fuck. What a great first impression he’s making here. When he brings Jonghyun’s water back out, Jonghyun is looking over one of his little business cards on the table with a curious smile. Taemin hopes he’s enjoying the “Corporate Banana, He who Banans” label in the bottom corner. He had to pay an extra two dollars for that. Jonghyun looks up when Taemin offers him his water and takes it with another polite smile. “Taemin, right?” he asks, “he pronouns?” and frick.

“Yeah, sorry,” Taemin says. He can’t believe Jonghyun had to get his info off of a shitty business card first. “I’m not good at the whole… talking to people thing.”

“That’s okay,” Jonghyun says, waving off his concerns as he takes a sip of their water. “Sometimes I’m not either. I kind of shift. Between being a social butterfly and kind of a lone wolf, you know?” Taemin doesn’t really know, being always on the lone wolf end of that spectrum himself, but he nods anyway. There’s silence for a moment as Jonghyun expects him to say something and Taemin doesn’t have anything to say; then Jonghyun’s lips twitch up and he leans over to open up the box he brought over. “I got you some stuff, like, welcoming presents,” he says. Taemin breathes a sigh of relief. Thank fuck Jonghyun knows how to save a conversation. He sits down next to Jonghyun, peeping into the box curiously as he pulls stuff out.

“It’s just, you know, some things that you might not know you need, to be living out here,” Jonghyun tells him. “Like… mosquito bracelets.” He pulls out a little packet of coiled rubber bracelets that Taemin takes curiously. There’s five in there, all different cute colors. “They smell a little weird, but I kind of like it, to be honest. You don’t even have to wear them in the house. Just hang one on your headboard, you know, and over the table or whatever, and they’ll do their jobs.” He shrugs; Taemin mirrors him for lack of a better reply and stuffs the packet into his pocket. “I also got you some fire crystals,” Jonghyun says, pulling out a new little packet with much more enthusiasm. “If you throw them into the fire they change it’s color and it’s really cool.”

“Ooh,” Taemin says, grabbing the bag and flipping it to read the back. He’s always wanted to try these. Jonghyun smiles at his excitement and pulls more stuff out of the box.

“A double flashlight, so you don’t trip over yourself outside… batteries, because the power goes out here quite a bit in winter… swiss army knife, because, well, you know… a fancy water filter bottle in case you run out of water on a hike or something so you can drink from the lake or the river… a compass, the town is south east, deeper into the woods is north west... oh--” He reaches to the very bottom of the box and pulls out his final items: graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate. “S’mores,” he says brightly. “Very essential.”

“True,” Taemin says, making grabby hands greedily. He was gonna get some of these the next time he went shopping, eager to make some with the first fire he sets up in his cool new fireplace as soon as it got cold enough to justify a fire. He looks at everything else laid out on the table as well, just little things to help him adjust. This is all so sweet. “Um, thank you, really,” he says, not entirely sure how to express his feelings. When Jonghyun looks at him though, a gentle ease in his deep eyes and toothy smile, Taemin feels reassured that his small words of thanks were good enough.

“No problem,” Jonghyun says. “I was gonna make you cookies or something, but I’m not that great at baking.”

“I am,” Taemin grins. He’s great at fruit pies and berry muffins and putting obscene amounts of strawberries between layer cakes. “I can bring something over next week, if you want,” he offers. It’ll make up for how awkward and unprepared he is for their first meeting now.

“Uh, actually,” Jonghyun says, “I’m not gonna be here next week.” He takes a sheepish sip of his water as he leans back into the corner of Taemin’s couch. “I’m gonna leave soon, I think for a month or two. Vacation.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Taemin over his glass. Taemin raises his own.

“Hmm?” he asks. Living out here is practically a permanent vacation for him, to be honest. “To the city?” Sounds awful.

“No, no, just deeper into the woods,” Jonghyun says. He waves a hand towards what Taemin thinks is the lake. “Northwest. Connect with my inner nature, you know? Hunt and shit. I’ve been really itching to go out there for a week or so, but,” he shrugs at Taemin and gestures around his living room, “I wanted to make sure I welcomed you to the forest before I left.”

“Oh. Aw. I mean--or--” Taemin runs his fingers through his hair with a grimace. That’s not an “aw” thing. It’s more of a… he doesn’t know. Helpful? Considerate? Just--”Thanks, again,” he says. “You didn’t have to postpone it for me.” Taemin is sure that he could’ve managed on his own for a lil bit without Jonghyun, but it’s touching that he chose to stay.

“Don’t worry about it, I never really plan it anyway,” Jonghyun says. “Usually I kind of just… go. For a few days, or I think the longest was five months, maybe?” He frowns up at Taemin’s ceiling in thought before shrugging again. “I don’t know. Until I feel like coming back again.”

“Like shifting back into a social butterfly, you mean?” Taemin grins, gathering up all of the stuff Jonghyun brought over and putting it back in the box absentmindedly. He’ll unpack it again with everything else that he has left. He glances up in time to see a little smirk pulling up the corners of Jonghyun’s lips.

“Something like that, yeah,” he agrees. Taemin’s smile grows with a tiny bit of pride. He totally nailed that sly little joke. He understands. It’s like how he himself is only going to go to the city every once in a while if he feels lonely, except apparently Jonghyun goes from mild isolation to like… super isolation. He bets there are some pretty cool sunset spots out there in the woods. Maybe he’ll ask Jonghyun to give him a map or something when he comes back. They fall into silence a second time; it’s less awkward than before, but Taemin still finds himself pulling Jonghyun’s box into his lap and drawing little circles with his fingers on the sides. It’s around three in the afternoon; too late for lunch but definitely too early for dinner. There’s not really a reason to ask Jonghyun to stay, but there isn’t one to ask him to leave either. Taemin has no idea what he’s supposed to do.

Luckily, after another few moments of silence, Jonghyun decides for him.

“Welp,” he says, standing up and downing the rest of the water. “I’ll let you finish getting settled in.” He smiles at Taemin and holds out his glass. “Thanks, and welcome to the forest. You can always come visit me if you want, if I’m in.”

“Oh--yes, okay, thank you,” Taemin says. He stands up as well, taking his glass back. “Um--have fun on your vacation.” When he gets back, Taemin will bake him a little something something, as a proper thank you present. That’ll make them even. Jonghyun nods with friendly little smile, then heads out of Taemin’s back door, waving over his shoulder.

A few hours later, when Taemin wanders through the trees between their houses to find a good sunset spot, he notices that for the first time all week, there isn't a little trail of smoke rising from Jonghyun’s chimney. He’s already gone.

#jongtae #jonghyun #taemin #brotp #fluff #sunset au #pg #listen this au is Important its like 60% taem being a cute sunset painted 40% jong being a cute camping neighbor and 10% wolves #taem just ???? doesnt like people and does like plants so hes set up with the Dream

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monochromaticinsignias · 6 years

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Jeon Jungkook | Rebellious

Medieval au / Old age

Soulmate au !

Summary : He didn’t expect to find his own soulmate in such a drastic situation, not when he had plans to throw someone off the throne. More or less, how can he handle his soulmate? It’s his own cousin.

When the prince; Jeon Jungkook, came to the Quin kingdom after having heard that his cousin -whose family was massacred- had roughly escaped, the Quin district has all their heads bowing down.

Jeon Jungkook is a prince of perfection, being skilled in arts, politics, and even swordsmanship, he’s long been the eye of most princesses. Being the emperor’s son and as the heir to the throne, his name is known far and wide. But apparently, he can’t just be taken by anyone. For he has a destined partner.

A soulmate, his lover, his queen.

The oracle had spoken that in order to know if someone’s your destined partner, then you’d be able to hear their heartbeat and to feel something only once in a lifetime when something is triggered.

The Quin district is more than grateful to be blessed by his presence alone.

When his cousin, a woman whose name is Seuri, came to the grand hall for the celebration of her safe arrival to the kingdom, he felt his heart stop.

Her locks appear a vibrant [c] in colour, elegantly flowing down her back with half of it raised up with all sorts of beautiful hair pins and golden accessories. Her skin remained fairly white with a faint rosy hue, almost looking like she’s a mandate sent from the heavens. She’s dressed magnificently in a [c] and [2/c] hanbok with a white shawl over.

By far, he knew everyone in the hall had cluttered into silence as soon as the princess made herself known. In fact, no one had seen the female royal, so they’re stunned by her beauty—except for Jungkook, who’s been a childhood friend to the said woman.

He’s utterly baffled, and surprised.

She doesn’t look like Seuri at all, the girl he knew had hair of pure black, and her eyes were those of chocolates.

He pushed that to the back of his mind, because he’s certainly aware of changes and puberty. Lately, he’s heard of dyes and hair colouring, maybe she’s tried those.

When the princess bowed in front of him, he was stunned into silence.

She’s indeed beautiful.

Or maybe it’s his hormones raging because he hasn’t seen her in what, sixteen years?

Probably.

“Greetings to His Royal Highness..” she utters out respectfully, and Jungkook finds himself stumbling over words. Unsure of what to reply.

He clears his throat as soon as he notices the whole hall silent, awaiting his reply. Everyone knew that he had been friends with the princess of the Raui kingdom.

“No need,” his lips twitches slowly to a smile as Seunri lifts her head, her smiling visage burning in his mind. From the sideline, his guard in charge -Taehyung- is stifling in his laughter. “It’s a relief to see you well again.” Jungkook grins brightly.

A second after he said that, a look of anxiousness appeared across the princess’ features, he’s quick enough to notice that she seems troubled.

“And I you, your Highness.”

What’s there to be nervous of?

He knew something’s amiss.

He left the district right after the party, but visited often in order to spend time with the last female royal who came from Raui. His adviser, Namjoon, happened to be smart and shared his thought about something regarding the princess.

Taehyung was of no help, he knew the two are cousins but kept teasing that they’d be the perfect couple. They were childhood sweethearts, always doing the same things together, getting in trouble together, you name it.

But there’s just something off.

He knew that the umpteenth time he visited Seunri and found her weaving, she was never interested in it. But he pushed that to the back of his mind and believed that everyone can change hobbies.

He started to be a bit doubtful when he found her practicing archery.

Seunri is a lady, and he knew that himself. The girl had vowed to never resort to any sorts of violence nor to handle any weapons after seeing her own brother stabbed by a sword at the first attempt of an unknown clan massacring their family.

Taehyung claimed that she probably just changed, and is just out there to avenge her family. But the prince knew more, something’s hidden.

Yet despite this, he found himself violating the laws.

The more he visited the Quin district in order to spend time with her, he found himself wanting to see her day after day. He figured that it’s just him missing her usual presence like before, but he started to doubt himself when his heart basically throbbed like no other when his eyes laid on her months after her arrival in the district. But how can he deal with such feelings?

He’d be damned.

The princess is his cousin, to have some feelings that aren’t exactly platonic in the first place will be the cause of his death!

“I’m delighted to know that His Highness had came to see me so frequently,” the [c] haired princess says as the two of them took a stroll around the palace gardens, their two bodyguards -Taehyung and Jimin- who happen to know each other, are meters behind them in order to give them privacy and to have a talk of their own.

Turns out that they once lived in the same district before separating.

Jungkook laughs silently, “Ah it’s nothing, and please refer to me by my name whenever it’s just us.” he sees her stiffen, and he knows why.

‘Just us? Seriously!’ he screams inwardly, now flushed.

“Very well, Jungkook.” Seunri smiles at him, and he frowns.

She never calls him that. It’s always Kook, or Kookie, what’s happened.. ?

Was she raised so formally she can’t even address him like they used to before? Or did they really grew apart so badly that they’re more like real cousins now instead of being twins attached to the hip?

Amidst his thinking, he wasn’t aware of how Seunri paused to look at him in worry. He had been silent for minutes now.

Unaware, he bumped into her rather harshly, knocking her footing off. Squeaking, she fell forward, and before he knew it, his hands reached out to round her waist and wrist. Effectively surprising them both - and the snickering duo behind them-

Jungkook stared in her eyes, and noticed that they appear a whole lot dull than when he last saw them. Almost like they have no life in it. His heart throbbed greatly in his chest, sweat trickling down his forehead.

Jimin whistled behind them, earning a smack from Taehyung who playfully scolded him for ‘interrupting their moment’.

Quickly, Seunri escapes his grasp. Her sleeve momentarily getting caught in the fingers of the prince, thus raising it to reveal her bare arm—which has Jungkook’s breath stopping.

Bare arm..

Seunri always had a birthmark at the side of her arm, but there’s none.

Muffled laughter was heard behind them, aware of his flushed face and bright red ears, Jungkook glares at the two behind him who did nothing but grin brightly in return.

Sometimes they don’t technically even act like guards.

“Both of you are dismissed.” he hisses sharply, Taehyung squeaks, aware that they’re near to upsetting him due to himself being involved in such predicaments before. So as quick as a lightning, even before the princess can say things to her own guard, Taehyung pulled Jimin away—and they’re gone.

Jungkook looks around the place before spotting a door near to the garden, realizing he’s in the princess’ quarters. Taking her wrist again, he pulls her towards the room as quick as he can, ignoring the continuous protests of the latter. Who was more than surprised when she was harshly thrown inside the room and the door locked by the prince himself.

Forcefully making her stand up, Jungkook yanks her closer to him, desperately trying to ignore the continuous doubled heartbeat he’s hearing like heck.

“What are you doing.” she demands, all lady like behavior now gone. And Jungkook feels like he’s going crazy, because for some reason, he starts hearing thumping sounds.

He doesn’t let go of her hand, but silence is still his speaker.

When he still doesn’t budge, the princess twists his arm, granting him a loud gasp of shock and pain as he was whirled around. Before he knew it—there’s a cold sharp tip pressed onto his neck.

A smile breaks out to his lips.

“You’re not Seunri..” he laughs in spite of the knife being etched now lightly to the side of his neck. The impostor giggles softly into his ear, and he feels something zap up and down his spine. The feeling sensually exciting.

“How smart of you, Jungkook, you figured me out.” she whispers silently in order not to attract any more unwanted attention. But the prince has other plans, he has questions, and he needs answers.

Besides, he trained for something, not to be held down by a mysterious woman who took on the identity of his cousin. And apparently enough, this is the same woman who’s been driving him wild.

Chuckling, his other hand frees itself from the woman’s clutch and knocks the knife off in a speed of light. Before the impostor can do anything, Jungkook held two of her hands in place.

“Got you—”

All of a sudden, everything stopped. He feels his irises strangely growing cold, and he sees the woman’s [c] eyes flash a bright pink before something stirred inside him. The feeling is strangely comforting, as if everything’s set at ease. The thumping sound in his ears grew louder and by closer hearing, he was able to find out that it’s actually the sound of.. heartbeat.

He gasps, and so does she.

They’re soulmates.

Before she can yank her hands away, however, Jungkook immediately tightens his grip.

“Wait—don’t you think I need answers to this!?” he exclaims, all sorts of grace and whatever now gone. The [c] haired woman frantically shakes her head, “What, you think I like this predicament of ours, too? Think again!” she hisses straight to his face.

Jungkook huffs sharply,

“Whether you or I like it or not, we’re soulmates.”

The unknown person stiffens.

“You aren’t my cousin—I don’t know you, but I should. You’ve been driving me wild, woman.” to his surprise, the female laughs, and his face softens involuntarily.

That is, before the girl hesitantly averts her look, sadness gracing her face as she sighs. True or not, the prince has a good point. Besides, it’s not only him who’s been going crazy. Figuring out that there’s no way out of the situation, she decides to just spill the beans.

“[Y/n], princess of the [last name] district.”

In shock, Jungkook drops her hands.

“W-.. what?” he breathes out, his eyes beginning to widen. He can’t believe it—how can he? His own soulmate, a damned daughter of the enemy of his father!

[Y/n] steps away, knife now hidden in her sleeve.

“I’m close friends with your cousin Seunri, and her family is at our kingdom the day the massacre was set into action.” she began to explain, her eyes not leaving those of the prince’s. “The emperor is determined to kill my family and anyone who dares help us, apparently, the family of your cousin does. And they’re killed.” she clenches her fist, lips forming a straight line.

“I managed to save her, but she’s losing blood. In the end, she wanted me to bring justice for everyone. And for me to avenge the [L/n] clan.” you turn away from him, your hands clasped together as the memories came flooding back to your mind. You already went through so much, you lost everyone you had, to make matters worse, even your soulmate is someone destined to be against your every move.

Jungkook lips his lips, strangely feeling anxious as he took strides towards you.

“Are you aware of what you’ve done?” his hands landed on your shoulders as he shook you, your eyes wide at his actions. “Taking someone else’s identity, that’s a crime and you’ve fooled the emperor!” he inhales haggardly,

“You’d be sentenced to treason, not to mention that you’re the daughter of my father’s enemy.” you furrowed your eyebrows at him, stubbornly shaking off his vice like grip on your shoulders as you shook your head. “Don’t you think I know that? I have to do this for my ruined kingdom!” you fought his hands that still tried to hold you down calmly. “Do you know how scared I am just by living in this place? I can’t complain about it, I have no one—I only have Jimin who really was my bodyguard in the first place. I had to watch him fight before forcing me to run away.. I haven’t even seen him until a month ago..” the second you started to bottle your tears, Jungkook’s chest tightens in the process.

Somehow, he finds it difficult to look at you now that the tears are clearly seen in your eyes.

“Even if I die in this wretched household, then I’d be happy as long as I’m able to—”

“Shut up.”

You look at him with wide eyes, and just then, you noticed his grip on your hand. It was tight like no other, and you could tell he isn’t going to let go.

“What—”

“I said shut up!” Jungkook grits his teeth, and you silenced yourself. You didn’t knew he had such an alpha like side, but you had it coming since he��s the heir. He must’ve grown roughly despite being in a life of luxury.

“Stop spitting nonsense, you’re not going to die, not in my watch.”

Something fluttered inside of you, and you felt your cheeks flushing red in his words. What does he mean by that? Looking away again, you yank your hand away, slightly disappointed by the loss of warmth.

“Whatever does His Highness imply, I am not aware of it.”

He frowns at you, “His Highness? Not Jungkook? Look, just because I found out that you’re an enemy doesn’t entirely mean that you can’t address me by my name. You’re my muse, and my future queen.” you felt your heart thumping again. There he is, stating things so casually!

How can he not feel nervous about this?

“How can you be sure that I reciprocate your thoughts on this?” you look at him over your shoulder, and you wished you didn’t. Uncontrollably, you found yourself being attracted even more. In all honesty, you already had taken a liking, you’re just trying to suppress it in order to not be hurt, but fate has it’s ways. Your soulmate smiled brightly, lovingly if you’re not blind.

“You would be,” he laughs, his eyes staring into yours. “I want to help you, [Y/n].” he nods his head at you. You were a loss for words.

“Are you crazy? How can you say such things? You’re planning to side with me in order to turn your back on the emperor?” you rapidly spat.

Jungkook tips his head, “I’m aware of father’s doings. He’s planning to massacre every ruler of each district and bring forth new ones in order to make the country a place suitable to his liking.” your breath got hitched in your throat.

“I knew he lost himself to power when he demanded to wipe every ‘insolent’ beings and renew the country by means of murder.” his words remained fresh in your mind, and it wasn’t even a minute before you noticed the fruition of the emperor’s plans. “Then you mean..” you breathe in slowly, “That not only my kingdom is doomed.. ?” you mutter, shocked. How can the emperor think of such things in the first place?

Jungkook nods at you silently, “Everyone is wrapped around my father’s finger, but they don’t know what he plans to do with them. I want to side with you because I know that I won’t be able to do this alone.” he opens his hand out for you to take, and his face is devoid of any mischief.

You inwardly began a turmoil, eyes staring at his open palm.

You know that if you grab it, then you’d be putting your life on the line and sealing your still unknown fate.

“If I manage to bring up the issue regarding your kingdom and how it links to my father, I’d be able to exploit from then on and make my way towards the throne before he crushes another district.”

Your head snaps up to him.

Make his way to the throne?

He’s rebelling in front of thousands of citizens, the prince himself, wanting to throw the emperor out of the throne? Everyone would have his head.

“You’re rebelling against your own father..”

“It’s dangerous, I know, but rest assured. Once I am able to reveal the emperor’s true plans then I would be granted access to the throne, I have to earn the trust of the officials first beforehand. An emperor is only a mere pawn to the game of chess if he has no one following his orders, is it not?”

You were silent.

He’s exceptionally smart and quick witted. Who knew he was like this? He’s thoughtful of everything.

“If you decided to accept my offer, then I assure you that I’d be protecting you from now on. Declining it means no difference, I won’t have you dying now that I found you all these years.”

You look at him in the eyes, and in them you were able to find sincerity and longing. You look down at your own hands, thinking of everyone dear to you and the other kingdoms in danger. You couldn’t just do nothing.

With a smile, you locked your hands in his, aware of the grin that appeared on his handsome features. Without hesitation, he pulled you in for an embrace, warming your heart. You are aware of the possible casualties in doing this, but you have made your decision.

Through life and death, through each and every life time you’d spend; you’re all the more willing to side with him.

Masterlist

#bts #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #x reader #bts fanfiction #romance #fluff #medieval au #soulmate

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disappointingyet · 5 years

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The Souvenir

Director Joanna Hogg Stars Honor Swinton Byrne, Tom Burke, Tilda Swinton UK/US 2019 Language English 2hrs Colour

Portrait of the artist as a spectacularly clueless posh kid

Up until this point, Joanna Hogg has been something of a miniaturist: two films about the English upper-upper-upper middle classes on holiday (Unrelated, Archipelago) and one filled almost entirely with two people in a house in Kensington (the terrific Exhibition).

As much of The Souvenir consists of two people in two-floor flat in Knightsbridge, you might guess that Hogg has narrowed her focus even further. But The Souvenir in its own way is a rather sprawling film, a big unhappy love story that – as hinted at by songs and snippets of news on the radio – takes us from 1981 to at least 1984.

Hogg also addresses the deliberately limited sociological palette of her earlier work in a couple of ways. On the one hand, this one has regional accents and a number of black faces. On the other, Julie (Honor Swinton Byrne), the posh film student who I think it’s fair to assume shares some of her creator’s experiences, starts off wanting to make a work that goes beyond her privileged ‘bubble’ (as she herself describes it): a drama about a mother and son in working-class Sunderland, a place then suffering from the depths of the Thatcher recession. Her tutors and friends doubt whether this is a suitable project for her, and encourage her to consider something closer to her own experience*. Hearing Julie’s stumbling and vague justification of the Sunderland idea, it’s hard to disagree with them. ‘And that’, Hogg seems to me to be saying, ‘is how I eventually ended up making films about posh people like me holidaying in Italy’.

Julie’s cinematic education, though, plays second fiddle to her love life. Anthony (Tom Burke) knows about art, wears a lovely chalkstripe suit and horrible slippers as shoes, and implies he works in the intelligence services (there’s never any confirmation of this from anyone else). He sounds even posher than Julie, but isn’t quite, judging by visits to their parents’ homes. At the start of the film their relationship is unclear both because Hogg rarely spells things out but also because their relationship is unclear to them, too. Eventually, things progress.

Anthony may know a lot of stuff and be mostly pro-Julie, but he’s also clearly trouble. A pattern is established by which he hits her up for cash, and she hits up her mum** (Tilda Swinton, who is, as it happens, Honor Swinton Byrne’s mother in real life). Julie, it seems, is as clueless about people as she is about politics.

It takes a bitchy dinner party guest***, in the film’s funniest scene, to explain to her what’s going on, breaking with Hogg’s tendency to avoid the explicit. This feels like a pivot in the narrative, although it’s less about Julie stopping making mistakes and more understanding the mistakes she nonetheless continues to make.

The Souvenir is a lovely looking picture, shot on 16mm film, with some great costumes and photogenic locations when it does leave the flat. It has a sometimes excellent but erratic sense of the time it is set in – I suspect some of actors playing supporting characters have been allowed to improvise, which leads to a few anachronistic-sounding lines: I don’t think (although I’m willing to be proved wrong) anyone in London in 1984 uttered the words ‘Haters gotta hate’.

In films set in the recentish past, the soundtrack is usually doing a lot of work to take us back there. Here, the choices tend to the clangingly obvious: Ghost Town, Shipbuilding (for photos of Sunderland), Small Town Boy… The Fall’s Totally Wired does make a bracing early appearance, though.

I think Honor Swinton Byrne inhabits a character who is meant to be half-formed well. Burke as Anthony I was much less sure about. And it’s entertaining seeing Tilda Swinton playing the kind of conventional upper-class woman she could have been if she hadn’t fallen into bohemia.

I liked Unrelated and Archipelago, and loved Exhibition. I think Hogg is one of the most interesting British directors around, and while clearly cinema in this country has gone backwards in its relationship to class privilege, I think Hogg is much less a symptom of the problem**** than Richard Curtis or the fact people keep creating roles for Eddie Redmayne to play.

The Souvenir – exec-produced by Marty Scorsese! – is meant to be her big breakthrough, and has had very excited reviews. But while it’s got a lot going for it, I wasn’t swept away. Maybe that’s just me – as with last year’s similarily critically adored Cold War, it’s a story of ill-fated love in which (in my view) the guy is clearly a dick and the woman is a sucker not for booting him out on his ear for good in the first third of the movie. Like Cold War, some of this misery is reportedly drawn from director’s personal history – and as with Cold War, I think that has zero relevance to whether the film works or not. I will, though, definitely go along to Part II, even though – or especially because – I’m baffled by how Hogg is going to add to the story.

*They engage in the long-standing debate about whether any class of people is more ‘real’ than others. We’re all obviously real, it’s just some people have minimal perspective on how absurdly privileged they are.

**Common People, innit?

***The cameo here – by someone who is a film director (like his character) as well as an actor – fits nicely with my theory of use of actors: he’s doing exactly the same performance of etiquette-breaching bluntness that he often uses for (possibly on the autism spectrum) nerdy characters, but here – thanks to a bit of hair dye and leopard skin – it reads as arty arrogance.

****Full disclosure: as I understand it, Joanna Hogg and I have some relatives in common, but I have never met her.

#joanna hogg #the souvenir #british film

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noisykate · 7 years

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Cordoba and Granada

27 January 2017

They say ‘never start with an apology’, but this week of sightseeing has been so overwhelming to the senses, that any effort to summarise it is doomed to failure. Not helped by finding the camera battery flat on day one, and no charger packed. D’oh. Ellen took loads of pictures, and these will follow, but in the meantime I include some links.

How to start? There is no point just rewriting the guide book, so I will just give a hint at what we got up to, and what it was like.

18 Jan Ellen arrives Alicante.

Drive back to Cartagena through a blizzard. Ellen staying in hotel near the Naval museum. Locals all very excited by worst weather conditions (ie first snow) since 1983.

19 Jan Day set aside for sightseeing around Cartagena. Very, very cold, raining, snow on ground on hills. Marble walkways through town treacherously slippery. Sightseeing largely abandoned. Ellen still staying in hotel near Naval museum.

20 Jan C&E set off for Cordoba. Five hour trip, stunning drive through the Sierra Nevada, snow on verges and covering the hills. Slightly worrying conditions, but it was all fine.

Arrive Cordoba, hotel a 3m walkway away from the famous Mosque/Cathedral, in pedestrianised ‘no cars except authorised’ zone, which we drive through to park under the hotel. Armed police obviously not on traffic duty and not bothered.

Lovely hotel, the ‘Maimonides’.

21 Jan Cordoba Mosque/Cathedral visit. Wow. Search for ‘Cordoba Cathedral images’ for better pictures than mine. (Ahem)

Mosque and cathedral both stunning, architecturally and historically of huge significance within Spain and on the wider political/religious stage. The rhythm of the repeating arch design of the mosque is disrupted by the imposition of the cathedral through the middle of the building, in an act which is generally regarded now as the most astonishing cultural vandalism. Wikipedia says:

The insertion (of the cathedral into the mosque) was constructed by permission of Charles V, king of Castile and Aragon. However, when Charles V visited the completed cathedral he was displeased by the result and famously commented, "they have taken something unique in all the world and destroyed it to build something you can find in any city."

The church is itself is beautiful, introducing a shock of light and vertical space to the intimate gloom of the mosque, and contains amazing architectural detailing, most notably a vast and exquisitely carved choir stall construction.

The transition between Christian and Moorish control, which happened several times over the centuries, is presented within the building as an entirely orderly, peaceful and voluntary transaction. Seems unlikely….

The ‘Spanish Inquisition museum’ nearby boasts ‘six rooms of torture equipment as used by…’. Deeply nasty – the tone of it was horrible; titillating, prurient, pornographic. We skipped it in favour of some of the more uplifting offerings.

22 Jan Cordoba Azahara palace https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medina_Azahara – ruins of a moorish palace outside Cordoba. Apparently this is one of the most extravagantly constructed and decorated palaces ever, almost entirely looted out over the centuries, leaving only enigmatic ruins. The visitor centre at the bottom of the hill is the only source of any information on the site. The signage and visitor information at the site itself is quite astonishingly poor, the ruins capped and ‘reconstructed’ in places in modern times, leaving the visitor mostly just baffled.

Nearby, there was a small mountainside settlement called ‘Las Ermitas’, a cluster of monastic cells around a beautiful little chapel, exuberantly decorated in the baroque style, in stark contrast to the asceticism of the monks’ cells. The last monks left in the late 50’s. A wonderfully peaceful and holy place. http://www.cordoba24.info/english/html/ermitas.html The tranquil mood was broken slightly by the drive down, which saw Ellen, unused to being a passenger, struggling with the drive down the winding, narrow road. Hilarious.

Over the two-and-a-half days in Cordoba, we also visited:

· Jewish quarter, http://www.andalucia.com/cities/cordoba/juderia.htm including a tiny synagogue. The jews were hounded out of Spain during the Spanish Inquisition, and almost all traces of them removed. This is allegedly one of only three old Synagogues on the Iberian peninsular.

· Roman bridge, http://www.andalucia.com/cities/cordoba/romanbridge.htm awarded a prize by architects following highly controversial reworking in recent years, permanently removing roman paving and parapets to facilitate a new lighting scheme.

· Huge riverbed; mostly now swamp and scrub with some large willow trees, navigable to here from the sea in ancient times. There is a modern pontoon on very long dolphin, so presumably there is some local traffic, and times when the river levels rise substantially.

· Little townhouse; built, decorated and furnished in the Arabic style – fascinating to see how the bare bones of the architecture come alive when dressed for living, with bright tapestries and cushions, cooling plants and small fountains and pools full of cut flowers. http://www.lacasaandalusi.com

The drive to Granada was again lovely, about two hours, mostly through olive and orange groves, the trees making wonderful patterns in the rolling hills.

23 Jan Granada.

We stayed for three nights in the Hotel ‘Washington Irving’, named after the New York writer who stayed hereabouts while visiting the area to write his ‘Tales of the Alhambra’.

The hotel is quite posh, and very newly refurbished, with our guide book (originally published about 10 years ago) referring to the place as ‘derelict’. Unrecognisable as an ‘old’ building, it has been architected into an anonymous modern international hotel, with no trace of the quirky 19th century ambience the guidebook said we might glimpse through the barred broken glass doorway. Our room was lovely, very glamorous and comfortable, the room itself reasonably priced, although their priorities require some tweaks – there was a wonderfully ridiculous ‘pillow menu’, from which you can choose (and I quote) “…to enjoy your dreams in a different way…” reclining on an “Audrey Hepburn” or “James Dean”, or perhaps “for our younger guests” – a “Mickey Mouse” – but nowhere to hang a dressing gown while you shower.

The hotel is currently let down by a comical food offering; Ellen’s main course arrived looking more like a tapas, with two very tiny cutlets of pork perched in the middle of a huge plate decorated with a drizzle of some pretty goo. We waited for the dish of vegetables to arrive, but no, that was it – beautiful and tasty, but hugely overpriced, and just not enough to eat.

On checking out, we intended to let them know what we thought of their food, but they forgot to charge us for parking the car (18Euro per day) so we said nothing and legged it.

24 Jan Alhambra.

To say anything about the Alhambra is to select, leave out, and struggle for descriptive superlatives. There are endless websites.

It is a complex of buildings within a high protective and defensive curtainwall on top of a hill; constructed and reconstructed, destroyed and restored over the centuries of its existence, for a wide range of motives. The brilliantly readable guidebook by Robert Irwin advised that almost everything we think we know about the place is wrong, with the truth of its original design now lost, the function and flow of the rooms further obscured by fantasy/myth/legend and poor historical archaeology, compounded by well-intentioned ‘restoration’ over time, and the need to pass many thousands of tourists through the place as fast as possible.

It is impossible to be ‘objective’ about the place; the scale of it, and its very foreign-ness, demands that we try and make sense of it, and we can only do that within the framework of our own life and experiences. Poverty and excess, power and subjugation, religious conviction and political duplicity – it is all here, confusing and enigmatic.

The Rasmid Palace is utterly beautiful, tiled with complex tessellated patterns and decorative plasterwork, the proportions of the buildings and their adornment all according to Pythagorean mathematical rules including ‘the golden ratio’. Paradoxically, much of the Alhambra has survived because it was made using ‘poor’ materials (wood, plaster, ceramic tiles), with virtually no intrinsic value and hence not worth looting.

The Palace of Carlos V, built in the centre of the complex, probably on the foundations of earlier Moorish buildings, is a striking square building in massive stone, with a circular courtyard, completely out of keeping with the rest of the compound. It now houses a museum, and art galleries.

The Generalife is a separate, much smaller, more domestic-scaled complex slightly further up the hill, with a wonderful garden.

The entire Alhambra complex is irrigated by an sophisticated arrangement of aqueducts and underground pipework, feeding fountains and pools as well as kitchen and ornamental gardens.

Ellen retired for a siesta, while I took in the Generalife, and later the steep footpath down between the Alhambra compound and the Generalife, to the Albaicin.

The setting of the Alhambra is stunning, with views down over the Albaicin area, a maze of tiny lanes around white-painted red-tiled buildings in the Moorish style, mostly built around little courtyards. The lower lanes are chaotic and colourful with market traders selling Moorish lanterns, textiles and leather goods.

In the other direction, the Sierra Nevada towers over the valley, the high snowfields catching the low winter sun.

The only significant irritation was the jostle of (mostly but not exclusively Japanese) tourists with bloody selfie-sticks, their backs to the sublime scenery and architecture, gurning and pouting at their cameras. During the busy season later in the year this must be a real joy. Do they ever actually look at the pictures they take? And when they do, what do they see?

25th Jan We spent the day in recovery, drifting into the town mid-morning, wandering around slightly aimlessly, drifting into a random art exhibition of photographs -of all things- the 9/11 attacks in New York, a very personal event for Ellen, who lost some close friends that day. We sat for an hour watching a sort of slide show of stunning and horrifying pictures, talking about it.

Lunch was a coffee and a shared pizza at a café in a square. A small group of young men at a nearby table were very striking, simply because their faces were so like those we had seen in the 15th century paintings in the Carlos V museum. Their modern clothes seemed like costumes, their ‘real’ clothes somewhere piled just out of sight, perhaps with their pikestaffs and standards leaning against a nearby wall. A very odd experience. Ellen says that this rarely happens in the States, where the many mixed immigrant populations have homogenised over the generations.

The Albaicin deserved another visit, and we spent a couple of hours wandering up and down the little lanes, peering through gateway railings, framing the view of the Alhambra with another alignment of lanes, the Sierra Nevada above.

The Royal Chapel of Isabella and Ferdinand (aka Mr and Mrs Spanish Inquisition) nearby boasts two of the most enormous sideboards I have ever seen, each about 8m long, and the most gaudy and stupendous baroque altarpiece, depicting the martyrdom of several saints in gloriously grotesque and fully detailed technicolour. For me, the very common Spanish-flavoured focus on suffering as a religious journey here ceased to be a meditation on the human condition, and stepped over the bounds of decency to become voyeuristic sadism, perhaps because of the close association of the place with Ferdinand and Isabella. They do not come across as nice people.

26th Jan Drive back to Cartagena, through the wonderful Sierra Nevada.Tapas in our usual bar.

27th Jan Ellen home, driven to the airport for 10am. Collapse in heap, write this, shopping, tv, bed.

Ellen promises to share her wonderful photos when she gets back, so I will post a selection when I get them.

It has been a wonderful few days; the places themselves, and stimulating company, talking a lot about everything.

Even with so many riveting distractions, it was difficult not to keep returning to the Trump question – sorry Ellen, I really don’t hold you personally responsible, but he is just SO bizarre. But also, in the context of so much historical excess and madness, he fits right in.

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