#I mean she is supposed to be anti-peach so why not? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rosethornewrites · 4 years

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Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 10

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars

Summary: A necessary discussion is had between Lan XiChen and the refugees, and between the brothers.

Notes: Chuntao, the name I gave a random auntie, means spring peach. I headcanon that popo and jifu are basically the Dafan Wen elders at this point, thus why they stay for the entire discussion. Can you imagine being lxc and being shown undeniable proof that you’ve been lied to by your sworn brother—oh wait, that’s canon. But this discussion had to be had without wwx present for a variety of reasons, especially from lwj’s perspective. Basically, wwx has enough burdening him, and lwj feels it’s his turn to shoulder some of it (and high time the rest of the cultivation world shouldered some of it as well). Also, there’s just a lot of philosophical aspects here, including Laozi, Confucius, Mozi, Sun Tzu, Mencius, etc. A lot of ancient Chinese philosophy is rather anti-war (coming from multiple periods involving warring states) or even advocates overthrowing rulers who are cruel to the people. The included Sun Tzu quote referenced by lxc was basically to convince captured soldiers to fight for your side (especially charioteers) through kind treatment, so while it doesn’t technically apply to civilians one could imagine you’d want civilians to be willing to provide for troops. I’m really just starting to delve into it all.

AO3 link

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

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Lan WangJi can’t help but notice that XiChen’s attention is on Wei Ying, as popo and Wen Qing keep putting food in his bowl and bullying him to eat more. Where normally Wei Ying would be endearingly dramatic about it, for the amusement of all, today he eats quietly, accepting their cajoling without complaint.

A-Yuan is the one to ease Wei Ying from the odd quiet, holding up his chopsticks with a bit of food.

“Xian-gege eat!” he demands. “Xian-gege too skinny.”

The delivery is a mix of popo and Wen Qing while also being completely a-Yuan, and Wei Ying laughs with the rest of the Wens before eating the morsel of food and reaching forward to pinch the boy’s cheek.

“All right, a-Yuan, I’m eating. I promise. You eat yours, and I’ll eat mine.”

The interaction leaves XiChen smiling in amusement, but there are other emotions under the surface, questions Lan WangJi knows he wants to ask but is holding back. He knows eventually he’ll have to answer some of them, but for now he joins the others in adding food to Wei Ying’s bowl.

His zhiji gives him a look of mock betrayal, then holds out his chopsticks with a bite of food and an expectant look that Lan WangJi indulges, taking the bite of food. But then he feeds Wei Ying with his own chopsticks, something that makes some Wens chuckle and Wei Ying blush. He doesn’t look at XiChen to see his reaction.

Lunch is over too soon, and Wen Qing plops a-Yuan into Wei Ying’s lap.

“Nap time for little boys,” she jokes.

“Xianxian isn’t little,” Wei Ying chirps. “Xianxian is three.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes at the game.

“Brat,” she says, but fails to hide a smile. “Go on, then.”

Lan WangJi touches his shoulder before he can move to get up.

“Would you like me to play for you until you sleep?”

He is gifted with an adoring smile.

“We’ll be fine. Spend time with your brother.”

Wei Ying nods to Zewu-Jun.

“I hope you don’t need to leave too quickly.”

XiChen smiles, clearly picking up on his meaning.

“No, I’ll still be here later. I hope to spend some time getting to know the people here.”

Wei Ying nods, though his expression briefly dips into a sort of knowing pity at what he likely knows they will learn, then takes a breath that’s half yawn. He stands, hefting a-Yuan.

“Aiya… I guess a-Yuan and I get to try out the new bed first. Time for little radishes to sleep.”

He heads off through the interior passage to the cave, and a-Yuan’s response echoes.

“Xian-gege is a radish too? Can a-Yuan call you Luobo-gege?”

The echoing of Wei Ying’s laughter is almost musical.

Unfortunately, with Wei Ying gone, XiChen’s questioning gaze turns to Lan WangJi. He meets his brother’s gaze stoically, intending to answer questions, but he will not offer information.

“Everyone seemed insistent on urging WuXian to eat,” XiChen finally says.

It isn’t a question, but Wen Qing answers anyway.

“It took a while to get food growing. We didn’t have a lot. That idiot kept slipping his rations to a-Yuan. We’re breaking him of that, now that there’s enough food.”

It surprises Lan WangJi when his brother looks alarmed at that.

“But he can no longer practice inedia,” he breathes. “How badly has his health been impacted?”

Wen Qing glances at Lan WangJi, her gaze pointed, and he knows she is asking how much XiChen knows.

“Wei Ying told xiongzhang he no longer has a golden core,” he tells her. “That he did not have one when Wen Chao threw him here, and throughout the war.”

A bit of tension leaves her frame, and she turns to XiChen. The explanation is clear enough for her to understand Wei Ying didn’t reveal his sacrifice and her hand in it.

“This is not the first time in his life he has faced extreme malnourishment, and each subsequent time impacts his health more drastically. He is more susceptible to illness, doubly so without a golden core.”

“This isn’t the first time?” XiChen echoes. “WuXian has starved before?”

This time it’s a question, so Lan WangJi answers.

“After his parents died, before Jiang FengMian found him, Wei Ying spent several years homeless as a child, here in Yiling in fact. And then Burial Mounds, the three months he was missing. He told you of the resentful energy—not much grows here naturally.”

XiChen closes his eyes, and Lan WangJi is reminded how much his brother’s face expresses the emotion he feels. He can see XiChen understands exactly how poorly Wei Ying is doing, if only one aspect of it. He knows his brother will learn worse, as he did.

“He has no core to cleanse the resentful energy that infiltrates his body, which is as much a pressing matter as the starvation,” Wen Qing continues. “Only a few days ago he leeched resentful energy from a plot of land so it could be farmed safely. If not for Lan WangJi’s help, he’d still be working on it, and barely functional when he wasn’t.”

“Truly,” jifu adds, having wandered over, “when he told us we were in Burial Mounds, we thought we had been led to our deaths anyway.”

“But that boy told us we could survive,” popo says. “He’s made sure of it, but it costs him. And we can’t even stop him because otherwise things would be worse. Aiya, he’s barely grown, but he’s suffered so much.”

The aunties and uncles have pulled chairs close, and he can see XiChen studying them, finding only faces ruddy from farming, many middle aged or older. Many are nodding their agreement with popo.

“And he brought a-Ning back to us,” one of the aunties—Chuntao, if Lan WangJi’s memory serves—adds. “He tries so hard.”

“We can never repay him,” Meilin-yi says softly. “But we can try to help him, to make him healthier. Do more of the work so he can rest.”

“He is truly blessed to have your care,” XiChen says.

His comment is met with discomfort in the faces around them.

“It’s kind of you to say so, Zewu-Jin,” jifu offers. “But if not for having saved us, he could go home and live in peace. We are blessed by his righteousness, but he is condemned to this.”

Lan WangJi has not been amongst the Wen remnants away from Wei Ying much, so this is the first he’s heard of it. But this, at least, he can ease in them, if only through acknowledging the cultivation world politics in play.

“No,” he says. “Sect Leader Jin wants the amulet. Wei Ying would have been cast out, or worse, regardless.”

XiChen winces but doesn’t correct him. Wen Qing’s face goes carefully blank.

“Only those who do not seek power are fit to be entrusted with it,” she says, a variation on the teachings of Zhuangzi. “Wen RuoHan sought the yin iron and look what came of that.”

“The yin iron piece hidden at Dafan Mountain was in our goddess statue,” popo tells XiChen. “She came to life and started stealing souls when he removed it. A-Qing and a-Ning lost their parents that day.”

“A-Ning lost part of his soul that day,” Wen Qing whispers.

Wen Ning puts his hand on his sister’s shoulder in comfort, and she reaches up to place hers over it.

XiChen already looks overwhelmed, but there is so much more to tell him, including what Lan WangJi failed to report regarding the Dafan Wens during the journey he and Wei Ying undertook.

“I did not have the opportunity to report before the attack on Cloud Recesses. Wei Ying and I had to reseal the statue—Wen RuoHan sought to use it as a weapon, along with the people he had turned into puppets. These people.”

The memory of a chain around Wei Ying’s throat, of him going limp… Though it had turned out to be a ruse, the bruising around his neck had been dark enough to make clear how close he had been to death.

Truly, that Wei Ying had killed one of Wen RuoHan’s owls had likely made him a target well before Indoctrination.

“My family was held hostage to force my cooperation,” Wen Qing tells him.

XiChen sighs softly, looking around at the group as though just realizing how few of them there are, how many must have perished under Wen RuoHan or in misguided vengeance after the war.

“I wish I could change what has already happened, but we can only move forward. If you are amenable, I would like to learn more about your treatment in the labor camps.”

This has been something Lan WangJi has dreaded to learn more of, as he knows from what little he saw at Qiongqi Path that their treatment was inhuman—beyond inhumane.

Stories are told haltingly. Of screams in the night. Of beatings and torture and rotten food. Of the young women disappearing one by one—dead, raped or sold to brothels, no one knew. Of the children succumbing to illness one by one. Of others disappearing. Of brazen murder, bodies dumped into a ravine, the one where Wei Ying and Wen Qing had found Wen Ning. Of degradation and hopelessness, of waiting for death.

Of groups being taken by a smiling man “for interrogation,” and never returning.

“Some were Qishan Wen,” a-Ning breaks in. “Others were Dafan.”

Some of the Wens have scars to show XiChen, evidence of their time abused in the labor camp. Lash mark scars on backs and legs and arms. An uncle’s broken arm that had partially healed wrong and required Wen Qing to rebreak to set and heal properly. A brand mark burned in the shape of a peony on the shoulder of one of the aunties.

The brand is especially shocking, harkening to the treatment by Wen Chao’s mistress, the scar in the shape of a sun on Wei Ying’s chest. That the Jins have resorted to the same type of cruelty, even ignoring the apparent genocide of the Wens, shows Lan WangJi they are too far down the same path as Wen RuoHan, and he hopes his brother is coming to the same conclusion.

Aunties and uncles wander in and out during stories, some getting back to work after telling their piece, some helping Wen Ning clean up after lunch. Some leave for a bit, overcome by emotion, and return to tell more. Others go back to the fields, or to work with the dyes. These are tales they have experienced; they don’t need to hear them retold.

The horror of their accumulated stories, and the fact that all clans are complicit in failing to oversee or regulate, just trusting the Jin at their word… It’s overwhelming.

Eventually, only popo, jifu, Wen Qing, and Wen Ning remain in the communal hall, the others having returned to their chores, or to handle the emotions brought up by reliving their trauma privately.

“WuXian saw this?” XiChen finally asks softly, his jaw taut.

“He saw enough,” jifu says. “Not all of it, but he saw the bodies. We weren’t allowed to bury them. He probably guessed much of the rest.”

XiChen only nods, looking devastated. Whether at the betrayal of being lied to by the Jins—or one in particular—or devastation at the souls not put to rest, Lan WangJi didn’t know. Or perhaps it was having to see the effects on the living souls forced to take refuge on a mountain that was a mass grave.

It could also be his culpability as a sect leader, of one of the remaining four great sects in not establishing a way to monitor the work camps, something that should have been done regardless of the need to rebuild.

Likely, all of it weighed on his brother.

“We were told the civilians would be watched over at Qiongqi Path. That only those who took part in the war would be executed,” XiChen says softly.

He sounds lost, and Lan WangJi wonders who told him this—he thinks it is likely it was Jin GuangYao. XiChen wouldn’t look as though he felt betrayed had he only been lied to by Jin GuangShan.

“They lied,” Lan WangJi tells him bluntly. “Wei Ying and I saw Jin ZiXun using fleeing civilians in chains as target practice. Women, children, old men… When we confronted him, he claimed the Lan and Nie sect leaders had agreed anyone concerned with yin iron should not be alive.”

He watches XiChen close his eyes again, watches shame cross his face—the same shame he has felt, a necessary shame.

“‘Captured soldiers should be treated kindly and kept,’” he murmurs, quoting Sun Tzu. “That civilians would be treated with such cruelty…”

His voice is hoarse, as he seems to recognize the immorality of what was allowed to occur, that perhaps the warning against becoming one’s enemy has been disregarded too easily, and something akin to the depravity of Wen RuoHan has taken hold, unchecked until Wei Ying’s actions.

And Wei Ying has been painted as the villain, the subject of a vicious rumor campaign including accusations of grave robbing, kidnapping, and cannibalism, the source of all ills, when he is simply farming and trying to survive.

The anger Lan WangJi felt in the tea house threatens to rise to the surface again, the slander against his zhiji, his husband, someone who upholds the values of justice and righteousness at the cost of his freedom and reputation, absolutely unacceptable.

“Their camps were just a way to kill us more slowly, outside the view of the other sects,” Wen Qing comments. “A-Ning was pierced though with a defaced Qishan Wen flag and tossed down a ravine to rest among the bodies of others killed. He was still alive when we got there, but his spiritual cognition was gone. The guards killed were those who participated in his murder.”

“I d-don’t remember killing anyone,” Wen Ning admits. “Nothing between p-passing out from pain and waking up here. It’s just a b-blank space in my memory.”

“There were at least fifty bodies down there,” Wen Qing whispers. “Wei WuXian waded into the water with me, and we checked each one until I found him.”

XiChen winces, his fist clenched under the table. He knows, likely, that their testimonies will mean little in terms of seeking justice. The winners of the war would decide the narrative of the labor camps, and the Jins had plenty of time since Wei Ying’s actions to erase evidence of their crimes.

That night in the rain, Wei Ying’s expression had been of a man disillusioned, a man who could take no more of the established order if it meant tolerating injustice. And if he had spent that time wading in fetid water tainted by corpses, seeking the body of the man he owed his life to, his friend, knowing that man was almost certainly dead… Lan WangJi could understand what would lead him to turn his back on the cultivation world that had allowed such an atrocity.

What use had Wei Ying for orthodoxy after that?

“They decided all Wens were responsible for the war,” jifu said, his voice tired. “Children like a-Yuan, grandparents like popo… Everyone. If not for young master Wei, we would be gone as well, and no one would think to care. He came to rescue a-Ning, and what he saw led him to decide he would leave none of us in that place.”

“Wen Ning rescued Jiang Cheng after the fall of Lotus Pier, and likely prevented Wei Ying’s death during indoctrination,” Lan WangJi explains.

“During indoctrination?” XiChen asks.

“Wen Chao p-put him in the dungeon with a d-direwolf,” Wen Ning supplies haltingly.

Lan WangJi goes cold—not a mere dog, but a direwolf? That Wei Ying survived long enough for aid to come is a miracle. He wonders how badly his husband was injured, but knows the herbs and energy boosting medicine at least left no scarring; he has mapped each of Wei Ying’s scars each night, and none seem to correspond with the rips that had been in his robes that day.

But back then, Wei Ying had a strong golden core.

“They did not expect him to survive the night,” Lan WangJi manages, though his calm is forced. “He believes he was intended to be an example, a warning to the rest of us.”

“Wen Chao did intend that,” Wen Qing acknowledges, lips pursed. “He was furious he survived. I knew a-Ning had intervened, but not that Wei WuXian had been locked in with that beast until later.”

XiChen is quiet for a bit, pale and clearly digesting the information. Lan WangJi is certain he knows this only scratches the surface of Wei Ying’s trauma, especially as xiongzhang is unaware Wei Ying is terrified of dogs, that he is revisiting his earlier feelings of having failed him—he has felt all of this himself. He still feels it.

“Then it seems WuXian owes a life debt to Wen QiongLin,” XiChen finally comments. “Which would usually expire upon death, but he remains spiritually conscious.”

Wen Qing draws in a sharp breath at the ramifications; though XiChen doesn’t have all the information—particularly regarding the surgery she had performed to transplant Wei Ying’s golden core to Jiang Cheng, which she seems to believe cancels out any such debt—Lan WangJi agrees with his brother’s assessment.

“Further, as WuXian was at the very least betrothed to WangJi at the time, the life debt is also his.”

While Lan WangJi fully expected this statement, it’s clear the Wens did not. Wen Qing looks overwhelmed, and Wen Ning seems confused. Jifu and popo look as though they might cry. They know what is meant here, know that this is a statement of responsibility. XiChen is condoning his support and protection of the Dafan Wens.

“GusuLan as a whole must recognize the life debt,” XiChen continues. “And as sect leader, I consider it valid. You saved my brother’s husband, and his family.”

The wording almost implies the Lan clan as a whole owes a life debt, which goes beyond what he expected—it offers an extra measure of protection. But Lan WangJi sees some of the logic his brother is going for and decides to add to it.

“Given that Wen Ning rescued Jiang Cheng from Wen Chao at Lotus Pier, and he and Wen Qing sheltered the Jiang siblings and Wei Ying at the Yiling Indoctrination Bureau, it is likely the Jiangs also owe a life debt.”

XiChen smiles at him, his eyes shrewd, calculating in a way Lan WangJi rarely sees from him. He wonders if the betrayal his brother feels over the lies he has been fed by a trusted friend has sharpened him in this way, leading him to think deviously where he usually would not.

“Of course, since Lady Jiang is to be wed to Jin ZiXuan, that would extend the life debt to him. And if Nie HuaiSang aided in protecting the Dafan Wens during the incident you mentioned, Wen Qing and Wen Ning similarly owe him a life debt.”

Wen Qing has been staring open-mouthed, but she seems to catch on quickly. Popo and jifu clearly understand and are overwhelmed. Wen Ning looks confused but seems content to listen and let his sister explain later.

“You’re proposing there exists a life debt among eight people?” she asks.

“I’m only summarizing what has occurred,” XiChen answers congenially. “I could hardly propose such a thing in the current political climate. It would undermine the Chief Cultivator. As a sect leader, that would be irresponsible of me.”

The smile on Wen Qing’s face is almost wicked.

“It seems like a matter between the eight of us,” she says. “What an auspicious number. Perhaps you would be willing to send a letter to Lady Jiang for me, Zewu-Jun? In the current political climate, anything from Yiling to Lady Jiang would garner red flags…”

“Of course. I need to send a missive to Sect Leader Jiang anyway on behalf of WangJi and WuXian, and I’m sure he would be willing to deliver a letter to his sister.”

Wen Qing rises and bows to him, then to Lan WangJi.

“Thank you. I will excuse myself to compose the letter. I’m sure Hanguang-Jun would be happy to give you a tour of our humble home.”

Popo and jifu excuse themselves to work on their projects—popo to aid in the dyeing, and jifu to work on his next carpentry project—so overcome with gratitude they almost kowtow to XiChen before they leave. XiChen, unsurprisingly, urges them not to bow; Lan WangJi knows this is partly out of guilt. Wen Qing tells Wen Ning to help with the dyeing project and move the dye vats outside before leaving as well, presumably to compose the letter.

Lan WangJi leads his brother from the hall, and around the various vegetable patches, explaining abundance of radishes nearly ready for harvest, showing him the new field with its newly sown crop of tomatoes, squash, beans, carrots, beets, peppers—for Wei Ying, he explains—and a small herb patch.

“WangJi, though the answer is obvious to me, questions will be asked about the validity of the marriage,” xiongzhang says during a lull.

He knows he is specifically thinking of shufu, but also likely of other elders who will oppose his marriage. Short of Wei Ying’s death, there is nothing they can do—and he will ensure the former does not occur.

“It has been consummated,” he replies, and is kind enough not to add ‘repeatedly’ or ‘enthusiastically’ to the assertion, however true they are. “It cannot be annulled.”

XiChen smiles and nods, and Lan WangJi leads the way back toward the settlement so he can see the structures the Wens have built and live in.

“Honestly, the closeness I witnessed between you two made that clear,” XiChen admits. “You are rarely so free with touch, WangJi, and the intimacy you share is undeniable.”

He can feel his ears heat at his brother’s unabashed comments; this is not a discussion he expected to have, but it is undeniable that touch has become an added and welcome part of his relationship with Wei Ying. He would touch him always if it were practical.

“We are happy, xiongzhang,” he says softly. “Despite the difficulties faced here, we are happy together. I know the elders and shufu will likely not be pleased with our union. If it becomes necessary for me to break with GusuLan—”

“Never,” XiChen interrupts, his tone forceful. “No, WangJi, didi… I will not allow them to cast you out. You have a responsibility to your spouse, one recognized by Lan Yi herself. You will always be welcome in the Cloud Recesses.”

Lan WangJi nods, grateful for his brother’s support. He knows he and Wei Ying, and likely the Wens as well, will have a supportive voice at Cloud Recesses.

“I will, of course, visit as much as I am able,” XiChen continues. “And if shufu insists on coming, it will be with my escort, so you may rest easy on that matter. You will probably want some of your personal items from the jingshi, as well.”

Rarely does Lan WangJi feel choked up, but XiChen’s dedication to his happiness is something that has often overwhelmed him.

“Xiongzhang, I—”

He stops when the sound of loud crying fills the air, coming from the Demon-Slaughtering Cave. Lan WangJi immediately recognizes a-Yuan’s wailing—a-Yuan, who should be napping with Wei Ying. He breaks into a run.

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juniperwindsong · 4 years

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Necessary Monsters (10/16)

Summary: "What kind of gentleman would I be if I let your first day here be all misery?" "I thought you were a dragonologist now, not a gentleman." "They're not mutually exclusive."

His first week in Romania, Felix had been diligent about scourgifying himself after every shift. But magic, it seemed, had a harder time sluicing off dragon-related filth, and the spell never seemed to catch it all, leaving a distinct outdoors-y smell and a crusty stain about his clothes. More importantly, dirt and grime seemed to be a badge of honour here. Felix quickly discovered only newcomers and theoretical researchers, both regularly mocked by the resident dragonologists, bothered to clean themselves more than once a day. Desperate to fit in, Felix had learned to relax some of his more fastidious habits. Which is why it takes him nearly fifteen minutes of frantic searching to finally locate his long-disused bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion at the bottom of an old trunk.

Grey pre-dawn light meanders across the dingy bathroom mirror as Felix applies liberal amounts of the potion to his hair, refusing to think too deeply about why. He pulls the nicer of his summer work shirts over his head, attempts to charm the worst of the wrinkles out of his trousers, and even spends a few minutes bent over his boots before he's forced to give them up as a lost cause. It would take days to remove all the layers of mud and muck.

Felix stares at his newly groomed reflection, nerves chewing a hole in the lining of his stomach. All he's done is dress himself up for disappointment, he thinks ruthlessly. His best has never been enough to impress Juniper, not for the results he wants, anyway. And he ought not to be attempting to impress her at all. She's coming here with Charlie Weasley, she's made her feelings about Felix clear, and that's all there is to it.

Anxiety wrings the last of Felix's confidence from him like a dishrag. Suddenly the prospect of seeing Juniper arrive with that ridiculous red-head is unbearable, and, in spite of the fact that he's woken at the crack of dawn on his day off specifically to greet Juniper as soon as she arrives, Felix flees the flat.

The sun is just beginning to warm the hard ground as Felix walks, quickly as dignity will allow, down the Reserve's main path toward the modest cul-de-sac of buildings. Better sense commands him not to glance across at the long-abandoned Hospital cottage. He looks anyway. The windows are as dark and disused as they've been all year, but the observation does nothing to settle his writhing nerves. Juniper might be in the main building, the same one he's headed for, receiving instructions from Guivré. The Romanian Reserve Director doesn't believe in staff meetings or long-winded introductions, but Juniper might take it upon herself to explore the building, make friends with the other dragonologists as soon as she can. That's the sort of thing she would do.

Felix's heart is pounding in his ears as he enters the building and nearly sprints through the mercifully-empty halls. He reaches his cramped office without meeting anyone, and sinks into the wobbly chair, panting slightly. There's sweat beading Felix's brow, and a lone strand of dark hair escapes his severe part. He tucks it back into place, and wonders how on Earth he's supposed to work under these conditions.

Perhaps Juniper won't stay at the Reserve long, Felix thinks as he starts on the paperwork mountain Rashbold has left piled on the desk; none of the other healers have. But the wish has no real will behind it. Juniper has never been one to shy away from a challenge. And the little pangs of terror the thought inspires reluctantly confirm to Felix that he still wants Juniper here, in spite of her unwelcome companion.

Taking a long, slow breath Felix forces composure through his limbs. Allowing himself to ruminate on the whole bloody mess is pointless, and sours his stomach. Forgoing enchantment, he fixes his eyes on the typewriter and uses his fingers to depress the keys manually. It's a slow, laborious process, but it keeps his feelings at bay and his mind from wandering. Felix turns the entirety of his attention to typing up Rashbold's report from yesterday, then the one from the day before. He works until his hand hits desk instead of parchment, and he's surprised to find he's already come to the end of the stack.

A low rumble of voices echoes from down the hall, and a quick glance at his pocket watch reveals the morning is almost over. When means, Felix realizes with a lurch, Juniper must be really, truly here. He's just wondering where she might be now when the light from the hall is suddenly blocked by a tall figure in a distinctive hat.

“Rosier? What are you doing here?” asks Grahame from the doorway. “Thought you were off today?”

"I was just catching up on paperwork," Felix says quickly, feeling oddly guilty, as though he were caught doing something forbidden. " We were about to lose the desk under it."

“Yeah, well, you might think about catching up on sleep. You’ve got circles like a coon.”

A year ago, the comparison would have meant nothing to Felix, but he’s spent enough time with the Reserve's resident American to become accustomed to his colourful turns of phrase. He manages a brittle smile.

"I'll think about it."

“How 'bout some coffee then?"

"Oh. Well, if you have some to spare." Felix tries to keep his voice from sounding to eager, though he stands so fast the chair legs rattle.

" 'Course." Grahame pushes off from the doorframe and saunters down the hall to his own slightly larger office, Felix just behind him. "I'm brewing way too much in the morning now, since you took off." He flashes an accusatory look over his shoulder. "Still can't believe you did that. I mean, I know McFusty had everyone riled up about your family for a while, but they'll get bored of it. You didn't have to run and hide."

Grahame nudges open the door of his office, and Felix follows him inside stiffly. This isn't the first time he's had to bite his tongue around Grahame's thoughtless comments. One of the outspoken American's favorite pastimes is voicing observations better kept to himself. Not the sort of person Felix would typically have any patience for, but Grahame has other qualities to make up for his tactlessness; namely, a never-ending supply of strong coffee and a generous nature.

Grahame sets his hat on the desk next to a large thermos, and rummages about in a drawer for a cup.

"I don't get all this bad blood between y'all anyway. I mean, it's not like you're one of those....what do you call 'em? Death speakers? It's-"

"Grahame," interrupts Felix tightly. He keeps his eyes fixed on the thermos of coffee, praying to it for patience. "Drop it. Please." In spite of his best effort, the words come out far too frosty to be considered polite. But rudeness runs off the American like rain from the rim of his hat. Grahame merely shakes his head and pours coffee from the thermos into the spare cup.

"I reckon you know best," Grahame concedes. He hands the cup to Felix who takes it with a nod of thanks and inhales the comfortingly scalding steam. "But I'm still sorry you're stuck in the shit shacks. Although..." Grahame's eyes suddenly light up slyly. "Guess this means you'll be seeing more of our new healer."

Felix's throat constricts tightly. His first sip of coffee is left swimming between his teeth as he tries to remember how to swallow. "Oh," he mumbles noncommittally when his mouth is free again. For once, he's grateful for Grahame's inability to pick up on social cues.

"Yep. Just got here this morning. Go by the med cottage when you have a chance and take a look. She's a peach."

Felix nearly drops his cup.

"Just out of school I think," continues Grahame, entirely oblivious to Felix's tightening jaw. "Can't be more than 18. We'll finally have something to look at besides McFusty. I know Sigeburt and Gil have already asked her to drinks, and there's money on who she says yes to first. I think Alexei's got the pot if you're interested. Personally, my bet's on - Hey! You're not going to finish your coffee?" Grahame calls after Felix's rapidly retreating back.

Felix speeds down the gravel walk toward the hospital cottage, all pretense of cool indifference gone. The blood pounding in his ears keeps time with his feet as his brain scolds him for being eleven kinds of moron. Why, oh why, did this never occur to him? He's been around the pub enough to know the lack of girls makes up a large proportion of the casual conversation among the predominately male dragonologists. Of the three female dragonologists present at the Reserve, two manage to keep themselves from intense scrutiny by their advanced age and the third -

Felix skids to a halt to avoid crashing into the stocky, muscular body and long red braid of the Reserve's youngest female dragonologist as she steps out of the hospital cottage's doorway. Instinct, recognising the impending danger, peddles his feet back just a step before dignity demands he stand his ground, matching the emerald eyes glare for glare.

"Rosier."

"McFusty."

The woman's eyes flicker into twin green flames as if Felix's cool pronunciation of her name were a grievous insult. "What do you want?" she asks fiercely, crossing her arms and planting herself in the doorway as if to block his entrance.

Felix smirks. The presence of his least favorite person at the Reserve gives his anxiety a purpose and a target. Enemies, he knows how to handle.

"To see our new healer, of course," he replies with perfect innocence. "But only if you're quite finished. I'm sure you need her assistance far more than I. Didn't your last attempt at anti-venom cause an outbreak of boils?"

McFusty's nostrils flare in such an accurate impression of the Hebridean Blacks she cares for that Felix wouldn't be surprised if actual sparks shot from them. She whips her head around to call over her shoulder into the cottage, "This'll be one of those unsavoury types I mentioned. Do let me know if he bothers you," McFusty meets Felix's eyes once more as she finishes, "I'll be happy to hex him a new hole."

Satisfied with the last word, McFusty steps out of the cottage, careful to bump hard into Felix's shoulder on her way down the walk. Felix contents himself with another superior smirk. He watches the angry red-head out of the corner of his eye as she marches away, years of experience reminding him just how possible a parting hex might be.

"What was that about?" calls a voice from inside the building that drives McFusty entirely from Felix's mind.

Excitement bubbling in his chest, Felix steps into the dimly lit cottage and jumps back hastily when the floor crunches under his feet. Waiting for his eyes to adjust to the change in light, Felix squints at the ground, then around the building's one large room. He wonders how it earned the generous title of "cottage" when "dilapidated shack" would be more accurate. Everything he can see appears to be dusty or broken or a combination of the two. What had appeared in the darkness to be piles of garbage carpeting the floor turn out, in fact, to actually be piles of garbage. There's hardly a wooden floorboard that isn't buried under cracked and broken jars and bottles, rotten bouquets of dried herbs and plants, or crushed, empty boxes. And sitting cross-legged in the middle of the rubble, like a queen surveying her unruly subjects, is Juniper.

For all his apprehension about this very moment, Felix can't stop elation surging through him as he takes in the sight. Juniper, in her trademark jeans and jumper (Slytherin green, he notes), here, in the same place as him, after all this time. Somehow, it's both soothing and exciting, and Felix wishes he could be allowed to just quietly enjoy her presence for a few minutes. But Juniper's watching him expectantly, head cocked to the side, the wand she's stuck through her loose bun wobbling slightly, and he realizes he hasn't answered her question.

"It's...nothing," replies Felix belatedly. He can hear the slight tremor of joy in his voice and struggles to keep his face impassive. Juniper doesn't appear to notice. She leans across a small pile of uncorked bottles to scribble something on a roll of parchment nearly two feet long.

"Well, if you're here for burn salve or anti-venom or...anything really it'll just have to wait," she says testily, without looking up. "Every single thing in here is either empty or unlabeled, it's going to take me at least a week to sort through it all. And all the ingredients are gone off as well, so there's no way to make anything till I've got more. I'm making up a list now, and I'll get it to Guivré just as soon as I can but I don't know how quickly the post runs here, so I really can't give you a time estimate." She runs a distracted hand through her hair, dust leaving a faint white streak.

Felix's lips twitch of their own accord. He clears his throat into his hand to hide them.

"You'd do better to send off for anything you need yourself and then file for reimbursement. You'll get it a good deal faster. Guivré's a hard person to track down and he doesn't consider paperwork a priority. Anything you leave in his office could very well sit there for months."

"Alright then," says Juniper, voice noticeably bereft of her characteristic cheer. She gets to her feet, neatly avoiding the toppling piles of rubbish propped against her, and rolls up her parchment. "I'll do it myself. I don't suppose you could point me to the post office? The bloke who showed me in took my owl from me. He said something about them not being allowed to fly here?"

"Yes, there's no loose owls allowed on the Reserve. They have to be kept at the Post Office and flown in designated areas. Apparently, they used to fly over the dragon habitats and get eaten. Cost the Reserve a fortune in recompense." Felix trails away when he realises Juniper hasn't heard a word. She’s turning round in a circle, eyes on the floor, kicking aside debris with increasingly frantic movements. "Have you lost something?"

"My wand," Juniper exclaims angrily, now patting the pockets of her dust-covered jeans. She lets out a groan of frustration when she finds nothing. Carefully circumventing a pile of jagged glass, Felix steps forward and plucks the wand from the back of Juniper's hair. He offers it to her, failing to keep the amusement from his eyes and mouth. Juniper snatches it away from him, face flushed with shame or anger, he isn't sure which.

"You seem...bothered," Felix comments, taking care not to smile.

"It's just... been a long morning." Juniper rubs the bridge of her nose and sighs deeply. "People've been in and out since I got in. Half of them want things I don't have and get pissed when I don't have it, like they thought I would show up with an endless supply of potions in tow? And then the other half don't even need anything, they just want to ask me questions about the Cursed Vaults or my brother or whether I'm currently seeing anyone!" She wrinkles her nose in disgust. "Like that's the first thing I'm thinking about! It's my first day at my first job, I've not had time to change or eat or use the bloody toilet, but yes, let me choose a dinner companion."

Felix's tightly coiled tension unwinds, and for the first time that morning he's able to relax. A distant part of him registers guilt that he wasn't there to help make Juniper's arrival more hospitable, but that can be easily improved, now he's confident none of the dragonologists will be winning the betting pool anytime soon.

"Has no one showed you around yet?"

Juniper shakes her head. "No. Guivré had some bloke take my things from me at the gate and then led me straight here."

"Well then," Felix relieves Juniper of her roll of parchment and gestures to the door. "Let me give you the grand tour."

"What?" Juniper meets his eyes, and Felix wonders if he's imagining wariness in them. "That's - really ok. I'm sure you've got loads to do, and I should probably stay and sort through this mess."

"It's been sitting like this for nearly a year, it'll wait another few hours," Felix assures her. When she continues to look uncertain, he adds wryly, "What kind of gentleman would I be if I let your first day here be all misery?" And with mock solemnity, Felix offers Juniper his arm.

Juniper blinks. The harassed expression fades, and her eyes twinkle with something more like her usual humour.

"I thought you were a dragonologist now, not a gentleman."

"They're not mutually exclusive."

Felix winks, and a familiar smile spreads slowly up the side of Juniper's face.

"Very well," she replies, taking his arm with excessive ceremony. "Lead on."

Their first stop is the Post Office, where Juniper confirms her owl is settled and is able to send off her list of necessary ingredients to Diagon Alley. Then a short perambulation around the cul-de-sac allows Felix to point out the shop, the pub, and the mess.

"There's three meals a day offered there. It's all free, but it tastes it. I recommend the pub whenever possible."

Juniper's head swivels about following Felix's finger as he names each building.

"Is this it then?" she asks as he leads her onto the path leading to the dragon habitats.

"Yes, apart from the flats. They're on the opposite side of the village."

"Five buildings constitutes a village?"

"You were expecting Hogsmeade?"

"No, not exactly. I guess I just thought...I don't know... that it'd be bigger. Isn't it the largest dragon sanctuary in the world?"

Felix chuckles. "Yes, it is. The largest dragon sanctuary not dragonologist sanctuary. Most of the land is dedicated to the dragon habitats. There's at least two of every known dragon species living here, and they each need several leagues of land to be comfortable and to safely kept from each other. Dragons don't play well together."

"I see," Juniper says, nodding absently. She's fallen a bit behind Felix, constantly turning side to side to take in the scenery.

"It's beautiful here," she observes and Felix feels as puffed with pride as though he had cultivated the landscape himself.

"Yes," he agrees. "There's a bit of everything here. Terrain to suit each dragon. Over that way's the mountain where they keep the Longhorns and the Shortsnouts. And the valley on the other side are for the Opaleyes. There's even an enormous lake for the Ridgeback."

"Where do the Peruvian Viperteeth live?" asks Juniper eagerly.

"Vipertooths is the appropriate plural," Felix corrects. "And our habitat's just up the path there. It's hills mostly, with a small wooded area. They tried to cultivate a miniature jungle there, but whoever was responsible for it had never actually seen a jungle before so it's really just an eclectic forest."

"Can I see them?" The bubbling excitement in Juniper's voice is too much for Felix to maintain his staid self-control, and he laughs. He can't remember the last time he laughed like this, warm and full and real.

"Where do you think I'm taking you?"

The prospect of seeing dragons lends speed to Juniper's feet until she's practically skipping next to a still-chuckling Felix. They turn off the path, and Felix leads the way to the hidden paddock.

Juniper's face is pressed nearly flat against the window, as she searches every direction for a sign of a bronze dragon.

"She's bound to come back this way soon," Felix reassures. "There's more tree cover over here and she prefers to stay in the shade once it's gets too warm in the afternoons."

They stand together quietly for a moment watching the tree line, so close their shoulders almost touch. Each time Juniper turns her head, the smell of lavender and that other scent Felix can never identify wafts toward him. Something hot kindles to life in his lower abdomen but before it can become too distracting Juniper's curiousity comes to the rescue.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," says Felix in relief.

"What is it you actually do? I mean... in Peru you were running around chasing dragons, stopping them from eating people and everything, and I assume you're not doing that anymore. So, what do you do here?"

The question confuses Felix at first, until he remembers how little they've communicated in the last year. He adopts the old self-assured voice he always used when tutoring younger students.

"Well, there's two resident dragonologists to each dragon breed, and we're responsible for their upkeep: feeding them, keeping them healthy, preventing them from escaping. We get a team of assistants but that changes regularly, everything pretty much falls to us. We take notes about their behaviour and write down basically everything that happens with them each day and keep it on file so other dragonologists and magizoologists can use it for research. We've also nearly always got some sort of researcher that needs access to the dragons for a paper or experiment or whatnot and they want looking after and questions answered. It's quite a bit more paperwork than being a dragonologist in the field."

"Interesting," murmurs Juniper, now watching Felix instead of the window.

"Really?" he asks, cursing the hated blush that colours his cheeks.

"Of course. You never really think about that side of it, do you? That being a Dragonologist is more than just stunning spells and dodging flame. Most people think-"

A rush of whistling wind interrupts Juniper before she can explain what most people think, and she turns to the window eagerly.

"Look up," Felix tells her. Juniper's nose hits the glass as she cranes her neck to watch the copper-coloured dragon descend at a breathtaking pace onto the sloping hill in front of them. Felix spares a quick glance at the dragon to determine which it is before returning his gaze to Juniper, watching with satisfaction as her mouth falls slightly open.

"It's gorgeous," she breathes, hands now pressed against the window beside her face, as if she might feel the warm scales through the enchanted glass.

"She."

"She?"

Felix nods. "That's a female. You can tell by the small ridge of spikes around her eyes. I caught her terrorizing a little village near the Pacaya-Samiria reserve."

"You caught her?" Juniper asks in awed disbelief.

"Well, my team and I."

Outside the paddock, the sparkling dragon stretches her wings leisurely and wriggles her long snake-like body from snout to tail as if shaking off dust. She slithers regally toward the tangled trees near the paddock, and wraps herself around a large trunk.

"Can we go see her?' Juniper asks eagerly.

"Not unless you'd like to lose a limb. I'm afraid Gen's particularly bloodthirsty."

"Her name's Gen?"

"It's short for Genièvre.”

"Where does that come from?" asks Juniper curiously, but before Felix has to think up a suitable excuse, movement registers out of the corner of his eye.

He and Juniper both turn to inspect the small group of wizards now trotting down the hill from the direction the dragon had come. Felix recognizes Rashbold leading a team of assistants, each dragging bulky sacks behind them. He's about to explain the glamourous world of the Reserve's dragon dung trade when Juniper cries, "Charlie!" and waves frantically at one of the sack-laden assistants. All Felix's high spirits deflate as he recognises the flaming hair.

"He can't hear you," he tells her brusquely. "The glass is enchanted. We can see out but they can't see in."

"Oh, too bad. I hope his first day's better than mine."

Felix retreats to the back of the paddock and leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching Juniper watch Charlie cart his sack down the hill toward the habitat's entrance. From here it doesn't look like the Weasley boy has changed much in appearance. He's still quite short, Felix's notes with a savage pleasure, but there's no denying he's exceptionally well-built for his size. First Barnaby, now Weasley; Juniper clearly has a type.

"So," asks Felix unsure whether it's courage or weakness that prompts the question. "You and Charlie are..."

When he can't complete his sentence, Juniper turns curiously. "Are what?"

Felix can feel his face heat and looks down, feigning interest in the tops of his boots. "Together?"

"What, you mean like together together?" Juniper giggles, a gossiping school-girl sort of sound. "No, of course not."

The answer is entirely unexpected. Hope flickers to life inside Felix like a candle flame, but he refuses to let it warm him.

"Really?" he replies skeptically. "You just came here together by coincidence, then?"

"Well, no it's not exactly a coincidence.I mean, we're friends. Well, the sort of friends that when Charlie found out where I'd applied he threatened to jinx me if I didn't ask about a job for him as well."

"Sounds like he really wanted to work with you," presses Felix, and Juniper laughs again, a comfortable laugh as if he'd told an old favorite joke.

"You clearly don't know Charlie," she says between chuckles. Catching sight of Felix's flat expression, Juniper calms herself enough to explain. "Look, you know how some guys like girls and some guys like guys? Well, Charlie just likes dragons. That's all he ever thinks about, every day, all the time. That's why we got to be such good friends, actually. All our other friends got to be obsessed with dating and romance and for a while it was like you couldn't ever hang out with anyone without wondering if they really liked you or wanted to secretly date you or something. It was exhausting. But with Charlie I never had to worry about that and he never had to worry about that with me, so we could just study in peace."

It's as though the storm clouds over Felix's head have parted and the sun is shining on him fully for the first time in months. He feels lighter than air, and his breathing is full and easy. A weight has been lifted off his chest he didn't know he'd been carrying. Too late, he realises he's grinning and he can't switch it off. Juniper's notices as well.

"What's so funny?" she asks, mirroring his smile automatically.

Felix ignores her question. Instead, he grabs her hand, pulling her away from the window and toward the exit. Joy has gifted him a brilliant idea, and he can't wait even a second to put it into action.

"There's something I want you to see."

“Are we nearly there?”

“Nearly.”

“That's what you said twenty minutes ago,” Juniper grumbles, but Felix can hear the laughter in it.

“And it was true then, too.” Felix races down the winding path that leads to the deeper dragon habitats, Juniper in tow. When the trees disappear entirely and the hills grow higher and sharper, he speeds up.

“Felix, come on, my legs are killing me.”

“It's just up this hill, I promise." His grin feels like it might sprout wings and fly off his face and Juniper can’t help but laugh at it as she clambers up the hill behind him.

"Merlin's Beard, Felix, this had better be worth-"

Juniper stops abruptly as she reaches the hill top. She stares down at the other side, eyes very wide.

“Is that...“

“Yes,” says Felix softly. Juniper presses a hand tightly to her mouth.

Below them, a dragon trots gaily across the grass chasing what appears from the colour to be an enchanted quaffle. A wizard nearby directs the progress of the ball with his wand, and the large green dragon follows it closely. Every few paces, it leaps into the air, catching wind under it's right wing and gliding forward to snap long white fangs at the ball before landing back onto the ground gracefully. It tosses its emerald head and emits a musical snort like a trumpet call.

"Sparky..." Juniper's voice is thick and wet, and Felix realises with an ebb of his high-spirits that tears are streaming down her face.

"Are you crying?" The question tumbles from him as soon as he thinks it, before he can register how stupid it sounds. It's obvious she's crying, what isn't obvious is why. And though Felix casts around frantically for a reason, he can't come up with anything that makes sense.

"Yes," Juniper replies wiping roughly at her eyes with her sleeve. "Sorry. It happens a lot more now than it used to."

"But what...what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong...I promise. I'm just..." A choked sob prevents any more coherent explanation. Felix can only stand helplessly while Juniper sobs loudly into her hands, Sparky still prancing below them.

"I'm sorry," Felix offers, though the words feel wholly inadequate and he isn't even sure what he ought to be sorry for. "I thought you'd like to see him."

Juniper shakes her head quickly, trying to speak through her tears. "I would...I mean, I do. It's wonderful. It's just.." She sniffs loudly. "I don't know, I just can't believe...that I'm here. I'm really here."

"What do you mean?" asks Felix cautiously.

"I mean, here. At the Romanian Reserve. I always wanted to come here and...visit Sparky one day. But I never thought... I mean...I never really thought I'd get out of school alive, you know? I didn't think...I'd make it.." Juniper looks down at Sparky once more. "But I did...I'm here. It's over and...I can't believe it."

It's as though the last year has never occurred. The final vestiges of Felix's twisted anger and resentment and confusion shrink to nothing. All he can feel is the same familiar, overwhelming love for Juniper he remembers, and that primal desire to make anything hurting her disappear.

"Come here." Felix wraps his arms around Juniper's shaking shoulders and lets her bury her wet face against his chest. He holds her to him delicately, unable to keep from savouring the feeling of her body pressed against his once more. "You did make it. It's all over now." Felix strokes her windswept hair softly. "And things are going to be so much better from now on. I promise."

Missed the last bits? Here’s the link to the masterpost.

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96thdayofrage · 4 years

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youtube

Jerry Thomas got his Georgia Primary ballot on June 10. The Primary Election was June 9.

Getting shafted out of your vote is not unusual for an African-American like Mr. Thomas. What’s unusual is that Mr. Thomas's wife, Andrea Young, is the executive director of the American Civil Liberties Union of Georgia.

Young knows that her husband’s story was repeated thousands of times in Black households. And she is raising hell about it.

And that's how Trump stole the 2020 election. Because what the press calls the “meltdown” in Georgia (and in the Wisconsin and Kentucky primaries) was very much a dress rehearsal for the plan for minority voting hell in November, not only in Georgia but in a slew of other GOP-controlled swing states.

Don't pull out your hair: this ballot burglary can be busted—as long as we understand the crafty new mechanisms of the vote heist caper that the GOP took for a field test in Georgia.

There’s the nasty little secret of American elections: not every vote gets counted. (Photo: Allyn West)

Mail-in voting: more than “Pick and Lick”

Question: Why did Black voters Atlanta wait hours in line and risk catching a fatal virus?

Answer: You can't mail in your ballot unless it's mailed to you in the first place.

According to an MIT study, a breathtaking 22% of all mail-in ballots are never counted. Mostly, absentee ballots don't get counted because they were never received in the first place or, as for Mr. Thomas, sent late.

However, the “un-count” is huge because some states are simply refusing absentee ballots to hundreds of thousands of registrants—or, not sending cards that allow the voter to ask for the mail-in ballot.

Georgia is one of the GOP's ballot-refusing champs. The state refused to send mail-in ballot requests to over a quarter million voters on their so-called “inactive” voter list.

An “inactive” voter is a citizen who chose not to vote in a couple elections. In America, you have a right to vote—or not to vote. Indeed, the National Voter Registration Act says in crystal clear terms, that a state “shall not remove any person from the official list of voters registered to vote… by reason of the person's failure to vote.”

But, Georgia's Republican Secretary of State chose not to send an absentee ballot request forms to this mass of voters. Georgia was simply following the lead of swing state Ohio where another GOP Secretary of State refused over one million absentee ballot request cards to “inactive” registered voters.

Why? Here’s a possible explanation: Inactive lists, filled with young voters, are roughly two-to-one Democratic.

Then there’s the much bigger list of citizens also denied ballots: The Purged.

In 2018, Georgia purged, that is, erased the registrations of, over half a million citizens on the grounds they'd left Georgia or moved from their home county.

Seems reasonable: you shouldn't vote in Savannah if you don't live there.

But there's more than a wee problem with this list of “movers”—they didn't move. The Palast Investigative Fund retained John Lenser and company, the nation's top “advanced address list hygiene” experts—the folks used by Amazon and Ebay to confirm your address. The experts determined that 340,134 Georgia “movers” who lost their vote had, in fact, never moved from their registration address.

A deep evil of this purge of “movers” is that they don't know they've lost their registration. I was with voter Christine Jordan in November 2018 when the 92-year-old was given the heave-ho from an Atlanta polling station. Jordan had voted there in every election since 1968—the year her cousin Martin Luther King Jr. was murdered.

Those lines of African-American voters you saw in Atlanta this month waiting five hours were not the result of poor local planning. The deadly line disaster was directly tied to thousands of Georgians, according to Atlanta NAACP attorney Gerald Griggs, not receiving their absentee ballots—”The Purged,” the “Inactive,” and the many Mr. Thomases whose mail-in ballots were fatally delayed.

Without their ballots, voters had no choice but to wait those hours in humid rain. Then, at the end of the wait, many are, to their surprise, told to scram (as Ms. Jordan had been)—or given a “provisional” ballot.

The provisional dumpster

A better name for provisional ballots would be “placebo ballots”—because they let you think you've voted, but you haven't. In 2016, the Elections Assistance Commission reported that of 2.5 million provisional ballots cast, 925,973 were rejected, nearly a million votes tossed in the electoral dumpster.

And who is given these back-of-the-bus provisional ballots? Obama's Presidential Commission on Elections reported that Black and Hispanic voters are more than twice as likely as other voters to get the provisional ballot. Asian-Americans fare even worse. And young voters? Eighteen to 24 year olds are more than twice as likely to be shunted to a provisional ballot.

In Georgia, I saw the racial provisional ballot game in action.

Just before Ms. Jordan was given the heave-ho, Raheim Shabazz was also told he'd been purged. Shabazz demanded a provisional ballot—but he knew that, by Georgia rules, his ballot would be tossed out, uncounted. But the nice ladies at the polling station did given Shabazz an “I VOTED” lapel sticker which is printed on a drawing of a peach, the state fruit.

“What do I do with this?” said the radio host. “Eat it?”

Democracy is residual

And there's the nasty little secret of American elections: not every vote gets counted. States report to the EAC that a 1,913,369 ballots were cast—then rejected.

The rejection rate for mail-in ballots zooms through the roof compared to in-precinct votes. How? One other voting rights attorney, Stacey Abrams, faced losing her own mail-in vote when the return envelope enclosed with the ballot was sealed shut by Georgia humidity. While Abrams knew she had to go through the process of getting a new envelope, others, who unlike Abrams may lack a Yale law degree, would assume they can mail in the ballot with their own envelope. Forgeddaboudit. Into the dumpster.

In Morgan County, GOP-dominated and just southeast of Atlanta, 20 votes on scanned ballot images of mail-in votes had not recorded. It appeared the votes did not register because ovals that were supposed to be filled in were instead checked or marked with X's.

The scanners simply would not read the ballots, so a review of the mail-in ballots would locate other ballots uncounted. But the Republican majority on the county's board of elections blocked the hand count.

Mail-in ballots lost in the mail; provisional ballots for voters purged without warning; absurdly, dangerously long lines and ballots simply rejected: This is not an exhaustive list of tricks the GOP will roll out in November, but the ones they chose to take for a test drive in this past months’ primaries.

Body count and vote count

Deadly long lines for Black voters and deadly cops that gun them down are really one story, the lesson I took from my talk with ACLU's Andrea Young.

“Without voter suppression,” Young said, “Georgia's electorate would support people who have very different positions than the people who are in control right now in the Capitol.”

You can't take away an innocent man's life unless you also take away his community's means to do something about it: the vote.

And Georgia's ruling regime is particularly adept at both: taking away rights as they take away lives as in the killing of Rashard Brooks.

Noting that she has “ancestors who were enslaved in Clark County, Georgia, in the 1820s,” Young said her family has, “for 200 years [been] fighting to make Black Lives Matter” in the state.

“Georgia,” she said, “only has these extreme, anti-Black, anti-woman, anti-LGBT policies because of voter suppression.”

#Youtube

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docplop · 4 years

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I have bipolar type 2, so I think that may have had something to do with it. The delusions were severe. It started with thinking I was being group stalked. I worked for a local taxi company and I thought people who worked for Uber were following me and deliberately making my life a living hell. It's difficult for me to remember the exact reasons I believed this, but it was a belief I had for a pretty long time. One day after this delusion had developed quite a bit, I started believing that the people following me were omniscient. I ran away from my city, I drove to my dad's house which is about 3 hours away. While there, I felt like my dad was initiating me into a secret society that could use magic to do almost anything. We were watching the Daily Show and I believed I had a conversation with Jon Stewart through the TV. I couldn't find the cameras on my end so I thought it was more of the magic that I was being introduced to. After a while I went to the guest bedroom where when I looked out the window, I thought of a thunderstorm, and then suddenly lightning started but striking pretty rapidly. I believed I created the storm from my anxiety. I lay down, closed my eyes and tossed and turned all night with. no sleep. The next morning, I got up before my dad, talked to my grandma, who also lived there, and left to go back to my home city. But when I left, I got side tracked. I had the radio tuned to A.M. talk stations and I believed that the radio was communicating directly to me. I got the wind idea to just start driving aimlessly, believing it would take me somewhere meaningful. I heard songs on the radio from some of my favorite artists from the 90s, but they were versions I had never heard with lyrics that spoke to me like never before. I believed it was Jesus talking to me. I decided to drive to California (from Virginia), and started heading west. I saw a sign outside of a farm house that said "Longview", and having been a huge Greenday fan as a kid, I thought I should stop there. I pulled up to this big house on a beautiful property, and thought, "I'm home!" Or rather it would be my home some day. The grass had recently been mowed. I took off my shoes and walked around the property in pure Bliss longing for this house to be my home. I picked a peach off of a tree out front and to this day it was the best peach I've ever had. The house had a pool with a cabana next to it. On either side of the pool, there were three rubber snakes on each side. I had all kinds of crazy theories about the snakes. I walked over to the cabana, and inside was full of relics from my childhood. It dawned on me that I hadn't earned my stay at such a beautiful sanctuary, so I got my shoes and walked back to my car. I looked up at the sky which had turned gold and purple and all kinds of colors in between. I saw planes overhead, and thought, "the only thing keeping me from being able to fly like those planes is my belief in gravity. Someday I'll fly.".

As I drove, I saw numerous lights in the sky that I believed were alien space crafts abducting people all over the map. I started following signs that had seemingly significant names and numbers on them. I passed under a giant overpass, and when I say giant, I mean like it was an overpass for humongous cars driven by 30 foot tall giants. Suddenly I thought I had passed through a dimensional gate and was going to meet these giant people. I found a row of normal sized townhouses and decided to ask where I was ( my phone lost all service, including GPS). There was a chair next to the road that was the size off a small house. I knocked on a few doors, but nobody answered. So I decided to press on.

Being in giant land, I thought that maybe I belonged there, so I started driving down wooded roads looking for my new home. It was night time by this point, and the radio was sending me messages more than ever. I thought the late Dave Brocky of Gwar fame was telling me to find his house. I drove up to a house that had a light on in the upstairs room. I parked, and when I got out of my car, a spotlight shined down on me. I looked over too my right, and a light came on under a newly finished porch. I walked over to it, and when I got there a green light turned on by a staircase, so I decided to climb the stairs. Another light came on at the top of the stairs over by a door to what looked like someone's living room. I called out, "Dave?" As I knocked on the screen door. A thin man with no hair walked out from behind a counter carrying a glass of red wine and in a polite English accent said, "I think you have the wrong house, mate.".

I apologized for the disturbance and ran back to my car and drove away.

After that the memories are a little fuzzy, but I spent most of the night driving aimlessly through George Washington National Forest. I parked at one point and decided I wanted to sleep under the stars. I grabbed a jacket from my trunk and some clothes I fashioned into a pillow and lay down in the grass and started stargazing. I remember seeing two sets of three stars in triangular formation moving around in the sky. I was pretty sure they were two triangular UFOs floating silently above me. The sky was beautiful, but I felt vulnerable, so I got back in my car and continued driving aimlessly.

After a few more hours and a few more attempts at finding Dave Brocky (who, again, was already dead at the time, and it's not like I knew him personally) I was extremely thirsty, and was looking for some water. I found a quaint little church, and thought, "Perfect! I bet they have a spickett somewhere outside.". When I got out of the car, I heard what sounded like huge amounts of water flowing through what I imagined to be a giant organism. I wondered if I had been abducted by one of the UFOs that I saw and was on some kind of holodeck. I walked over to the church and sure enough found a spickett. I had a beer mug in my backseat that someone had given me, so I grabbed it and filled it with water from the spickett. The water was warm and it tasted like how I imagined female ejaculant to taste. It was salty, cloudy and viscous. I spit it out and yelled," What the fuck?!"

I got back in my car and drove without any kind of destination in mind until the sun started to rise. Having no idea where I was, I started looking for a gas station so I could get some gas and a drink. I ended up in a small mountain town and found a gas station who's sign read "Liberty". I wanted to get a beer to calm my nerves and hope for some sleep, but they wouldn't sell it to me. I asked for a cup for some water, and filled it up at a sink by the coffee maker. The water that came out was cloudy, salty, and viscous just like the water from the church spickett. At this point I was sure I was on an alien space craft, and was in some kind of simulation. Everyone I saw seemed to be both staring at me, and evading eye contact at the same time. I left the gas station and continued my aimless drive.

As the sun rose above the horizon, I marvelled at the beauty of the Appalachian mountains. I found my way to Rte 66 and started seeing signs for towns that sounded familiar. I got off rte 66 at a stop where I found a Starbucks. Still thinking I was in a simulation on an alien ship, I thought everyone I saw was a lizard person in disguise. Terrified, I ordered a cup of tea that was supposed to be infused with peach. The tea tasted like it was the same salty, viscous water as before but with some other flavors. I pulled the tea bag out and thought I saw little pieces of meat in it and assumed it was human meat. Trying to not react, I looked at my phone and finally started to get service again. I called my girlfriend and told her what had been happening to me. I was terrified. I was sure that there were people or aliens or something monitoring my every move. The only option I had was to trust that I was actually talking to my girlfriend. There were many phonecalls made between my girlfriend and one of her friends that we figured out lived near where I had ended up.

I want to wrap up this story now.

My girlfriend figured out my location. She told me to stay put and that she'd come get me. Miraculously she found me a few hours later and took me to her friend's house. When we got there, her friend told me I could sit in her kids' backyard tent while they figured out what to do. Before getting in the tent, I looked into the front window and thought I saw one of my ex girlfriends inside talking to my girlfriend and her friend. This scared the shit out of me, because that ex was a sociopath and couldn't figure why she'd be there. I got in the tent, and after a few minutes I started hearing some kind of liquid being thrown onto the tent. I assumed it was my ex throwing gasoline on the tent and that she was going to burn me alive in the tent. I freaked out and broke the zipper to the front flap while trying to escape. When I got out there was nobody there. My girlfriend and her friend invited me in for dinner and an Ativan. This calmed me down and we spent the night there. The whole time I was there, though, I heard that rushing water that I first started hearing by the church. I still thought I was on an alien ship. The following morning I was driven to a hospital where I was admitted to a psych ward for several days. The whole time I was there, I believed I was being kept away from Earth where there was a global Holocaust being perpetrated by the aliens. I believed they were replacing everyone on Earth. I probably should have spent a lot more time in the psych ward, but was released about a week later with a new prescription for anti psychotics. I've been taking them ever since. For probably a year after this, I was still unsure about everything in my reality, and to this day (6 years later) I still have fleeting doubts. I have wanted to write this experience into a book ever since, but haven't had the motivation or focus to do so, as my ADHD is still bad, and haven't been able to structure what needs to be told. This is probably the longest version I've written thus far, and still feel like I'm not doing the experience justice. Thanks for reading, if you've made it this far. Feel free to ask me any questions.

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tired-college-student-writing · 5 years

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Devil Rejects pt. 2

Summary- The demons are no longer considered odd to see around the Office, nor are their odd habits. The Egos had been in a state of relative calm and all were content. Too bad it can’t stay that way forever.

This is the single longest thing I’ve ever written.

Part 1

Part 2 (HERE)

Part 3

He hadn’t moved since he had gotten the phone call from Anti. His phone was still stuck to his ear, long have gone dark, but he couldn’t convince his hand to move, the static in his fingers stopping any signal from his brain from getting through. His chest was too tight as his heart pounded like it wanted to shatter all of his ribs. He wanted to run, needed to run before Lord Lucifer found him, but he couldn’t convince his body to move, not that he could find the door right now with how much the room was spin-

“-gil? Come on, focus on me.”

He jerked as the voice cut through his panic and forced himself to focus, finding Logan kneeling in front of him, concern knitting his eyebrows together. His hand was raised clicking slowly, like a metronome, and Virgil felt his breathing slowly relaxing into the same rhythm, in for 4, Hold for 7, Out for 8.

“Is touching okay, Virgil?” Logan asked after a second, not stopping his clicking. After a slight nod, a pair of arms wrapped around him pulling him closer. Patton…. He turned and burrowed into the fatherly side. He didn’t know how long he sat there, but he could feel the three other sides just being there, silently supporting him.

“Why do you smell like lavender?” His voice was shaky but he could feel Patton relax at his tiny bit of improvement.

“Bim gave me some essential oil, says a little bit could help you calm down in an emergency. Thought I might give it a try. Did it help kiddo?”

“Use less next time,” He sighed, taking in another big whiff “Your guys’ scents calm me too.”

“Okay Virgil,” He chuckled lightly, “You want to talk about what set you off so bad?”

He stiffened up, but a large hand landing on his back and rubbing soft circles got him to relax again into the prince’s touch, still warm from what he had made in the kitchen.

“No need to speak until you feel like it, Virgil,” Logan commented. He shook his head.

“No… No,” He said, “I really do need to tell you, you guys need to know too.”

He could feel them share a look over his head.

“Tell us what, spooky scary?”

“About the new ego in the Ipliers. He’s Satan.”

“Oh come on, Captain,” Roman said, “I’m sure he’s not actually that bad.”

Virgil looked up his eyes solid marron as his breathing started speeding up again, “You don’t understand. He’s actually Satan as in the embodiment of the Devil. He was known as the Demon King in my last life, and he’s come back and now I screwed and I can’t-” He buried his head

back into Patton’s shoulder, trying to stop his shaking.

A heavy silence filled the room.

“Is… how bad is this?” Logan asked lowly, “I mean, clearly your reaction shows us that this isn’t a pleasant man, but by what levels of evil should we be expecting?”

“Yeah, Mr. Crowley,” Roman said with a weak smile, “We talking about Sid Phillips and Captain Hook’s level, or is he more on Scar and Frollo’s level?”

“More Thanatos or Emperor Palpatine,” He mumbled into Patton’s sweater. Roman chuckled, but his voice was hollow and a tiny bit fearful.

“Throw out my Disney metaphor, why don’t you.”

“Technically Emperor Palpatine and Thanatos are Disney property now.”

“Shut up L,” Virgil complained pushing himself up again. Three pairs of concerned brown eyes stared back at him. Roman gave a small smile, offering some of the ‘Keep that chin up” coco he had made. He smiled down at the cup remembering the night he and the prince had worked to perfect a blend of flavors to soothe his frayed nerves. Even now he could smell the dark chocolate, orange, and blueberries, knowing he’d find a splash of cherry liquor mixed in as well. He didn’t hesitate to take a large slurp knowing Roman would have cooled it enough before handing it over like he always did.

“Are you alright, Virgil?” Logan asked.

“No, but I’m better than earlier so that’s good,” He grimaced before taking another sip, “I never did tell you guys what I did before getting here did I?”

“No, but you don’t ha-”

“No, if you guys are going to understand why all the demons are terrified of him, I should probably tell you what lead to me being here.”

“You don’t mean-” He cut off the prince, gripping the mug tightly.

“That I’m telling you my death story? Yeah, I am.”

They all stiffened, eyes widened. None of them spoke of their last days before being sides, and none of them asked because there was no reason to, at least before now.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, “You guys need to know what he’s capable of, especially against me and Blank.”

“Why especially against the pair of you?”

“Because they aren’t the same breed of demon, Logic.”

The room jumped as Deceit made himself known by the stairs. Virgil gave a tired middle finger.

“Fuck off, Snake,” He hissed, “How long you’ve been here?”

“That was called for,” The snake rolled his eyes, “who do you think didn’t get the others here since I know exactly what to do when you go comatose on us.”

“Yeah, thanks now leave,” He said earning a small huff from the snake.

“Yes, let’s get rid of the one person that understands where you came from and the dangers of the new ego, Brilliant plan, Oslqxus.”

“So what do you know of this Devil, Deceit,” Roman asked, cutting off the fight before it could start. He gave a small shrug even as his scales paled.

“Demons are the only race that feared that monster,” He answered, a shiver going up his spine, “the lower he viewed you the better you got treated.”

“But what does that have to do with Virgil,” Logan asked with a cocked head, ignoring Virgil’s mumbling and Patton’s unease stare, “Shouldn’t other demons be ranked higher than other species?”

Both Virgil and Deceit snorted.

“Not personal demons,” Virgil said, standing up on shaky legs, “Join the group, snake, if you refuse to leave. I don’t want anyone standing behind me when I explain this.”

The others didn’t argue as he perched himself on the coffee table, hunching over his half-filled cup. Roman gave a wave of his hands, and Virgil could feel the wall hit the side of the table, giving him plenty of room to escape if he felt the need to but not enough space for anyone to just appear behind him, and his cup filling up again. The anxious demon gave a small smile of thanks as the sides rearranged. Roman moving to the other side of Logan to put as much space between Deceit and Patton, even as the snake rested as far away from the others as he could on the couch.

“So to start with Blank and I are what are known as Personal demons…”

“What’s the point?” Virgil mumbled as tears streaked down the cheeks of his young subject, the inkwell he just tipped over dripping down the table’s legs. Kaide, age 14, born to a wealthy family but abused by his older brothers for his small stature and high intellect and ignored by his parents as they had no need for three sons, an easy target.

“I just need… I just…” Kaide rummaged through the chest, looking for another pot of ink.

“You’re a failure, a waste of space, Dale sees it, Erion sees it, Mom sees it, Father sees it. The whole town sees it,” Virgil pushed, tone growing harsher, “Just stop trying. You’re never going to be good at anything useful. You can’t fight, You can’t trade, Your writing is atrocious. The only thing you are good at is crying and making girly pictures. You're better off dead.”

“No, they’ll see,” the human countered making Virgil sigh. He walked over, knowing Kaide couldn’t hear his steps or see him, and placed his hand over his, lowering the ink pot slowly back to the confines of the chest.

“No, they won’t. Because they only see what’s important, and that’s not you. You’re not worth seeing,”

“I’m not worth it,” Kaide repeated, just staying down, curling in on himself. Virgil moved away, cracking a bitter smile.

He was supposed to stay, to make Kaide feel even worse but Virgil knew that once his breathing picked up this fast, he couldn’t make it much worse today. In fact, he knew he could slip out right now and no one would know for at least five hours. He had done this before, countless time in fact.

So he teleported out of there, letting his form twist as he left. When he landed in the field he knew well by now he had changed, his skin had faded from greying purple to a healthy peach, his hair flattened from its messy wine color to a warm chestnut. His features were humane now, his clothes simple and not announcing his disgraceful nature to all that saw, and he felt lighter, more at ease than he ever had in his original skin.

“Thomas is back!”

He looked up at Elijah’s scream as the rest of the small family popped out from around the house.

“Tom-Tom!” The little violet-haired girl cheered from the bedroom window, “You’re back!”

“Hey ‘co,” He called back, “How's my favorite girl doing?”

“Mom has me collecting all the clothes for washing, but it’s heavy!”

“It wouldn’t be if you made more than one trip like I told you too,” Mary called as she turned away to the vegetable garden.

“It’s good to see you again, Thomas,” She greeted, the crows' feet around her eyes growing deeper as she smiled at him. He smiled back.

“It’s nice to see you too, Mrs. Eckleburg,” He said as he drew closer only to dodge the weed she threw at him.

“How many times must I tell you to call me Mary, you cheeky brat?” She snapped with no real venom. Elijah just laughed reaching over to tousle Virgil’s hair, making the shorter man blush and push him off.

The Eckleburgs had been here and accepting of him for the last four years. They had found him when he first stepped away from his job, after his charge ended their life, shifting into human form as he cried and cried. Elijah had found him, bringing him home and Mary and her husband, Charles, made the demon stay for dinner. The humans' reaction to his mannerisms was confusing. He was a lowly being, not meant to smile or laugh, not meant to eat with those higher than him, and yet they looked at him with such heartbreak. Maybe it was because he looked human but the looks and kindness of these humans made something stir in him. He didn’t know why he went back, but he was greeted kindly each time until he was able to smile back.

Before she could give him a list of chores like she always did, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and dragged Elijah down without a second thought.

“Hey!” The teen yelped, “What are you-”

He didn’t even finish his thought a ball of black energy ball flew past, setting the roof of the house ablaze. Jericho screamed as she leaped out of the first-floor window, bolting towards them.

“What in God’s name-” Mary cried as she grasped her daughter tight.

“Sorry, Wrong direction,” a chilling voice announced. Virgil whimpered, pulling himself away from Elijah.

“Thomas what are you- Jesus Christ!”

Virgil couldn’t blame him for screaming when he saw the wide set woman standing in on the path to the house. Her skin the color of the barley plants around them, her inky hair waving in a nonexistent wind. Her amber eyes were glowing like a cat’s over the small pink triangles on her cheeks and her tall straight jade horns looked sharp enough to kill.

“So this is where you slipped away to Virgil,” She called walking closer, sickly green flames lighting on the path with each step she took.

“Verena,” he whispered as he started to stand up. Elijah pulled him down.

“Where are you going!” He hissed into his ear, “That’s a demon, she’ll kill you!”

“Nothing less than the worthless worm deserves for slacking off,” She replied, having heard the quiet words, “Now Virgil, stand up before you make me even angrier.”

“I’m sorry,” he said scampering to his feet. He wasn’t even surprised when he was blasted back through the walls of the house. He heard the family... his family scream.

“Get rid of that hideous skin. You know the rules on shapeshifting, you worm. That’s another strike I’ll have to explain to Our Lord.”

“Rid of his skin?” Jericho asked, horrified, making Virgil flinch as he rose to his feet, looking at the humans for a second before letting his image flick back to that of a demon, shoulders hunched to try and hide his unnatural color under his cloak, but nothing could hide his tall horns from the prying eyes around him.

“Thomas…” Mary breathed, he didn’t have the heart to look at any of them.

“Oh, would you keep up,” Verena growled, “He’s not called Thomas, he’s not even human. He’s been playing you like fiddles this entire time.”

Virgil winced but said nothing, he couldn’t make this worse, not if he wanted the Eckleburgs to survive this encounter.

“You’re so full of shit.”

No… Virgil flinched at the swear from the usually sweet Mary, she looked pissed as she continued her verbal attack at Verena, calling her out for thinking for a second that Virgil would never do something like that to them. Stop caring about me… or your family is…

Verena didn’t even flinch, simply lighting fire in her hands again, growing larger than before, “Silence,” she hissed sending it towards… towards…

Virgil’s story screeched to a halt as his mug shattered in his hands. He looked down at the shards as they dig into his skin, streams of blood mixing with cocoa.

Roman and Logan was on their feet in an instance, summoned first aid kits already opened before Virgil even registered the tears dripping down his face. No one said anything as the pair cleaned up the mess and

“You can’t stop,” Deceit whispered, “We need to hear more.” The demon gave a snort.

“You’re telling the truth now, huh Niyk?”

“Virgil.”

“Shut up,” He snapped at Patton, voice echoing and eyes burning black, “I haven’t even gotten to the point of this yet. Just shut up and let me get past me watching Mary and Jericho burning alive!”

None moved to stop him as he took a calming breath and continued

Elijah’s scream cut through Virgil’s head as the mother and daughter were reduced to ash. He wouldn’t let his stony mask fall, he couldn’t he was already in so much trouble, fear was turning him numb.

“Thomas…. How could you just stand there?” He asked voice cracking, “You’d promise to keep us safe…”

Verena snorted, “Idiot boy. As if he could do anything even if he wanted to, he’s nothing more than just a mutt. Isn’t that right, Virgil?”

“Yes, Mistress,” He replied, looking at the ground to hid his anguish. Maybe just maybe if he played his part and did everything right, then she’s let Elijah go. Her eyes flitted over the human that was trembling before her.

“Virgil,” She asked slowly, the tone sending ice into his bloodstream, “How would you kill this human?”

A test, he felt his chest tighten. She wanted to see how attached he was to the humans. See if he could still do his job… He had to tell the truth… She would know if he lied… But he couldn’t...

“Throw him into the river,” He answered without raising his eyes, “He never learned how to swim after his father drowned when he was 4.”

She was next to him before he could blink, “You wouldn’t be lying to me would you Virgil?”

“Never Mistress Verena,”

“Good.” She snapped his fingers and Elijah was gone. How he hoped she had actually sent him to the river, something Virgil had seen him play in regularly during the heat of summer, the same river Charles was almost certainly checking his traps in and would see his son be teleported to, He prayed that both would be safe, even as Verena’s claws dug into his arm, fire burning neat little holes through his cloak and onto his forearm.

He didn’t look up from the ground as she teleported them back to hell, nor as she marched him from her personal manor all the way through the center of hell to the Morningstar Castle, or when she flung him down at the seat of the throne.

“I brought him, my lord,”

“Very Good, Verena.”

The voice sent ice into Virgil’s veins but he refused to rise from the crumbled heap his manager had left him in. He could see cloven feet to his left, feeling the ice radiate from them as they glided closer.

“Where, oh where did you find your little pet? How far did he wander?”

“He was in a human village, sire, with a human family.”

The hooves stopped next to his ear.

“Was he now? And how did he act around these humans?”

“Vaguely distant, but they seemed to know him fairly well under the name Thomas.”

“And what came of these humans?”

“All three are dead, He suggested the method of death for the son.”

“Thank you, Verena. Would you be a darling and fetch the rest of your personal demons for me? Pull all of them out of the field and send them directly here to the throne room.”

“The Throne room, my sire?”

“Is there an echo in here?”

“No my lord, I’ll send them here at once.”

The door closed and there was scorching hot breath on his cheek.

“Rise Virgil, or do you prefer Thomas now?”

The personal demon scampered to his feet, never raising his eyes from the floor, “No Lord Lucifer, I’m still Virgil.”

“Good,” came the purr as he felt claws trace lightly up his arm and neck, “Even you lowly mongrels deserve the dignity of being called by your proper name. Now tell me, Virgil, Why are you here?”

“I wandered too far away from my charge,”

“Is that all you did?” Satan asked with a raised brow, pulling Virgil’s head back by his hair, almost gentle, “Your mistress is claiming you did much more than that,”

The doors reopened, but Virgil didn’t move his eyes away from the Devil in front of him, even as he felt the others in his unit file into the throne room.

“Dear Verena, Virgil here claims his only crime he committed was wandering too far from his charge, what do you have to say about this claim?”

“He’s lying my Lord,” She replied voice icy cold, “I found him interacting with humans, being… friendly with them. Others saw him leave his post without informing me as well.”

“Oh?”

Virgil held himself back from flinching as the devil’s voice turned heated.

“So you lied to me, Virgil?” He asked, “You left your post, you socialized with humans, and you LIED to the one being that holds your fate in his hands?”

The accused simply bit his tongue, trying desperately not to cry out as Satan’s hands tightened in his hair, strands snapping under the force as razor sharp claws dug into his scalp.

The taller man raised his yellow eyes to the crowd, “Before me is a disgraced piece of filth, falling lower than any dared to fall before. You all are vermin in the grand empire I have created, and to see such a lowly creature make a mockery of this greatly saddens me.”

The gathered demons were silent as the Devil’s eyes slid back to Virgil, “Though you were one of the highest revered personal demons, had you been loyal for another fortnight we were discussing having you rewarded. Verena was almost proud to have one of her subjects be prompted, weren’t you dear?”

“Yes my lord,”

“See,” Satan hissed, “We were all so looking forward to having you do well, and you squander that away. Now you must be punished. Mitra, your blade please.”

“Which one sire?” The small yellow skin guard asked stepping forward from her place by the throne.

“The dullest you have, but it must be strong. We wouldn’t want the punishment to be too painless after all, or Virgil will learn nothing.”

She pulled a short golden dagger from its sheath on her calf, presenting it to him and falling back into her place, sending a look of disgust at Virgil as she passed.

Satan inspected it as he forced his victim to his knees, “Yes this shall do nicely. Fane, Njal, if you would be so kind?”

Thick hands landed on the personal demon’s shoulders each demon called holding an arm back, immobilizing him for the torment yet to come.

His heart was pounding, fear burning through his veins. He did not like the look in his master’s eyes.

“A demon that fell lower than any thought possible,” the King proclaimed, resting the blade lightly on his head, “Fitting that his punishment is the ultimate disgrace a demon can face.”

He couldn’t stop his eyes from flying open as the Devil gripped his ... his left horn, raising the blade to strike at the base.

“No, please-”

“Come now, Virgil. Begging Have a little bit of dignity,” He cooed sweetly as he brought down the blade hard.

His anguished scream echoed off the stone walls as the sensitive bone splintered and creaked.

“I’m going to be sick,” Deceit hissed through clenched teeth, hands clenching his pant legs.

“Like you care,” Virgil bit out, trying his best to keep his breathing under control as he felt the pounding phantom pain starting on either side of his skull, his skin was rippling against the pressure of the memories. Deceit just glared, voice scarily calmed.

“Yes because you hating me is going to stop me from hating how you got mutilated for acting humane. This is exactly what I want to hear, you getting violated in the worst way a demon can. This is such a lovely thing to hear especially since I actually hate you!”

The demon just bared his fangs, fighting to keep his human disguise in place. Could the stupid snake shut up for five fucking seconds?

“He cut off your horn?” Patton choked out, cutting off the impending fight with tears in his eyes. Virgil shuttered as he took in the others, Logan was sickly pale and Roman appear to have stopped breathing as they looked at him.

“Horns…” He managed out under the weight of their stares, giving up on the fight and letting his true form show, missing horns feeling more glaringly obvious now that they knew, “He said he didn’t want me to be lopsided.”

“What…” Logan’s voice cracked before he cleared his voice and tried again, “How much does it hurt to have them... removed?”

“If he had shattered my pelvis, both legs and every bone in my feet then made me walk on them and work overtime I would have been in less pain then what he left me in by cutting off my horns off. “

“You died from the pain then?” Roman whispered, eyes miles away, lost in his own memories. Virgil could only shake his head.

“No... I lived from the removal in agonizing pain for four days until the stubs got infected and I died from that,” Virgil recounted dully, “They just dumped me back in my rooms and didn’t check on me afterward.”

Tears were streaming down his face now, and too everyone’s surprise Logan was the first one to wrap him into a hug.

“Thank you for trusting us,” The logical side whispered as the demon shook in his tight embrace, “I know it’s hard to remember these things and reopen the trauma.”

“He can’t know I’m here,” Virgil sobbed, “If he sees me he’ll kill me again, and again and again...”

“Shush, Azazel,” Roman whispered, running a hand down his back, fingers tracing up and down his spine, “We won’t let him know about you, we’ll keep you safe.”

“Yeah Kiddo, we’ll protect you,” another pair of arms were added to the embrace

“Even if you don’t believe me, I will never let that monster get his blood-soaked hands anywhere near you again, Uqqg,” Deceit hissed softly not moving from his place on the couch.

Virgil just sobbed harder, feeling safe and not at the same time.

“What are you going to do?”

Dark didn’t look up from the piano keys even as he couldn’t convince his hands to move from where they were poised over the ivories.

Wilford just frowned at his unmoving back, completely monochrome back.

“It’s not like you to give up, Old friend,” He tried to tease, “Where’s the little spitfire that refuses to bow to anyone?”

“I can’t win against Satan, Wil,” came the broken whisper, “If I were to stand against him I will lose and the Office will be worse on then if I let him make the changes he wishes to. I can do nothing... I’m powerless.”

The pink haired man flinched, a powerless Dark... that wasn’t right.

“Surely there’s some-”

“You don’t understand William,” Dark snarled, form suddenly snapping, cracking and twisting until it almost appeared to be three very different forms sitting on the bench, “He was the one who placed me into Markiplier Manor, he’s the one that stripped me of everything that made Durans and left the Creature that ruined your life, that destroyed the very essence of the Kim siblings until all that remained is... me.”

Wilford squeezed his eyes tight, not being able to look at the blue and red forms that didn’t quite match Dark’s form. The building around them rumbled almost sounding like a great being drawing a shocked gasp.

“This Devil... does he really have this much power... this much sway now that he is an ego,” Wilford asked, as he forced his eyes open to see a single black and white form stroking the wall in a calming gesture.

“I don’t know, Wil,” was the nearly silent whisper, “but I’m scared to find out... I’m scared, Wilford.”

“As am I, Old friend,” Wilford intoned back, “As am I.”

This was a rough chapter to write

Translations for the Abyssal used in the Chapter:

Oslqxus- Unclean, a crude term for Personal Demons.

Niyk- Worm, a derogatory term for Nagas.

Uqqg- Ally, because Virgil and Deceit aren’t friends but they do have a common enemy so they will put aside their differences for now.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #tw death #sympathetic deceit #markiplier #Devilplier #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #Darkiplier #Wilford Warfstache #WKM

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roxannepolice · 5 years

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But yah rey as a character is just so frustrating you know? Cause like, yeah sure she could be complex with a powerful arc where shes forced to come to terms with the fact she wasted years of her life on self-imposed delusions in a cathartic way, or she could be a flat piece of marketing cardboard which Disney is banking on vagina+superpowers=profit without having to go through that persnicty character flaw overcoming or the like. Because like you said, hearing shes a nobody (which ngl, her assuming she was a somebody wasn’t really ever supported in tfa, just that her family was coming back and she desperately wanted them to) is apparently the worst thing but it changes absolutely nothing, not her approach, not her demeanor , if vaguely sad is the absolute worse a character is gonna experience in a goddamn space opera then yeah, full offense ill take the l on Mary sue discourse but her character will definitely be a boring ass wash. We all make fun of whiny new hope Luke but him being a kinda nuisance to both the audience and those around him is what made is transformation into full blown Jedi knight so powerful. With Rey so far what weve got is badass perfect cinnamon roll finally get her due as such, which is clearly working for some people, but I fail to see how that isn’t spectacularly tone deaf to make a protag in this genre such. Operas about drama, not patting you on the back. Rey (assuming she remains as is) would’ve been fine as a protag s the only piece of Star Wars media we ever got was a new hope. But rn she a chosen one architype (and I know that bunch of ppl are gonna go but the series ‘but shes not the chosen one, Anakin still is, the new series isn’t trying to make her one!’ but lets not beat around the burning bush, if u got a character that walks on water and the reason why is because god said so, ur dealing with a chosen one trope and if a character is star wars is made ultrapowerful in lore breaking ways because force said so? Yeah were dealing with a chosen one.) when we had both the deconstruction and the reconstruction done. Shes a straight hero when the success of the ot rest on hitting the formula near perfect the first time. What exactly is Rey, the individual character, bringing to the table? What makes her story supposedly so important the a perfectly good ending had to be made invalid to tell it? A bunch of ppl will say heroines’ journey! But if that’s the case I gotta say, wheres all the feminine shit? Im serious, if the heroines journey is reintegrating the feminine and realizing ‘oh shit mom had a point’ there where is both the feminine skills/coping mechanism and the mom? I mean I saw some ppl arguing for leia in a ‘reys Persephone!’ meta (she isn’t, you can make a much better case for ben himself as Persephone to be quite frank, yall are focusing so much on the trees ((girl gets abducted by guy)) that u forgot the forest existed, the actually story ((girl winds up queen on the underworld, well gee whiz which character just took control of that after leaving the world of living and a grieving divine mother behind, it’s a mystery apparently) behind, it’s a mystery apparently) ((but seriously though even if we hope for dark rey does anyone assume its gonna be taking control of a dark/dead coded org at least partially at this point, do you, do you really??). but given the fact she had what, one line of screen dialogue that’s breaking ur arm with that stretch. As far as skills go I guess you could make an argument for scavenging, but if that’s the case dlf did a shit job of conveying that as female-coded. Everything about rey in tfa seems deliberately androgynous, and yeah, she had her hair let down/mascara moment, but that’s tied to her ‘failure’ on the supremacy thus something nw.SPEAKIGN OF FAILURES ON THE SUPERAMCY AND LACK THERE OF. I find it kind funny that bunch of reylo bnfs (you know who they are) are all ‘hur dur fanboys/antis are dumb and don’t get story structure.’ And then going, ‘why are yall asking how/assuming rey fucked up in throne room/climax of her story in the second portion/darkest point of her character arc? Why do you hate women/ur own ovaries so much?’ because it like walking into a prefurnished house and being told by the relator ‘HERES THE LIVING ROOM’ and having no damn couch. It’s a living room, I expect a couch here. And in a movie where it’s the low point of a character arc and they drag puppet yoda out to tell me the movie is about failure, I expect a damn failure in whats clearly the climax of the characters arc for this movie. As it stands now there are three possibilities imo. 1st, rey had no failure, she is the pure badass maid o light ppl want and every inch the boring cardboard she is accused of by fanbros, remains static, and is relegated to an also ran to benlo taking the most compelling character trophy this trilogy in 10 yrs2nd possibility and the one im hoping for, failure speech wasn’t just thematic explanation but also foreshadowing, rey fucks up big and dramatic in a way that makes her manage to stand out as unique with both her contemporaries and her predecessors(last part, if its ever to much lemme know pls im sorry i just gotta get it out) 3rd and most likely possibility, rey isn’t the main character, benlo is and that’s why his failure both moral in the throne room and logistic on criat take center stage for the last third or so of the movie. Rey is merely a pov character to tell the dramatic villain protag story they wanted and have their very marketable unproblematic Disney heroine cake too.

Ok, so this discourse kinda died down by now, but thanks to that it’s possible to maybe have a calmer look at it I’m totally not trying to justify my late response.

Anyway, the good result is that quite recently my brother, who’s not overly taken with Rey - or the sequels in general, for that matter - said something which really stuck with me as a possible crux of the problem:

She’s neither comical nor tragical. Just bland.

This neither comical nor tragical really struck me. And the more I though about it, the more it was appearing to me that this qualm really applies to the sequels as a whole. The thing is that DLF are essentially telling a straightforward story that they’re trying to make captivatingly convoluted. And not just make, but keep this appearance over four years. And this is... a narrative teeth crasher. Like, when you’re honest about the endgame (in the context of the most structural meanings of comedy and tragedy), you can maintain a decorum, though you can also play with it, of course, whereas when you don’t want to be honest about the endgame, you end up mixing the styles somewhat messily. You can’t break or discuss with the rules without acknowledging them, so to speak. Because the originals were honest about the happy/hopeful endgame (the first episode is title A New Hope ffs), they could allow themselves deeply tragic moments like Larses’ deaths, Han getting frozen, destruction of Alderaan, etc. Because the prequels were open about being a tragedy, they could allow themselves lighthearted comic relief for the sake of lighthearted comic relief.

The sequels... badly want us to consider the possibility of FO winning and Ben dying unredeemed while simultaneously insisting we root for those things not happening, while appearing conscious we’re definitely not buying the former and the latter only somewhat. And it’s tiresome. Dishonest. And indeed, bland. If the story is a tragedy it will be a bloodcurdlingly real one, if it’s a comedy it will be a borderline grotesque one.

But yeah, returning to Rey, I guess as the main character she’s a lens which focuses the above problems. A very bitter tragedy of what her parents did t her prevents her from being comfortably comical whereas whoohooos I like thats and prancing like a husky on red bull over idols and visions because it’s for children so it must be hopeful prevents her from being intriguingly tragical. So I guess the intentioned effect was tragicomism but, from pov of an engaged casual fan that is my bro, it’s neither.

As far as Rey’s heroine’s journey lacking some of the usual elements, I blame it on Disney being... a bit too ambitious, maybe. I think they tried to make a heroine’s journey that isn’t ostentaciously seeped in traditional feminine/masculine traits, maintains the structure without what could be called accidentals. On the one hand, I would point out that hero’s journey has pretty much desexualised itself over time, we are rather accustomed to “shero’s” journeys, but on the other... maybe Disney set out on a too novel a territory and may crack their teeth on it, alongside trying to out-Vader Vader at redemption. To elucidate, “toxic femininity” in which a heroine is supposed to find herself in the beginning of her journey, in Rey’s case is uprooted from any of our usual concepts of feminine-masculine social roles (it’s space, duh). My interpretation is that Rey’s version of toxic femininity kind of exists in contrast with Kylo Ben’s version of toxic masculinity - and since the apparent focus of the story is the attitude towards the past/parent figures, toxic femininity would mean her clutching onto the past. Which is why I predict that some act of IX will find Rey inebriated with apparent success in masculine world, meaning she’ll be the one rejecting the old gods this time - and I would point out that panel in Poe comic where she shows herself more sceptical towards idolisation of past don’t mind me, I’m just expressingmy trash dreams for a proper sith lady Rey.

Then again, Rian Johnson said she already found perfect balance between Luke’s clinginess and Kylo’s rejection of the past, so... idk, maybe I’m giving DLF too much credit again.

As for the Persephone thing, I guess the rub is that this reylo reading focuses less on the traditional reading of the myth (where Demeter is the actual main character and Kore is a Princess Peach MacGuffin) and more of an interpretation of it as one of the eldest (at least in Europe) versions of story depicting a transition of a girl into a woman, making Persephone more of a protagonist.

Like, y’know, this Persephone (D. G. Rosetti, source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Proserpine_(Rossetti_painting))

I’m no expert, but myths can lose their original meanings because of power relations (anyone still remember about Dionysus, the god associated with excessive drinking, going through a very Christ-like death and resurrection?) and I think it’s possible that this is the case with the story of Persephone becoming a pre-scientific explanation of seasons changing over the year. So teah, that’s how I always understood the Persephone theme regarding Rey.

But yes, I must agree that I’m confused about Disney’s handling of the mother figure, which... Look, SW became a legend of a modern myth because of how epically Lucas handled the hero dealing with his very explicit father. So yes, I don’t understand what exactly is their game with Rey Nobody from Nowhere in this regard. It’s one thing that they had a cool idea with giving her no lineage, another that parent figures are an essential element of archetypal journeys and from symbolic viewpoint the case of a female character the biological relationship is even more crucial than in male’s. And I swear to all the ewoks and porgs in the galaxy, I do hope Disney’s idea of Rey healing the mother/daughter divide isn’t through her healing the divide between Leia and Ben. Again, this isn’t the idealistic sphere. Just... no.

Anyway, I still maintain hope (this whole meta blog is built on hope) that Rey will indeed turn out to have a proper personal mistake which will make her stand out in the saga. I do have to admit, though, that I find your last theory very likely. I mean, even when I read all the reylo metas going oh, Rey is going to have such an exciting arc in IX, she has so much to deal with though of course it’s not going to compromise her morally, it will be sooo exciting, I just... f*ck’s sake, what you’re describing isn’t a dramatic character only a dramatised role model. It’s great if that’s your thing, but don’t claim it is space opera-worthy, in operas people drown themselves because of cursed sailors, kill over a break up, decapitate over a bad dream and get dragged to hell over a dinner, not persuade their fallen lovers to change their ways, let alone patienly wait for them the understand the error of their ways (and if they do it’s doomed to end in someone dying).

#asks #sw negativity #just because i love doesn't mean i can't be critical #heroine's journey #long asks anon

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violetlunette · 5 years

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Ten Tropes/Cliches I Love

So while we all like to talk about tropes/cliches we hate, I don’t see enough lists where we talk about tropes/cliches we like, so I decided to make a list of ten Tropes/Cliches that I love in story telling. This isn’t a top ten list as these are out of order and I know that when I post this I’ll remember something I like better than these, so this is just a list of ten things I like, not top ten, but ten. Anywho, let’s begin!

Ten Tropes/Cliches I Love

Hero from a mundane world tossed into a magical one / Average Joe: Oddly enough this is my favorite trope; I love a hero from the mundane world being tossed into a world or strange oddities and whatnot. I then like to see how they react—do they excitedly embrace the magic, scared of it, determined to ignore it, etc. The issue I have is that the mundane hero is usually displayed as useless and just follows their companions around. Naturally the hero would—and should be overwhelmed, but they should have growth throughout the story and should have some skills that could be helpful, or a new way of looking at things.

Royalty / Chosen One: Everyone harps on these two, but I kinda like them—if done right. I admit they’ve been done to death, but it’s a guilty pleasure I suppose.

The idea of being someone special appeals to a lot of people and honestly I like seeing people react differently to their destiny, whatever it is. Some are like “oh hell nah!” or “YAY! I’m special—oh shit, is that blood?!” or just “WTF” and I like seeing them all.

And I like princesses. I like Queens too, but as a kid I liked princesses more because to child me princess= child ruler with power while Queen = dead parents and/or adult. Back then all princess were to me were just kid Queens who would become Queens after they were crowned and the parents were dead / unable to rule, or the whole journey was to become a queen. (Sort of a metaphor for going from a kid to an adult.)

There’s an argument princesses are anti-femenist, but I disagree. While there are a lot of mediums in the media that shows princesses as useless damsels there’s even more where the Princess is a leader who does just as much, if not more, as a hero. The only reason they’re not Queens is because a) they’re in a middle of a war so there’s no time for a coronation to officially crown them or b) a king or Queen is still alive. Sometimes they’re evil, but still they’re the rulers. Hell, if you ask me it the other royals who get a worse hand.

Think about it; Queens are dead, evil/insane, or not mentioned, kings are useless idiots, dead, or evil, and princes are just the reward who swoops in at the end and hardly even get a name. Princesses at least have a variety and are more well rounded than the rest.

Also I like pretty dresses and crowns (yes, I’m that girl. I like pretty outfits. There will be a list eventually).

Suave/charming eccentric sidekick/mentor: I just love suave, charming characters like Jack Sparrow (Pirates Of The Caribbean) and RGB (Property of Hate)—however I hesitate to make them the focus of a story due to the 4&5th of POTC (I don’t care for them). Nonetheless I like seeing these characters as a mentor and friend who helps the hero adapt to a new world. They’re fun to watch and they’re an entertaining way to show us the world and how they work.

Family plays a Role in the Story: I love stories were family members are actually apart of the story (and not just they died, or are basically back ground filler.). I mean, they don’t have to be apart of the main cast, but I like them to be apart of the story.

Sadly, story lines like this are usually put on back burner or background in favor of “romance” or large fight scenes.

OUAT did this great at first where Emma doesn’t know how to react to her parents and was even mad that they chose to send her away to play hero (even though I just thought they did that to save her, destiny be damned). I especially loved how she had to build relationship with them and how they address the tragedy of how the Charmings didn’t get to be apart of Emma’s childhood.

However, this plot got sidelined by the romance arcs in later seasons, and not just Emma’s. (Btw, is it just me or did Snow grow distant from Emma once baby Neal was born?)

I also like seeing siblings work together, step, twins, etc—except younger siblings. Stories do not treat younger siblings well. They’re usually brats, antagonists, or hostages for later.

Magical world and creatures: Not much to say about this; I love dragons, unicorns, fae, and monsters and I like seeing new magical worlds like Wonderland, Oz, Narnia, and the Harry Potter world. Our world is boring. Unless Urban fantasy is involved and even then it’s the magical creatures that make it fun.

Villains that are actually villains and know it: Everyone hates villains who are just evil for the sake of being evil, but to me I actually LOVE these villains much better than the “gray” villains. The reason being is that they’re allowed to have FUN being evil and therefore memorable. My favorite Disney villains are Maleficent, Ursula, Hook, Jafar and Dr. Falcifer. Why? Because they’re allowed to be bad. They didn’t need a tragic backstory or complicated political views, they had power and they knew it. They embraced it and allowed themselves to have fun and be flamboyant. Hell. It even made villains like Maleficent more frightening because she had so much power she wanted to use she actively sought out excuses to use it for her own entertainment, such as not getting invited to a party.

I know it’s unrealistic and can make a character feel flat, but when a story gives a baddie a backstory it spends a lot of time trying to make us feel bad for the baddie instead of enjoying them AS the baddie.

Knight in Shining Armor: Guilty pleasure. But I like the drama of the Main character being captured, but being saved by their loved ones. And I know others do too because whenever someone starts a head canon blog one of the most common questions are, “what would the Ros do if their SO was kidnapped?” So don’t try to play that, ‘it’s not empowering’ card with me!

That being said, I only like it when the scenario is done right; Like, I don’t like how Mario always has to save Peach because we’ve seen her pawn Bowser so many times and she gets kidnapped often enough where she should get the hint to A) Get better security or B) Lock Bowser up for multiple kidnappings and conquest. I mean I like Peach, but still. That being said I do find it heartwarming to see how for Mario goes to save the ones he cares about and that’s why I like this trope. I love seeing how much the hero loves the person they’re saving and the lengths they go to make sure they’re safe.

The Masquerade: I like the idea of there being a secret hidden world under our noses and seeing how the magic people hide it. There’s also the appeal of being in on the secret. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel a lot of the fun’s gone from a story when the secret’s out.

Power McGuffin: I like shiny things like necklaces, rings, etc. And magic items? Gimmie! The best example is the One Ring from the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings. I love the lore and how it has a will of it’s own and how it manipulates minds—it’s just a ring, yet it’s also a conniving villain as well. Oh, and the power of invisibility and possibly more helps.

The Mystery/Journey plots: I like stories that ether have a mystery or a quest in them. Mysteries because of the feel they give and the pride when you solve it (unless the writer cheats), and the Quest as the journey is more about the character building and their relationships.

And those are ten (not top ten) Cliches/Tropes I like! I may do another in the future, but for now let me know your favorites tropes cliches/or what you think about this.

#tropes #cliches #I love

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sybariticnomad · 5 years

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BNHA Prompts I want to read/write

>Ghibli AUs- literally any of them would be great but especially Princess Mononoke rn

>Rival School Gang AU- Bakusquad gang vs Dekusquad gang. Don't fuck with Uraraka bc she’ll wreck you w a smile. also Deku totally is one of those people who angry cries. Drama ensue when canon villains are really just out of town school gang that tries to take over their town and squads gotta unite whether they like it or nah. Featuring all might, Aizawa, and co as concerned teachers, detectives and whatnot that just wanna see these kids safe and sound

>Uraraka grew up on wrong side of the tracks AU- doesn’t necessarily have to be completely au, just that Uraraka growing up poor incorporating some of the less glamorous parts of being poor so she’s seen shit and done shit and wants to do good for the world now so no one else has to go through what she went through. I just want this to be a part of her character background so bad. Just scenes with her encountering villains or smalltime gangs and being like “dude we were neighbors I went through the same shit you did fam. Don't do this.”

>Uraraka using her anti-gravity quirk to do what hulk did to Loki in the first avengers movie and everyone being fuckin SHOOK. (can you tell who one of my main faves is yet? lol)

>A fic about ua kids literally being that, Kids. Shenanigans, Movie nights to binge the Rocky series only to end up too pumped to sleep so they all start training like crazy(Bakubro included), youtube channels, Todoroki secretly being messy af and joining the Tea Party where the ladies plus Todoroki spill tea and throw shade EVERYWHERE (all the best news comes from there), Bakugo growing and awkwardly trying to show his appreciation for his classmates and also awkwardly trying to mend his relationship with Deku (teen angst at it’s best and Deku is unsure of how to handle it but Uraraka and Kirishima help the dumbasses), Mina and Uraraka explore their sexuality together bc fuck you if they aint bisexual queens at the very least, Uraraka being one of the few willing to back talk Bakugo so she passive aggressively gives him nicknames like he gives her until he starts calling people by their names(like sweetie bc his sweat smells like burnt caramel, he calls her peaches sometimes bc of her country accent and a couple of other things if ya know what I mean) and eventually the whole class gets in on the nicknaming stuff and Bakugo is Sick Of People Stealing His Shit, Urarakas twang and Todoroki’s education in modern slang because explaining to him what being messy means and spilling tea is funny af (he starts using it all the time in a super awkward way “I believe that this situation calls for some messy retaliation” with long deadpan stares), how many of these kids can't wink and just give you long awkward blinks, teacher appreciation day gifts that get all the way out of hand (Aizawa gets the benign noise cancelling headphones and death wish coffee and then someone sends him a bottle of tequila and he wants to know which fucking child got a hold of alcohol to both admonish and thank them. Poor all might gets all the medicine, who’s idea was it to give present mic a loud mic and youtube channel why he’s already too loud please make it stop), someone gives Bakugo spicy chocolate cookies for valentines day and he doesn't want the sentiment but hot damn those cookies are fucking delicious, the kids get into American music because present mic recommends it to help with learning English and that's all fine and dandy until the kids start hosting death matches with Denzel curry’s Ultimate as the match song and wow how many of these songs have so much profanity please stop (just because you’re swearing in English kids doesn't mean some people still won’t know you’re swearing), Sex Ed Class for the kids (wow what trauma, what drama, Aizawa you are not giving the sex ed seminar they will get too scared. you will monitor Midnight as she gives the lesson. All might go have a cup of tea and try not to think of the kids having sex because golly they’re all still wee babes), Teachers shipping students and other staff lounge gossip, Spin the bottle truth or dare where the dare is always make out with the people you want to fight, Momo is cleaning out her closet and giving away clothes so please let the mad fight over who can get more clothes from her giveaway ensue(Uraraka is poor and on a mission, who know when she’ll be able to get clothes as nice as these again? she might enlist the help of some of her guy friends and she might also float all the clothes she wants to the ceiling out of reach of anyone else), BNHA girls using snapchat and momo’s closet to recreate Beyonce music videos and killing it (I really just want to see 7/11, the suck on my balls shtick, and Sorry because it’s a whole lotta friends hangin out and being sassy), WHO LET THESE KIDS WATCH South Park. y’know. Shit like that. Wow this bullet point got way out of hand.

>Night Vale AU 1- Fuck you it’s Tododeku. Todoroki is obviously Carlos with his perfect hair and perfect teeth. Uraraka is totally dana, Deku is of course Cecil, Aizawa might be station management? Might be old man Jenkins. Whatever it is I'm here for it.

>Night Vale AU 2-Alternatively its the cast of bnha just in the wtnv universe and their day to day lives dealing with night vales weirdness. do as you please.

>Underground Fighting/Fight Club AU- What It Says On The Tin. BNHA kids doing illegal underground fighting stuff and do with it what you will.

>Oresama Teacher AU- I know I keep being super aggresive but still fuck you I think mafuyu and Uraraka would be able to flip flop each other or alternatively, mafuyu is urarakas grandmother and she taught Uraraka all the ways of badassery minus the fighting stuff bc she old

>Fantasy AU where for once Uraraka actually is the badass witch and not just the confused amnesiac- also What It Says On the Tin. Bitch can kick some ass.

>Adventure Time AU- For shits and giggles bc I said so I suppose. I think the bnha characters in that universe would be funny af with just the right dash of angst/drama.

>Assassination classroom au- what it says on the tin.

>The Myth Of Hades and Persephone AU- featuring your chosen bnha ship. Imma leave mine out of it because the one I would prefer to put in would probably yield a lot of hate and I don't want my preferred ship to get in the way of anyone ignoring these prompts and not writing them? idk imma leave mine out but y'all get it.

More to be added at a later date bye lmao

#bnha #fic prompts #uraraka ochako #mha #midoriya izuku #deku #katsuki bakugou #kirishima eijirou #mina ashido #todoroki shouto #wtnv #studio ghibli #midnight #all might #south park #rocky #adventure time #mezo shoji #i'll add more as i think of them

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laveritaswoman · 6 years

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And the Award for Best Fake Offscreen Ship Between Two Co-Stars Goes to ...

Well ladies and gentlemen, the last four years have been a long, crazy adventure for SC shippers in the OL fandom. But on January 22, 2018, our shipper boat took a direct hit courtesy of a barely noticeable news brief in People magazine: OL’s leading lady CB “confirmed at the GGs” that she and “fellow Irishman” (*cough, cough*) TM are engaged and CB is “very happy!” Very. Happy. And just so everyone (read: shippers) is clear on the timing, “she was first seen with (T) in 2015.” So I guess that’s supposed to mean they’ve been dating since 2015, right? But we have to guess at that because C hasn’t spoken to any other media outlet about T or her engagement, and has yet to post anything about it on her social media. She didn’t even mention it during on-air GG red carpet interviews on the very night she shared the news with People (apparently because People had the “exclusive”). Instead of talking about her pretty big life event (at least for most people) when she was asked “so what’s new,” she spent her on-camera time speaking about sending S home and the Time’s Up “blackout,” all while hiding her engagement ring from view.

Hey, SamCait shipper sisters, how did we miss this? So C has really been with T for the last 2+ years and not with S? But, but, just … how? Well, “obviously” we weren’t paying attention! Oh wait, we were paying attention, but we thought SC were together — even though they denied a relationship — because their actions rarely matched their words. That and the fact that we noticed that C and S never really showed any interest in or paid any attention to their SO adjacents. So why were shippers, journos and many others led to the believe that SC were a couple, despite their words to the contrary? Well, ACTING, obviously. S and C are actors, you know, and pretty good ones at that. So what do I, as a shipper (or former, IDK) think about all this? If this CT engagement is TRUTH and S and C never had a relationship IRL or aren’t covering up one now, then SC deserve ALL the acting awards for making us think they were together offscreen as well as on. S and C truly and completely convinced me and thousands of others (yes, thousands ... just check @jamesandclairefraser followers) that they were SOs offscreen too. But why, if they are such stellar actors, didn’t they just play the part of “great offscreen friends and co-stars,” instead of showing so much sizzling, sexually-charged chemistry offscreen that many were convinced they were together IRL? Especially if they really, really wanted us to believe they were not together. Why was C able to play the offscreen good friends co-star part so convincingly with Tobias, but unable to do the same with S? We know Ron Moore would have probably approved of SC toning it down, because he did his level best to make the show about a “love triangle, not a JC love story. Why didn’t the show staff or their agents tell them to take it down a notch, that fans would still love them and TPTB would still approve of a “friendly friends co-stars” act as long as the high ratings and money continued pouring in?

And what about the other actors on the show? Surely, in countless interviews after the IFH, don’t you think Tobias — another great actor — would have observed SC sitting “no room for jaysus” close, grooming each other, making crazy flirty eye contact and little mouth pouts at one another, all the while telling reporters “we’re not together ... just great acting ... sorry fans can’t separate us from our characters.” Don’t you think that after at least one of these interviews, that Tobias -- a cool, forthright guy who S and C highly respect for his acting chops -- would have pulled them aside and said, “Hey guys, nice interview and you both showed great chemistry and the audience/interviewer loved you, but you may want to tone it down since some people are still convinced you two are together when you’re ‘obviously’ not.” I don’t think if Tobias said this to S and C that they would have said “Oh Tobias, you’re full of shit because we’re not misleading anyone. If our fans can’t see that our sexed-up off-screen antics are just an act, then they’re just crazy and delusional!” Why did joking jokers like Steven Cree and Richard Rankin just politely listen, smile, and not make one sarcastic remark on-air when SC launched into their loved-up innuendo at panels and Cons? Don’t you think a no-shit guy like Cree would have jokingly called them out during the interviews (or in tweets afterwards) by saying something like, “Since were talking awards season, I nominate S and C for the MTV Fandom Award for Best Fake Offscreen Ship Between Two Co-Stars.” If jokes like these had been peppered throughout interviews fairly regularly, it would have gone a long way toward getting people off the ship and preventing new ones from boarding.

And why, even when she acted onscreen post-IFH with S and C, would Rosie Day tweet C this birthday greeting on C’s PUBLIC Twitter account in 2016: “@caitrionambalfe HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Hope you have the loveliest day … And @SamHeughan treats you like the queen you are” (followed by 11 interesting, some might even say, “suggestive of a relationship” emojis, including a heart, champagne and wine -- things you might have on a date, for instance)? Couldn’t Rosie have tweeted instead “Hope everyone on set treats you like the queen you are”? or “Hope #TonyMcGill treats you like the queen you are” (followed by suggestive emojis)? WHY did Rosie have to make C’s bday best wishes about S? And then C responded: “Thank you honey xxx.” If C didn’t want delusional fans to get the wrong message, she should have tweeted Rosie back: “Thank you honey. My civilian SO and I have great plans for this evening.” That would have shut down all the shipper celebrations that ensued shortly after that tweetfest and still allowed C “privacy.” And they continued crossing the line into sexual innuendo, whistling and checking out each other’s “assets,” as well as knowing too much about each other’s personal habits (4 a.m. workout … no) and identical interests and likes (sancerre, Netflix and chill, banoffee pie).

Come on, SC (or at least “Captain S”) had to know they were pushing things too far when shippers were shipping and tweeting them like crazy and every article was about their “amazing chemistry” and asking whether it was acting or for real. Again I ask, WHY DIDN”T ANYONE TELL THEM THEY WERE TAKING THE CHEMISTRY THING TOO FAR AND MAKING PEOPLE THINK THEY WERE TOGETHER IRL? And if people did warn them about this — hell, someone must have — why didn’t SC listen for years and years? Oh, that’s right, anyone who would think they were together offscreen must just be crazy and delusional! No one with two wits about them could possibly be getting mixed messages ... and SC ALREADY told everyone in a joint interview in early 2016 that they weren’t together.

And still, the innuendo went on and on. S saw no reason why he shouldn’t whistle at C’s butt on the T2 red carpet. And C didn’t see why she shouldn’t compare her co-star’s genitals to a beer bottle, or a shrimp. And they could call each other “hubby” and “wifey” in tweets. And why would SC fans ever think the cute little emoji’s in their tweets were flirty little sexual innuendos? Come on, S and C just liked to make their tweets more colorful-looking and interesting by adding eggplants, blowfish, shrimp, peaches, umbrellas and cake — no one should have read anything more into it. And don’t all female co-stars simulate checking their male co-star’s “balls” and post it on social media ... trying to drum up fan support for a fave charity? And god, no, why would anyone ever think that feeling up your co-star’s breasts during photo shoots (repeatedly), telling the world you don’t wear modesty patches while simulating sex, being captured for perpetuity in S1 of OL moaning your co-star’s real name, and tweeting whilst sitting in bed together might be inappropriate ... if you’re not in an actual relationship with one another? Apparently, S and C’s real SOs were totally chill all these years with their sexually-oriented offscreen antics, so why weren’t fans similarly chill? And because they said they were “obviously” not together and just bff co-stars, they saw no reason that they couldn’t publicly stroke, whistle, grab breasts and tweet each other in a variety of sexual ways (and oddly, no one accused them of sexually harassing each other and neither did they). Why would anyone misinterpret their actions and ship them together? But some of us did.

So, in what “may” be the conclusion of a 4-year roller coaster ride for a shipperdom filled with elation, creative brilliance, forged friendships, disbelief, battles with anti’s and trolls, “delusion,” anger, and gaslighting, here is what may well be the final honor shippers and ex-shippers alike bestow upon SC: “Best Fake Offscreen Ship Between Two Co-stars.” Indeed.

#samcait #sam heughan #caitriona balfe #shippers #OL #Outlander

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4birds-of-a-feather · 6 years

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Chapter 26 - Man, it doesn’t show signs of stoppin’ [part 3]

Birds Of a Feather

(In the previous chapters: Layla’s stuck at SeaTac and gives a call to WC Boyfriend who, once more, confirms to be the shittiest boyfriend ever; in the meantime, Sara has reunited with her long-lost cat and an acquaintance of her family, but it wasn’t all peaches and dandelions. WARNING: the other super-short update – we know that we had promised you to update sooner, but we were busy with our job, studies and festivities – just in time to wish you a fantastic 2018!)

Sara walked upstairs back to the loft, frantically rummaging in her shoulder bag to find the apartment keys. When she arrived on the landing, she jumped. “Fuck, mr. California! You scared the shit out of me!” the girl angrily shouted, almost dropping her headphones “The fuck are you doin’ out here???” The singer was in fact sitting on the floor, next to the front door – notebook and pen in his lap. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” he quickly grabbed the objects and hid them behind his back “It’s just that I went for a walk but forgot my keys on the table, and Jeff’s gone to a party, so…” “No problem: Layla left me hers” she made the keys clink under Eddie’s nose, so the singer smiled and stood up while she made the lock spring open. When they went inside, Sara stopped in the hallway to hang her coat, scarf and bonnet, while Eddie was looking at her, scratching his nape. “Weren’t… weren’t you supposed to spend this day with your family?” he finally asked, almost startling her. The girl gulped, rubbed her blubber eyes and put on a rather convincing cheerful voice, trying not to let him notice her real attitude. “Oh, yes, it’s just-I went to my parents’ house and I noticed that my mom’s relatives from Portland were there too… They’re annoying and know-it-all and kind of churchy too… <Why in hell did I mention Portland? Fuckin’ A, Fancini! Congrats!> … So I just drew the attention of my dad, without making the others notice me, and I explained him that I couldn’t tolerate ‘em, so he agreed and made up some persuasive excuse too… I guess my mum will understand, even if they’re her siblings and shit like that” she ended her monologue and finished to hang all her things, while Eddie was still looking at her. “So… this means you survived” he gave her a warm smile and she did the same. “Yeah, I guess so… Man, I fuckin’ hate these festivities! Hypocrisy flows in torrents” “Don’t tell me… The fuckin’ triumph of bleeding hearts, ugh” the singer soon joined her in that anti-Christmas rant and the two of them quickly ended bursting into laughter. “Glad to see another cynical and black soul around here – the world is too full of retarded Santa’s little helpers” “Man, I hate those lil’ fuckers!” Eddie laughed again, then his eye fell upon a packet full of ribbons that was under the Christmas tree – Sara’s gaze followed his own one. “Oh, you noticed Layla’s work of art…” “… How the fuck does she know that yesterday was my birthday?!” he finally exclaimed, making the girl look at him in disbelief. “Wait a minute: yesterday was your birthday?!” “… SHIT” “Why the fuck didn’t you tell us, Eddie??? You really are grown up in the woods, for fuck’s sake!” Sara scolded him, her eyes plopping out of her head. “I don’t know… I just didn’t want to bother, that’s all” he shrugged, not knowing what else to say. “… you really are weird” the girl sighed, shaking her head “Anyway, that’s your Christmas present… Layla always remembers this kind of things so, in your shoes, I wouldn’t be bothered…” “Didn’t she buy you anything?” Ed asked her, noticing that his pack was the only one under the Christmas tree. “Who do you think you’re talkin’ to??? Of course she bought me something, I’m her fuckin’ best friend!” she gave him a little slap in the nape “But I’ve already hidden it… ya know, with that animal of Ament that freely scampers in this loft, you’ll never know what he could do to my wealth” The guy laughed again “I think I’ll take the risk – I’ll leave mine here” “As you wish, mr. California – I won’t be the one who’s gonna stop you… don’t say I didn’t warn ya” He nodded and started to go in his room’s direction, then stopped and looked at her. “I guess I’m goin’ in my room to listen to some records… Wanna join me?” Sara winced a little, but quickly regained her usual aplomb. “Yeah, why not?” she shrugged “Just gimme a minute and I’ll come” “Ok, great – I’ll leave the door open, no need to knock” The girl nodded and made her way to the bathroom, while he stood in the hallway a few other seconds; when he saw the ringlets at the end of her ponytail disappear, he finally went in his bedroom.

<Nothing happened – you’re perfectly capable to have a natural conversation without embarrassing yourself… you’re gonna fuckin’ own this, you’ll see> Sara splashed her face, then looked at her tired reflection in the mirror: she could still spot some glitter but decided that her cheeks had already been rubbed enough – oh, and her face was the embodiment of misery. <I’m gonna be fuckin’ owned, ugh – this motivational bullshit is pathetic> She took a deep breath and made her way to Ed’s room, stopping just outside: Quadrophenia had just started playing when she peeped out from the doorjamb. “Am I still welcome?” Eddie raised his eyes from the books he was browsing and gave her a smile. “Always – come in!” he went to close the door and gestured for her to find a place to sit; she decided to take a seat on the floor, near the bookshelf where he was standing before. Soon after the guy approached her, waving something with a playful grin: “What did I tell you? Here, see for yourself” He handed her the infamous Polaroid he had taken with Joe Strummer and the girl sneered. “Since a month has almost passed, I thought you had made the whole story up…” she provoked him, without tearing her gaze from Strummer’s autograph at the bottom of the picture. “Yeah, in fact this photo is false as the fact that in 1977 I saw Springsteen and the E Street Band…” he casually added, going to sit next to her. “… you did what???” “… and I also saw The Who in 1979, when I was almost fifteen years old” “YOU LUCKY BASTARD!” Sara kicked him, making him laugh. “Why, are you telling me you never went to a concert?” Eddie mocked her with an evil smile. “Yeah, in fact Fleetwood Mac in 1980, Cat Stevens in 1976 or Led Zeppelin in 1977 were just hallucinations” “HOLY SHIT!” the guy exclaimed, surprised “Wait a minute, Cat Stevens in 1976? How old were-” “Eight years old, and he played divinely” she smiled again “Anyway, I won’t be jealous about you seeing The Who – Moon The Loon was already underground, I can tolerate it” “Shit, you were just a child! And Zeppelin at nine years old – I’m not surprised you turned out like this” Eddie spoke again, then laughed for her second statement. Soon after The Real Me began to play and Sara’s smile turned into a big grin. “The Ox is fuckin’ awesome here – I mean, I can totally say that he’s my favorite bass player without any doubt” “You love Quadrophenia too?” Eddie’s eyes lit up at the thought of a fellow fan of The Who. “Well, that’s not my favorite album made by them, but my second favorite song that they composed is here, so I guess I have to give it some credit” “Just spit out the title” “Love, Reign O’er Me, obviously” “I knew it – sooo, this means that your favorite album’s Tommy…” “Nope – Who’s Next” she gave him a mischievous grin “My favorite song is there, guess it!” The guy mentally listed the tracklist, then answered: “The Song Is Over, right?” “… you’re starting to impress me, ya know?” Sara mocked him, and he laughed. “Sooooo” after a while Ed cleared his throat “what are our plans for Christmas’ Eve?” “Well, since our beloved chef’s not here… I guess we’re fucked, mr. Surfin’ U.S.A.” “Nope, listen: food problem will be solved with pizza delivery… but what about after dinner?” “Why are you lookin’ at me as if I were the life and soul of all parties?!” “Hmm, maybe we could go out and drink somethin’…” he ignored her and went on with his suggestions. “… so then we would be surrounded by stupid people with their fuckin’ stupid Santa Claus hats or Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer antlers?! No, thank you!” “Or we could reach Jeff at the party he went to…” “You really want a Seattle remake of Silent Night, Deadly Night, don’t ya?” The guy laughed again, then raised his hands in order to declare himself innocent: “Oook, I get it! How about stayin’ at home and watchin’ some old movie provided by yours truly?” “Are you really makin’ me responsible for our pre-Christmas entertainment?” “C’mon, don’t be too modest! I liked Neighbors and I’m sure-” “Of course you liked it, I kept tellin’ you that you’re Belushi’s alter-ego!” Sara interrupted him, while he stuck his tongue out. “… I was telling ya that I liked Neighbors and I’m sure you’ll do a great job this evening too, that’s all” “… Whatevs” “Great! An Italian one, please” “What? Don’t tell me you’ve ever watched one of them!” “Yep, Miracle in Milan” “NO FUCKIN’ WAY!” the girl exclaimed, sincerely enthusiastic “D’ya know that its last scene inspired the E.T.’s one with the bicycles lifting into the air?” “Shit, that’s why I had a déjà vu when I first watched it!” “Sorry, I’ll stop immediately with my movie geek act – I know it’s weird, I just can’t help it” “No problem, I learnt something new” The girl gave him a grateful smile, then resumed her considerations: “Hmm, so you watched somethin’ from Neorealism… What about Commedia all’Italiana? Err, I mean, Italian-style comedy?” she quickly corrected herself, while Ed smiled because of those few Italian words. “Yeah, why not? I mean, Neorealism is great, but I’d like somethin’ lighter” “Well, ‘lighter’ is not the word I’d use to describe I Mostri, but it’s an awesome example of how great satire could be” “I’m in your hands, I’m sure you won’t disappoint me” Eddie cracked another smile “Dubbed?” “In your fuckin’ dreams, Vedder! I’ve got the subtitled version, this is no place for heretics!” “Yeah, I thought so… I also bet that on March you showed off the Italian flag when Cinema Paradiso won the Academy Award, am I right?” “… you almost got it” was her embarrassed answer, while the guy laughed and stood up to put his notebook in a drawer. “That’s your holy Bible full of personal lyrics, huh?” she asked him, and he immediately turned to face her, as if he had just received a punch in the face “Because that’s what your songs are… Autobiographic, like a diary” Eddie didn’t say anything and lowered his head, and soon Sara was forced to interrupt that awkward silence. “I’m-I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to sound like a bitch but, well!, apparently that was the final result…” she wrung her hands “Man, I really suck with social interactions” “It’s ok, don’t worry” the guy finally opened his mouth again and went to sit on the floor, next to her. “Did all that stuff happen to you?” she asked, after a while. “Except for the incest, yeah… I have lacked for nothing” “… shit” she took a deep breath, trying to clear her thoughts “I’m-I’m so sorry, Ed” “Yeah, I know you really mean it” he said in a low voice, then brought his knees to the chest. “Would my humble singing your praises make you feel a little better?” “Why, did you really like the songs or are you just givin’ me a lump of sugar?” he abruptly raised his head and shot her a nasty glance. “Fuck, do I really look like a person who gives compliments away?!” she retorted, starting to get worked up. “Are we really assembling a conversation by using only questions?” he went on, finally being able to chuckle, while the girl soon followed him – she mentally thanked him for making both of them a bit more relaxed than before. “Anyway – yes, I really liked ‘em, I think you’re a worthy lyricist… At least, the few times I can understand what the fuck you’re singing” At those words the guy laughed heartily and gave her a playful push, to which she answered with another one, a bit stronger. “But yeah, jokes aside: we can totally say that I’m in presence of talent” she winked at him and he thanked her, a bit embarrassed but pleased all the same. When Eddie resumed to talk, I’m One was playing in the background. “Oh, I was almost forgetting to tell ya that I really like your voice” Sara immediately froze, then slowly turned in his direction. “I beg your pardon, what did you just say?” “I said that I like your voice… I heard you, you sing pretty well” “WHEN DID YOU HEAR ME?!” “Well, a few days ago, when we hung out at that bar and-” “Holy Marvin Gaye, I knew that the whole karaoke thing was a shitty idea!” she facepalmed. “… but I heard ya yesterday too, while you were taking a shower” “Fuckin’ A, Vedder! Since when are you overhearing me?!” the girl asked him, her eyes almost plopped out of her head. “Err, since when you’ve started to sing Elton John out loud…?” “That’s because I thought I was alone! I thought that nobody was at home, except me! And instead you were there, lurkin’ like a vulture!” At that last comparison the singer laughed out loud, making Sara even more irritated. “C’mon, don’t be offended! I just wonder why you’re freakin’ out like that!” he tried to ease the situation, given how she didn’t seem to relax. “Because I don’t want anyone to know it, genius! I don’t like it, it’s just a personal thing” “… a personal thing?” “Yeah, a promise I made to someone – someone really important, but that was just a thing between the two of us” “Hmmm, understood” he thought over something, then resumed to talk “My father… he sang too. I mean, that’s what other people told me – I met him a few times, as a family friend, but I didn’t talk to him that much… And then one day my mum took me aside and told me that who I thought was my father was actually my step-father, and that my real dad was ‘that man that once in a while came to visit us, you remember?’ but he had already died, and I-I didn’t know what the fuck I was supposed to do, or say, or think, or feel, and-” Eddie stopped talking and took a deep breath, probably in the attempt to not cry, but Sara had already noticed his eyes becoming bright with tears. “It’s ok, Eddie, you don’t have to talk about it” she carefully put a hand on his shoulder and softly squeezed it, while he let out a deep sigh. <Am I the first one to hear his story? Well, who cares! I mean, he trusted me and told me all these things – maybe I should tell him about-> The girl’s thoughts were interrupted by the noise of a guitar’s sound box – Ed had grabbed the instrument and now was strumming it absent-mindedly, trying to tune it. “You play guitar?” “Yeah, a little bit… Well, playing is a huge word: let’s just say that I strum away on it” “Hmmm, I see” “You’re gonna make me listen to somethin’, right?” “What?!” she almost choked “Absolutely not – this is a categorical no!” “I’m sorry but I won’t accept refusals of any type” “… are you blackmailing me?” “Hmmm, maybe… you think I am?” “I think so, Alvin without the Chipmunks!” The guy laughed: “C’mon, just a song! It’s just the two of us – nobody will ever come to know this, I promise” Sara rolled her eyes, so Eddie went on: “Silence gives consent… fine, let’s do this!” He casually plucked some strings, then finally had a flash of inspiration and began to play. “I’m sure you know this one, I saw this album in your collection” “Great! Have you searched my bedroom too?!” she hysterically asked him, but he ignored her. “C’mon, be ready! Your turn is finally coming!” the guy played the last introductory chords and Sara finally began to sing, her eyes still rolling. “Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly… All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise…” Eddie smiled to himself and the two kept on performing the song; at a certain point he slowed down the fingerpicking and started to whistle, imitating the birds chirping, while the girl looked at him in a perplexed way – but then burst into laughter. “The hell are you doin’???” “C’mon, try it – be a blackbird too!” he suggested her, still laughing, and when she emulated him he smiled satisfied “See? That was easy” “… idiot” the girl laughed again, and resumed to sing the final lines: “You were only waiting for this moment to arise, you were only waiting for this moment to arise, you were only waiting for this moment to arise…” Eddie finished to play, then smiled at her. “Well, you did learn to fly… Congratulations on your voice” “You’re just a flatterer, but thanks” she blushed, then cleared her throat “Instead, congratulations on your guitar style! You don’t limit yourself in strummin’ away on it… you play it, Ed” “Nope, I’m not that good” “Have you ever considered the possibility of playin’ in the band? Like, for real” “In the band? A band with three guitars?” “Yeah, why not? Kind of a Lynyrd Skynyrd thing, ya know” “Well, I’m just the new guy – I don’t know if Mike and Stone would agree…” he shrugged “Plus, as I said before, I can’t seriously play it” “Hmmm, as you wish… But, in your shoes, I’d give it a try” “Who knows, maybe in the future? Like ten years from now, just gimme enough time to practice…” “Why, are you really believin’ that you guys are goin’ to last that long?!” she provoked him, and the guy laughed. “No, you’re right – but, in the meantime, I’d be really glad to make at least a duet with you at the karaoke” “No fuckin’ way, I’ll never set foot again on that goddamn place, sure as hell!” “Ok, as you wish… but, sooner or later, you will sing somethin’ with me” he pondered “Like a collaboration… I should seriously write somethin’ for two voices” “Don’t you fuckin’ dare, Vedder! This is a secret, I told ya once and I won’t tell you again: keep your mouth shut or there’ll be big troubles!” Eddie pretended to go along with her wishes and gave her a mischievous smile – then his gaze fell on something that was peeking from the pocket of her sweatshirt. “What’s that?” “Oh” the girl suddenly remembered its existence and pulled it out “Just a mixtape I was listening to before” “Can I?” he extended a hand and she gave it to him “Footprints like puddles – strange choice for a title… I like it” “It’s-err… It’s just a silly title, I wrote down random words” “It seems well put together to me…” Ed fumbled with its case and finally pulled out the tracklist. “It’s just a couple of songs for the days when I get the mean reds, nothing serious” “The… the mean reds?” he hadn’t even started to read through the track titles but stopped immediately “What’s that?” “Well… ever watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s?” the guy nodded and she went on “When Audrey Hepburn gets ‘em, she jumps in a cab and goes to Tiffany’s – and it calms her down, just like that” “Ok, now I get it – this right here is your personal Tiffany’s, right?” “It is” “Then it’s better if I don’t intrude” he quickly opened again the case and started to put away the tracklist, but her hand stopped him. “… Go on, I think you could appreciate it” He looked at her, a bit puzzled: “You sure?” “Yep – go on” The guy smiled and finally began to read it. “Let’s see… we’ve got Leonard Cohen – woah, Ella Fitzgerald! – Brian Eno and Tom Waits… you put The Boss too, awesome” “Yeah, Racing In The Street reminds me of the way I feel when I choose not to open my umbrella on rainy days” “I think he’d be honored to know it… well, you should totally lend this to me, there are a couple of songs in here that I don’t know and I’d like to hear ‘em” he stopped, scratching his nape a bit embarrassed “… of course, only if you feel ok with that” “Yeah – err, yeah, that’s fine… I don’t mind” “Great, thanks” “You’ll tell me what you think about it, ‘kay? And I also wanna know if you appreciated the ones you hadn’t heard before my magic tape came to your rescue” “… you just got yourself a deal” “That’s what I like to hear” Sara looked around, her gaze stopping on the surfboard in a corner, the big waves painted on some walls, the books and vinyls piled on the desk and shelves – a few were also scattered on the floor; she found out that the room really reflected Eddie’s soul – at least, for the little bits she knew about him. The girl also found herself really missing her old chamber, the one that was waiting for her in that godawful mess of her loft, with most of all her belongings stocked there and the furniture apparently put in a random way – when in reality it had been carefully arranged by her. Out of the corner of his eye Eddie clearly saw her sigh, so he quickly tried to introduce a new topic in order to offer her a little distraction. “Say… can you play some instrument?” Sara startled, a confused expression upon her face. “Who? Me?” the guy nodded and she went on “Nope – when I was a child I used to play the harmonica from time to time, but it was nothin’ serious” “Oh, I see – and you got a favorite instrument? One that you really enjoy listenin’ to, and maybe you’d also like to learn how to play?” “HA! Lemme surprise you: banjo, mandolin, kazoo – ya know, all those weird things” she listed, all proud “Oh, and I love bass too… but don’t tell Ament, pretty please!” “Ahahaha, ok! Pinky swear” he laughed, then they entwined their little fingers and the deal was made “But yeah, really unusual choices… I was expecting something entirely different” “Like what?” “Like… I dunno – violin? Piano? Maybe the harp too… You strike me as someone who would enjoy these instruments a lot” “… I strike you as someone this ordinary? Wow, Ed – you really have a way with words” “Shit, I-I didn’t mean that, I just-” “Relax, I was just teasing you!” Sara let out a carefree laugh “I know that on the outside I may give this impression… and let’s not talk about this squeaky, little voice of mine – it’s obvious that you’d link it to a violin instead of a kazoo” The guy laughed and gave her a playful push, then resumed his observations: “See? That’s why a collaboration of the two of us would be so interesting – and stop it, your voice isn’t squeaky” “You’re the one who has to stop it, Ed! Erase this crazy idea of yours right now or-” “Or what? You’re gonna kick my ass? Punch my cute face with those small, childish hands? I don’t think so, Fancini” “VEDDER, YOU’RE SO GOING DOWN” she roared and threw a cushion at him that perfectly landed on his face. “Ouch! How can such a little person be this evil???” he grabbed another pillow and did the same with her. “You’re one to talk! Beware the mighty Big Foot!” “See?! Well, I’m going to expose you in my next song, which is gonna be this caustic piece about how one should never trust Italian girls with big, brown eyes because in reality they’re Satan’s daughters – and, the good news? I’m so gonna force you to sing some lines, the ones with the nastiest insults” he laughed again, avoiding a cushion “I can’t wait to hear your angelic voice singin’ something along the lines of ‘you’re a sewer rat decaying in a cesspool of pride’…” “Angelic my ass! Stop talking about me singin’, nobody has to fuckin’ know it!” Sara gave him a strong push that made him fell legs in the air, her irascibility growing as she heard him guffaw without restraint. “Ok, ok, nobody will ever know this thing! I swear!” he shouted breathlessly among his laughter. “… nobody will ever know what?” were the words that came out from Layla’s mouth, as she suddenly peeped out from the door.

#Eddie Vedder #Jeff Ament #Pearl Jam #Eddie Vedder fanfiction #Pearl Jam fanfiction #grunge fanfiction #Jeff Ament fanfiction #Birds of a Feather #chapters

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funkymeihem-fiction · 7 years

Text

Meihem- First Kiss

“I told you, you should not have been following me! Those awful bombs of yours ruined the inside of that poor bakery!” Mei sat leaning against a brick wall in one of the far back alleys of Dorado, her boots off and one of her leggings pulled up as she applied bandages to some of her scrapes and bruises.

Junkrat sat across from her, back hunched like an angry cat as he tended to his own minor cuts, though with less anti-septic and more ‘spit and dirt’ techniques. He glared back at her, snorting a bit. “And I told you, I just happened to be going in that direction at the same time. We’re both backlines, darl, get used to the idear of having me around. And I don’t believe I’ve gotten a thank you, yet. So I’m just gonna say ‘you’re welcome’ in advance.”

“Who are you expecting a thank you from, the nice family whose building you blew up?”

“So you’re not even going to mention the what, four or five mercenary blokes what had you cornered in there? I saw you ducking in that bakery to reload. What were you gonna do in the meantime? Bash ‘em with baguettes? Sock ‘em with sourdough? Pulverize ‘em with…with…”

Mei thought for a moment, “Pumpernickel?”

“Yeah! Thanks, love.” He spat on his gloved palm, wiping away a rivulet of blood from his knee. “And again, you’re welcome, for getting those drongos off you.”

“I had it under control, actually. You didn’t even bother to ask before you set them off,” she huffed, wincing a bit at the sight of him tending to himself. His knee was still bleeding profusely, and the spit certainly was not helping. “Would you stop that? It’s unsanitary. Here.” She ignored his grumbles as she pushed at him a little, shooing his hands away as she knelt in front of him, rummaging through her belt and pulling out more fresh gauze. Ripping open the packages, she began winding it around his leg, the white staining slowly with pink as it settled over the gash. Wiping at her hands, she sat back to inspect her work “There. Why can’t you just be more careful? With everything.”

The bleeding junker folded his arms petulantly. “Well excuse me, your hoity-toity highness, but I’d rather have seen a few knocked over chairs and some spilled dipping sauces, than seen your beautiful brains splattered all over the menu signs. You’re welcome.”

She scowled back at him. “Well maybe I don’t want to see your other leg fall off because your idea of medical treatment is smearing saliva into everything! This should at least help until the others arrive. So…you’re welcome.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re welcome!”

They were soon shouting it in each other’s faces, before Mei finally closed her eyes and held up a hand and turned to look away, taking a deep breath. “No, no, I am not going to be this immature.”

With his gangly limbs still folded up like a spider, arms draped across his knees, he gave her a leering grin. “What, you don’t enjoy a good pissin’ contest with yours truly? I thought this was kinda our special time together. This is like,” He gestured to himself, then to her, back and forth. “Our thing.”

The look she gave him was a little wary, starting to roll her leggings back down and reaching for her boots. “We’re supposed to be a team. We can’t be fighting.”

“What, you and me, actually fighting? This isn’t fighting. We’re not fighting, like fighting. Hell, I couldn’t really fight you.” He rocked back and forth where he sat in a rather giddy way, yellow eyes burning in the shadow of the alley’s buildings. “This. This is flirtin’.”

Her face went red, adjusting her glasses. For a moment her coat felt entirely too hot, and she would have started to remove it in any other situation than sitting here, in a back alley, with a junker who had always been entirely too happy to squabble with her. And no wonder he’d gotten such a ludicrous idea, when she was far too eager to get snippy with him at any opportunity. She looked for something to busy herself with, and began fiddling uselessly with the dials and buttons on her endothermic blaster, which had already been set correctly some hours ago. When she did speak, her voice didn’t sound right. “This isn’t…We’re not…We are both professionals here, Mr. Fawkes.”

“Oh! A pro-whatnow? I thought I was just a no-good bully?” He said slyly, and his grin only widened at the look he received.

He had there, and they both knew it. From the very day he had arrived, she’d never been particularly polite to him, and it had been so unlike her. “Well,” she answered stiffly. “That was an admittedly unprofessional thing to say. If you want, I can apologize-”

“Nah, you apologize for everything too much already. Sorry this, sorry that. I saw you apologize to a microwave door once because you shut it too hard, it was really cute. You don’t gotta apologize to me. Besides, like I said. I like it. All this arguing we do, I’m just takin’ the piss!”

She squinted. “If you need to do that, you can go-”

“Nah! Nah! I mean takin’ the piss, just messing with you! Flirting with you a bit, yeah? That’s what we do, you and me.” His long arms folded one more around his knees, the joint of his peg squeaking as he leaned to inspect the bloodied gauze on his good leg. “You know I’d blow up anyone who’s dumb enough to go after you while I’m nearby. And see? You did me this nice bandage patch-job while we were shouting at each other and everything, it’s ace. D’you even know what you look like when you shout? It’s all cute and puffy. With your puffy coat and your puffy cheeks and your puffy lips-”

“I am not puffy!” she protested, even as she felt her cheeks puff just like he’d said.

“Aw, see, we’re in another spat again already. Wanna get to the part where we kiss and make up?” His bushy brows waggled up and down.

She looked back to him, face still burning behind her glasses, and she noticed his cheeks were flushed too, staring back at her. “That’s…crude.”

“Yeah, but do you wanna, though? Or we can keep fighting like cats and dogs. Honestly, I’m good with both! Just kinda, ya know, leaning towards the kiss part.”

“You probably taste like smoke.”

“So…you’ve wondered, then?” There was that infuriating grin again, with his gold tooth glinting on one side. “Bet you taste like peaches, bet you anything. Wanna find out?”

Her lips tightened until they were nothing but a thin line. Her coat was definitely too hot. Everything was too hot; the coat, the weather, and especially the situation with the Australian bomber sitting across from her. Just because he was incapable of being professional, didn’t mean she had to stoop to…to junker levels. The professional thing to do would be to shut this nonsense down immediately. They were just teammates after all, sent out on the same missions, taking care of the backlines together, seeking each other out and squabbling whenever they could, and very much alone in the end of a dark alley…

“You ain’t said yes or no, love,” Junkrat urged gently, never comfortable with long silences.

She hadn’t. For a few moments longer, she stared at the cracked cement and scattered pebbles on the ground before murmuring a soft, “You’d tell.”

“I wouldn’t! What d’you take me for? Even I know when to keep my gob shut, if you want it shut. This is just for you and me, Snowflake. Just us. Swear it.”

She glanced around, as though expecting to find either Talon agents or her own teammates coming through the very walls at such an inopportune moment. But when her suspicions abated, she straightened her shoulders and faced him as proudly as she could. “Close your eyes.”

To her irritation, that was exactly what he did. He giggled his shrill laughter, clamped his hands over his mouth to try and stifle it, and closed his eyes…opened them again, peeked, closed them again, several times, before finally closing them a final time as he waited. He hadn’t even hesitated. Really, she could have done anything at that point. She could even have simply stood and walked away, leaving him with his eyes shut and waiting for something that would never happen.

Instead she leaned forward, carefully navigating the tangle of his legs, and very hesitantly placed one finger on his chin. She heard him inhale sharply behind his smile, a hiss between his pointed teeth, and she could almost see the battle going on inside his head as he tried to keep his eyes shut, fluttering madly under their lids, the tips of his pale lashes singed and black. His lips drew forward from his bared grinning fangs, pursing slightly, and she could tell it was taking all of his minute amount of patience to stay still. Closing her own eyes, she tilted her head and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. It wasn’t a particularly long kiss, just barely long enough to be anything considered beyond a peck. And no tongue, she made very sure of that. Just a quick touch of their lips together, even as fireworks seemed to set off between Junkrat’s ears and his body seemed to melt in a boneless way against her. She held him steady, keeping him in place, stilling him just for this brief and ill-advised kiss of theirs.

As she drew away from him, she let the tip of her tongue rest against her bottom lip. It felt strangely hot to the touch. He did taste like smoke, just like she’d expected; a bit like a campfire that had been left to smolder, when the wood was black and gray on the outside but still red hot on the inside. And when she licked her lip again, he tasted like a sunburn mixed with a fever, with gunpowder sprinkled on top.

And…oh, he’d definitely had a lychee boba tea that day too. She recognized that flavor anywhere.

His eyes fluttered open as she leaned back from him, his dilated pupils narrowing back to pinpricks of black as the light hit them. He ran his own eerily long tongue along his lips, slithering like a pink snake as he wiped them clean before drawing back in for the taste. With a little smacking noise, his expression lit up, looking just a bit too satisfied for her liking. “You really do taste like canned peaches! Oh, that’s real sweet…I knew you’d be a tasty one, I always knew it.”

She sat back, staring into his strange citrine eyes, rings of unnatural yellow around black centers. She didn’t really have any idea what he was talking about- she hadn’t eaten peaches lately, anyway- but it was over and done with. Now she knew. They both knew. And this didn’t have to be repeated any time soon. Even with the heat slowly fading from her lips and knowing his lips were still so close, and she could have leaned forward and tasted it all over again. And he was still leaning forward towards her, she could just-

She shook her head clear, pushing her glasses back up her nose and straightening up. Now it was more than just her lips burning. “There. S-so…now we know…”

“Yeah…” He tilted his head at her in a strange way, and his gaze had changed again. He looked like he sometimes did before entering the battlefield, as if he seemed to be calculating something, those mysterious rapid-paced thoughts of his still whirring away in his brain. Maybe he wanted more too but was just giving her the space she seemed to need. When she retreated, he didn’t pursue, leaning back on both lanky arms as he regarded her thoughtfully. But it didn’t last long. Before she could even move to stand, he had found another cut on his elbow and was preparing to rub more spit and dirt on it. “Hcckf!”

“Would you stop doing that! Here!” She grumbled aloud, reaching back into her belt for yet more gauze, this time just tossing it into his lap for him to tend to himself.

He grinned up at her. “Thanks, Snowflake.”

“You’re welcome.”

“No, you’re welcome.”

“You’re welcome!”

She offered a hand to help him up after he had tended to his cut and he took it, hauling his spindly form up to loom over her as usual. Still shouting pleasantries at one another, the arguing pair started off back down the alleyway to join the rest of their team.

#meihem #junkmei #meirat #junkrat #mei #jamison fawkes #mei-ling zhou #fanfiction

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years

Text

What If Nothing But Chain Restaurants Survive?

Ruth just wanted to eat somewhere — anywhere — that wasn’t a chain

Their vibe had been great on the app, but for their first date, the girl suggested the Garden, and Ruth almost ghosted. It was the newest location, the one on York Boulevard that got spray-painted with anti-gentrification graffiti saying things like, “GO BACK 2 UR SUBURB” a couple weeks back; after cleaning it off, the Garden had made a big show of installing a community fridge. Honestly, Ruth wouldn’t have agreed to go if she couldn’t have walked there from her house. On a Saturday night, York was busy, the outdoor parklet tables overflowing at Torchy’s Tacos and Shake Shack and True Food Kitchen; people with laptops were still hunched in the Go Get ’Em Tiger, and tired-looking parents hauled growlers of beer from the Golden Road pub, maybe with a six-pack of Bud under their arm.

The Garden was the street’s newest addition, its glass exterior covered in long green vines, looking disconcertingly hip and inviting next to the local chain Thai Town, huddled in a former barbershop. The girl, Sierra, was waiting inside, perusing the menu projected on the wall in old-school Italian-joint cursive. She was shorter than Ruth had expected, and the ponytail peeking out from her trucker hat was bright pink. She greeted Ruth with a huge smile, and Ruth tried to act normal; meeting someone after messaging back and forth always felt so unbearable, even worse if they were actually cute. Sierra was cute. They bantered back and forth about whether the cauliflower parm would be good or a disaster, and agreed they could not not get mozzarella sticks. After ordering at the counter, they sat down and a runner immediately brought out a basket of warm breadsticks, the only reminder of the chain that had spawned the Garden.

The breadsticks were the best thing, soft and salty and comforting. Ruth’s cauliflower parm was soggy on the bottom, and Sierra’s vegan alfredo was like slurping nutritional yeast. Their messaging over the app had been playful and cheekily uninformative; now Sierra explained she was a storyboard artist on a kids cartoon about girl superheroes, airing on Prime. Ruth used to lead with her now-defunct Instagram ice cream business, or even her old restaurant in New York, the one that closed. But the endless grind of first dates had sanded down her pride, so she stuck to honesty: She was a corporate chef at Alexa’s.

“So we both work for Amazon,” Ruth said. “What are the odds?”

“Honestly, this isn’t the first time this happened on a date,” Sierra said. “Though you’re the first chef I’ve gone out with. And I brought you to a competitor!”

The Garden was not a competitor; Alexa’s did full table service, with good wines and produce pulled from the Whole Foods pipeline. Every dish was made by a person, at some point, from scratch. Ruth didn’t like how tightly she clung to this. “I appreciate Olive Garden’s way with breadsticks.”

“I was so pumped when this place opened in the neighborhood.”

“It’s not really my style?”

“Then on the next date, take me somewhere with better breadsticks.” She laughed, and Ruth decided she liked her.

Sierra came back to Ruth’s fixer-upper bungalow she’d run out of money to fixer-up, and they made out for a while. It was pleasantly awkward; neither quite knew why they liked the other yet, but what they stumbled onto was promising. Sierra said she’d be back for breakfast the next morning, a move Ruth honestly kind of appreciated because she’d worked a surprise double shift Friday and needed sleep. The next morning, Sierra let herself in with a bag of glossy chocolate Dunkin Donuts and sweet, milky coffee. Ruth asked if this was technically a second date, and Sierra slid her hands up Ruth’s loose T-shirt. The ice melted in the coffee by the time they got to it, but Ruth was glad for the doughnuts, even if they were a little stale.

Both she and Sierra worked 70-hour weeks — animating an empowering kids show was a real nightmare, it turned out — so they stole time together when they could. Mostly, they spent Sundays together, since Ruth was working Saturday nights again, the exact thing selling out was supposed to fix, but Alexa’s kept expanding and taking her chefs to open in Venice and Inglewood and Glassell Park and then she was stuck expediting again. Alexa’s was technically a New American restaurant, built around exclusive deals with farmers and Whole Foods’ zero-waste pledge (if a bunch of bruised peaches went from Whole Foods to Alexa’s house jam, everybody except the cooks who had to scramble to make jam was happy). The menu was shaped by algorithms that analyzed purchases and searches, or that’s what corporate claimed; Ruth would never have put Huli Huli chicken and a brown butter pasta on the same menu, but she had dutifully developed the recipes and watched them sell out night after night.

They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering.

Ruth kept putting off taking Sierra out for old-school Italian all the way across town. Instead, on Sundays they’d spend most of the day in bed, ordering in Sweetgreen if they couldn’t remember the last time they had vegetables, or Domino’s if they didn’t need to feel virtuous (mostly, they didn’t). Occasionally, they’d walk down to York or head to Figueroa for brunch. At the Houston’s in a historic former hotel, they always split the spinach artichoke dip, and at the Taco Bell Cantina that opened in one of the many former Mexican restaurants that used to line the neighborhood, they drank shitty bright blue frozen cocktails under a local graffiti artist’s mural that was preserved alongside the Taco Bell logo. Ruth hadn’t gone out this much since moving to Los Angeles, and it felt gross, sometimes, eating nothing but chain food. They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering. But it’s not like there was very much else, not anymore.

Late one Sunday morning while Sierra was listing off the usual brunch and delivery options, Ruth tried to express this to her, but all that came out was, “The thing is all these places kind of suck?”

Sierra stared at her phone. “I will not let you slander Domino’s in bed.” One of the characters on her show was obsessed with greasy pizza, and she had personally designed the cheese pull.

“Don’t you miss eating at mom and pops?”

“Taco Bell and the Garden are mom and pops. They’re all franchises.”

“We should make actual memories together.”

“Sharing breadsticks at the Garden is a real memory!”

Ruth took out her phone and started scrolling through Instagram. She found the image of pork belly drenched in a glossy red sauce she’d been thinking of and showed it to Sierra, saying they should try something authentic. So they put on pants and drove to Alhambra and went to this new Hunan restaurant every food person Ruth followed on Instagram was hyping up. When they opened their menus, Sierra let out a snort and pointed to the cute illustrated map of the restaurant’s 50 locations across China.

After that, Ruth’s thrashing about chain restaurants became a thing, mostly a cute joke. Sierra regaled her friends about her obsessive chef girlfriend dragging her to an old-school burger stand literally surrounded by a luxury apartment building (Shake Shack was taking over the lease) and a 7/11 secretly serving Sri Lankan food and a backyard barbacoa set-up, all of them requiring at least an hour in traffic, maybe more. Ironically, this kind of restaurant tourism wasn’t a thing Ruth had had time for when she had her own restaurant, but now that she had gone corporate, sometimes there was such a thing as a slow week, so she could check out other people’s restaurants. Actually, Sierra would continue, the barbacoa stand they’d spent all Sunday seeking out had been glorious, but it was also so sad — the city had raided it the next week. The cooks at Alexa’s told Ruth the city was raiding street vendors all over the city, not just on commercial strips, now that the big chains were lobbying the city to clean up “unsafe” competition.

For Sierra’s birthday, Ruth surprised her with tickets to a secret pop-up supper club high up in Montecito Heights, hosted on a terraced patio overlooking the hazy towers of downtown. It was run by two white, queer chefs, an impossibly attractive tattooed couple, who were maybe 10 or 15 years younger than Ruth; in New York she would have known them, but out here she was so disconnected. There was a land acknowledgment and prompt to send money to a local mutual aid fund, and then 15 small courses of pepino melons over glass noodles, blistered purple okra with popped buckwheat, and hot-smoked salmon collars with a yuzu-miso glaze, broken up by two “palate cleanser” courses: a Spam sando and tiny Magnum ice cream bars. The food wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was seasonal and playful, and Ruth had only a few quibbles over technique: The house sourdough was overproofed, and the popped buckwheat did nothing for the okra.

“So what’d you think?” Ruth said on the ride home.

“Great view,” Sierra said. “That whole house was insane.”

“I really loved the corn pudding, but I’m not so sure about that buckwheat on okra.”

“There were a lot of really pretentious courses, and then, like, tiny ice cream? I wish there’d been more stuff like the bread and butter.”

“Oh, I thought it was overproofed,” Ruth said, but Sierra wasn’t even listening.

“Maybe you’d hate your job less if you did pop-ups like this, too,” Sierra said.

“Who says I hate my job?”

“Ruth, you work for the biggest corporation in the world and you hate chain food.”

“I hate chains because they swept in and took up everyone’s leases after COVID and now no one can open a restaurant.”

“I guess this means you don’t want to go to McDonald’s right now.”

“Why don’t we try to find a taco truck?” But even along Figueroa, which used to be lined with trucks, their bright signs scrolling BIRRIA MULITAS ASADA in the night, no one was out. The Garden was still open, though; Ruth sat in the car as Sierra ran in to get breadsticks.

That week at work, Ruth’s job was to find a use for this new buttermilk the company had sourced. It was genuinely fermented buttermilk, and good quality; it was perfect for biscuits, and if she could find a recipe that worked at scale, Alexa’s could change this dairy farmer’s life. By the end of the week, she had a biscuit she thought worked, and she gave it to the pastry cooks to test for the next night’s service. She even texted Sierra to tell her to swing by early for dinner, the first time she’d invited her to work. Ruth grifted some company time making a fresh batch of the biscuits herself to bring down for Sierra; when she got to the kitchen, she saw the cooks unwrapping a huge frozen pallet of premade biscuits to lob in the oven, next to the batch the pastry cooks had left to rise.

“What the hell is this?”

“We’re A/B testing, apparently,” Alonzo, the new chef, said with a roll of his eyes. “Kyle said these really taste homemade.”

Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself.

Kyle was the efficiency officer sent down from Seattle to oversee what he called Alexa’s “workflow.” He’d already been asking a lot of questions about why there were pastry chefs working here when most desserts could be bought frozen, as if the whole point of Alexa’s hadn’t been to offer a premium restaurant experience.

Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself. Sierra was sitting at the wine bar drinking ginger ale; Ruth tried not to watch her too intently as she munched on first the packaged biscuit, and then Ruth’s.

“Which do you like better?” Ruth said.

“Is this a test?”

“Either you can tell me or let the cameras assessing your expressions take a guess.”

“Wait, are you serious?”

“The cameras are a staff rumor.” But they all wore fitness trackers that monitored the tone of their voices as they spoke to each other and to guests, and produced a rating on “harmony” and “service” at the end of shift. No one shouted in the kitchen. But the servers had learned that only the most obsequious tone of voice got them good customer interaction ratings.

Sierra broke off a piece of both biscuits and chewed thoughtfully. “To be honest, I wish you guys had breadsticks.” She said it with a little flirty smile, trying to deploy it as an inside joke.

“Clearly biscuits aren’t worth the trouble,” Ruth said, and took the basket back.

“So this was a test.”

“One of these is a recipe I’ve spent all week on, from a batch I made myself, for you. The other came frozen out of a box. If my own girlfriend can’t tell that my version is better, then there’s probably not much hope for me here.”

“Babe, I don’t even like biscuits that much —”

“When you get your check, be sure to leave your feedback about breadsticks.”

Sierra asked her to sit down; Ruth made excuses about having to work back in the kitchen, and then hid, taking up space and messing up people’s flow. Kyle would not have approved; the step tracker was probably wondering who was standing stock still during a busy service. At one point, she tried scrolling Instagram to distract herself, and there was a message from one of the pop-up chefs, asking if Ruth could get them a job at Alexa’s until they finished rounding up all their investors, you know? They were sure they’d find a space soon.

“You’ve never cooked for me before,” Sierra said on the car ride home. “Maybe if I’d had your cooking, I would have recognized it.”

“You don’t seem to care much about food, so I don’t see the point.”

“What the fuck, Ruth. I care about you.”

“I mean, the cooking doesn’t make me who I am, right? We used to have to remind each other of that all the time. That we’re more than a job.”

“I work for this huge company and make something I care about. Why can’t you try to too?”

They had the conversation they always had, about how Ruth should start a secret pop-up, and Sierra would do all the branding and promotion, and then she’d get rich investors and live her dream again. The next week, Ruth got her pay docked for rudeness, probably from when she’d snapped at Sierra about the biscuits. On Sunday, they went out to the Garden, and Ruth ate breadsticks until her mouth tasted of nothing but salt.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/34UCH3U https://ift.tt/3bkKdpY

Ruth just wanted to eat somewhere — anywhere — that wasn’t a chain

“So we both work for Amazon,” Ruth said. “What are the odds?”

“Honestly, this isn’t the first time this happened on a date,” Sierra said. “Though you’re the first chef I’ve gone out with. And I brought you to a competitor!”

“I was so pumped when this place opened in the neighborhood.”

“It’s not really my style?”

“Then on the next date, take me somewhere with better breadsticks.” She laughed, and Ruth decided she liked her.

They were all too salty, fat-laden and yet flat, so perfectly calibrated to please so that they slid into pandering.

Sierra stared at her phone. “I will not let you slander Domino’s in bed.” One of the characters on her show was obsessed with greasy pizza, and she had personally designed the cheese pull.

“Don’t you miss eating at mom and pops?”

“Taco Bell and the Garden are mom and pops. They’re all franchises.”

“We should make actual memories together.”

“Sharing breadsticks at the Garden is a real memory!”

“So what’d you think?” Ruth said on the ride home.

“Great view,” Sierra said. “That whole house was insane.”

“I really loved the corn pudding, but I’m not so sure about that buckwheat on okra.”

“There were a lot of really pretentious courses, and then, like, tiny ice cream? I wish there’d been more stuff like the bread and butter.”

“Oh, I thought it was overproofed,” Ruth said, but Sierra wasn’t even listening.

“Maybe you’d hate your job less if you did pop-ups like this, too,” Sierra said.

“Who says I hate my job?”

“Ruth, you work for the biggest corporation in the world and you hate chain food.”

“I hate chains because they swept in and took up everyone’s leases after COVID and now no one can open a restaurant.”

“I guess this means you don’t want to go to McDonald’s right now.”

“What the hell is this?”

“We’re A/B testing, apparently,” Alonzo, the new chef, said with a roll of his eyes. “Kyle said these really taste homemade.”

Ruth wasn’t sure what kind of masochism inspired her to bring Sierra a basket with one of the packaged biscuits and one she’d made herself.

“Which do you like better?” Ruth said.

“Is this a test?”

“Either you can tell me or let the cameras assessing your expressions take a guess.”

“Wait, are you serious?”

Sierra broke off a piece of both biscuits and chewed thoughtfully. “To be honest, I wish you guys had breadsticks.” She said it with a little flirty smile, trying to deploy it as an inside joke.

“Clearly biscuits aren’t worth the trouble,” Ruth said, and took the basket back.

“So this was a test.”

“Babe, I don’t even like biscuits that much —”

“When you get your check, be sure to leave your feedback about breadsticks.”

“You’ve never cooked for me before,” Sierra said on the car ride home. “Maybe if I’d had your cooking, I would have recognized it.”

“You don’t seem to care much about food, so I don’t see the point.”

“What the fuck, Ruth. I care about you.”

“I mean, the cooking doesn’t make me who I am, right? We used to have to remind each other of that all the time. That we’re more than a job.”

“I work for this huge company and make something I care about. Why can’t you try to too?”

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