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calpalirwin · 3 years

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Are We?

A/N: Based on Are We by Taylor Acorn cuz I’m obsessed with her music (and you should be too)

Word Count: 1.9k

And away, and away we go!

You could feel the music from Michael’s DJ setup thumping in your bones as you stepped outside, the cool night air immediately bringing goosebumps to your arms. You slid into the jacket you brought with you, catching a lingering scent of cologne as you did, and sighed. That’s what you got for leaving your jacket right next to his. That’s what you got for having his hoodie on your dresser in the first place.

“Yeah, it’s a lil on the cold side, isn’t it?” a familiar voice drifted into your ear and you turned to the sound.

“A little, yeah. Too bad you left your hoodie at my place.”

“Eh,” Ashton shrugged. “I don’t mind if it stays there honestly. I have plenty of others. And I’m over at your place a lot, so at least I know I’ll always have a back up if I need it, ya know.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” you tried to laugh off as you raised your gaze to properly meet his, feeling your stomach tie itself in knots.

“You good?” he prompted after a beat of watching you work your mouth, trying to form words and failing.

What are we? is what you wanted to ask, but what came out was a forced smile and a choked “Yeah, I’m good. Gonna grab a drink. Catch up later?”

“Sure thing,” he mumbled as you quickly walked off, before muttering a string of curses under his breath. “Just fuckin’ talk to her, for fuck’s sake…”

~~~

“Hey, I’m Ashton,” the brunette smiled widely at you, offering his hand.

“Y/N,” you smiled back, shaking his hand.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

Ashton giggled, pushing a hand through his hair. “Alright then. Well… if you change your mind…”

“I probably won’t, but I’ll find you if I do.”

“Cool.”

You sighed, maybe a little dreamily, as he walked off. Sure, he was cute. But the first time meeting butterflies in your stomach would settle eventually. And with how you and Ashton appeared to run in the same circle of friends, you needed the phase to pass without playing into it. A relationship was the last thing you needed right now anyway.

~~~

“Some fuckin’ phase…” you muttered to yourself as you grabbed a water bottle from a cooler. When you turned, you could see Ashton chatting with other friends of yours, his shirt being pulled tight against his back and shoulders as he moved his hands animatedly.

Your mind raced with who’s fault it was for the storm you couldn’t make sense of. On one hand, rationally, you knew it was your fault for being the one to set the friend boundary in the first place. But Ashton was the one who had crossed it. And now you were the one who felt like the clingy one-night stand, trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together with both sides blank. Although, in hindsight, maybe if it had only been a one-night stand, you could be playing it cool like he was.

~~~

“Oh, my God, get a room!” Calum groaned before chucking a pillow at Luke, and another one at Michael. “We have a rule against fucking in a public space for a reason.”

“We’re not fucking,” Michael defended, his words mumbled as his lips stayed locked on Crystal’s.

“Well, fuck you, I’m going to bed then. And wearing ear plugs I guess…” Calum rose to his feet with a huff.

“Night, mate,” Luke told him as he and Sierra came up for air, their foreheads knocking gently against each other’s.

Now alone to deal with the two couples making out like sex-crazed teenagers, you and Ashton shared a look where he made a kissy face that had you busting up laughing.

“Alright, fine!” Michael threw up his hands in defeat. “We’ll go to bed.”

“Have fun!” Ashton grinned.

“Use protection!” you joined in on the teasing as both couples headed to their own rooms. “Ugh…” you sighed, stretching your arms over your head. “Is it wrong to be jealous?”

“Jealous of what? That?” Ashton asked, motioning towards Luke and Michael’s rooms.

“Yeah. Not necessarily the relationship bit. Still not sure I want that. But God, to just get fucked senseless by someone who’s not a rando every now and again would be nice.”

“Well…” he started, and you noticed the subtle switch to his suggestive tone. “You know where my room is.”

“Are you seriously trying to hit on me right now?”

He shrugged, raising his hands defensively. “Look. You’re the one who said you wanted to get fucked senseless by someone who’s not a rando. I just happen to be someone who’s not a rando to you, and I have a great track record of being one hell of a lay. So… you could just go to your room, and do whatever it is you do. Or you could come to mine, and I’ll treat you to a good time, no awkwardness afterward guaranteed.”

“No one can know.”

“Pity… I like ‘em loud.”

“Ashton.”

“Alright, alright. This stays between you and me, got it. Not a problem.”

~~~

Both of you thought that it would just be that night. That if it happened too much, things would either get awkward, or you’d run the risk of your friends catching on. But sex with Ashton was like a drug. And now things were definitely awkward. Or at least, you were awkward. And you didn’t know how to take it all back. To be the people you were when you first met. And more than that, you didn’t want that. All this time, you thought it was space that you needed. But Ashton wasn’t someone you could erase. Because even if you acted like regular friends in public, those moments underneath the sheets were heaven. But you could do without each middle-of-the-night goodbye tearing you more and more apart. You could do without thinking about him in every spare moment, and second guessing everything you ever thought you knew about him. And you could really do without crying every time you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter whether it's all in your head, or if it’s real. But alas, it seemed like you were destined to be just another woman who fell for Ashton Irwin, wishing to wake up with him still next to you just once.

~~~

You stayed at Michael’s party for a while longer, making your rounds, while avoiding Ashton as much as you could, until you started your rounds of goodbyes.

“Headed out?” Ashton questioned, one arm wrapping around you for a side hug that made your insides twist more.

“Long day,” you half-lied.

He pulled a frown, wondering how much he should believe you or not. “Well, alright then. Text me when you get home so I know you got there safe?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And uh…” he paused as his eyes darted around, checking to see if anyone was in earshot. “Call if you need to.” His breath was hot as it brushed against your ear, before his lips planted a quick kiss to the side of your head.

“Yep, see ya!” you said, maybe louder than you needed to before making your final exit.

Don’t call him, you thought on a loop the whole drive back to your apartment.

Don’t call him, you thought as you texted the group chat that you got home, rather than just him.

Don’t call him, you thought as you stared at your phone screen, finger hovering over his contact info.

Sighing, you set your phone face down on your nightstand. It’s not like calling him would do any good if you didn’t know what to say anyhow.

“Seriously, don’t do it,” you whispered to yourself as you changed into his hoodie for bed. If you couldn’t have him the way you wanted, this would have to be enough. Everything with all its complications would have to be enough.

You were double checking locks and turning off lights when your phone started ringing. You didn’t have time to process the name calling as you hit accept. “Hello?”

“Hey…” Ashton’s voice responded, sounding almost broken.

“You alright?”

“Are you?” he countered.

“Ash… look, it’s late, and I’m pretty tired.”

“I’m not calling you for sex, Y/N.”

“Then what else are you calling me for this late?”

“Would you just let me in please? It’s freezing out here.”

“Are you…?” You made your way through your apartment to the door, twisting the lock and pulling it open. “What are you…?”

“So you sleep in my clothes now?” Ashton asked, in lieu of answering your own half-asked questions.

“It’s comfortable…” you mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, as he walked past you, and sat down on your couch.

“I’m not mad,” he said, as you shut the door and made your way to sit next to him. “I mean, it’s fine. I don’t care that you wear it. It uh… looks good on you that way.” As if to illustrate his point, his fingers ran over your bare thighs.

You shifted away from his touch, tucking your legs underneath you. “What do you want, Ash?” you asked, cutting straight to the point.

“I honestly don’t know. Cuz it changes. Sometimes I want my friend back because I feel like I’m losing her, especially these past few days. And other days… I dunno.”

“You think you’re losing me?”

“I mean…” he shrugged. “I hope I’m wrong. But yeah. It feels like that sometimes.”

“Ash…” You reached out to cradle his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing across his cheekbones. “You’re not losing me.”

“But it feels that way.” His hands pulled yours away from his face, but continued to hold them tightly as your hands dropped in his lap. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing! You did nothing wrong.”

“Then why are you acting like something’s changed?”

“Because something has changed, Ash.”

“Well, tell me! Tell me what it is, and I’ll fix it.”

“It’s me, Ash. I’m the something that’s changed.”

“I- I don’t think I understand.”

“I love you, Ashton.”

“I love you, too.”

“No. I’m in love with you.”

“Okay, and what’s so wrong with that?”

“Because you’re not in love with me back! Because I did this to myself! I tried to keep my distance because the last time I fell for someone I got hurt! But I let you get close anyway, because you’re you! And now I’m falling, and dammit I don’t wanna get hurt again!”

“Shh,” he soothed, pulling you into him as hot tears spilled down your face and onto his shirt. “Shh, it’s alright, Y/N. Everything’s alright.”

“No it’s not!” you sobbed into his chest. “I don’t know what we are, Ash! Are we just friends who have sex sometimes? Is that all we get to be to each other?”

“Look at me,” he coaxed gently, his hands rubbing up and down your back. “God damn it, look at me,” he repeated more sternly when you didn’t, his hands guiding your face to look at him. “Remember how I said I thought I was losing you?” he asked, his thumbs brushing away the tears as they continued to roll.

You sniffed loudly as you nodded.

“It’s because I’m in love with you, too. I thought I was pushing too far, and that’s why you were pulling away.”

You shook your head. “N-no. I was pu-pulling away, cuz I’m sc-scared to be in love with y-you.”

“Oh, honey, you don’t have to be scared of that.”

“I d-don’t?”

He chuckled lightly, placing soft kisses along your hairline. “Of course not,” he murmured. “Because we’re friends first, which means I’m not going anywhere.”

“But we’re more than that, too?”

“So much more than that.”

“Ash? Will you stay with me tonight? And be here in the morning?”

“Of course, baby.”

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#are we #ashton irwin #ashton irwin fic #ashton irwin x reader #5sos #calpal irwin

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thewatsonbeekeepers · 3 years

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Chapter 12: Three Men in a Boat [TFP 2/3]

[This was completely missing from my tumblr, via every search function and everything! So I’ve reuploaded - thanks anon for letting me know!!]

This section of the meta is going to deal with the events at Sherrinford – I’ve broken TFP up into three sections to try and get the most out of it. This isn’t just a read through like the first part of the meta, it has a specific structure, much like Eurus’s trials for the boys, so it’s really important to take this bit in one chapter. My hypothesis is thus – that each episode of s4 has been a different obstacle to be broken through in Sherlock’s mind, and that each of them is represented by one of the different Sherrinford tasks. It’s essentially an illumination of Sherlock’s progress through his mind – but it’s set up by Eurus, who is Sherlock’s mental barrier, so these are going to represent Sherlock’s darkest fears about each of the obstacles. Ready? Let’s go.

We take up the episode at the pirate hijacking, which is quite BAMF, but also illuminates a couple of things that we should bear in mind going into this episode. The first is that the transition from a blown up Baker Street to Sherlock and John hijacking a boat without a scratch on them is absolutely bizarre and leaves SO many questions – it’s dream-jumping of the most obvious kind. The second is that water has played a long role as a metaphor through the show, particularly in the EMP sequence, and it’s climaxing now – we are in the deepest waters of Sherlock’s mind.

Mycroft and John working together in the disguise sequence is metaphorically lovely – in the Oscar Wilde scene of the last part we saw Sherlock’s brain and heart finally coming together, and here for the first time they’re working together to give Sherlock the ability to go and confront Eurus. This is what makes Mycroft’s line so powerful. He says:

Say thank you to Doctor Watson. […] He talked me out of Lady Bracknell – this could have been very different.

Comic throwaway? Maybe. But given what we know about Lady Bracknell from the first part, this also has a more powerful meaning – heart!John finally stopped brain!Mycroft from being an obstructive force in Sherlock’s psyche, and they started working together instead to save him. This could have been very different is far more loaded than it sounds. All this whilst creating an image of Mark Gatiss as a Victorian aunt – wonderful.

When we first meet Eurus proper, her similarity to Sherlock is striking. She plays the violin – this isn’t a Holmes thing, because Mycroft doesn’t – it’s Sherlock’s motif throughout. Her hair is like a feminine Sherlock, her pallor and cheekbones match Cumberbatch. For reference, this is a picture of Sian Brooke and Benedict Cumberbatch together in real life.

I’ve done a section on why I think Eurus is the most repressed part of Sherlock’s psyche, and his traumatic barrier to love and life – I sometimes glibly refer to this as gay trauma, but that’s its essence. The similarity between Brooke and Cumberbatch in this scene is really compelling, looking the same but lit and dressed in opposite colours. Similarity and difference both highlighted. Even nicer, the white of Sherlock’s shirt is the same notable brightness as Eurus’s uniform, but it’s hidden under his jacket – a visual metaphor for her being hidden inside him.

Eurus gives Sherlock a Stradivarius as a gift. This should set alarm bells ringing for anybody who has seen TPLoSH. If you haven’t seen The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, please do so immediately because my God you are missing out, but TLDR – a Russian ballerina offers Holmes a Stradivarius to have sex with her so she can have a brainy child, and he declines because he’s gay. (This is not just my interpretation, this is genuinely what happens, just to be clear.) Eurus giving Sherlock a Stradivarius is a deliberate callback to the film which Mofftiss cite as their biggest inspiration; just like the ballerina tempted Holmes to feign heterosexuality, so does Eurus – and both make clear that it’s not without its rewards, which is unfortunately true for real life as well. This moment in Sherlock’s psyche also recalls the desperate unrequitedness of Holmes’s love for Watson in TPLoSH, a reference to our Sherlock’s deepest fear at the moment – he has realised his importance but not John’s romantic/sexual love for him, as we’ll see. So here, trauma!Eurus isn’t just referencing closetedness, but is actively drawing on a history of character repression with which to torment Sherlock – metafictionality at its finest.

The Stradivarius is specifically associated with closetedness, but violins more generally in the show are used to show expressions of love that can’t be voiced out loud – think of John and Mary’s wedding, or the desperate bowing of ASiB. So Eurus, gay trauma that she is, telling Sherlock that she taught him to play is a moment of distinct pain – she is the reason he can’t speak his love aloud, but instead has to speak in signs.

When Sherlock plays ‘him’, rather than Bach, to Eurus (he has a big Bach thing with Moriarty in s2, take from that what you will because I don’t know!), he’s playing Irene Adler’s theme. As a fandom, we’ve generally agreed on associating Irene’s theme with sexual love, which ties in nicely with Eurus’s question – has Sherlock had sex? It’s unanswered. At the end of ASiB, Irene calls Sherlock the virgin, suggesting that he hasn’t.

My favourite moment in s4 without a doubt is Jim dancing to I Want To Break Free. I know it’s the most boring thing to say, but my two greatest loves are Andrew Scott and Freddie Mercury, so it was like Christmas. Here it is also Christmas, but there are two possible timelines. I hypothesise that this refers to Christmas 2010, but it’s absolutely conceivable that it could be Christmas 2009. If we acknowledge that Sherlock is in a coma in 2014, then five years ago is Christmas 2009; however, given that we’ve jumped to 2015 in dream time, I’m going to make the guess that Jim’s visit to Sherrinford is supposed to take place in 2010. This ties up with the idea that this is when Moriarty first started taking an interest in Sherlock, who had never heard of him before ASiP, particularly as this is all in the EMP.

I firmly believe that Jim represents the fear that John is in danger – I highlight this in the chapter on HLV, where you’ll recall we first encounter Jim in the EMP and he sends Sherlock on his journey through the EMP with the words John Watson is definitely in danger – a pretty big sign. Even without this, though, his biggest threat to Sherlock has always been hurting John, whether in TRF or with the idea of burning the heart out of him with Semtex. It’s not unreasonable then to assume that MP!Jim first getting inside Sherlock’s subconscious to represent this fear happens in 2010, when he first meets John. He slips in and stays there, and he melds with Eurus. We see this in the powerful visual of the two of them dancing in front of the glass as Jim’s image slowly becomes Eurus’s reflection – the fear of John dying embeds itself into the gay trauma that Sherlock has stored up, even without him realising it. This ties in nicely with the choice of I Want to Break Free, which is famous for its use of drag in the music video – Jim melding into Eurus is the dark side of queer genderbending that we hate to see. It’s also a pretty fitting song name for an intensifying of repressed gay trauma, even without the association with queer king Mercury.

[A side note to all of this – there were wonderful TEH metas about trains in tunnels being sexual, which isn’t just a tjlc thing but is a well-established idea in cinema – Moriarty’s consistent train noises here seem like a horrifyingly inverted version of that sexual longing.]

Task 1 – The Six Thatchers

The governor is set up as a mirror for John in this task, which provides some helpful context for the episode as a whole. Heart!John makes this comparison himself, by drawing out the similarity between the situation with the governor’s wife and his with Mary, though in this case the governor does kill himself because of his wife – or so it seems. The suicidal instinct matches with everything we’ve learned about John in s4, but I want to hypothesise, perhaps tenuously, that he’s more connected with Eurus than we might think. We know that Eurus has had control of the governor for quite some time, and one of the things we hear her saying to the governor in the background of the interrogations is that he shouldn’t trust his wife. This is an odd thing to pepper into the background when he’s about to commit suicide for her, and perhaps suggests that he’s more of Eurus’s pawn than he lets on, though I grant this may be spurious.

The idea that he distrusts his wife because of Eurus is important, however, because we’ve already seen John engage with Eurus in various forms, but this seems like an extension of E; Eurus, aka Sherlock’s hidden self, has been making John doubt Mary, even before she shoots Sherlock. John cannot know she’s a spy at this point, so it’s unlikely he’s doubting her goodwill; he’s simply doubting her.

Before we look at how the actual task impacts the governor and how that illustrates what’s really going on in TST, it’s worth pointing out that it is the governor’s engagement with Eurus which prompts the entire shutdown of Sherrinford and forces Sherlock (with brain!Mycroft and heart!John ever at his side, of course) to engage once and for all with Eurus. This points to everything that s4 has been telling us – that Sherlock’s understanding of the relationship between him and John, including his power to save him (we’re going to see the governor play the foil here) is what sends his brain into stay-alive-overdrive. Sherrinford is the peak of this.

Summary of the task, for those who hate TFP: Sherlock is given a gun and told he can pick either John or Mycroft to kill the governor, otherwise the governor’s wife will be killed by Eurus. As I’ve written about in its chapters, TST is about Sherlock trying to get to the bottom of Mary and why she tried to kill him – and, of course, the impact this will have on John. In brief, by displacing the shot onto Mary in his mind, he’s discounting his own importance and instead thinking about what it will mean for John to lose Mary. His greatest fear is that losing Mary will break John, and it isn’t until the end of TLD that he recognises that the return of John’s suicidal ideation isn’t over Mary, but over him. TFP presents the horror version, the version of TST that Sherlock’s trauma wants him to believe but which he has to overcome. In this case, Mycroft and John resolve to keep the governor alive in their passivity, but that passivity – Sherlock’s coma – is not enough to keep the governor from killing himself over Mary. This is the most feared outcome from Mary’s death that Sherlock can think of – his fear of losing John combined with John’s love of Mary, which in TST Sherlock is still taking as read.

Double naming in this show should never be neglected, and in this case we learn shortly before the governor dies that his name is David. Again, the dramatic manner in which we learn this (on the moment of execution) draws our attention to it – we know another David in this show.

Yup – Mary's ex who’s still in love with her from TSoT. So even though Sherlock is experiencing the panic of John killing himself for loss of Mary, his subconscious is still pointing out to him that that’s not what’s happening here. This mirror version of John that he has set up, who is broken by the loss of Mary as Sherlock fears in TST, is actually the other man in Mary’s life – even with Eurus forcing the worst possible scenario onto him, this still can’t quite fit John’s character. And so we move onto the second task.

Task 2 – The Lying Detective

This section of the Sherrinford saga is the three Garridebs, the closest thing that the fandom has ever got to a collective trauma. I do think, however, that it’s fully reclaimable for tjlc and means the same as we always wanted it to; I also think that it’s possibly the most gutting part of Eurus’s metatfictional power play.

If you haven’t read The Adventure of the Three Garridebs, it’s quite short and the most johnlocky of the Holmes canon, so I’d thoroughly recommend. For the purposes of mapping bbc!verse onto acd!verse, however, here’s the incredibly short version. A man called Evans wants to burgle Nathan Garrideb, so he calls himself John Garrideb and writes an advertisement from a man called Alexander Hamilton Garrideb (make of that what you will, hamilstans) declaring that he wants to bequeath his fortune to three Garridebs. “John” gets someone to pretend to be a Howard Garrideb to get Nathan out of the house to meet him – he comes to burgle the house but Holmes and Watson are lying in wait. He shoots Watson, and Holmes thinks Watson is seriously injured and so we have this wonderful section:

“You’re not hurt, Watson? For God’s sake, say you are not hurt!”

It was worth a wound–it was worth many wounds–to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For the one and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of a great brain. All my years of humble but single-minded service culminated in that moment of revelation.

“It’s nothing, Holmes. It’s a mere scratch.”

He had ripped up my trousers with his pocket-knife.

“You are right,” he cried with an immense sigh of relief. “It is quite superficial.” His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner, who was sitting up with a dazed face. “By the Lord, it is as well for you. If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this room alive. Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?”

Mofftiss have referenced this moment as being the greatest in the Holmes canon for them, the moment when we see the depth of Holmes’s affection for Watson, and so it seems odd to waste it on such a tiny moment in TFP. Many fans, myself included, were really upset to see Eurus drop all three Garridebs into the sea, the implication being that tjlc would never be real, and it was that moment that caused many (including me) to walk away. I came back, obviously, but I completely understand why you wouldn’t. However, I want to map one Garridebs story onto the other to show how they might match up.

The Garridebs that Eurus presents us with are not the three Garridebs from the story. In the story, there are three physically present Garridebs – Nathan, John and Howard – although admittedly only Nathan is an actual Garrideb. Alexander was completely invented by John and existed only in a newspaper advertisement. Evans, alias John Garrideb, is the criminal in the Garridebs story; Alexander is an invention.

So – what happens if we substitute John for Alex in bbc!verse, as in canon they are the same person? This is interesting, because double-naming means that John becomes the killer. Whilst it’s true that John Garrideb is known as Killer Evans for his murder of a counterfeiter back in America, in canon he is done for attempted murder – of John Watson, of course. Here we have a situation where a John is set up killing John. This is exacerbated by the victim in bbc!verse being called Evans; Roger Prescott, the counterfeiter, would have been a much more canonical nod to the books, so we can assume that the choice of Evans is therefore significant. It should be noted that Evans and John/Alex Garrideb are the same person in acd!canon - so killing Evans is a representation of suicide. But, in case we weren’t there yet, the reason that Evans took the name ‘John’ is acd!canon is very likely to be because Evan is Welsh for John – so whatever way you look at this situation, you have Sherlock deducing John killing John.

This is, of course, exactly what Sherlock deduces at the end of TLD, far too slow, when we see Eurus shoot John in an exact mirror of the shot from TST – I explained in a previous chapter why this means that John is suicidal without Sherlock. However, much like the passivity of Sherlock, John and Mycroft in the first task, here we see that Sherlock’s act of deduction is good, but can’t actually save anyone; Eurus kills off our Garridebs moment as Sherlock is left to watch, and it’s notable that heart!John is the most distressed about this. Remember, in the first task Eurus left Sherlock with an image of a John who was suicidally devoted to Mary, and although the Garridebs moment is one which metafictionally highlights the relationship between Sherlock and John, she’s still presenting him with a Garridebs moment in which he is fundamentally unable to save John. This is a direct result of the Redbeard trauma that Sherlock has experienced – helplessness is key to that, and this is what Eurus has come to represent in his psyche. But – Eurus isn’t real, Eurus is testing Sherlock, trauma trying to bring him down, and Sherlock’s job in TFP is to break through the walls that his consciousness has set up for him.

The power in Sherlock saying I condemn Alex Garrideb is heartbreaking, then, because it is Sherlock recognising that he is the reason that John is going to die. Eurus is there to make him confront that reality, which she explicitly makes him do. We get the split-second moment where he thinks he’s saved Alex, and then he’s plunged into the sea – but remember, this is Eurus taunting Sherlock, presenting him with worst-possible-scenarios. TFP is set up as a game for a reason – it is a series of hypotheses cast in Sherlock’s mind by his trauma that he has to break through one by one. Remember, although she’s ostensibly trying to hurt Sherlock, Eurus’s ‘extra’ murders in the first two tasks are aimed at hurting John, which wouldn’t make sense if he weren’t the mp version of Sherlock’s heart.

Task 3 – The Final Problem

Pretty much straight after this episode aired, people were pointing out that Molly is a clear John mirror and that pretty much all of the deductions Sherlock makes here could be about John. Again, we’re seeing Sherlock’s emotions being resolved in a heterosexual context – the presence of Eurus means that he’s unable to process them in their real, queer form. However, if we take Molly to be a stand-in for John in this scene, it may tell us what TFP is about – and the scenario that Eurus presents will be the worst one, the thing that is causing Sherlock the most pain.

TLD/the previous task have shown us that John is in imminent danger, so the transition to Molly Hooper’s flat being rigged with bombs is not a difficult one; we must assume this to be the suicidal ideation that we’ve just deduced. The time limit suggests that Sherlock is running out of time to save him (fucking right he fell into a coma SIX YEARS AGO). Putting Molly in a bad mood isn’t really necessary for this scene – they make her seem a lot more depressed than she would necessarily need to be, and they emphasise her aloneness and her ability to push people away, which isn’t something we know Molly to do. These traits are all much more important in the context of a suicidal John – they paint a much clearer picture of someone who is depressed and alone than we really need for this scene, where it’s not relevant to the surface plot.

Sherlock and the audience believe he has won this task, but of course he hasn’t - there were never any explosives rigged up in Molly’s flat, and it was a ruse to destroy his relationship with Molly. This is what he fears then – what if he’s wrong? What if coming back to life because he loves John won’t save him – it will destroy him and their relationship? The problem to be wrestled with is how to save John – according to the symmetry of these tasks, that is the final problem. We know that the scenario Eurus has presented isn’t real, but Sherlock doesn’t; he is being held up by his inability to cope with interpersonal relationships, and to get to the bottom of that we’re going to need to understand what he’s been repressing – part 3 of this meta.

There’s a wonderful shot just as Sherlock is destroying Molly’s coffin which zooms up and out through a ceiling window, all the way above Sherrinford, as though to emphasise not how remote Sherrinford is but just how deep inside it Sherlock is. Given what we know about the height metaphor as well as the water metaphor, this shot is a pretty clear way of telling us – this is as deep inside Sherlock’s mind as we go, this is the nub. But Sherlock smashing up the coffin has another powerful connotation – he's refusing death. In terms of metaphor, he’s refusing John’s death – there will be no small coffin, because he will not let it happen – but the visual of him smashing the coffin also suggests that he is rejecting his own death. The two are, of course, inextricably linked. Our boys’ lives are tied together.

Epilogue: The Hunger Games

I can’t watch this without thinking of The Hunger Games, I just can’t! But regardless of how much Sherlock seems like Katniss in this section, let’s press on. I don’t count this as one of the typical tasks, because this isn’t Eurus presenting a ‘haha I tricked you scenario’ - far from it. This is Sherlock’s way into unlocking his repression. The key takeaway from this scene, as we’ll see is that trauma has hurt Sherlock, and it’s going to try pretty hard here to mutilate him – but it can’t kill him.

We get a great line from Sherlock at the beginning of this, where he tells John that the way Eurus is treating him isn’t torture, it’s vivisection. Because it’s an experiment? Perhaps. But the more logical way to phrase this would be that it isn’t vivisection, it’s torture. Torture is much more emotionally charged than vivisection as a phrase – from a writer’s perspective, this phrasing is strange because it seems to negate rather than intensify the pain our characters are undergoing. Why, then, would vivisection be more important than torture? Well, put simply, vivisection is the act of cutting someone open and seeing what’s inside – and that’s what we’re doing. This isn’t just an analogy for experimenting on people, it’s an analogy for going literally inside somebody. In EMP world, then, these words are well chosen.

Sherlock is offered the choice – John or Mycroft? Heart or brain? We might initially think that this is Eurus pressuring Sherlock into death, but that’s not the case at all – we know from the early series that Sherlock has survived before (although very unhappily) with just one of these two dominating the other. It has taken his EMP journey to unite them into a functioning entity, and Eurus is bent on destroying that, mutilating either his emotional capacity or his reasoning, the two parts that make him human. This is a good sign, as well, that trauma has been acting on Sherlock through the first three series, when his psyche was dominated by brain!Mycroft - Eurus is keen to revert to that state, when trauma had control. It is touching, then, that brain!Mycroft is willing to relinquish that control and leave Sherlock with his heart, perhaps because this new unity allows him to recognise how damaged the Sherlock he created was. We should also note that this diminishing of Sherlock’s heart is compared to his Lady Bracknell, which we know to be his repression of all Sherlock’s romantic/sexual impulses – except this time it’s less convincing, because his brain doesn’t believe it anymore. What is also devastating is heart!John’s lack of self-esteem or knowledge, the sense that he isn’t useful to Sherlock, which of course will be proven wrong.

[if anyone has thoughts on the white rectangle on the floor, do let me know. It’s bugging me!]

Mycroft says that he acknowledges there is a heart somewhere inside of him – again, this is emotionally powerful in the context of the brain/heart wrangling that we’ve seen inside the EMP. Just as Sherlock’s psyche has tried to compartmentalise them all this time and they’re finally working together, now there’s an acknowledgement that the compartmentalisation into personae is maybe inaccurate as well – brain!Mycroft’s pretence to be emotionally detached is not in fact correct, as we’ve been suspecting for a long time.

Brain!Mycroft also states that it’s his fault that this has all happened because he let Eurus converse with Jim. If you spend any time thinking about the Eurus + Jim meeting, like many elements of this show it doesn’t make sense. There isn’t a feasible way this could have been planned, recorded etc in five minutes, and although it’s true that Jim could have come back to shoot the videos under the governor’s supervision, it’s not clear why he’s so important. Unless he takes on the metaphorical significance that we’ve assigned him, letting Jim see Eurus seems pretty unimportant – he is only the garnishing on Eurus’s plan. Instead, Mycroft is at fault for letting John be in danger – not only did Sherlock misdeduce Mary (although we can lay the blame for that at the feet of heart!John - see meta on TST), his reasoning was blinded and so he missed John’s suicidal urges and the danger to his life. Brain!Mycroft holds himself responsible – all of these EMP deductions are way late, comprised of things Sherlock should have noticed when his brain wasn’t letting his heart in.

Five minutes. It took her five minutes to do this to all of us.

The lighting is dramatic, so I can’t properly gauge Ben’s expression at this moment, but his eyes look crinkled in confusion, just like they are at the moments when a sense of unreality starts to set in in TAB. Indeed, these aren’t very appropriate words for when you’re about to kill your brother; it’s like he’s being distracted, like there’s something important that he’s missing. Mofftiss are drawing attention to the sheer impossibility of the situation – and Sherlock’s nearly there. His Katniss Everdeen move, threatening to kill himself, is the recognition that his trauma doesn’t have that power – it can hurt him and deform him by twisting his psyche into unbalance, like it has before and like Eurus is trying to here, but it cannot kill him. We can see that Sherlock has risen above the one-sided dominance that he began the entire show with when Eurus shouts at him that he doesn’t know about Redbeard yet – that’s not going to change his mind today, but it’s a direct throwback to the days when it would have, in ASiP with the cabbie. Character development, folks.

The shot of Sherlock falling backwards into the dark water links to two aspects of the EMP. One is the continued metaphor of water to represent sinking into the depths of his mind. The water is so dark it looks oily – it could be argued that this is the oil that is corrupting the waters of his mind as we finally cut to the repressed memories. I quite like this reading, though I have little other oil imagery to link it to in the show. The other notable point is the slow-motion fall backwards – instead of showing Sherlock, John and Mycroft all falling, we cut to Sherlock falling backwards exactly like he did in HLV when he was shot by Mary. This is a really clear visual callback. Even though we’re going deeper, we’re linking back to the original shooting, back in reality, suggesting that this depth is paradoxically going to lead us back to the start. To go back to the oil imagery, don’t forget that oil floats on water – although it looks like we’re sinking, there’s a real sense that these repressed memories are actually pulling us to the surface of Sherlock’s subconscious, quite unlike the deep zoom out we saw when Sherlock was destroying the coffin.

And that’s it for part 2 of the TFP meta! Part 3/3 will deal with such highlights as John not being able to recognise bones and presumably getting his feet pulled off by chains. Good thing this is just a dream. See you then!

#meta #emp theory #tjlc

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zoessecretjournal · 3 years

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Monday, April 19th, 2021

Today was a great day! I didn’t sleep so well despite the full on beach day we had the day before. It was Taylor’s last day here, unfortunately we really only got to say goodbye today as I was leaving at 11am this morning to meet up with Ryan. I let her sleep in my bed and she gave a groggy goodbye as my Lyft approached the apt. On the way to Ryan’s I listened to Shygirl and started out the window, trying to stay cool. It was the first time I would see him since all of our serious talks, and he had been spending the weekend trying to help Kathleen get to LAX (she mixed up the dates apparently) so I expected him to be tired. I got there around 11:30 am, dressed in my chartreuse green baby doll dress with a white soft tee underneath. My gold earrings, white tennis shoes and gold lobster broach as accessories, and a natural style face. When he came to collect me from outside he certainly looked tired, but happy to see me. When inside, he complimented the color of my dress and drew in to kiss me, and then he held me for a long while. He genuinely gives really good and meaningful hugs.

As soon as I sit down on the couch he plops his head on my lap, wanting me to scratch his head. I tell him he’s just like a cat and he gives me a look to suggest “so?” in a cute way. Whenever I scratch his head, he always ends up doing it to me at the same time, as well as using his other free hand to hold mine or touch me in some way. We stay this way, catching long gazes at each other intermittently, for about half an hour. He asks me about my Hinge profile and how I must have a line of suitors. I tell him about my date with Daniel and how cringe it was, but not before he asked if I kissed him!!! I lie and say no, because I never wanted to really kiss Daniel in the first place. We have fun reveling in how basic Daniel is, and then Ryan proceeds to tell me about his coffee date with someone this week with someone from Hinge. Apparently she is also “ethically non-monogamous” and only wants to make friends. Whatever.

Then we decide to walk to his car to head off to the LACMA. Ryan shows me how they just laid out new tar on his street and someone had ruined it by driving on it, he really isn’t happy about it apparently. I honestly don’t really understand the big idea, but maybe I would care if I drove. On the way to his car he is of course quiet and a really slow walker, I feel like I fumble all the time trying to keep his pace while traversing the uprooted side walks of East Hollywood. Ryan thought he got a ticket as we were walking to his car and my stomach dropped, knowing how much that has effected other people I’ve dated in the past. Thankfully it ended up just being a “thank you” note from someone he helped get a spot behind his car. I could breath a sigh of relief, honestly. On the way there he held my hand, put his hand on my though, squeezed my fingers while catching my glance a few times. He doesn’t talk much in the car and I’m learning he really shows that he cares in a lot of non-verbal cues, which is so different from the Ryan I knew as a friend.

At the muesuem, Ryan gets a iced espresso before we get in. The place was pretty empty and we weren’t in a rush, it was a nice change of pace to be outside with him somewhere in the day time. Ryan took a second picture of me (The first was while i was sitting on his couch) in front of the dome next to the LACMA. Both were prompted by him, which made me feel pretty good. During the Nara exhibit, I found that I was much more talkative, I actually expected him to make jokes about more of the art but there were none! He didn’t even laugh at some of the funny ones! I respected his approach though, very contemplative. There were some really beautiful pieces, and I take a long while to stop and stare at everything. I really appreciated his patience and how he kept pace with me, he was interested in seeing it all with me. The big paintings of Nara’s work were pretty amazing to see up close. I’ve seen a lot of this work in art books, but those photographs and scans can never capture the way the skin of the character’s look in person. They literally look alive, you see all the blue, pink and yellow hues that make a breathing person, but with this simple illustrated, petulant face. The eyes were also a kaleidoscope of colors, his techniques I've tried to commit to memory. especially the white dot technique.

After the exhibition Ryan thanks me for inviting him, saying no one ever invites him to things like this or things in the day time. I ask why he thought that was? He replied “I don’t know, covid?” and then he sings “or maybe I’m secretly cancelled!”. I wish I would of said this at the time, but I suspect it’s because he’s sober, and I hope that doesn't happen to me. He asks if I am hungry, and I say that I am, he suggests Korean BBQ by his place, to which I agree. We drove down 6th st which apparently he had never gone down and he remarked on how beautiful it was, it certainly was, I had missed it. We still hold hands, and even tighter this time as we make our way to K-Town. We both order the Bulgogi and while we wait for our take-out order Ryan discusses with me his thoughts on the exhibit. He spoke about how long Nara had been an artist and expected to do the same style over and over because it’s what sells and rarely to those artists get to do other stuff. He then started relaying it to his own work and how dispensable art is and how we just eat content like McDonald’s. I agree with him, I explained how I felt disenfranchised for those reasons as well. We get our food eventually and head back to his apt. On the way back from the car, Ryan makes a few stories on people leaving bagged dog shit in random places in his neighborhood. He doesn’t have a lot of shame when it comes to his musings in comedy. A quality I both admire and am fearful of. When we get inside I take off my shoes and spruce up a little. We eat in his kitchen next to his two open windows with the honey suckle veranda directly outside. We both had a non-alcoholic beer with our meal which was surprisingly good. I can’t remember much about what we talked about, I think we just were eating and played footsie a little bit.

He invited me to lay down with him in his room after we were done, so I followed him there. We laid down for some moments, very close and comfortable.I was caressing him all over, I genuinely like to do that with my partners, but specifically Ryan, hes very receptive to touch. We end up kissing and he stops and asks me if I really want to do “this” and I tell him I do. We end up having sex twice, both times Ryan tries hard to focus on me cumming. I don’t but I think he thinks I did the 2nd time. For some reason I’m having a hard time with that, and also getting wet, but I still had a great time (I was really close though) . We felt closer some how, less stress involved. I even fell asleep with his head in my chest. When he woke up, he woke me up. He caressed my neck and grabbed my face to look at it, my eyes still half-way closed. He gets up to go take a bath and I slowly come to and retrieve my phone and go sit in the kitchen next to the open window. I respond to everyone I can, Matt (from Hinge, who I met yesterday at the bonfire) had messaged me to tell me he was free all week, and he was making carbonara if I wanted to stop by. I think I’m going to see him tomorrow.

When Ryan gets out of the Bath and dressed (in a matching green playstation shirt might I add) he puts on a podcast, gets a sparkling water and lays down on the couch. I assume, no room for me, so he wanted to be alone. He was quite quiet as well again. So I decide to purchase somethings from amazon (sewing machine, humidifier, etc) and when I finally put my phone down I look over at Ryan and he was looking at me. He immediately puts his arms up to say “Come here”. As I approach he says that I can lay on him any way I like, face up, down etc, and so I lay down on him stomach down so I can still see him, and he starts to massage my shoulders. We listen to this podcast for awhile like that, and talk about random things relating to it. at some point they get onto the topic of Randonautica, in which I explain to Ryan, who had never heard of it, what it was all about. As I’m explaining it, he downloads the app! I had dared him to do it, but he actually was really interested. Funnily enough, the pin it dropped was right in between his ex-gf’s apt (Dani) and his good friend Shawn’s apt (Who they both date apparently) which really freaked him out. But just as he got the pin, his friend Shawn messaged him on facebook! He looks at me bewildered and asks if I want to meet his friend Shawn and go check out the pin and I agree. I had expected to sleep over but felt instantly rejected, but realized we had spent a lot of close time together so I should just deal with my feelings right then and there. Ryan gets my attention and re-assures me it’s just because he hasn’t had much space the past few days and he had a really lovely day with me. His serious tone made me feel better and I assured him that I was ok.

Before we head out I ask if we can take a Polaroid together, unfortunately both times they are incredibly blown out. He lets me borrow a jacket of his, even though I just gave him back his sweater and we head off. I tell him that I have a bunch of mushrooms I’ve been waiting to take and ask him if the next time we hang out if we could do them/he could babysit me and he enthusiastically agrees. Even though I tell him I am quite the handful on them in large doses, he had a look of reassurance that he can handle it. We’ll see.

We arrive in the area and walk to the pin, Ryan points out where Dani lives as we pass by. The pin was behind a residential gate with an old mustang stored in it, with both its hood and trunk open and a shovel up against it. Ryan tells me his “intention” he set for it was for us to see a UFO, which there was none. But we did see a cardboard cutout of Vegeta from Dragon Ball Z, so I guess him being an alien is close enough. We walk to his friend’s house, which Ryan had the access code memorized, they must be very close. Shaun and his friend seemed to be working on something music oriented for a game as we walked in, Shaun was very nice and welcoming. We end up talking for awhile and he offered me a Kombucha, Ryan seemed to really enjoy himself and liked that I got along so well. We hung out probably for about half an hour and then decided to head out so Ryan could take me home. He asks me how I’m doing and I say that I am having a really nice time, and he looked really happy about that and confirmed he was too.

On the ride back he had his hand on my thigh and I had my hands on his hand and the back of his neck, giving him a light massage while we listened to the tail end of that podcast. When we get to my place he tells me I should borrow his jacket again, that it looks nice. I tell him that I’m going to be busy all week but we will see each other soon, he tells me he is also going to be pretty busy. He reiterates what a great time he had that day and gives me a deep kiss and a long hug. We part ways and I arrive back home to tell Johnny some of the snippets of today while I respond to all my messages on my phone. I ate sushi and got ready for bed. Ryan texts me a bit in the evening, telling me again! how nice today was and what he was up to. It felt really easy and nice.

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mylifewithhurley · 4 years

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My Life with Hurley Story

My Hidradenitis Suppurativa Story

l believe the best way to start is with a description of the disease - and this is my description of the disease, based mostly on my experiences, but also drawing from the hundreds of medical articles, forums, and discussions I've had the pleasure of reading over the past decade in my attempts to understand and manage my disease better. Hidradenitis Suppurativa (HS) is a chronic skin disease, in which pus and blood-filled abscesses form under the skin in the groin area, inner thighs, armpits and under the breasts. These abscesses can range from the size of a pea to as large as baseballs. They grow in size until they are close enough to the surface of the skin, and may break open. When they do, they either do not heal at all, or take a very long time to heal... I'm talking years. As open wounds, they constantly leak blood and pus. There is nothing more horrid than the smell of an HS wound, trust me. They are extremely painful, if you can imagine. Large abscesses can often restrict your ability to move your arms, if they are located in the armpit, or restrict your ability to walk and make it vert uncomfortable to sit, if they are in the groin or inner thigh area. With all that being said, you can imagine the shame and embarrassment such a condition can bring to a person. An individual with this disease can be extremely self-conscious and depression is very likely as well. There are some points I'd like to stress before I move on to my personal experience with the disease.

HS is NOT contagious. It is NOT the individuals fault. No one knows why this happens. HS has NOTHING to do with a person's hygiene. HS has NO cure!

IN THE BEGINNING...

My HS started out as small pus-filled bumps on my groin when I was around 15 years old. These were easily popped open and were not painful. They would come and go. They were a nuisance, but were not totally alarming. I did not know I had a "disease" at this time. I did not seek medical care. I was about 20 when bumps started appearing around my breasts. These were larger and had to grow a few days before I was physically able to squeeze them out. The pus was generally very dry, like something that would come out of a pimple on your face. It would quickly shoot out and splatter onto the mirror or whatever I was in front of. I mention this only to illustrate the change in consistency of the pus over time. They would heal, but always come back. Same spot, same size. Seeking help was difficult. I didn't want anyone to see. I can remember going to a walk-in doctor who prescribed a topical cream to rub on them. That didn't help. Eventually, the pain was too much to bare and I was forced to go to the emergency room. I went in the middle of the night. I had an abscess about the size of a quarter on my chest, between my breasts. It was so painful, I couldn't sleep. I had my first I&D (incision & drainage) that night with a very nice doctor. After he had cut it, he told me a nurse would come in to "pack" the wound and that I would be set up with home care. I didn't know what "packing" meant at that time, so when the nurse came in and simply covered the wound with gauze and tape, I thought I was good to go. That specific wound came and went over the years but it would easily break open after a week or so, and the pus and blood would pour out, like syrup, messing up my bra and clothes.

I went to a walk-in maybe a year or so later who I could tell really sympathized with me, but truly didn't know what to do. She referred me to a dermatologist. I waited months to see her. When I finally did, she was cold towards me. I didn't feel like she cared as she told me there was no point in treating this externally (I was hoping she would cut one or two open to give me some relief). She told me the only way to get rid of this was to do it from the inside. She prescribed me some pills (probably an antibiotic). I asked her if it had worked for others, and she nodded yes and she scooted me out. The pills she prescribed did wonders for the acne on my face but absolutely nothing for my HS. I was told to come back and see her in three months, but I never did. She didn't care enough.

For a long time, I just waited for the lesions to grow large and break open on their own. There's one that I actually tried opening with a needle (DO NOT DO THIS), and of course I just made it worse and probably make it stick around a lot longer than it would have had I just gone to a doctor. I had started working full time when I began getting abscesses on my upper leg, extremely close to my groin and bottom. This was extremely painful. I had to find creative ways to sit on my chair without drawing too much attention to myself. There were many days I wouldn't even sit. I would just do type on the computer standing up, pretending like I was only checking something out on the computer and would have to leave in a second to do something else. The days in which I did sit, I learned I needed to sit on my jacket or sweater, in order to not stain the chair with the drainage coming out of my open wounds, seeping through my pants and onto the furniture. I often walked funny, trying to avoid feeling the wounds rubbing against my pants. If anyone asked why, I just told them I had a problem in my leg.

It was a Sunday night when I decided I needed to see a doctor to drain one lesion on my inner buttocks. My mother took me to the emergency room. When the doctor had seen how large the abscess was, and the others that surrounded it, he called for a surgeon to come and take a look. The surgeon told me that I needed surgery, but because I had eaten dinner that night, and she and her team had already had a long day, I agreed to come back in on Wednesday for surgery. On that day, while the surgeon was briefing me on the surgery, I asked her if she didn't mind also draining a lesion under my arm. When I showed it to her, she couldn't refuse. When I awoke from surgery, she mentioned that she had arranged for a Infectious Disease doctor in the morning and also told me that I may want to consider plastic surgery, a suggestion I wish I had taken at that time. I was released from the hospital the following day and set up with home health care.

The Infectious Disease doctor examined me and prescribed me two antibiotics to take over a period of three months. Whether theses helped my case or not, I'm not sure. It's possible I could have been worse off if I hadn't taken them, but I wasn't getting better. I went on living my life just waiting for my abscesses to open and draining them myself - or going to the emergency room if I thought it was getting too large with no signs that it was going to resolve on its own. Going to the ER always meant that I was going to be set up with home health care, or what they call CCAC (Community Care Access Centre). Nurses could either come to your home to change your dressings and check on the progress of your wound, or, as they preferred, you could go into a near-by clinic every day or every other day for the same service. This may be common knowledge, but there are great nurses, and there are terrible nurses. I could write a book about my bad experiences with CCAC, but I won't elaborate. The point is, more often than not, CCAC nurses made my life more difficult than pleasant.

DERMATOLOGY

My sister had told me about a dermatologist that would see patients without a referral. This sounded great to me because having to explain to doctor after doctor (or anyone, for that matter) about your disease and the things you've already tried to manage it is exhausting. I called and made myself an appointment for a few months later. When I met with Dr. A, I felt like he sympathized me and I had hope. He knew my disease. He had patients with my disease. He had touched my wounds and wiped away pus. He sampled the pus for testing. These are things the first dermatologist I had seen never did. He had a son who worked in clinical trials and had just finished a study on my disease with an expensive treatment called Humira. He called his son right there in the patient room to ask him if he knew of any upcoming studies so that I could possibly get medication for free, but unfortunately the answer was no. He had also treated patients with HS with Accutane, but this too was expensive. With the knowledge that I didn't have any drug coverage, Dr. A prescribed me two strong antibiotics to take over a course of three months. Those antibiotics did help some. When I revisited Dr. A after the three months had passed, he prescribed me another run of the antibiotics.

HS controls my life in every way. There's not a moment I'm not thinking about it. There's not a minute I am not uncomfortable or not in pain. There is not a decision I make without considering my disease. I have to think about my HS before doing the smallest tasks. There are times I put off going to the bathroom just because getting up, changing positions, can cause so much pain and discomfort, and I'm literally mentally preparing myself for what I'm about to experience. Needless to say, there are many activities I just cannot participate in. Simply getting into the car can be difficult. I dread going shopping - too much walking, which means wounds rubbing against my clothes. I'm often caught off guard when someone asks me why I'm walking funny, or holding my arm awkwardly, because I think I'm hiding it so well. HS also controls what I can wear. As much as I love form-fitting clothes, its just not comfortable to be in them. I don't wear anything white - my wounds will stain it. I don't wear anything sleeveless - my underarms are full of wounds I don't want anyone to see, not to mention the drainage that will have no place to hide. I try to wear my clothing as loosely as possible, but I'm fighting to keep my pride, despite this disease and I hate to look shabby. Depression is all over my face. I try to act happy as best I can, to not bring any attention to myself. I look back at old pictures, and miss how happy I was and how beautiful it was to not be in pain; to just feel nothing. I cry all the time. The tears often start because of the physical pain - but they quickly grow into a bawl just thinking about everything I've already been through, how much the disease controls my life, and how I don't have any idea how to make this better. HS affects my sleep, because it's not easy to fall asleep while you're in pain or you're too busy scratching or squeezing a nuisance of a wound. It's frustrating just knowing that I can't just tell someone, 'I have HS' and have them just know what it is and have a small idea what I'm going through - as I could have if I had something like arthritis or psoriasis. No one knows what this is. No one has heard of it. No one can ever understand - and so I don't try to explain it. I've tried before, and it only leads to individuals thinking they know how to take care of it. I've been told just to scrub it, just to take the pain and squeeze it out and it'll go away and never come back. I've been told to just use natural soaps; that my skin just can't handle the harsh chemicals. I've even been told that it's because I don't pray hard enough. Everybody thinks know, but nobody really knows. It hurts to know that people don't believe me when I say this is an actual disease! It cannot be healed by something as simple as washing it away. If it were that easy, I would have rid myself of this a long time ago, believe me. Would you tell a cancer patient to just wash it off? I didn't think so. My loved ones, who know my condition still don't know what I truly live with because I try so hard to be normal, act like it doesn't bother me, around them. Firstly, because I don't want their ideas on how to 'easily fix' the problem, and secondly, because I don't want to be pitied. I just want to be free.

After two three-month courses of antibiotics, I was over it. I was over putting these pills into my body just to get little to no results. I stopped seeing Dr. A and went back to just dealing with it - drug free. This meant frequent visits to the emergency room and urgent care centres, and of course just waiting for some to burst on their own. I remember crying to a doctor at an urgent care, telling her how tired I was and asking her to I&D an abscess under my armpit. She told me there was no way to cure this and I was just going to have to live with it. How rude! I mean, so far I haven't found what she said to be untrue, but she could have been a little more comforting and optimistic. Can you believe she didn't even cut the abscess? She told me to take some antibiotics and wait for it to break open on its own. With this disease, I've learned that you're going to have to kiss many frogs to find your prince - kisses being doctor appointments, frogs being doctors, and the prince being a doctor who doesn't necessarily have all the answers, but just cares enough to try, and then try again. That night, I was in so much pain and a doctor refused to help me. Physically and mentally, I was fed up. I actually quit my job that next morning and applied for Employment Insurance. Getting up and ready in the morning was too hard and my supervisor was beginning to give me a hard time for the times I showed up a few minutes late after giving too much attention to a wound in the morning. I was physically and emotionally tired, and I truly just needed a break. So I quit.

I must have had enough of 'just dealing with it on my own' again, because I decided to go see a doctor one more time. I went to see a family doctor, who prescribed me some antibiotics but also referred me to a lovely dermatologist, Dr. Nisha Mistry. Oh, Dr. Mistry, what can I say about you? On my first visit, she presented me with print-outs and spoke to me on what HS is, what the different causes might be and different treatments. Now, I had already read most of this online while doing my own research, but it truly meant a lot to me that she had taken the time out to read up on my disease prior to my visit. After I told her I had already tried antibiotics - maybe too many times, she told me about Humira. Humira defined by www.drugs.com: "Humira (adalimumab) reduces the effects of a substance in the body that can cause inflammation. Humira is used to treat rheumatoid arthritis, juvenile idiopathic arthritis, psoriatic arthritis, ankylosing spondylitis, plaque psoriasis, and and a chronic skin condition called hidradenitis suppurativa." Don't you just love how HS is the only disease they had to briefly define? She explained that she would only recommend this in extremely severe cases, because of the possible side effects. She had me change into a gown, and after taking a look at my wounds, she agreed I had a severe case. Unfortunately, like Dr. A had told me over a year prior, Humira is very expensive, and I didn't not have any drug coverage. She too, like Dr. A, knew of some clinical trials in which I could get the drug for free, but the trials had just ended before my meeting with her. That's when she told me about a program called compassionate care - where the Canadian government actually pays for your medicine because your doctor feels so terribly for you. That's my definition of compassionate care, anyway. She didn't make me any promises at that time, but told me she would put in an application for me. I was approved! There were a few tests and things I needed to do before I could officially start, but I eventually began my Humira treatment a few months later. I also started working again around the start of my Humira treatment, about four months after I had quit my last job.

I have to believe Humira helped me. It did not cure me, but I feel like my case got better. It's hard to say for sure because every time I would meet with Dr. Mistry for a check up, she would say it didn't look any better. But I felt better. My range of motion improved and I feel I was able to do more things a little more comfortably. I was still making visits to the emergency room, however. After one particular visit where I ended up staying the night, the hospital notified Dr. Mistry. She called me in a panic about a week later demanding that I come and see her right away. The hospital had totally exaggerated my symptoms. Apparently I had a fever when I was admitted, but they told her I came in shivering! They even told her I had been there for 3 days when it had really just been one night. I explained to her that it wasn't as serious as they made it seem, but she was still very concerned. She suggested I stop taking Humira immediately. At that time, I begged her to let me continue, but she pointed out that after eight months of treatment, I was not seeing sufficient results, and with the side effects of Humira, it may have been causing more harm than good. I agreed to stop, and after discussing with her some of the symptoms I was experiencing, she referred me to a gastroenterologist to check for Chron's disease, an internal medicine specialist, to just check me in general, and a general surgeon to actually operate on the HS manifestations.

SURGERY

Dr. Mistry had suggested I see the gastroenterologist for of some of the symptoms I was experiencing. I had a consult with the gastroenterologist to explain my medical history and my recent symptoms. At that time, he said if it was Chron's, the Humira should have helped with that - but he proceeded to schedule me for a colonoscopy anyway. I was cleared for Chron's - which I was happy about - but that doctor never really addressed the reasons I may have been experiencing the symptoms Dr. Mistry was worried about. Sigh. Doctors. Dr. Mistry had wanted me to see an internal medicine doctor because I was experiencing many fevers and she just wanted to make sure my body chemistry was alright. Somehow that appointment never happened. I was, however, scheduled to meet with general surgeon Dr. K for a consultation, rather quickly, I might add. She was lovely. Before examining me, she explained that she was only a general surgeon, and if my case would require something called a 'flap', then she would have to refer me to a plastic surgeon. A quick glance at my skin would confirm that I, of course, was more of a plastic surgery candidate. My heart sank. Luckily, she knew of an excellent plastic surgeon, she said, and would be able to get me an appointment with him a lot sooner than it would typically take. She was very sympathetic and encouraging and I really wished she could be my surgeon. At that time, I had recently been to the hospital for an I&D and was visiting the CCAC nurses every night. Getting the wound packed was very painful because the incision had been made so small. Dr. K was nice enough to widen it for me. As her nurse was dressing the wound, she assured me that the plastic surgeon I was being referred to was very good, told me I was very brave and that she was impressed with how high my spirits were. If only she knew I was fighting back the tears that would burst out of me as soon as I entered my car.

It felt like forever before I got a chance to see the plastic surgeon, Dr. T. If Dr. K had in fact expedited my appointment, I feel really sorry for those who don't have that privilege. My parents came with me to this appointment. After I had told them about what happened at my appointment with Dr. K, my dad told me to let him know of any future appointments. It means a lot to me that he didn't want me going alone. I'm guessing Dr. T had just finished reading a Wikipedia page or something on HS when he walked into my room because he was basically telling me all the things I would have read had I quickly did a google search on the disease. He basically told me at that time that surgery was not a good idea because of complications and scarring. This was before he even looked at my skin. After examining me, he tells me that he would prefer I go and see Dr. S, an expert in HS, and he would only perform the surgery if Dr. S recommended it. He told me that he would put in the referral, but not to worry because his office scheduled appointments quickly. In the mean time, he told me to focus on losing weight because HS was often made worse by heaviness. I am not a skinny girl, but I am not huge either. Weight may be a factor in other peoples HS, but not mine. I know this because I had actually lost quite a bit due to stress (of the disease) and my symptoms did not change. I didn't take it personally though. I knew he was just spewing out whatever he had just read on the internet. I was devastated, still. I had really high hopes about him because Dr. K and her nurse had praised him so much. I had even warned a supervisor at work that I may have to take time off shorty in order to recover from surgery. So of course, my heart was crushed. Another appointment that had caused me to go home and cry.

At this point, I'm waiting for an appointment from Dr. S, but not really, because for one, I had already seen a GREAT dermatologist in Dr. Mistry, and she had already recommended surgery, and two, I no longer trusted Dr. T. It didn't seem like he was eager to help me, and so I didn't want him to. I went back to 'just dealing with it', until I got a call from Dr. Mistry's office asking me to come in to talk about renewing my Humira prescription. I thought this was odd, seeing that I had stopped taking Humira, and Dr. Mistry knew of this. I went in to see her, anyway. I told her about my experiences with Dr. Kapala and Dr. T. She told me that she actually worked for Dr. Sibbald (who still hadn't called me for an appointment, by the way), on his team in his office on Fridays, and she knew for sure he would recommend surgery. This made me even more upset at Dr. T. She offered to refer me to another surgeon. I explained to her how frustrated and exhausted I was at all the appointments and disappointments - and that I needed a break from it. She understood completely, and let me know I could call her whenever I was ready to try again.

I got another odd call from Dr. Mistry's office a couple months later telling me that Dr. Mistry wanted me to call her to discuss my test results. It was odd because I hadn't taken any tests. I called anyway. She explained that she had been in contact with a Humira spokesperson who had asked her about my Humira experience. After she had told him that I didn't really benefit from it, he told her of a plastic surgeon who would love to help, as a 'special favor'. She said she knows I had opted to take a break from surgery consultations, but she didn't want to let the opportunity pass without offering it to me. I accepted. I wanted to at least talk to this surgeon. I was still in pain, and maybe this was my luck finally turning around.

I met with Dr. CT on Monday, November 21st, 2016. She asked about my Humira experience and about the surgeons I had seen before her. After I told her that Dr. T had basically told me he didn't want to do it, she told me that nobody wants to do it. She explained it was an extremely messy surgery that would require a skin graft and two separate surgery weeks apart, and after all of that, my body may reject it. When briefly describing what surgery on my lower body would be like, she mentioned that I would have to urinate in a bag temporarily. As you can imagine, this is where the tears starting filling my eyes. As she was working really hard to turn me off this surgery, I'm sitting there wondering why I was even invited to this appointment. I was told that there was a surgeon who wanted to help me as a special favor and when I met her, I felt like I was just being kicked in the gut. I told Dr. Mistry I needed a break from the heartbreak of surgeons telling me they can't help me, and she sent me to a surgeon that would reject me again. The surgery did sound awful, I have to admit. Her goal was clearly to make me change my mind about desperately wanting the surgery, and she did so well that I even forgave Dr. T for rejecting me. After seeing the tears run down my face and the disappointment in my eyes, Dr. CT offered to refer me to a plastic surgeon at St. Mikes Hospital who had done more complicated HS surgeries. I declined. I was so over it. Instead of surgery, Dr. CT suggested that I should go back on Humira. She stressed that it is a very new drug and it will get better and work. Whatever. I was on Humira for eight months and it barely helped me. I'm convinced I was just injecting cancer into myself and not seeing any immediate benefits with my HS. I refuse to go back on Humira. Something has got to give.

Dr. CT called me herself the next evening at 7:00PM to tell me she had spoken to the Humira representative, and he was doing to be in touch with Dr. Mistry in recommending some other dermatologists that have a little more experience with HS. She also said that she would contact Dr. Melinda Musgrave, the plastics surgeon at St. Mikes, and ask about any new approaches she has come across and can suggest. She explained St. Mikes is trying to develop a clinic of some sort where they can talk to HS patients about lifestyle changes, such as diet, that may minimize the effects of HS. She stressed that even though she didn't think surgery was a solution to HS, she didn't want me to believe that there was no hope, and that there were hopefully a couple things we could try before taking that route. The call meant everything for me. It lifted my spirits. It just felt like there was another doctor out there, in addition to Dr. Mistry, who was in my corner - who saw my pain and truly wanted to help.

NATUROPATHY

I had reached out to a naturopath, Dr. S. The appointment was booked for a few days after I got the call from Dr. Mistry about Dr. CT, and I almost cancelled it thinking that I wouldn't need him anymore because Dr. Mistry found me someone that would help, but I didn't. During my first appointment with him, I just spent the hour telling him about my disease and how it affected me daily. He asked questions, I would answer them. He ended the appointment by telling me that he "really, really, really wanted to help" me, and gave me a few of his ideas. He prescribed me Effer C, a supplement to help me go to the bathroom more often and Vitamin D, and we booked an appointment for about 3 weeks later. By the next appointment, he had a very detailed plan written up that predicted to have me pretty much healed in six months. The plan included a couple supplements, something called colonics, and a strict diet of no dairy, sugar, gluten or wheat. As you can imagine, sticking to that diet proved to be difficult, but I did try. I saw little to no results, but to be fair - I was not completely committed. I went to a few subsequent appointments, but naturooathy is not covered by OHIP, and although my work insurance covered a lot of the cost, it was becoming expensive to keep seeing him, and during the appointments, he was mostly just making other suggestions of changes I could make to my diet. I felt like I could handle that on my own.

What's it like to feel nothing? I miss feeling nothing. No discomfort, no pain, no sting. I used to take feeling nothing for granted, and now I know how precious it is. I miss being able to sit down on a chair, a bed, the floor, without feeling anything. I miss being able to get into a car without feeling anything. I miss being able to drive without feeling anything. I miss walking and feeling nothing. Oh, I miss going up and down stairs without feeling anything! I miss putting on my panties, my pants, my bra, my shirt, my coat, without feeling anything. What's it like to get in and out of bed without feeling anything? To take a shower and feel nothing?

SURGERY PT. 2

After that meeting in November 2016 with Dr. CT, I hadn't really been to any doctors, with the exception of the few additional visits with the naturopath. I gained a little relief by changing my diet - but no major improvements. In April 2018, the drainage coming from my arms was uncontrollable. My shirts were soaking wet within a few minutes of changing into them. I didn't know what else to do except to plea with a surgeon to operate on me. I chose Dr. CT. I met with her on June 6th 2018. Again, she illustrated a nasty surgery that might not even be successful. I told her I didn't care, I needed to do something. She offered to send me down to St. Michael's Hopsital to see plastic surgeon Dr. Melinda Musgrave or her colleague Dr. Karen Cross, who do a lot more work with HS. I agreed to a referral, just because I could tell how badly she did not want to operate on me. If you'll recall, she had mentioned referring me to these doctors before, but nothing ever came of it.

This time, I got a surgery consultation with plastics surgeon Dr. Karen Cross, scheduled originally for November 2018, but moved up to September 2018. It was simply and honestly the best consult I've ever had. She specializes in HS surgeries and really can't imagine why I hadn't been referred to her before. She told me I was an excellent candidate for surgery, but she agreed that my disease was so active that it probably wouldn't be effective. She requested that I see a dermatologist of her choice, follow their suggested treatment for about three months, and after the disease had calmed down, she would operate. I loved speaking with her because she just got it. She knew exactly how I was feeling as a person living with HS without me having to tell her. She knew and answered all my questions before I even had a chance to ask. It was obvious she had spent real time with other HS patients because she truly just got it. She was so hopeful and encouraging. She let me know that it would be a long journey to recovery, but that we would be on that journey together - and that I should always let her know where my head is at and how I'm truly feeling not only physically, but emotionally. I had never met a surgeon like her and even if I don't end up getting a surgery, I'm so glad that my path lead me to her - just to know doctors like her exist.

CLINICAL TRIALS

Dr. Cross referred me to dermatologist Dr. Afsaneh Alavi, also specializing in HS. She enrolled me into a clinical research study for a potential new "antibody therapy". Without going into much detail, I was required to go into a clinic every two weeks for intravenous infusion and complete a small questionnaire on a phone-like device nightly. I officially began getting dosed in October of 2018. A lot like my experience with Humira, I couldn't see any changes in the way the disease physically presented itself, but I can say the day to day pain dropped considerably and my quality of life increased. However, in mid-December, I developed a large abscess on my upper thigh. It had been growing in size and pain for about a week before my next scheduled infusion and meeting with Dr. Alavi. After examining the abscess, she decided immediately to take me off the study and arranged for me to have it drained that morning. She prescribed Ertapenem, an antibiotic infused intravenously daily, for four weeks.

ERTAPENEM

Ertapenem is an antibiotic administered intravenously. I was taught how to run the IV on my own at home. It took about 30-45 minutes and then I would wrap up the IV site with gauze until I was ready to do it again the next day. While showering, I used a arm cast protector I found in a home health care store. It's basically a long plastic glove-bag that spans the entire arm, the way a cast would, and tightly seals before the shoulder. I couldn't use that arm to clean myself with, but the IV site was protected from the water. My IV site would have to be changed every 3-5 days. I would go to a CCAC clinic to have a nurse set up a basic IV line in my arm or hand. I have very difficult veins, and so nurses often had a hard time starting my IV. On every visit, I was poked multiple times before one was successful. There was a night when the nurses were not able to find a good vein, and I was sent to the emergency room for one of the nurses there to try. I waited four hours that night just to get an IV started. Initially, the plan was for me to have a procedure done to get a 'picc line', which is more secure than the regular IV and could remain in my arm for weeks without having to be moved, but that wasn't scheduled until week three of my four week course of the drug and it just didn't make sense at that point. All this to say, the treatment of Ertapenem caused some minor inconveniences, but overall I was pleased with the results.

Ertapenem was the best treatment I've received so far. I felt virtually no pain during the 4 weeks I was on the medication. My wounds pretty much dried up. Although you could still see them, there was no drainage coming from any of my wounds. My clothes remained dry throughout the day and through the night and I never worried about staining my seat. Proving this, my laundry loads we significantly smaller and my jeans/pants were clean enough to re-wear before washing.

CLINICAL TRIAL DRUG: IFX-1

Although an effective treatment for me, I could not remain on Ertapenem for very long. Antibiotics are not meant to be taken long-term. I was on the drug for about five weeks. With permission from the sponsors and executives of the clinical trial, Dr. Alavi allowed me to continue treatment with the clinical drug, IFX-1. During the first phase of the trial, I was either being given the active drug, or a placebo. Dr. Alavi wanted to give me a chance to enter the second phase of the trial, which guaranteed active drug administration.

Since beginning the second phase, I can confidently say I feel better. I have not experienced any large new abscesses, and the ones I already had are smaller and draining less. The most improved symptom is my ability to move; my range of motion. I am able to move my arms and legs in ways I wasn't able to do before. This alone has improved my mood and my quality of life. Dr. Alavi agrees, I will still need surgery to remove the skin that the HS has completely destroyed over the years, but if this drug makes it to the market, I believe it could help many of us keep the disease under control.

December 30th, 2019 Dr. Cross performed a 'left axilla extraction with flap' surgery on October 31st, 2019. She removed all of the affected skin from my armpit and pulled skin from my back to replace the missing skin. It was a day surgery that took about 3 hours. The wound was cared for by near by clinic nurses. It took a little over a month to fully close. The surgery went extremely well and I am please with the results. I will meet with Dr. Cross again in a few months to talk about my right arm. Dr. Alavi thinks I should return to Humira in the mean time, but at this point, I don't think I want to take that route. I know it's only been a couple months, but I believe surgery is the solution for me.

November 22nd, 2020 Dr. Cross performed the same surgery, this time on my right axilla on August 20th, 2020. Again, the surgery went well and I am pleased with the results. Now, I don’t have any inflammation or affected skin in my armpits and it’s truly changed my life. I can wear sleeveless tops and I don’t have to worry about drainage messing up tops with sleeves. I can finally wear white if I choose to. I do still have some HS on my lower body, but nothing that warrants the surgeries I needed for my arms. I will try to treat what’s left with diet changes - specifically the keto diet and will keep you updated.

The rest is still unwritten...

#hidradenitis #hidradenitissuppurativa #chronicillness #skindisease #skincondition #mylifewithhurley #myhsstory

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edettethegreat · 4 years

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BONUS ROUND (aka part 1.5)- Some additional things for staging King Lear so that Edmund is 100% more sympathetic

Part 1

Due to the fact that the audience needs to be told things via physical action makes this job of mine (ie making Edmund more sympathetic) (that I definitely did not have to do) a whole lot more difficult.

I gotta add in some more stage directions to really push the points I’m going for. So that even the dumbest audience member will get my point.

Casting/ Costumes

-Curan, who I have previously decided is the Captain Edmund talks to later, has red hair. Like, a bright shade of red. Since it’s not a common hair color, the audience will be able to recognize that the same servant is now the captain.

- regarding Cornwall’s costume- This is a very valid example of what I was trying to describe (but like- plus a black jacket)

-Edgar and Gloucester have a very strong family resemblance to each other. Edmund does not. In fact, Edmund looks almost nothing like them. (For example, if Edgar and Gloucester have dark brown hair, Edmund would have light blond hair.) (I know, I know- that’s not necessarily how genetics work. BUT. That’s also not not how genetics work.)

-EXCEPT. Now hear me out because I’m right. Hear me out. This is good. Edmund and Gloucester share the same, very distinctive, eye color. So that when Gloucester’s eyes get stabbed out, it’s also severing the one strand of a connection he had with Edmund. ✨Symbolism!✨

ACT 1 SCENE 1

-At the start of the scene, the stage already has people on it. It’s like. A party kinda but not really? It’s a royal event- a bunch of noblepeople would be there. The Door (TM) (and by now (assuming you read part 1) you should know that The Door (TM) is one of my favorite set pieces here) is on the stage towards the middle in the back.

-you can see Gloucester, Kent, and Edmund walking towards it, ie to enter and join the other guests in the room. There is no wall between “behind” the door and in front of it. Only an implied wall created by how the set is set up. So you can still see them.

Here’s a not-so-helpful illustration:

I do recognize how unhelpful that illustration is. I’m sorry.

-As they approach the door, Gloucester pauses, waiting. Kent stands behind him- waiting to see what he’s waiting for. As you’ve guessed by now, this Earl of Gloucester is waiting for his bastard son to open the door for him. (Headcanon that Gloucester treats Edmund like a servant 99% of the time. Headcanon that Edmund would rather be a servant, because at least servants can quit their jobs.)

-Edmund opens it. Kent’s just like “what- what just happened?”. But Gloucester enters, and Edmund seems to be waiting for him to enter as well, and so he does. (It was this, combined with everything I wrote in Part 1, that makes Kent ask “Is not this your son, my lord?”, ie ??he’s not a servant tho?? Why, Gloucester?? Why are you like this??)

-As I mentioned earlier (I think- Unless I was just planning on mentioning it, and I didn’t actually get around to doing so) (I don’t exactly write these things in order), Extras are already on stage. The whole stage has a “ah yes this is an upper class event. The people here are all fancy rich people” vibe.

-As Gloucester has his epic conversation with Kent, other less high ranking noblemen stand around them as well. They don’t say anything or join in- probably because they’re less higher ranking.I know nothing about the hierarchy of English nobility, but let’s just say that Gloucester and Kent are pretty high ranking people.

-anyway the only purpose of doing that is for the “make Gloucester 100% more of a jerk” aspect of this.

-ie, he’s not just insulting Edmund in private, or in front of a close friend of his. He’s insulting him in public, in front of all the random noblemen.

-everything else I wrote in Part 1 about this scene stays the same.

ACT 1 SCENE 2

-Edmund stands by the desk as he talks to Edgar. (As you’d remember from part 1, he was sitting at the desk as he started his 2nd soliloquy).

-at “Some villain hath done me wrong!” Edgar slams his hands down on the desk. Edmund backs away as he says his lines “That’s my fear....”. He sees that Edgar is really angry (yeah, no kidding.), and is like “oh.... oh he would not hesitate to kill me with his bare hands at the moment.”

ACT 2 SCENE 1

-at “and of my land?..... loyal and natural boy, I’ll work the means to make thee capable”, Gloucester is still facing away from Edmund/ not looking at him. He motions vaguely to him at the words “loyal and natural..”. The line is said in a way making it clear that by it he’s actually saying “well Edgar’s not a valid heir to my stuff anymore, what’ll I do with my land??.... ah, I guess Edmund will have to get them. Oh well.”

ACT 2 SCENE 2

-Not exactly a stage direction, but a second reason for why “his” in the sentence “no more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers” is referring to Gloucester and not Edmund: Kent’s response to this is “I have seen better faces in my time”, so “his” can’t be Edmund, since practically the first thing Kent says about Edmund in Act 1 Scene 1 is “hmmm yes that is a Nice Looking person”

-I’m revising what I said in part 1 (mainly just about where Edmund is standing on stage/ where everyone is standing on stage)- I’m changing this scene to be more in favor of @suits-of-woe’s Cornwall Theory. (HEY PEOPLE, GO READ THE CORNWALL THEORY. I don’t just link it here for fun- I link it so you all can go read it)

-SO

-just to reiterate what I said last time about this scene- Edmund enters to break up Kent and Oswald’s fight with a sword (more specifically- Edgar’s two handed sword that he just used to fight Edgar and stab himself with). His arm is wounded from that one time about two seconds ago when he stabbed it. It’s been bandaged. He’s holding the sword well enough, but it’s clear that he wouldn’t be able to actually fight anyone with it.

-NOW MOVING ON TO NEW STUFF

-at “..come, I’ll flesh ye..”, Kent draws his sword and challenges Edmund. (Wait. His sword’s already drawn, right? Ok then nevermind, he just challenges Edmund.)

-Gloucester, Cornwall, and Regan Enter, and walk a bit onto the stage.

-At “Weapons! Arms! What’s the matter here??”, Gloucester notices the fight and takes like 5 steps away from it. It’s clear that he’s like “nope nope nope not dealing with this today-”

-Regan stays where she is. She’s not particularly scared of the fight, and knows that neither Kent nor Oswald would dare injure her, considering she’s literally the king’s daughter.

-Cornwall, however, at his lines of “Keep peace, upon your lives! He dies that strikes again!” moves to stand in between Edmund and Cornwall- ie facing Cornwall, in a way that would be protecting Edmund. He also is confident neither Kent nor Oswald would hurt him- he’s higher ranking than both of them.

(Illustrated for your convenience) (Scribbled out Edmund bc I didn’t know how tall to make him)

-Cornwall can see clearly that Edmund is in no condition to fight (at least not with a two handed sword). As the next few lines are said, Cornwall takes the sword from Edmund, in a “don’t worry about this- I got this” sort of way. He gently pushes Edmund towards where Gloucester and Regan are standing- in the same sort of way; showing “hey. I’ll deal with this. It’s not your job to defend us. Go chill with the rest of The Group.”

ACT 3 SCENE 3

-remember when I said Gloucester is angry in this scene?

-yeah well I gotta really push that point using some ✨stage directions✨ rather than just “Gloucester yells a lot”

-ANYWAY

-The Door (TM) is turned sideways for this scene, and Gloucester and Edmund enter from the side of the stage

Here’s a totally helpful illustration

-Gloucester is clearly angry, Edmund is Hiding His Emotions (TM).

-Gloucester starts his lines while he grabs the doorknob and forcefully opening the door. As Gloucester storms on to the main part of the stage, he slams the door behind him, right before Edmund could walk through it after him. Because of course, Gloucester has to forget that Edmund exists at lest once a scene. Edmund stands outside the door for a sec, as if saying “......wow.”. Then he enters and joins Gloucester inside.

ACT 5 SCENE 3

-As Albany says “Half blooded fellow, yes!”, last time I wrote that Edmund is momentarily surprised, then glares at him. This time I’m here to change this a bit-

At first I was picturing it like This:

But then I was like, “no,, that won’t make Edmund 100% more sympathetic- that would only make him like 65% more sympathetic.”

-anyway, we gotta raise Albany’s aggression level. Because if they’re equally aggressive to each other The Audience might just. Not get it. They won’t get that we’re out here trying our hardest to make ya sympathize with Edmund.

-So. And Hear me out. Because this DOES have a point. I’m gonna get to it. So to raise Albany’s aggression levels here, Albany grabs Edmund’s tie or jabot (whatever neck piece the costume has. I don’t care how historically accurate the costumes are) and pulls him towards him (in like. An aggressive Way.) He lets go as soon as he finishes saying that one line- he only did it to prove he was serious about challenging Edmund. Either way, he did It in a more pulling forward motion than a grabbing on motion, and so now Edmund is standing on the other side of Albany. (Was this basically just a way for me to change where Edmund is standing? Maybe.)

-now that Edmund is standing on the other side of Albany, the scene continues as I wrote it out in part 1- ie Edmund glares at Albany. Except Albany is no longer standing in front of him (ie facing him).

Here’s an illustration to help out-

So far, Edmund never glared at anyone (or showed his anger in general) straight to a person’s face. He always only lets his mask fall when he’s alone or when the subject of his anger can’t see him. So now it’s more consistent- their positions on the stage changed so that Edmund can still glare at Albany, and also doesn’t have to drop his act.

-AND THAT’S IT-

(-FOR NOW-)

#King lear #shakespeare #I am trying here #I am making an attempt

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dianapana · 4 years

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SasuHina Month 2020- Day 3

Prompt I’d Choose You Again and Again

Mirror, Mirros -Part 3

The nightmares didn’t stop. She’d wake up in a cold sweat turn on the lights and look at the mirror, with dark rubies instead of red, that was broken, the only thing that differed was the image, once it would be of her lover from the dream; than of a little girl than a little boy and the cycle would start anew. The strangest things about the whole thing was that instead of waking up scared, her heart would indeed pound, but she woke up feeling a sadness so deep she could barely breath. The events of the dreams differ from time to time the only thing they have in common is that they all start out nice and end up with her in the closet with her the ghost of her lover.

Apart from the dreams nothing else was weird, Hinata’s life went on as normal. Go to work, go see her family or friends if she has the time and return home. Soon enough the holiday would end and Uni would start again and she’d have to reduce her hours at the diner; so Hinata was working as many hours as she could at that moment, especially having taken a week off to go see Neji.

The good thing about the diner was that the owner, Teuchi, the cook Ayane were very nice people. The other waitresses were also nice but Hinata didn’t interact as much with them. She loved the diner mainly because of its vintage style with the checked floor, the red stools and red booths. The uniform was anything they wanted to wear as long as it was a white top and black bottoms. Their nametag was brooch like and could be pinned to any top.

Teuchi had called her around noon the day before asking if she could cover a double shift, because one of the girls called in sick all of a sudden, to which Hinata agreed. She decided to wear a white T-shirt tucked in a skater skirt and a pair of black flats. She did own clothing items that were not vintage but she preferred to throw in something quite old into the mix; that day she chose to wear a red headband; the story behind that particular item was that it was an actual headband wore by a pinup model in the 50s. She took her jean jacket with her because despite being summer still, the nights were starting to get colder, autumn was making its presence known.

The day went on without any trouble, being summer, the diner was quite busy but that wasn’t all that bad; it kept Hinata occupied from thinking about the nightmares she’d been having. Around the middle of her second shift Hinata started feeling tired and her feet were killing her from walking back and forth the whole day. Thankfully dinner hour had just about ended and there were only a few more people around, most of them teens or young adults that only stopped by to eat something before going to a party. The other waitress had left about 40 minutes before.

All tables were set for the moment so Hinata could take a break herself and eat something. Ayane made her favorite veggie burger with sweet potato fries. The music was soft and mellow so people could talk, the lights weren’t blinding and everything about the diner just made Hinata feel at home. She had loved it from the moment she stepped inside it a few years ago looking for a job that she could handle while she was still in high school at the time. Hinata was just taking her plate back to the kitchen when the doorbell rang signaling new customers.

“I swear you’re going to love this place” Said a cheerful voice. Hinata recognized the voice and smiled to herself. Naruto was one of their most common customers. He’d pass by at least once a day and almost always ordered the very same thing. The diner served traditional Japanese fast food but also “normal” diner menu. Hinata took out her notepad to write down Naruto’s order despite knowing by heart exactly what he wanted.

Naruto noticed her walking their way and smiled at her and she smiled right back, he had that effect on people, his positivity was just contagious.

“Hey Naruto. We were getting worried since you haven’t been by in a few days” Hinata said, it was mostly a joke but she did notice his absence in the past 2-3 days.

“Yea sorry about that. I had to help Teme move in so there was no time to swing by” The blonde answered and nodded towards his friend. Hinata’s eyes moved to the guy standing on the other side of the booth.

The moment their eyes met she got goosebumps. She didn’t have time to analyze what was happening because Naruto started talking again.

“We’ll have two of my normal order” He said to her. “It’s the best thing here you have to try that first” he said to his friend.

As in a daze Hinata walked back to the kitchen and told Ayane the order. “Nobody new came I’m taking a 5-minute break ok?” Hinata said and hurried to the back door.

Her hands were trembling and her heart was beating much faster than it would normal. Naruto’s friend, he was the man from her dreams. The one holding her close and whispering her name. He was the man to hold out his hand and watch her kill herself in the dream. She had read somewhere that every face you see in your dreams is a person you’ve seen somewhere, on the street, on tv, in pictures. Your brain can not come up on its own with new faces. She must have seen him somewhere before today.

‘But Naruto had said he just moved here’

‘No, he said he moved. Maybe he moved from an apartment to the other, from living with his family or a roommate to living on his own. People move around in the same town all the time’

‘Right. I’m sure that’s what he meant. That means I saw him before. No biggie’

‘Yes, yes that makes sense’

There was no other explanation. Finishing up the dialogue with herself, having calmed down a little and approving of the reasoning she reached, Hinata went back inside.

The boys’ food wasn’t done yet but one of the tables wished to get the check and leave. After putting the money in the cashier Hinata went back to the kitchen and took the two-ramen bowls to the table. She was trying her best not to look at Naruto’s friend. Despite knowing that the dream was just a coincidence she still felt weird looking at him. Her brain picked his face to illustrate her lover and that was awkward.

“The diner is pretty dead at the time. Why don’t you sit down Hina?” Naruto said and slid to the side to make room for her. Naruto was right the diner was quite empty; besides them there were only 2 other tables occupied and they were both still eating. Hinata wanted to refuse but wasn’t sure how so she took the easier route and said ‘sure’.

“Hinata this is my friend Sasuke. He just transferred here from Kiri.” Naruto introduced the two and Hinata’s panic came back full mode. She had been mistaken. He moved from another town, she hadn’t seen him before, and to top it all his name was Sasuke.

“Nice to meet you. If you don’t mind me asking what’s your family name?” Her voice was oddly calm compared to the storm that was happening in her brain.

‘It’s just a name coincidence I’m sure’

‘He’s not the Sasuke from the mirror. That’s impossible’

“Uchiha” He said and looked at her in a funny way. In 5 seconds Sasuke did so much damage. He had the same name as the one written on the back of the mirror, her nightmares started after buying said mirror, this guy that shared the name from the mirror was a recurring character in her dream, and his voice matched as well, it sounded just as it did when he talked her; when he said she was beautiful in her dreams.

“Nice to meet you” Hinata said her voice was a bit breathless but neither of the guys seemed to notice. What the man said to her when she bought the mirror came back to her ‘The Uchiha curse shall not die miss, make sure you don’t either’ was it really a curse? Too many things were happening for it to be pure coincidence. She was scared.

The following 15 seconds were spent it silence, the boys were eating and Hinata was looking at her own hands. They were clasped tightly on her lap so they’d stop shaking. Thankfully one of the men from the other table signed her to go to their table. Hinata left the booth like it was on fire. Scenes from her nightmare were playing in front of her eyes. The diner was in flames and Sasuke was calling for her, asking for help.

“We’d like the check please” the man that signed for her said.

“Of course” she was working the register when Ayane came out from the kitchen.

“I’m going to turn the sign around so no more people come. Teuchi-san said we can close up earlier today since it’s this slow” Ayane said and she walked back to the register looking at the two tables that were both almost done. “You can go get your things and go home I’ll close up after everyone leaves.”

“Thank you, Ayane-san” Hinata went to the back where her jacket and bag were. She washed her hands in the bathroom before putting on her jacket and going back inside. Ayane was just ringing up the last table. Naruto and his friend had left thankfully. She wasn’t sure what she should do about the mirror, the nightmares, Sasuke. Hinata was still in deep thought when she stepped out of the diner.

“Oh, is your shift over Hina?” Naruto asked scaring her. The boys were just outside in the parking lot next to a beautiful black Impala. Sasuke was smoking not really looking at her. At least that’s what she thought, from the corner of his eye Sasuke had been following her around from the moment his eyes laid on her.

“Yes, I was just going home.” She answered it was a bit rude not to ask what they were up to but she wanted the conversation to end as soon as possible. Normally she’d stay and chit-chat with Naruto for a while, but for obvious reasons that option did not feel safe.

“Sasuke’s almost done with that cig and we can give you a drive home. It’s late and quite cold” The blonde offered.

“Oh, that’s not necessary…”

“We’re going to your neighborhood anyway, Kiba invited us over to his house to play some video games and chill.” Naruto smiled at her. “So, it’s no problem at all. I’d feel much worse if we left you here.”

Her mind was working twice as fast trying to come up with a reason why she should walk home alone. But the blonde didn’t wait for her reply and pretty much dragged her to the car and opened the door for her to get in. Which she did. She never minded Naruto’s pushiness before, but in that moment she felt irritated by it.

Sasuke slid in the driver’s seat and Naruto in the shotgun seat. The drive wouldn’t be more than 10-15 minutes but the silence was deafening.

“I heard you went to USA to see Neji a week ago, how was that?” Naruto was good like that, he always tried to keep the conversation going.

“Yea I did, it was great I missed him a lot.” Naruto talked for most of the drive.

“I don’t really know where you live Hina, I just know the neighborhood so you gotta give Teme some directions from here on”

“Actually, it’s fine if you drop me off here or at Kiba’s I can walk from there” She wasn’t very keen on Sasuke knowing where she lived.

“Oooooor you can come hang out with us if you want, at Kiba’s I mean. He’ll be so pumped to see you.” The Uzumaki stated.

She knew Kiba would like to see her, they’ve talked a few days ago about meeting up but nothing really worked for both of them. She did miss Kiba…

‘Are you nuts? You can’t go. Sasuke will be there…’

‘It’s either that or I tell him my address what if he kills me in my sleep?’

‘O, shoot we went from creepy coincidence to murderer this fast?’

‘I don’t know! But I doubt he’ll try anything with Naruto and Kiba around…right?’

“Yea ok, I’ll join you guys for a while…”

“Great! Don’t text Kiba though I wanna see his face when he sees you.” Naruto said laughing “It’s adorable Sasuke I swear, he turns into a puppy dog whenever Hina is around”

They reached Kiba’s house and all three walked towards the door, Naruto stopped abruptly which made Sasuke stop and Hinata walked into him. Three things happened then at the same time.

1. Hinata saw the Uchiha symbol on the back of Sasuke’s shirt.

2. Hinata touched his arm and took a step back to balance herself, so she wouldn’t fall over

3. Memories of her past life came back to her. All the nightmares made sense, she knew what the mirror meant, who Sasuke was. And the fear she felt just moments before; that fear turned to comfort.

Hinata took another step back, and another. She was overwhelmed by emotions. Utter sadness for the pain she experienced before, joy because she found the love of her life once again, she would find him in every lifetime time and time again. She also felt love, A feeling that Hinata had not experienced in that current life was now flowing inside her and it wanted to break free. Her eyes were watering up and all she wanted to do was hug Sasuke and make sure he is indeed real, but she couldn’t.

Part 1 (Day 1.2)

Part 2 (Day 2)

Part 4 (Day 8)

#shmonth2020 #SH2020 #sasuhina month #sasuhina month 2020 #sasuke #hinata #sasuke uchiha #hinata hyuuga #dia-story #diawrites #fanfic #sasuhina fanfic #naruto #writers on tumblr #mirror mirror

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rainandhotchocolate · 5 years

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Tension - Part 4

A/N I know this takes me ages to write but I just love the concept so much that I keep changing things lelel but I promise this is a long chapter to make up for my slowness! Also, I feel like this is going to turn into a hella long-form fic so get keen for some slow burn

Enjoy!

Tension (3.2k, Slytherin!Remus)

Y/N hated to admit it, but the weeks leading up to their group presentation were some of the most fun she’d had in her time in Hogwarts. Sirius and herself met up every Monday after dinner, and Sirius had started to wait for her at the entrance to the Great Hall, giving her overexaggerated exasperated looks as she ate, according to him, ‘like a flobberworm who couldn’t swallow so they have to chew 100 times before they can finish a meal’.

Some evenings they spent in the library, looking up tracking spells and how previous mazoologists had kept track of all of their pets or experiments. Y/N had discovered a number of mazoologists who had been secretly performing spells to make them change appearance or mate with creatures they would normally avoid at all costs. Other times they would join Kettleburn in the grounds, using the time to test how the animals he kept reacted to certain spells, or see if he had any experiments himself, as Y/N had gotten increasingly suspicious of anyone who took care of animals since reading about the cruelty they faced regularly across wizarding history.

Remus and James had been working on the presentation side of things, and by the sounds of the mischievous whispers Y/N always saw in the large empty classroom on the way to the Slytherin common room on her way back from Quidditch practice. They always seemed to go quiet when she passed, grinning only when they realised who it was before continuing to dabble at a large piece of parchment on the table in front of them.

Tonight, was the first night Y/N had gotten to see it, as James always took it back to his room for safekeeping. Sirius was standing at the corner of the doorway to the Great Hall, as per usual, smiling nonchalantly at her, as if the idea that they were meeting up and hanging out wasn’t something they would have scoffed at a month ago.

“Meal not as good this fine evening?” Sirius turned and matched Y/N’s pace as they head towards the front doors leading into the grounds. Y/N had pulled on a large green coat and matching scarf and beanie to cover from the icy wind that had already begun weaselling its way into the school corridors. Sirius had only a leather jacket and fingerless gloves, something Y/N had long-since stopped bringing up because of the same irritating answer he would give her, ‘what can I say? I’m just hot-blooded’.

“It was good… as per usual, why?” Y/N breathed a laugh, feeling the cool air suck into her lungs as they pushed open the grand front door and walked out into the wintery courtyard. Snow was yet to stay on the grounds, and instead had become slush, melting as it hit their noses and beanie-clad heads and gathering in the small dips between hills and cracks in the pavement.

“You ate in about 3 seconds flat, I almost had to choke to get to the door first.”

“I didn’t realise it was a race,” Y/N snorted, pulling the coat tighter around her. This kind of cold was the worst, Y/N always thought, the ice-cold breeze always cut through her clothes and the snow would drip down her skirts and into her boots.

“It’s always a race, I’ve got to arrive first to compose myself into the perfect ‘I was just waiting here for you’ look.” Sirius was facing her, smiling widely as if pushing her to react to his cockiness. Y/N didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“So you’ve got the parchment?”

Sirius sighed loudly, rolling his eyes at her.

“Yes, of course, I do, wouldn’t forget the one thing we actually needed today.” Sirius pulled the edge out of his pocket to show her proof. “Have you seen it yet?”

“No,” Y/N faced him now, confused at his now curious tone, “Haven’t you?”

“Nope, James has been irritatingly secretive about the whole damn thing,” Sirius replied, and Y/N was sure she could sense some frustration in his tone. They moved through the large awning and into the grounds towards Hagrid’s hut and the large pumpkin patch where Kettleburn liked to keep his pets, mostly because Hagrid usually would sneak over and take care of them when he wasn’t there.

They hadn’t told Kettleburn about this visit, mostly because the curfew hours always got earlier and earlier once the sun started to set around 5pm, and also because he never seemed to understand that they were trying to get a project done and would instead let creatures loose to let them ‘have a look’, resulting in an hour of finding lost puffskiens.

As they reached the hill overlooking the Forbidden Forest, they could see Hagrid tending to some of the caged animals, looking around suspiciously to see if anyone was around so he could let some loose for the evening. He caught Sirius’ eye, who seemed to grin at him and wave wildly. Hagrid froze momentarily, squinting up at the two of them trudging down the hill before shaking his head and waving back.

“Do you know Hagrid?” Y/N frowned, she’d never really had much of a conversation with him passed the occasional nod in the hallways, and granted that was mostly because he was a little intimidating to say the least.

“You don’t?” Sirius looked at her as if this was a ludicrous concept, “He’s the best, knows all the school gossip, though he doesn’t always mean to share it.”

Sirius winked at Y/N, bounding down the hill in front of her so that he could greet Hagrid with a tight hug, Hagrid hitting him a few times on the back. Y/N wondered if he might have moved some of Sirius’ vertebra but he seemed fine, stepping backwards and beginning to chat animatedly.

“…and anyway, he’s doing pretty well, not that we would tell me that, but I guess it’s going to be extra weird this Christmas since it’s the first since –“ Sirius cut himself off as Y/N joined them, plastering a smile on her face as she looked up at Hagrid’s bushy mane of a beard.

“Don’t stop talking on my behalf,” Y/N said, annoyed at how her voice shook a little bit when faced with the stern-looking Hagrid, looming above her. Hagrid’s face suddenly split into a kind smile, crooking his head to the side.

“You’re Lucius sister, right? Graduated last year? I’ve heard lots about you, Y/N,” He continued to smile, but Y/N felt her stomach twist as she was compared, as usual, to her older and annoyingly talented brother. He was definitely going to graduate with top grades in all of this NEWTs and was set to start at the Ministry at the start of July.

“All good things I hope,” Y/N muttered her standard reply, feeling a little put out.

“Bit of a mix,” Hagrid winked at her, “better sense of humour than that stern brother of yours, never saw him crack a smile at dinner.”

“Oh, yeah, he can come across as very serious,” Y/N took a second to reply, a little confused at this observation from a staff member. Most of them sang their praises, hoping that she would turn out exactly like him. Y/N hated the slightly disappointed face whenever she giggled audibly to something Remus had said to her in class, or her potion hissed a little too loudly for a calming draught.

“Wasn’t the friendliest bloke either, always caught him torturing the poor first years in Hufflepuff, I hope you aren’t catching any of those sibling traits,” Hagrid eyed her, before turning back to Sirius, “but I know this one couldn’t be hanging around with any of the sorts, even if he does like a prank every so often.”

Hagrid looked down at Sirius with such a warm smile that Y/N couldn’t help but stare up at him. She didn’t really know what she’d expected, but certainly not his extremely kind demeanour and the way he looked at Sirius like he was his own child.

“Come on, I’ll make ya some tea, I just got some new leaves from the forest, the centaurs have been using ‘em for star-gazing but it’ll just make you nice and warm,” Hagrid bustled them towards his hut which Y/N had always thought must be way too small for someone as large as Hagrid, and as Sirius pushed open the door to the hut and let her inside Y/N’s suspicions were confirmed.

The hut was about as tall as it was wide, with a small kitchen and chair to the right of the room, a fireplace on the opposite side of the room where a small table sat surrounded by four wooden chairs.

“It’s a bit small, but it’s enough for me, you know,” Hagrid looked a little embarrassed, watching Y/N look around the single room, “I’ll er, make some tea.”

“It’s wonderful, Hagrid,” Y/N smiled at him, not wanting to make him think that she was criticizing it internally, “very cosy.”

Hagrid turned and beamed at her, his entire face lighting up, before busying himself with tea. Y/N went to sit down at the table, jumping back off her chair when something wet trickled down her leg.

“What the – “ She yelped ducking her head under the table as Sirius sniggered at her reaction.

“Oh sorry, that’s Fang! He likes hidin’ under there, stop drooling on the guests you doof,” Hagrid pushed a large slobbering dog out from under the table, “He’s really friendly, a bit of a scaredy-cat, but he loves a good scratch.”

As if to illustrate his point, Hagrid gave Fang a pat on the head and Fang almost immediately dropped to the floor, looking up at Hagrid in excitement. Sirius was still sniggering lightly in the corner and Y/N shot him a glare.

“Come on, we have work to do.” Y/N huffed, sitting down opposite Sirius and eyeing him expectantly. He said nothing, still grinning brashly, and pulled out the large piece of parchment Y/N had seen Remus and James hovering over for weeks. A flash of anticipation built in the pit of Y/N’s stomach as he unravelled it, leaning in to get a better look at what was on the page. There were long lines and words written across in Remus’ ridiculously neat handwriting, swirling across the page. It took a moment for Y/N and Sirius to realise what it was.

“It’s a map!” Sirius realised first, turning it around so it was facing the right way for where they were on the grounds.

“Of the Hogwarts grounds.” Y/N continued, turning her head so she could read the tiny words that were hovering along the hills Remus and James had drawn that said ‘Hagrid’s Hut’.

“This is amazing!” Sirius’ grey eyes were twinkling as he traced the lines with his finger, finding all the sections of the grounds and the Forbidden Forest.

“How is this much of the Forbidden Forest mapped out? They didn’t go out there did they?”

“Didn’t need to I expect,” Sirius’ eyes had lifted to meet hers, a smirk twitching on his face, “James and I have been out there enough times.”

“Enough to map out ¾’s of the forest?” Y/N stared at him a little incredulously, “How are you not yet dead.”

“The very same question I ask myself every time I drag them out of there,” Hagrid shook his head as he sat down at the table, placing two very large mugs of tea in front of them.

“James keeps track of everywhere we go,” Sirius shrugged, somehow looking both smug and unconcerned, “And I’m in charge of protection.”

“Protection?” Y/N felt her gut squirm at the idea of the two boys strolling through the forest, only one of them bothering to keep watch for anything dangerous wandering around with them.

Y/N knew that there was something very fascinating about the Forbidden forest. An area that hardly anyone really knew about, except perhaps Hagrid, but not many people bothered to ask him either. From her very first year, older students had told Y/N stories about the creatures who lived in there, great centaurs and glittering unicorns, and the more deadly acromantula and even werewolves.

The latter was technically untrue, given that Remus was meant to stay in the shrieking shack, but with Y/N’s help calming him down they had roamed the grounds and the edge of the forest. Y/N had never considered that two boys would have potentially been roaming the forest at the same time.

“Well, we all know there’s something prowling the grounds – “ Y/N gave him a strong kick under the table and he groaned, hissing at her. Hagrid looked equally as interested to change the subject.

“So this map, eh, is it just of the grounds?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Y/N looked over it again, “It seems to end at the edge of the castle where the entrance is.”

Y/N leaned closer to the parchment; eyes narrowed. There was something odd about the way the castle was structured, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on…

“Why are there so many entrances to the castle,” Y/N spoke slowly, looking up at Sirius who was already watching her eagerly.

“I’ll show you later,” He mouthed, nodding to Hagrid who was rolling his eyes at Fang as he sat next to him, slobbering on his leg.

“I – “ Y/N tried to question him further but Sirius interrupted her almost immediately.

“We need to test the tracking spell on some of the animals, to see if we can print them onto the map,” Sirius spoke louder, staring pointedly at Y/N who was still watching him, confused.

“Uh, yes, right, ok, well let’s start with the flobberworms outside shall we?” Y/N turned to Hagrid, taking a sip of the tea, “Sorry for barging in and then leaving straight away, thanks for the tea.”

“No bother! Come by whenever I’m always glad to have company,” He gave her a friendly smile and turned to Sirius, “And no mischief from you, I had to spend an hour cleaning up that bubotuber puss from the Herbology greenhouses.

Sirius looked a little guilty, an expression Y/N had never seen on his face except for when he could be spotted at pureblood parties being hissed at by his mother. It was a little satisfying to see it on his face at school, where he seemed perpetually aloof.

“I don’t want to promise you anything I can't keep, Hagrid! But I do promise to avoid anything that will involve you.” He winked at Hagrid who shook his head, but Y/N saw that he was still smiling brightly at him.

“Alright, off with you, and best be back to the castle in the next halfa – Dumbledore won’t be happy if you’re caught breaking curfew.”

“James and I will come see you before the break,” Sirius smiled up at him, a warm, kind sort of smile that made Y/N’s heart do small acrobatics in her chest. Stop it, you absolute fool.

“You’d better, I’ve gotta give you your Christmas presents,” Hagrid gave him a hug and waved them off as they made their way out into the grounds once more.

They spent the better part of an hour placing spells on the flubberworms outside, testing to see if they would show up on the map. After a few attempts, they began to pop up in the right places, but their position wouldn’t change on the map when Sirius hovered them over towards the pumpkin patch. Eventually, Y/N gave a little excited yelp that she sort of wished she’d contained.

“What?” Sirius looked immediately concerned, rushing over to her.

“No, no, it’s working!” Y/N was staring down at the map, watching as the flobberworms moved extremely slowly across the page, a little title popping up above them that said ‘flobberworm’.

“No way,” Sirius reached her, standing behind her so that he could lean over her shoulder and watch the map as well, breaking into a smile as he saw them move as well, “We fucking did it.”

Y/N and Sirius stood there momentarily transfixed by the map, and it took a few moments before Y/N realised she had leaned against him slightly, his arm looped around her shoulder so he could see over her. His breath tickled her neck and brought her into reality, and she jumped forward, clearing her throat.

“We, uh, should go back up to the castle, it’s getting dark,” Y/N turned to face him, barely seeing him in the fading light.

“Yeah, jeez, didn’t realise how late it was.” Sirius held his hand out, and Y/N froze, panic washing over her as she wondered why he wanted to grab her hand, “The map?”

“Oh right, yeah, of course,” Y/N let out an easy laugh, covering up the huge sigh of relief that came from holding her breath. Sirius gave her a funny look but didn’t question her further, nodding towards the castle.

They walked in silence, Y/N berating herself for acting like such a prat, and avoiding standing in any sludge that had come from the icy rain and fallen leaves. Y/N shook off her coat and scarf once they had reached the Great Hall and a rush of warm air fell upon them.

“So, I’ll see you on Saturday then?” Sirius and Y/N had reached the grand staircase, where Sirius would go up to the Gryffindor tower and Y/N would go downstairs towards the dungeons.

“Yeah, we are nearly done now aren’t we,” Y/N kept the tone light, but felt a little pang at the thought of their little sessions ending. There was something nice about the forced nature of it like they didn’t need to bother to organise anything or stress about talking points, they always had a reason to be there, together.

“Yeah I guess we are,” Sirius seemed more awkward than usual, rubbing a hand through his perfectly messy black curls, “Sleep well.”

“You too.” For a moment Y/N thought Sirius might lean in and hug her, but he clearly thought against it and gave her a quick nod, turning on his heel and walking away. Y/N followed suit, not looking back towards the Great Hall as she descended towards the Slytherin common rooms. Shut up you piece of shit brain she growled internally as thoughts about the evening began swirling around, a boy gives you an ounce of attention and you’re ready to jump off Astrology tower for him.

She entered the common room in a huff, not noticing when Remus called out her name.

“Oi, Y/N,” Remus cut her off, standing directly in front of her so that she had to stop suddenly and look up at him, “What did he do?”

“What? Nothing, I’m fine,” Y/N said, startled to see him.

“You look like you could punch something.”

“That’s my normal demeanour.”

“More than usual,” Remus laughed, “Promise you’re ok?”

“I promise, just tired,” Y/N faked a smile, “I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast, I’m going to head to bed.”

“Ok,” Remus looked suspicious, but let her pass and continue to the girls’ dorm room. As Y/N got ready for bed and slid under the covers, her mind began to wander, the feeling of strong arms wrapped around her waist swaying her off to sleep.

Taglist: @averytruerayofsunshine @siriuslyjanhvi @blushingskywalker @blackpinkdolan @thebabblingbookworm @cherrie511 @imlukesnirvana @avengersassemblee @maraudersandco @sly-vixen-up2nogood @katbernoulli @sirius-lysad @evyiione @minerva26love @aikeia @gollyderek @greatwombatblaze @songforhema @your-typical-giggle @myownviperroom

Tension taglist: @desideriaenigma @laue-bb @fk12b @slytherpuffgal @fairtaldes @j-brielmalfoy @your-typical-giggle @davincibrocode @sleepingalaska

#rainandhotchocolate #Sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #remus lupin imagine #slytherin!remus #marauders x reader

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suicidalcatz · 5 years

Text

DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 4

AN: Hello ! In this chapter we go on an investigation! But also we get closer to God Jake. I’m writing the 7th part at the moment, and I think the 8th one will be the end of my dream, but not of this fanfic. Let the fluff begin !

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Genre: College AU

Previous parts: Prologue ; Chap 1 ; Chap 2 ; Chap 3

Masterlist : here

Chapter four : Need a hand ?

It became obvious to both Mandy and I that I was starting to have a crush on Jake. How could I not ? For a far as we knew him, he was perfect in every way.

At first it was discreet. My new hobby of staring at him during lectures was unnoticed by both of the Kiszkas, or if Josh noticed something, he at least thought it was me waiting for his next paper ball notes and getting impatient. Regarding my class daydreamings, they weren't new so classmates and teachers didn't think much of it. Although it became very apparent something was up when I started unintentionally drawing his face several times in the workshop during portraits studies. Even though my photo reference was Kurt Cobain. It could've been easily mistaken for a very bad observation job (and it did), if it weren't for Mandy who saw me coming home after a long day with a painted 50x70cm Jake canvas under my armpit. Judging by my defeated look, she didn't address it, but she knew.

It's a few days later that we had that talk. It was getting so bad that I began mistaking people in hallways for him, smiling or even giggling to myself as I was remembering stuff he did or said, and again, drawing him.

- I can't focus on anything, I sighed defeated. I have this assignment due to next week and I can't draw any character right. I even dreamed of us doing grocery shopping.

I let my head bump loudly against the dining table as she made me a cup of tea/coffee and placed it in front of me. She knew perfectly how I felt because we all went through the same, that's why she softly pulled the chair opposite mine to sit and have a chat.

- You should talk to him more, get to know him, she encouraged. He's nice and now we sometimes hang out so it's not that weird wanting to know him better.

She was right. Sooner or later I'll had to talk to him and even tell him how I feel anyway. Not now though, it was too soon. I kind of got struck by lightning when I first laid my eyes on him and it got worse when we spoke, but it still rarely happened for people to fall instantly like that. There was no way he'd understand if I just confessed my feelings out of the blue. I should wait and see if there's any chance that my feelings are shared, because there was no way in hell I'd tell him if I wasn't sure I had a chance to date him. Speaking of which...

- Should I ask him out on a date?

As an answer, Mandy smacked my head accross the table with an empty box of biscuits.

- Are you out of your mind ? I just told you to wait ! I know you're impatient to get into his pants but think about all the times you rushed things and how many times it worked.

Raising my head to rest my chin against the plastic flowery tablecloth, I considered it, looking at her munching on chocolate biscuits, browsing a fashion magazine for inspiration. Defeated once again, I let out a sigh and shifted so my cheek was against the table.

- First of all, I don't want to get into his pants- Not yet. Second of all, you're right. I don't want to screw up this time because it'll be so awkward afterwards.

She closed her eyes and quickly nodded because she knew she was of good advice, as usual.

- You forgot something essential boo. You don't know if mister doe-eyed guitarist is single.

Fuck, that's right. Neither of them mentionned it but it's not something you just blurt out. We exchanged a look, and she grinned at me in a knowing way.

- Let's investigate.

The first thing to do was to go on his Facebook. It did seem a bit wrong searching him like that instead of asking straightforwardly, and as if karma thought the same, we found that his infos were set on private. We didn't even bother searching for instagram or twitter as nobody puts their real full names on these, so the second thing to do was to go on the field.

Despite all the departments, the school was small so buildings were close to each other and all communicated (except for the fashion workshop). I kind of knew where everything was, since you could tell just by looking at the people hanging around. And as cliché as it sounded, it was true. Illustration students were always carrying ridiculous amounts of art supplies. Entire bags of paint, books and pencil case in their backpacks, giant portfolio under an arm, A3 sketchbooks in the other, and somehow they still found a way to carry their coffee cups. Architecture, Carpenters and Furniture Design students were often seen with big mock ups and models in their arms, tools or wood. Photo and Fashion peeps were carrying the less stuff since they worked mainly on computers in the Photography dep and let all their mannequins and fabric either at home or in the Fashion workshop. It was as easy to spot dudes from the Music dep, with their guitar on their back, hanging around the Architecture building, smoking, chatting, and drinking soda or coffee.

Their building was near the park, so they were mostly seen in that area. And thank God because I would've look so stupid passing by purely « by chance » in an area where no one ever went except for the people who actually studied there. The park was great. A lot of us used to play ball, sit on the grass to drink, chat or have lunch. It was big enough that the Architecture jocks built some cabins in a corner of it to host parties. I still don't understand how the school allowed that, but anyway, the plan was simple, make a little detour to see if I could spot Jake.

It was so cold outside that students were just hurriedly passing by, quickly making their way inside where it was somewhat warm. As a result, there wasn't many people in the park at this hour of the day and I wondered if Jake was in the dorms or in class before catching a glimpse of his hair in the corner of my eye. Okay time to be discreet. I put my bag down near the trash to fake looking for something while watching him. Fuck he looked good with a scarf and head covered with a beanie. Aside from his looks, he seemed rather bummed. Passers by kept shaking him off as he tried to hand them yellow papers. Probably flyers.

- Jake, I'm taking 5 !

Some guy just beside me doing the same task called him loud and clear, and I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes when Jake turned around to reply and locked eyes with me. I instantly felt very dumb, crouched next to the trash with my hands on my bag. The mental image I had of myself at that very moment was that of a raccoon. Running away was out of the question since he was approaching my way already, one hand holding the flyers and the other in his jacket pocket.

- Hey.

- Hi, I replied without moving an inch.

- Need a hand ?

Shaking out of it, I got on my feet by myself and lied about just passing by. Karma really was a bitch, wasn't it ? Henceforth no more weird MI6 strategies for me. Avoiding staring at the blushed tip of his nose, I gazed at my hands and saw his in the process.

- Are you giving out flyers ?

- Oh yeah, for the Christmas school festival, but no one is either interested or invested in it unfortunately. It's a shame, I think it's gonna be great. I don't know what's holding them, he added while scratching his beanie, it's free and there's gonna be music and food and booze, what more could we need ?

To be fair I understood both parties. Jake was right but some students probably had exams or homework, and it was freezing and they were doing it outside. Well if we were honest it never stopped anybody from partying so maybe the event wasn't the issue.

- I saw people displaying posters, I remembered, can I see the flyers ?

Without missing a beat he handed them all to me and dear lord I almost got blind just by looking at them. That yellow and black and these awful drawings weren't doing anything good for the event. He must've saw it on my grimacing face because he sighed.

- That bad ?

- Honestly ? It looks like a Bee Movie add.

It actually made him let out a chuckle before puting a hand to his heart.

- That hurts.

That flawless smile made my cheeks burn, thank god they were already red because of the cold. His thumb brushed mine when I handed the flyers back to him, and at this moment I knew I was gonna act without thinking again, because my brain went on vacation the second his skin got in contact with mine.

- I can make you new ones, if you want.

His eyes searched for any traces of a joke on my face before realization hit him and his brows frowned lightly.

- Are you sure ? 'm not an expert but this looks like a lot of work.

As backup to his words, he shook the big bundle of paper between his fingers. Jake genuinely looked worried about me, and all the work it'd put me through. Deep down I knew there was a little voice in my head screaming that helping him only meant more sleepless nights but all the other parts of my brains ignored it when two gentle brown eyes stared at me with concern.

- It'll be fine, I assured with a smile. I'm working fast. I just have to do one design and the rest will be printed, right ? No big deal.

Hand on his hip, Jake let out what sounded like a relieved breath and cracked a smile.

- Thanks, I really appreciate it. Do you have a pen ?

Of course I did, I even got one on my coat pocket for some reason. Things I just forget to remove. He gave me the flyers for me to hold while he uncapped the black marker and took my free arm.

- I'm giving you my number, so you can text me if you're having troubles for the design, and show me some pics if you need advice.

With cold fingers, he gently grabbed my wrist and pushed back the fabric to expose my already shivering skin, and started writing numbers on my veins. It tickled, and I got goosebumps, mostly because of the cold wind but also because of his hand around my arm. The soft touch of his calloused fingers felt right on my skin, replacing the freezing feeling of his digits by a sweet wave of heat and I unconsciously held my breath to focus on the new sensation. He let the ink dry a bit before covering my arm again, raising his chin to meet my face.

- I could've write it on one of the flyers but I got a feeling you would've lost it, wouldn't ya ?

A playful smile danced on his face and once again I found myself mesmerized by him, nodding and chewing on my lip in a childlike manner. Jake tapped me on the shoulder to thank me again, saying he'll make it up to me, but I was too absorbed by the burning feeling of his skin on mine.

- I have to go, he said after sliding the marker back inside my breast pocket. My band's playing at the christmas party by the way, I hope you'll come!

#gvf fic #gvf x reader #gvf imagine #gvf fanfic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka imagine #josh kiszka fic #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet imagine #greta van fleet #jake kiszka

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seromreven · 5 years

Text

title: dance of the jubjub birds.

anonymous requested: “ooo, Could you maybe do a f!readerxJohn, sort of like you’re last one where she’s super innocent and sorta clueless about how to not be a square and John takes her virginity? Thank you for indulging us, you are truly a gift.”

warnings: uh, what the request implies. (why do i have this section-).

author’s note: a long one shot for once, y’all! (i had fun!). i entertained the thought of the title being something from the backstreet boys song ‘if you want it to be good girl (get yourself a bad boy)’ but, lmao, the song title is fucking long and the lyrics themselves is repetitive and too long for a title too. so i just went with something barely related to the story and bad (as per usual).

---

1958,

He was following you home. John Lennon… was following you home. Even as he walked faithfully beside you, you still had trouble believing it. He was the cool guy. He was in a band and skipped classes to smoke and was in a band and yet; here he was, making sure you got home safe from a ballet class that had drawn out late into the evening.

The circumstances of your meeting was… peculiar. You had bumped into each other on your way home. Literally. You thought you had heard something behind so you looked over your shoulder while walking and went straight into the square chest that belonged to the teddy boy. He had first reacted in anger but when he finally saw what hit him, his eyes softened and he apologised. He apologised! You never thought of him as one to apologise. You had never imagined him to have a soft side, with his tough exterior and all, but then again; you never really knew him before tonight.

He had taken notice of your jittery persona as you slowly walked towards your home and when you were called out on it; you were quick to reply. You hated being out alone at this hour. Especially in the delicate fabrics of your leotard and thin stockings. And you swore to him that you had seen the silhouette of a man following you. He peeked over your shoulder for a few silent seconds, eyes narrowed close, before offering his arm and protection. You didn’t show it but you were so ecstatic! So happy! You had always been scared witless about going home alone but your parents were never home to pick you up and they didn’t let you have a dog to protect you.

You soon reached your house. A big three-story one in one of the ‘nicer’ areas of Liverpool. John whistled lowly as he looked upon its looming facade and around the neighbourhood. It was dead quiet; the only sounds you could hear were the winds going through the trees and the sound of barking in the distance. “Can I,” you swallowed spit and nerves, “Can I invite your for some tea?” You fidgeted with the ends of your jacket as you asked him. His eyes focused on you suddenly; making you heart beat hard and loudly. He nodded and followed you inside. You went straight through the dark and quiet house to the kitchen. “Your parent's home?” he asked you as he sat down at the dining table, watching you start heating the water.

“No,” you answered not looking at him, too focused on getting the cups and tea bags ready. “So… you’re inviting a strange man into your home. Alone... dressed in a tutu.”

You spluttered and turned around red faced; only to see him there with a grin on his face. You had an idea of what he was hinting at but could do nothing in response but stutter while thinking of an answer. You weren’t even wearing the tutu right now! “Relax,” he said with an easy laugh and a wink, “I’m just messing with you.”

You nodded, fighting away the fierce blush that had reached your ears as you turned back around to the steaming pot, feeling too much like it at the moment. The thoughts lingered. The thoughts that had entered your mind as he joked and winked at you. He was so attractive! But so out of your league. You were a square. You danced ballet only because your parents wanted to. You read too much and stayed alone most of the day doing homework. He flirted with every girl but you. And were in a band! He was just being nice to be it and then at the end of the day; leave and forget all about you and how he helped you as he moved on with his life and band.

“It’s Earl Grey,” you muttered as you placed the steaming cups on the white and polished table, together with a small plate of assorted biscuit. He nodded before eagerly grabbing a biscuit that was quickly lost behind his thin lips. You fumbled as you sat down and got even redder as you heard him give a low chuckle. “You doing okay?”

You furiously nodded; “yep!”

It came out as a yelp and you winced at yourself and your anxious antics. You were better than this! You could do this whole social thing with a handsome boy! Totally! You just had to take deep breaths and relax; which made John looked at you… strangely. Oh, shoot. The breaths had been too deep.

“I’m sorry,” a nervous giggle accompanied the apology, “I don’t… really have people over… much.”

He stood up, “no need to tell me twice,” and you blinked, “I weren’t… about to?”

He came to stand by your side; looking down at you with his slender brown eyes and you turned in your seat to get a better look at him. He carefully moved stray, rebellious, hair that had moved to be in front of your eyes that were now nervously scanning his face; anxious to find out what he had in mind to do, standing so close to you. “You’re pretty, y’know,” he said in a low voice as he leaned closer towards you. You stammered as you tried to thank him but was interrupted by a kiss so soft. Soft in a way you never could imagine a boy like him would be able to give. You had never been kissed before so you nervously kissed him back; thoroughly inexperienced in your effort. And though you had doubts in your skills; it was wonderful! You desperately wanted more, but he pulled away; a hand on your hip and a look in his eyes you couldn’t describe but it sent excited shivers down your spine.

“Did I do all right?”

You asked, desperate for his approval. He answered in gentle chucking; his arm creeping tighter around you, “you did more than all right,” before dragging you in for another kiss. It lasted longer this time around and grew more heated. Once again, he pulled away to this time look around the room; “when will your parents be home?”

You shrugged with a sigh; “I don’t know, really. The day after tomorrow, maybe. They didn’t tell me, but not tonight.” He nodded; still looking towards the door. You felt brave. Suddenly so, like a lightning shooting through you and you bounced off your chair; almost knocking into him. Standing chest to chest, you carefully asked him a question, “want to go to my room?”

You desperately hoped that the kissing wouldn’t end. That the question hadn’t been too forward, and that you hadn’t just made a right fool of yourself. But it seemed all your worrying were for nought as he stepped to the side with the flourish of an arm, leading you lead the way which you quickly set into doing with a bounce in your step. The two of you descended the stairs in silence; not an uncomfortable one but one all the same. The door leading to your room stood partially open from when you had rushed out of it earlier that day, in a hurry to get to ballet class in time. You glanced warily over your shoulder; your nerves all in a rage about what John would think. What John was thinking.

He noticed your staring with a raised brow as he shut the door behind him as you had entered the small room. He noticed its bright colours immediately, it was hard not to, and the scattering of books throughout the room. It didn’t look the room of one nearing eighteen and it was a frustration of yours. Your parents refused to change any part of it; fearful of your aging and growing up, still wishing for you to be their little girl.

You bounced slightly on the bed as you watched him look around the room; studying and watching the little details of everything. The homework still open and splayed out over the desk. The desk that was surrounded by shelves on which stood books by authors such as Beatrix Potter and Lewis Carroll. He took down a copy of Jabberwocky and carefully looked through the pages with a small humming of a song you didn’t recognise. He released a chortle as he looked down on an illustration on a well-worn page. Putting it aside on the desktop, he finally looked at you and the flowery patterned wallpaper that made a stunning background. “You have a good taste in literature,” he mumbled and came to stand in front of your legs, crossed at the ankles. You thanked him with a beaming smile; happy and surprised that he had such an interest in books. Placing a hand on your knee, he sat down beside you on the soft bed and sparks of arousal shot through you like never before as the hand travelled slowly up your leg. You could feel the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric of your stockings. No-one had ever touched you like so and it made you go through a flurry of excitement and anxiety. You hardly knew him but you felt uncommonly daring, and you wanted more.

You turned around in your seat and leaned in; silently inviting him for another kiss that he dutifully accepted. During your increasingly passionate kissing, you felt him slowly press himself against you, leaning you back onto the bed, dragging your legs in between his own as he rested above you. You parted, both breathing heavily for air, staring into each other's eyes as you proceeded what seemed to be about to happen. “I’ve never done this before,” you whispered as you moved a hand to feel the burning warmth of your cheek. “Do you-” he interrupted himself and leaned slightly away from you, “do you want to stop then? It’ll be all right with me.”

You blinked at the sudden drawback and quickly shook your head as you followed him up from the laid back position of before. You felt admiration at the show of respect for your perceived limits but you took a hold of his hands as you assured him; “I want this.” And to show how much, and following the daring streak that had made tonight, you pulled down the straps of your leotard; exposing your soft, warm breasts to the boy in front of you. He grinned and returned to the eager actions of before; kissing you excitedly as he cupped your breasts, earning him a strangled moan in response.

The hands disappeared from your heaving chest for too soon but it was quickly discovered as to why; one lifted you deftly up by the tailbone as he dragged down the leotard further. You quickly joined in on helping; imagining yourself as not the lithest being in the world. It was a hassle getting it all off; the stockings being no easy feat, but soon you laid in all your naked glory under a still fully dressed John. He was even wearing his leather jacket still. But, in the honest truth, you didn’t mind. The sight and smell comforted you in a way you couldn’t quite describe. You watched him squirm and move uncomfortably in his drain pipes and quickly noticed why; a hard snake like form had appeared and pressed hard against the fabric of his trousers. You blinked; so this was what a clothed erection looked like. You had read the description of it in… adult novels your mom hadn’t thought you’d notice hiding in various corners of her clothes drawers. Places you both knew your dad would never look into.

And you watched him attentively as he released himself from the tight leather and saw as the unclothed manhood sprang out from it confinements. You didn’t know how you had imagined… it to look like but it wasn't far off base from what you had imagined, really. Furthermore, you watched John touch it gently as he looked in silence at your studying expression. He rubbed it in such a way, after having spit in his hand (much to your surprise), that it grew harder and stiffer and you resisted the innate urge to reach out and touch; unsure if that would have been disruptive to the… process.

It didn’t take long after the little show he had given you before he leaned back down and met you in a wet kiss. A kiss more fierce and involved than before. One during which you felt a hand creep down between your legs; you shivered at it soft touches at your most sensitive areas and soon you felt him… inside you, opening you up with his adept fingers. It was unlike what you had ever felt and it was magnificent. So it was only expected that you whimpered when the touch vanished. John reacted with a chuckle and low tutting; “patience, love.”

You quickly found out the reasons for his words for he drew back and guided his cock in between your spread legs and, to both of your audible reactions, went the way his fingers had moments prior. Your breath hitched as he started moving at a carefully and excruciating pace. You weren’t sure of how long it was something before he hit… something within you. Something… extraordinary. Time seemed to pass by at an incredible speed as stars appeared before you. You clung to him as you reached a high. A climax of pleasure you had never thought imaginable. And not too long after; he seemed to repeat the statement, the sensation, as he filled you up with a warm liquid, only to pull out and fall down beside you in an exhausted huff.

You heard him shuffle off his jacket and, presumably, the rest of his clothing. But you didn’t heed any attention to the noise as you spaced out staying at the bare and open ceiling of your bedroom, slowly drifting off to dreams of you and John.

#request #the beatles #john lennon #reader insert #reader #female reader #beatles fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #was this fic cheesy? in some way yes certainly #but i thought of trying to fit the period and attitude of the mc #and fghjkl thank you !!#you're all so very nice aw

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welcometophu · 6 years

Text

Not Your Love Song: Chapter 10

Marked Book 2: Not Your Love Song

Chapter 10

[ Previous | First | Next ]

It’s not a date.

After all, Noah Steinberg died only a few months ago. Not to mention, Darrik is older than him, and Rory isn’t even sure exactly what they have in common. Rory wants to help Darrik find closure, but that doesn’t mean romance. Besides. Romance has a whole host of complications and explanations and things that Rory isn’t sure he wants to get into with someone he’s only met once before.

On the other hand, if he ever does want to date someone, he’s going to have to get into it eventually.

And this really does feel date-like.

When Rory gets to the Malone Brewery in downtown Valiant, Darrik is sitting on a bench outside, reading something on his phone. Darrik glances up as Rory approaches, smiles and stands. He looks like a comfortable professor again; his henley has thumbholes and the cuffs are slightly worn, while his jacket is an old leather bomber jacket that has seen better days. His beard is scruffy but neat, and his hair pokes out from under a beanie.

Rory feels a little underdressed with his beaten-up high-tops, a t-shirt and jeans. He lets Darrik hold the door for him, shucks his jacket as soon as he gets inside and into the warmth, while Darrik does the same. Darrik holds out a hand, and Rory gives him the jacket, letting Darrik take them both to the small coat-rack inside the door.

Darrik finger-combs his hair quickly, fixing it now that the beanie is off, safely stowed in the pocket of his jacket. “You’re early,” he says.

Rory shoves his hands in his pockets, not really sure what to do with them. “I had to rely on the bus schedule, and I wasn’t sure how long it’d take to walk from the stop. I figured I’d just wait for you. I didn’t think you’d be here yet.”

“I don’t like to be late.” Darrik makes a face. “Noah and Ally bug me about it all the time, like I’m making them rush just to get places on time.” He hesitates, swallows. “I mean, Noah bugged me about it. Lora—she gets it. Got it.” He makes a face, shakes his head. “It’s been three months, and I still can’t talk in a way that makes sense.”

“It’s okay,” Rory assures him. “Grief sucks.” He’s been watching Alaric and Drea grieve over their brother for that same amount of time, and while they don’t seem to slip up in the same ways, Rory knows how much Orson’s death still drives Alaric months later. “It’s not like you just flip a switch and move on. There’s a reason why there are a million songs about it, right?”

Darrik’s shoulders sag a little, and Rory hopes it’s relief taking the tension away, not renewed sorrow weighing him down. “Right.” He turns away, approaches the hostess, and a moment later they’re following her up the stairs into the second level, to be settled at a table for two that overlooks the lower floor.

From this vantage point, Rory can see most of the back half of the restaurant. He leans against the railing, looking out. The front part, with most of the seating, is beneath them. The far back has glass walls, with huge fermentation tanks rising up. There are signs that he can’t read, which he assumes label the stages of the brewing process. Alaric would probably love this place.

Darrik touches Rory’s hand, and he slowly pulls himself back to sit properly in his chair. It’s not easy to find a way to get comfortable—he’s never liked tables for two. They’re too small, and as soon as he stretches out, his knees bang against Darrik’s. “Sorry,” Rory mutters.

“It’s fine,” Darrik assures him. He gestures at the railing, pointing at an open space in front of the glass walls and tanks. “Sometimes on Friday and Saturday nights, they pull in a small platform stage and have local live music here. There’s a local blues band we like to come see. We used to come as a group and get one of the large tables on the lower floor, but Ally and Lora like being up here. They say there’s more room when Noah starts dancing, which he always does. He doesn’t bump into people as much, because the bar,” Darrik points to it, and Rory can see it close to where the band would play, “tends to get busy when there’s music. And if we’re downstairs, Noah trips people.”

Rory gets the feeling he should be offended by Darrik talking about Noah. That he should be worried about being out with someone who talks about his dead boyfriend in the present tense and can’t let go. But he finds it kind of endearing, that they were so close, their lives so intertwined that it’s impossible to unwind Noah out of it.

Wait. Shit. Song.

“What can I get you to drink, or to start?”

Rory looks up at the waitress, sees the pad and pen in her hands, and holds his hand out, palm up. “Can I borrow your pen?”

She looks bemused, but gives it to him anyway, and he grabs a napkin and starts writing.

The threads of our lives

Became one story

So close that even though you’re gone

I still feel you

Wrapped like a warm blanket

The threads of your life

Keep me safe

Not right, not exactly, but it gives him a direction to go. He adds a few thoughts to it, takes a moment to feel the invisible keys under his hand as he presses fingers against the table in makeshift chords, then notes them down as well.

When he finishes, he carefully folds the napkin and tucks it into his back pocket, and hands the pen back to the waitress.

Silence.

Darrik coughs. “I’ll have a pint of the oatmeal stout. Rory?”

The waitress holds the pen loosely in her hand, waiting. Right. Drink order. “Water’s fine,” Rory says. “Lemon would be nice.”

“One pint of oatmeal stout, and one water with lemon. Do you want me to bring a pitcher and a glass for you as well?” she asks, looking at Darrik. When he nods, she makes a note. “Do you want anything to start out while you’re deciding what to order? We’ve got our weekend wild wing special.”

“I wouldn’t mind sharing something,” Darrik muses. He hasn’t made a decision, which Rory appreciates, considering that wings aren’t exactly his thing.

“I’m a vegetarian,” Rory says. It’s an explanation, and a little bit of an apology because it does complicate sharing appetizers.

“We have a plate of fried mac & cheese bites, lettuce noodle wraps, zucchini fries, and stuffed mushrooms—it’s a cheese and vegetable stuffing—if you’re interested?” the waitress suggests. When Rory nods, Darrik motions and she writes that down. “I’ll have your drinks up in a moment, and the appetizer plate right after. Take your time figuring out what you want.” She leans down, opens the menu in front of Rory and flips the pages. “We have a list of vegetarian specialties right here.”

“Thanks.” He appreciates it; not many places bother to have anything beyond plain pasta—if you can get it without meat sauce—or a salad.

“Sorry, I probably should have asked before just picking a place,” Darrik says quietly.

Rory waves off the apology. “It’s fine. I didn’t say anything because I can always find something to eat. And this is a place you really like, so I’ve been looking forward to it.” He’s not just saying it, either. Since making the plans he’s had this little knot of anticipation. A part of him would like say it’s just because he’s been thinking about what he can do to help Darrik gain closure, or help Lora wake up, but it’s also just that he’s enjoying spending time with Darrik.

It makes him wonder what Noah was like. Rory gets the feeling he would’ve liked him, too.

There’s a little hint of music in the back of his mind, and Rory works through chords for a moment against the table, feeling it out with his fingertips.

“Music?” Darrik asks, and Rory blinks slightly.

“Yeah, sorry. I just—sometimes it gets into my head and I have to deal with it. I tend to fret when I’m nervous, too.” At Darrik’s blank look, Rory illustrates by picking up the wine list, fingers pressing guitar chords along it. “I think I learned to play before I learned to talk.” Definitely before he got past being shy in public.

“So if you don’t have a guitar to hold onto, you just play against whatever’s there?”

Rory smiles shyly. “Yeah, pretty much. I took a guitar to our first floor meeting this year. Sometimes it just helps. Music’s pretty much most of my life; the part that isn’t magic and family, anyway. And half of family is magic and music, too.”

“Noah would definitely like you,” Darrik says quietly. “He’d love to be here.” His fingers interlock on the table, curling together as he looks down. “Shit. Sorry. I keep bringing him up.”

“It’s fine. I like hearing you talk about him.” Rory licks his lips, trying to figure out how to get Darrik into the parts of the conversation he definitely wants to have. “So um. Tell me about Noah?”

Darrik looks wary, hesitates for a long moment. He leans back to give the waitress room to set down their drinks. When she’s gone, Rory moves the pitcher of water to one side of the table, out of his line of sight. He squeezes a piece of lemon into his glass, then motions for Darrik to speak.

Rory leans forward, elbows on the table. “It’s okay,” he says.

A small smile in response. “He’s a CompSci major. Which is… about as different from me as he could be,” Darrik says slowly.

“How’d you meet?” Because if Rory’s honest, he’s been wondering. With the age difference, he can see why the police would have suspected Darrik.

“I was finishing up my Masters when Noah was a freshman,” Darrik says. He takes a long swig of beer, and Rory hopes he’s not trying to drink for courage. Rory has no idea what to do if Darrik actually gets drunk. “We actually met through Ally. I dated her older sister a long time ago, and she looked me up when she got to VIT, and when we met up, Lora, Jonathan, and Noah were with her. He was… a little like watching a baby deer on ice. He talks with his hands, with these huge grand gestures. He hit me in the face, and I grabbed his hand to hold him still. And he said oh are we holding hands already? Good to know I have a shot and I didn’t know what to say back after that. But that night he apparently told Ally and Lora that he was going to marry me someday. We started dating about a month after that. When we went to your show.”

“Are you a Mage as well?” Because Rory swears he remembers that from the reports.

Darrik shakes his head. “I’m not. I’m actually Clan, but I’m human. My siblings are all various kinds of felines and canines, but I can’t change at all. But I helped Noah with his rituals, when I could.”

Rory tilts his head. “You don’t dislike Mages?” He holds up his hands, trying to pause Darrik before he answers. “I don’t dislike Clan. I mean, my family has nothing against Clan, and honestly, my brother’s fascinated by Clan. Just ask Alaric. Thorne tried to get a little closer than Alaric wanted the first day they met.”

“I’ve met your brother and I’m guessing he’s not just like that with Clan.” Darrik huffs, a small laugh, and Rory makes a face.

“Yeah, well. I try not to think about that too much. Anyway. Most Clan I know don’t like ritual. Last fall I was working on a major ritual and Alaric couldn’t even be in our room while I was planning.” Rory motions at the table, the air around them. “Don’t you feel it when he’s working?”

Darrik shakes his head, sits back again as the waitress sets the plate of appetizers on the table. “It doesn’t feel like anything to me, or smell like anything either. I’ve known Mages all my life. I grew up in a town that was about half Mage and half Clan and not a lot of human at all, so none of it was new. Helping Lora and Noah with their rituals felt like home.”

“Huh.” Rory takes one of the small plates. He picks up one of the lettuce wraps, dips it into the small cup of sauce before taking a bite. It’s good.

“Have you decided what you want?” The waitress stands ready with her pen poised, and Rory blinks. He’d forgotten that they hadn’t ordered yet, so he does so quickly, hoping she’ll take a while before bringing their food out.

He’d rather talk, and there are plenty of appetizers to keep them busy in the meantime.

“This wasn’t a normal ritual,” Darrik says quietly.

Rory goes still, lowering the half-eaten wrap to his plate. “What do you mean?”

“It started out normal,” Darrik corrects himself. “We weren’t doing any kind of blood sacrifice, like the police thought, although we did need blood for the ritual. I remember that much. It was a questioning ritual. I think it was Lora’s idea. She was the focus for it, but we all had our own questions.”

Rory remembers talking about this with Pawel, right after Nikita created the ice storm. “Do you remember what your questions were?” Maybe it had an impact on it. Maybe there was something in the power generated that attracted the shadows.

Darrik shakes his head. “I never knew what Noah or Lora had in mind. And they’re the Mages, this was their ritual. It wasn’t the first one I did with them, but it was the first time we used blood as a focal point. We all mixed it in this one bowl at the center of a table they’d set up. Noah likes to use different foci during his rituals, to keep himself centered. He says that way if his attention skips, it usually falls on the next item, and it helps keep him on track. The blood was the primary focus this time, and I was the last one to put my blood in. I can’t shift, but I heal a little more quickly than a normal human, at least from small cuts. That’s important because I was still bleeding when it happened.”

“What?” Rory knows what, or knows what Pawel found out. He’s hesitant to mention that Pawel talked to Darrik, not wanting to destroy this trust they’re developing. It’s probably going to come out eventually. Just not yet, not while Darrik is comfortable enough to talk so personally.

“Darkness rose up,” Darrik says quietly. “It came out of the corners, from the darkest corners, and it spread around the room like we’d summoned it. And it had arms, and claws, and it attacked us. I remember Lora screaming. I remember grabbing onto something that felt like an arm, slashing at it with my fingernails. Then I woke up in a hotel in Albany with a splitting headache and no idea how I got there. The room was supposed to be empty and I didn’t wake up until someone came into the room after checking into the hotel. They screamed. I yelled. And I was arrested. Spent three nights in lockup.”

“That must’ve been….” Rory trails off, not sure what to say. Confusing. Messy. Heart-wrenching.

“They told me about Noah while I was in jail,” Darrik tells him. “They questioned me, over and over, and I didn’t know what to say. They tested my clothes—I was covered in blood when I was found. Some of it was mine, from long scratches across my chest and arms.” He rolls up his sleeve, the scar silvered against his skin and running from the heel of his hand to the outside of his elbow, diagonally across his forearm. “They don’t know who else’s blood I had on me.”

He shakes his head, hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry. This is maudlin. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay,” Rory assures him. There are tight lines around Darrik’s eyes, his fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose. Everything about him screams tension. Rory reaches across the table, tugs Darrik’s hand down. “I asked. If you don’t want to talk about it, I’m not going to make you. But if you do—my roommate’s brother was killed not long before Noah. By a Deathstalker.”

Darrik goes still, brow furrowing. “They don’t exist.”

“Unfortunately, they do. I’ve met one in person.” Rory licks lips gone dry. “Her laugh was like brittle glass. Darker, though. It cut. She was angry at us. Angry at everything, but we were the ones who trapped her. I still don’t know why she attacked my friends, and she escaped before we could figure it out. She was made of shadows, and she said she wanted to suck us dry.”

“Shadows.” Darrik’s gaze slides sideways, and Rory follows it. He understands; that darkness coming to life isn’t something you can just forget. But despite the mood lighting in the brew pub, the shadows stay firmly where they belong, creeping along the edges of the walls. Nothing moves. “So you think—?”

Rory nods. “I’m pretty sure, actually. I think she had someone with her—another Deathstalker. Or Shadowwalker. Or Soulstealer. Whichever name you prefer. Some legends think they’re different, but all our research makes them sound like they’re one being, just people have seen different aspects of them at different times.”

“Our?”

Rory stops, furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“You and your roommate are researching these?” Darrik asks slowly.

Oh. Now it’s time to explain. He shrinks back in his seat, wanting to preface it with please don’t hate me, but he’s pretty sure that’s exactly the way to make sure Darrik hates him.

“After Alaric’s brother died, we started trying to figure out what happened. He’s Clan, and there was a ritual involved, so his family thought it was Mages,” Rory explains, keeping his voice quiet. “None of us want a war.” Darrik’s expression shifts, and Rory tries to answer the question before it’s asked. “Me. Alaric and his sister Drea. Our friends.” It’s easier than trying to explain Chris, Mac, and Dax, and besides, it might be better if Rory doesn’t use names. “And Professor Szczek.” That one he’d better say, though, and he sees the moment light dawns for Darrik.

“I met him. After I got out of jail.”

“Yeah. You did.” Rory admits that he knows, because honesty is probably the best policy at this point. Hopefully. “But all of that—because of what happened to Lora and Noah—that’s why I wanted to make sure we did your event for you. Because I understand. It’s just—”

“You’re still looking for the shadow,” Darrik says.

“We found her, we lost her, and yeah. I am.” Rory fights with the instinct that has him wanting to duck his head, hide behind the fall of his hair. He pushes his bangs back instead, meets Darrik’s gaze head on. “I want to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

Darrik moves the plate still full of appetizers to one side of the table, making room for the waitress to set down their plates. When the waitress asks if they need anything else, Darrik waves her off without a word.

Rory resolves to tip well at the end of this. She deserves it.

“Okay,” Darrik says, folding his hands on the table, leaning forward. “How?”

Well, that’s put him on the spot.

“I don’t have a full plan yet, but there must be some kind of ritual—”

“A ritual is how everything started,” Darrik says darkly. “I’m not interested in another ritual.”

“It’s not because of the magic.” That’s the one thing they do know by now. “It’s the Talent. It’s the power. So someone who has an innate ability that’s unique, or something that’s Emerging, that calls the shadows,” Rory explains. “My friend—he was attacked, and he—” Rory cuts off before speaking, because he didn’t exactly ask to out Alaric as a dragon. “Okay, since I haven’t talked to anyone, I need to go without names and just be… vague. I know a guy who is as legendary as the Deathstalkers, and we’re pretty sure that’s why he was attacked. And I know another guy who can talk to ghosts, and he tried to talk to Noah for you, but that didn’t work.”

“That’s a good thing, though, right?” Darrik says, still intent on Rory. “If Noah’s not a ghost—”

“Then he’s probably free or crossed over or whatever happens, yes,” Rory agrees. “Alaric’s brother is a ghost, and he got us started figuring things out. The problem is, ghosts are very focused, and not exactly helpful in the end.”

It gives him an idea, though, something that might be unique and different and have a chance. He has to talk to Dax first, though. See if it’s even feasible. But if it is, maybe they can find a different way to search for the shadow. And maybe give Darrik and his friends a little hope at the same time.

Rory leans forward, mirroring Darrik’s posture even though he has to hunch a little to do it. “If I come up with a ritual, and I pass it by you and make sure you are absolutely comfortable with it, would you be willing to try it? I’d probably need to talk to some other people, too. People you know, people I know. But I have an idea, and I want to run it by Pawel, see if he has any thoughts on how it could come together. And maybe we could help Lora a little, too.”

Darrik stays where he is, considering Rory from across the table. Rory can feel the thud of his heart in his chest, feels like everyone else can probably hear it as well. He counts the beats, makes it to twenty before Darrik finally nods once and sits back. “If we can help Lora, and help make sure this thing doesn’t get to anyone else, I’ll do what I can,” he agrees. “But I don’t want to endanger Lora, either.”

“We won’t,” Rory agrees. It’s not a promise he feels absolutely comfortable making, but he’ll do his damnedest. He doesn’t want to see anyone else hurt, either.

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#welcome to phu #welcometophu #not your love song #phu marked #marked

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hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff · 4 years

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Now that Cobra Kai is on Netflix, you have the chance to watch both seasons at least once. If you're like us, though, you already watched it on YouTube Premium when it first debuted in 2018--and have probably binged it a couple of times on its new streaming home for good measure.

Even if you have watched it more than once, you might not realize that both seasons of the series are jam-packed with references and Easter eggs that nod to not only the Karate Kid franchise, but the glorious 1980s they were set in. We've already cataloged a long list of Easter eggs in Season 1 that you should definitely check out.

There's still plenty to keep an eye out for in Season 2, though. We've compiled a sizable collection of references, from direct mentions of things that happened previously to music cues, pulled right out of the movies from the 1980s. Cobra Kai is a love letter to Karate Kid fans and these connections are only going to make you love it even more.

Take a look at the Easter eggs and references we've collected from Season 2 below, then get ready for Season 3 to arrive on Netflix.

1. Those trophies

Episode 1

The first thing we see in Season 2 is several trophies in the Cobra Kai dojo. While you can't see their inscriptions on the show, GameSpot visited the set of the series during filming of this season. It may surprise you to know they were all inscribed with the name Johnny Lawrence, showing just how good a student he was.

2. Say hello to the bad guy

Episode 1

Hey, look who's not dead! For the first time since Karate Kid III--and the final scene from Season 1--it's John Kreese, the former sensei at Cobra Kai and the man who taught Johnny karate.

3. A role reversal

Episode 1

At the end of the first Karate Kid movie, Kreese has a teenaged Johnny in a chokehold just like this one. Now, the shoe is on the other foot.

4. That car looks familiar

Episode 1

Here we see the car Miyagi gave Daniel for his birthday in the first film. Now, Daniel owns all of the cars--and Miyagi's former home.

5. Sand the floor

Episode 1

This is one of Mr. Miyagi's training exercises that's been passed down to Daniel. He's teaching his students the only way he knows how--muscle memory. Later, in Episode 5, Daniel goes through the motions once again with his new student Demitri. It doesn't go as well.

6. Paint the fence

Episode 1

Yet another Miyagi technique in action.

7. Wax on, wax off

Episode 1

And who could possibly forget waxing the car as an extension of karate?

8. Mr. Miyagi's house

Episode 1

No, this is not the house used in the first Karate Kid film. Unlike that movie, most of Cobra Kai isn't shot in California's San Fernando Valley. Instead, it's filmed in Atlanta, Georgia. In Season 2, the Cobra Kai team actually recreated the home, including the front and backyards, in the parking lot at the studio where the show was filmed.

When GameSpot visited the set of Cobra Kai, we realized the inside of the house was left largely empty, save for one room that was built to resemble the way it looked in the film. However, the front and backyard, along with the cars, were recreated as close to the original film as they could be.

9. Perfect balance

Episode 1

Balance is everything in Miyagi-Do. According to Mr. Miyagi, without balance, everything falls apart. Daniel has adapted the lesson into his own teachings to pretty hilarious results as it ends with his students falling into the water.

10. Upgraded to a Switch

Episode 1

In Season 1, Anthony, Daniel's son, couldn't be torn away from his PlayStation Portable. It made some sense, given this show is produced by Sony. However, it also made no sense since Sony stopped producing the PSP in 2014 and Season 1 came out in 2018. Now he's clearly upgraded to a gaming console people actually want.

11. After Karate Kid III

Episode 1

According to Kreese, he spent some time in Panama in 1989. That timing is interesting, given that Karate Kid III was released that year. However, the movie is set in 1985. In that film, Kreese tries to revive Cobra Kai once again, though LaRusso ultimately beats his top student one more time. We learn in Season 2 that after that happened, he claims he ran "off book" missions around the world. While he claims he reenlisted in the military, he later admits to Johnny that's not the case.

12. "That drum saved my life"

Episode 1

In Karate Kid II, Mr. Miyagi teaches Daniel the "drum technique," which is a way of avoiding being hit. The movement is like that of a drum Miyagi has--the same one Robby is holding in this scene. Well, not exactly the same one. While this drum is made to look like the one Miyagi has in the film, it's not as thick.

13. The Medal of Honor

Episode 1

Daniel still has Mr. Miyagi's Medal of Honor, which he was awarded for his service in World War II. While the movies didn't dive too heavily into what Miyagi did during the war to earn the medal, he was shown wearing it to a ceremony.

14. The rules of Miyagi-Do Karate

Episode 1

Inside Miyagi's home, Daniel still has the rules of Miyagi-Do Karate displayed on banners. The first rule is that karate is for defense only. The second rule? First, learn rule number one.

15. Cobra Kai's Wrestle Buddies

Episode 1

Don't expect much professional wrestling in the plot of Cobra Kai, but seeing two friends each wearing classic WWE T-shirts is a nice bonus.

16. Rock and roll never dies

Episode 1

In this scene, Johnny is wearing a Metallica shirt. This shirt, in particular, is from the Damaged Justice tour, which ran between 1988 and 1989. We're guessing this isn't one of the original shirts from the tour, though, as it has been reproduced over the years. You can even buy it at Walmart.

17. Why did Daniel and Ali break up?

Episode 1

While recounting his romantic history to his teenage daughter, Daniel mentions Ali, the love of his life from the first film. When she asks why they broke up, he said that it's a story for another time. This is that time. It was revealed in Karate Kid II that Ali dumped Daniel for a football player at UCLA.

18. The gang is back together

Episode 2

Daniel is shocked to find out Kreese isn't dead after all. Why? Because in Season 1 of the series Johnny said he was. It's unclear whether he knew it all along or not. Naturally, the three relive some of their unfortunate history.

19. Cobra Kai never dies

Episode 6

Episode 6 sees the returns of Rob Garrison (Tommy), Ron Thomas (Bobby), and Tony O'Dell (Jimmy), as we get to catch up with some other former Cobra Kai members. Johnny spends the majority of the episodes reuniting with his former fellow Cobra Kai members, going on one last adventure before one of them, Tommy, dies. They also reminisce about the old days, with the group being shocked Johnny brought Cobra Kai back.

20. Daniel's biggest sin

Episode 6

In this episode, Daniel tells the story of Karate Kid III, in which he actually left Miyagi-Do and joined Cobra Kai. Yes, even Daniel went to the dark side once upon a time.

21. Daniel's mom is back

Episode 8

Randee Heller, who plays Daniel's mom Lucille in the movies, reprises her role in the eighth episode of both Seasons 1 and 2.

22. The jacket

Episode 8

If that jacket looks familiar, it's because Miguel borrowed it from Johnny. It's the one Johnny wore in the first Karate Kid movie. Honestly, there's probably some of Daniel's blood on there somewhere.

23. It never ends with these two

Episode 10

Even all these years later, it still always comes to blows between Johnny and Daniel. This fight, naturally, harks back to the climax of the first film. Now, though, this isn't a tournament bout. Instead, it's just two adults that can't seem to keep their cool and are karate fighting each other in a tiny apartment in the valley.

24. It was a cruel summer

Episode 10

As kids head back to school in this scene, the song "Cruel Summer" by Bananarama is heard. Released in 1984, it became a Top 10 single on the Billboard Hot 100 after it was featured in the first Karate Kid movie. It's also not the last time you'll hear it in this season, as a cover by Kari Kimmel is used at the end of this episode.

25. RIP Trapper Keeper

Episode: 10

For those of you out there that didn't grow up in the '80s or early '90s, the Trapper Keeper Johnny mentions in this scene--which has his son perplexed--was the coolest binder kids could ask for. They were often emblazoned with illustrations, geometric designs, or pictures of your favorite fictional characters.

26. High school karate riot

Episode: 10

Not really an Easter egg, but we can't not talk about the high school karate riot in the Season 2 finale. It's easily one of the best TV fight scenes in some time. What's more, it takes the rivalry between Cobra Kai and Miyagi-Do to an entirely new level and has us assuming Robby's in jail after this. They should all be in jail, honestly.

27. Kreese's Cobra Kai never dies

Episode: 10

As if things weren't bad enough, Kreese has risen once again to take control of Cobra Kai, in an attempt to ensure that his vicious and destructive form of karate lives on.

28. What a cliffhanger

Episode: 10

Miguel might die, Johnny's lost Cobra Kai, and Daniel is giving up karate. That's a lot to leave hanging at the end of Season 2, but Cobra Kai had one more twist to drop on everyone--Ali is back in the mix. She's accepted Johnny's Facebook friend request and now we just need to hope she actually appears in Season 3.

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the-bat-writes-imagines · 7 years

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Life Dealt Us Both a Crappy Hand

Pairing: Ward X Murdock!Reader

Background: Reader is Matt Murdock’s sibling who used to be friends with Danny, Ward and Joy when they were kids. In this story the reader and Matt lost their father around the same time that Harold Meachum ‘died.’ Grief pulled them apart and the reader was not reunited with the Meachum siblings until Danny found her when he came back to the City.

Setting: After the events of Iron Fist, but before The Defenders chaos starts.

Warnings: This is long… but it’s also cute I promise

The doors of the elevator opened and you felt yourself experience a sense of Déjà vu as you stepped out on to the executive floor. You had not spent nearly as much time growing up in the executive suite of ‘Rand’ as Danny and the Meachums, but you certainly had a few memories of this place.

You took a quick survey of the room noticing that, as you expected, no one was around at such a late hour. Ward would be here though, you knew it. If there was anything you had learned about the person Ward had grown into, it was that work was his life and he basically lived in his office. You walked up to his office door, hesitating for a second before knocking on his door.

“Who is it?” You heard his slightly muffled voice echo from across the office.

“It’s me, (Y/N).”

“Oh, uh, come on in.” He answered with a hint of surprise in his voice. As stepped into the office you found Ward exactly where you expected him, sitting at his desk behind a mountain of paperwork. “(Y/N), it’s good to see you.” A hint of a smile on his face as he spoke, which quickly changed into a look of confusion. “Wait, how did you get up here?”

“Oh, right! Uh, Danny lent me his keycard.” You answered, while absently gesturing behind you in reference to your previous interaction with Danny. Then you reached into the pocket of your coat to pull out the I.D. card as proof. Ward let out a quick breath in amusement.

“Alright then, you know he’s not supposed to do that?”

“I kind of figured that was the case, but I didn’t want to argue with the guy whose name is on the building. Also, you know, I wanted to get here.” You pointed to the floor as you finished speaking, and Ward actually chuckled at your response before gesturing to the seat at his desk opposite from his own.

“So what did you need from me tonight?” You smirked to yourself as you took your seat in front of him.

“Nothing, I just came to make you go home.” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“(Y/N), I’m working I can’t go home.” You shook your head at his response.

“I figured that’s what you would say, but the fact is you can and I am not taking no for an answer.” You held your head high, and made sure to make to direct eye contact with him, emphasizing your stubbornness on the matter. Ward sighed and set the file he was holding down on the desk before leaning forward to rest his arms on the desk.

“Look, I appreciate that, but as I mentioned I have a lot of work to do.” He gestured at the paperwork on his desk to illustrate his point. You sighed and moved forward in your seat so that you could lean over the desk as well.

“I get that, I know that there is a lot of work that goes into running a company, but you can’t run yourself into the ground. At least not now that your stuck with me again.” He smirked at little at that, and you took that moment to reach across the desk and take his left hand in both of yours. “I know that you feel like you have to be here and that you have to be the one who gets everything done, it’s the way you’ve been since you were a kid. However, I’m also pretty sure that a lot of other people work for this company and delegating a few things here and there is possible.” He turned his head away trying not to meet your eyes as you continued, but he let you continue to hold onto his hand. “I understand all the things that Harold drove into you about your place here. That he forced you into believing that Rand was the only thing that mattered, and that you had to take responsibility for all of it. But you know what?” Ward tentatively looked back at you. “He’s gone now Ward, and he’s not coming back. You don’t have to live by his rules anymore.” You held onto his hand tighter and gently rubbed the back of it with your thumb. “Now I may not know much about all of this …stuff that you’re working on now, but I think that there is at least some of it that can wait until morning after you have gotten some sleep. I mean sleep in an actual bed, not on the couch in your office.” Ward looked you in the eye for a moment before he pulled away and leaned back his chair. He sighed and tiredly rubbed his hands over his face.

“Fine, you win. Let me just take five minutes and finish reviewing this contract, then I’ll go home.” You smiled at his response, before settling back into your chair. Ward looked inquisitively at you. “Are you just going to sit there and watch me finish reading this?”

“Yup!” Ward rolled his eyes at you before returning to the contract he was reading. You waited for him to finish while playing around on your phone.

“Alright, let’s get out of here.” Ward put the contract onto, what you assumed was, the ‘completed’ pile.

“Let’s!” You responded as you both stood up, Ward grabbed his jacket and threw it over his arm before picking up his keys and phone. You both headed for the door and Ward hit the light switch as you exited the room. When you reached the elevator, you hit the down arrow and you both stepped inside, riding down in a comfortable silence. As you stepped out of the elevator onto the Lobby floor Ward paused for a minute, causing you to turn to him.

“This is going to become a regular thing, isn’t it?” You smiled and nodded continuing into the parking garage. “Where’s your car?” He asked as he looked around noticing that his was the only one in sight.

“Um, did you forget? I grew up in Hell’s Kitchen, I don’t even have my license. I’m a subway girl.” You laughed lightly. “I’ll see you later.” You waved and started to leave.

“Wait!” Ward called out and you turned back to him. “It’s after midnight, let me give you a ride home.” You thought about it for a second. “Please.”

“I guess that would be alright.” You shrugged before walking back to the car and hopping in the passenger seat as Ward sat down in the driver’s seat, before he drove you both home.

You spent most of your nights for the next few weeks picking up Ward from his office almost every night. He always drove you home and the two of you ended up using the car ride to catch up and reconnect after twelve years apart. It was nice to have your childhood friend back in your life, but you did find yourself start to fell this nagging sense of guilt in the back of your mind.

*Three weeks passed*

You and Ward were riding the elevator down from his office and laughing over a story you had just told about your brother and his best friend Foggy. You stepped off the elevator and headed to Ward’s car.

“Oh! I almost forgot, I had this made for you.” Ward suddenly said as he pulled something from his jacket pocket. He handed it to you, it was your own Rand keycard. “You know, so you don’t have to keep borrowing Danny’s.” You laughed at this and Ward smiled widely at you.

“Thank you Ward.” You put the card into your own pocket before you both got into the car. It was then that silence fell over you. Usually the two of you found yourselves in comfortable silence, but there had been something on your mind lately and it was making the car ride uncomfortable. Ward noticed this and kept looking over at you as he drove to your apartment, his concern growing. A little while later he pulled up in front of your apartment building.

“Uh, thanks for the ride, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” You said as you moved to get out of the car. Before you could though there was a hand on your shoulder.

“Wait, I want to talk to you for a minute.” You slowly settled back in the seat. “I’ve just…I noticed that it seems like there I something on your mind tonight. I figured I would wait and let you tell me what was bothering you. You are usually more likely to talk than me, but you didn’t, so what’s going on with you? And don’t say nothing.” He still had his hand on your arm as he spoke, before moving to take your hand. You shook your head.

“I appreciate your concern, but it’s nothing that you have to worry about.” You tried to brush it off, but Ward was not going to let it go.

“Well, tough shit, because I’m already worried about it. So please, talk to me.” You sighed and paused trying to figure out what to say to him.

“It’s… it’s just…I feel guilty.” Ward looked at you in pure confusion. You took in a deep breath before trying to explain yourself. “I’ve been really happy reconnecting with you over the past few weeks, but it’s making me think about how our friendship ended and I feel guilty about it. I abandoned you and Joy.” Ward shook his head in disbelief.

“How did you abandon us?”

“I mean, I left you guys when you needed someone. You dad had just died, or so we all thought at the time, and you needed a friend. I wasn’t there for you then; I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.” You looked down at the floor of the car, shaking you head.

“(Y/N) look at me.” You turned your head to look him in the eye. “You didn’t abandon us; you were dealing with you own grief. You lost your dad too, and you and your brother needed each other. Life dealt us both a shitty hand, at the same time and we both needed to deal with it. It sucks that grief pulled us apart, but it’s definitely not your fault and I’m not going to let you blame yourself for that.” Ward moved his hand to your face, cupping your cheek.

“I just still can’t get passed the fact that losing someone I cared about led me to leaving behind someone else I care about.” You sighed leaning into his hand a little.

“You didn’t leave me behind; you were dealing and being there for your brother. Also, how can you say you left me behind when you’re sitting here with me right now. You didn’t abandon anyone. We were both kids, and we both had to deal with what happened so that now we could be the people we are now. and I know that sounds like cheesy-fate-talk-crap, but it’s true. At least I think it is.” He smiled at you and you gave him a small smile in return. In that moment, you realized just how close the two of you were and how warm his hand felt on your skin. You reached for his hand that was on your cheek and took it in yours, running your thumb over his. “Feeling a little better?” You nodded slightly, letting a heavy silence fall.

You looked down at your intertwined hands for a moment, before meeting eyes with Ward once again. After staring at you for a moment Ward leaned forward, closing the small distance between you and pressed his lips to yours. His lips were surprisingly soft and the kiss tender. You never wanted the moment to end, but of course it did and all too soon. Ward pulled away just enough to look at you, a smile on his face. It was the most genuine smile you had seen on him since you reconnected and it was matched perfectly by your own. You didn’t know what to say, or if you wanted to say anything. You did know that you unfortunately couldn’t stay there forever though.

“So… I don’t actually know what to say.” You finally managed to whisper after sitting in silence for a long moment. Ward chuckled at your admission.

“How about I suggest that instead of you coming to drag me out of work tomorrow night, I leave earlier than usual. Then I come here to pick you up and take you out on a real date? And you just say yes.” He grinned at you.

“Oh, very smooth Ward, but yes that sounds perfect.”

“Great.” You turned in your seat and reached for the door handle.

“I guess I will see you tomorrow night.” You said before opening the door.

“Yes you will, but just one more thing.” At this Ward pulled you close another time and gave you another kiss before letting you get out of the car. Then he let you go and you were both smiling as you stepped out of the car. “Goodnight (Y/N).”

“Goodnight Ward.” You closed the door behind you and made your way up the front steps of your building. Ward sat in the car and waited until you were safe inside before leaving, just like he had every other night. Tonight though both of you were happier than you had been in a long time.

#imagine #marvel #marvel netflix #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel fluff #fandom imagine #fandom imagines #ward meachum #ward meachum imagine #iron fist #iron fist imagine #ward meachum fluff #the defenders #defenders #defenders imagine

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sketchy-vore · 7 years

Text

The Monster of Ebott

Here it is guys! The AU no one asked for! But I was having trouble writing so I thought: let’s do something light and fun.

So, remember this AU I briefly talked about? I wrote that with Feralfell characters. Also the song that’s mentioned is ‘Fade Away’, an Undertale fan song by @mandopony . My boyfriend is a big fan of his MLP music and I wanted to use a sad song that’s connected to the fandom, so he seemed like the right choice.

Might put this story up to the Feraltale blog if it does okay. Also, first attempt at writing in third person, leave constructive criticism. Also ILLUSTRATIONS!!!

Enough talk let's GO!

There once was a little orphan child. everybody called them Frisk, because they were always optimistic. They were also always kind, looking down so they wouldn’t step on the pretty flowers, or tiny animals. And every day they would walk through the forest to get to school.

“Don’t go through the woods!” People told them. “Monsters live there! They will trick and hurt you, maybe they will even eat you!”

“Oh, but I’m not scared of monsters.” They would say with a smile, and everyday they got there and back, unharmed. They were always kind to the monsters. So kind in fact, that every time they tried to lead them off the path, stole their bag or teased them, they would end up helping them get back to school whole and safe instead. All because they were so kind that it made them feel bad for bullying them.

One day, a messenger came from the castle.

“A MESSAGE FROM THE KING! THE BEAST OF EBOTT HAS REACHED THE KINGDOM, ALL CIVILIANS: BEWARE THE GIANT MONSTER, STAY OUT OF THE FORESTS! TO ALL YOUNG MAN: HE WHO CAN KILL OR CAPTURE THE BEAST WILL GET HALF THE KINGDOM AND CAN CHOSE TO MARRY THE PRINCESS!”

“See now Frisk?” The people said. “It is dangerous to go into the forest! And now there is a monster there that is even more dangerous!”

Frisk just giggled. “I’m not scared of the monsters.” And through the forest they went.

‘How ridiculous.’ They thought. The king’s oldest child, Chara, was just as genderless of mind as they were! Though maybe, that’s just how desperate the king was to keep his kingdom safe.

Suddenly, they could hear screeches and roars far in the distance. Frisk stopped and looked up, just in time to see a form sail through the sky and land in the middle of the lake with a huge splash. Frisk quickly hurried over to help a panting young man up the shore.

“Good god, it was that monster! The Beast of Ebbot, that devil’s mountain. I was trying to fight it, but then there was this icy cold in my chest. And before I knew it I flew up through the sky and landed here. What kind of demon is that thing?!”

The very next day Frisk was walking to school again, only to once again hear the yelling and snorts of a giant beast. And once more, a young man came falling from the sky. He fell into a treetop and came down with many cries of pain and the crackling of twigs. Frisk just reached the trunk as the man came to a stop, clothes and limbs tangled up in the branches. They helped to pull the man out.

“The monster! The Beast of Ebott! It was horrifying! It felt like he was gonna rip the soul straight from my chest! But then I was suddenly flying through the air, what the hell!?”

The next few days many more young men were thrown around the forest, many times Frisk would find and help them to their feet. But every day people would return with increasingly worse wounds, and after a guy returned with a broken arm and leg, his hair singed off, no one dared to set foot in the forest again.

All except for little Frisk. Always looking down to the floor to avoid stepping on little flowers and creature, listening to the mood of the creatures around them to avoid the powerful newcomer. Even though they weren’t really that scared, they couldn’t help but fret. Even the other monsters in the forest were stressed that something so large and powerful, and apparently ill tempered to boot, was stalking around so close. What if the Beast hurt them before they could be nice to him and show they meant no harm?

They decided to take a little break, sitting on one of the rocks with a jelly sandwich. Hmm, strawberry jam, their favorite.

“Ah! P-please not my head!” A tiny voice squeaked out on the ground. Frisk looked down to see a large flower, a piece of the sticky crust stuck to it’s leaves. It had a cute little face in the middle contorted with disgust and stress, the beginning of tiny tears in it’s beady eyes.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Frisk apologized, picking the crust off it’s leaves and taking out a napkin. The flower’s leaves were ripped and had a few holes in them, so they were extra careful as they wiped the smears of jam off, revealing the beautiful gold beneath.

“Thank you,” The flower mumbled. “I’ve had people react worse to me.” They perked up a little bit as it met their eyes. “You were looking like something was bothering you, and you don’t see any other humans in the forest anymore. If you were worrying about Sans finding you, why would you still come here?”

“Who?” Frisk wondered.

“Sans. Uhm, ‘the Beast of Ebott’ I think is what the people here call him.”

Frisk perked up with interest. “You know him?”

“Well, I should. I am Flowey, the Golden Flower of Ebott after all! Although, I don’t know him personally, but I am good friends with his brother.”

Frisk got off the rock and sat in front of the flower instead. “Could you maybe tell me a bit more about him?”

Flowey gave the child a long look, before his face contorted slightly again. The tiny smile on the middle of his face turned out to be slit nostrils as the area above his lower leaves opened slightly, showing a grin filled with sharp teeth. He looked like a child who had just been asked to share some gossip he heard about the bully next door.

“Well, people say he likes the blood of his victims. But actually he just likes the taste of...mustard.”

“No way!” Frisk giggled.

“Yes! And even though he might look like a tough guy, he is actually just a lazybones who just wants to rest and be left alone. But all those people trying to capture and kill him really irritate him.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Frisk replied as they thought about all the guys she had to help who were pinned to trees by bones.

The flower’s eyes suddenly sparked with worry. “Speaking of which, I will give you a little advice in case you meet them. You seem like a nice person, and I don’t want for anything to happen to you just because Sans nerves are so tense right now. And I don’t want him to get hurt either, Papyrus would be heartbroken. He might be loud and aggressive, but he loves his brother very much.”

“If you meet him, sing him a sad song. I don’t know how, but if you do that he’ll become as meek as a lamb. You can even pull at him and he’ll follow. Just thought I’d tell you in case you bumped into him.”

In the distance there was the sound of a bell.

“Oh no!” Frisk cried out. “The five minute bell! I have to get to school quickly!” They shoved the rest of the sandwich into their mouth and ran off. “By Flower!” They waved.

Later that evening they were walking home to the orphanage at the capital. They were deep in thought about what Flowey said. So deep in fact that they didn’t hear how quiet the forest had got.

Too quite…

Frisk bumped into something.

Because they were always looking down they saw his feet first, and they almost laughed. He wore big, fuzzy, red slippers, with bright yellow socks sticking out of them. The colors were just so strange, and the slippers looked soft and plush. Their humor died down as they realized just how big the strange footwear was, maybe even ten times the size of their own, and that out of the sock stuck thick, massive bones.

Their eyes traveled up, over black shorts with a yellow stripe on each outer side, before they rested on his belly and chest for a second. His body was enormous, towering high over their head with a large round belly. He was clad in a bright red sweater with a thick, black, battered jacket. At his sides they saw huge claws, each was nearly long as their entire arm and the palms easily as big as their chest.

Finally, they looked all the way up until their head was lying in their neck to see his face. His head was a huge skull framed by the white fur hood from his jacket. Three horn-like growths protruded from the top of his head, with two smaller ones on his cheeks. He had a huge mouth filled with sharp fangs. It had two huge tusks, one of pearly white bone while the other was replaced by a huge serrated dagger or knife that looked like it had been welded into the dental socket. Above those snarling fangs were the pitch black eye sockets, with two red orbs inside, each of a different size, staring at them with fury.

A furious rumble started in his chest as the monster’s mouth started to open wide, wider, impossibly wide, as if he was planning to devour the child whole! Frisk suddenly remembered what Flowey told them and racked their brain for a song.

“If I let you go, would you still be a part of me?...” They didn’t know how they knew this song, but they had a distant memory of someone singing it, and it always used to make them cry when they hummed it to themself. Their voice was slightly shaking but they forced their voice to sing the words loud and clear. They felt a tiny bit braver as the monster’s mouth relaxed, wide eyes focused on the tiny child as he listened.

Frisk’s voice got a little more confident as the monster’s mouth fully shut with a soft click, and they closed their eyes as the song started to bring tears to them and a warm feeling in their chest.

Frisk opened their eyes with surprise at a soft sob, but forced themself to keep on singing. Sans was clearly fighting to keep it in, rubbing furiously at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, but they could still see the big red tears that were starting to stream down his short muzzle.

Looking at the monster as he looked so vulnerable and remembering what Flowey had said, Frisk got a little idea.

After the song ended they started up again, slowly reaching for Sans’ claw. He didn’t even react as they closed their fingers around one of the enormous digit and when they pulled it he took a shuffled step forward.

And so, still singing as they went, Frisk lead Sans back to the capital. They hadn’t even left the treeline but the people already started screaming in fear. “The Beast of Ebott! THE BEAST OF EBOTT IS COMING!” People screamed, all running away and hiding wherever they could. In their homes, on the roofs, in barrels, one guy even jumped off his horse to hide behind the animal. And a soft buzz of voices followed, as people realized that the giant brute was willingly pulled along by a tiny child.

As they walked through the now deserted streets of the city, Frisk could feel the monster’s paws slightly starting to shake. They looked up to see that he was still crying, but he was looking around, eyes full of fear and worry. They gently gave the claw they were still holding a little squeeze, and when he met their eyes they gave him a reassuring little smile.

When they reached the castle the guards were gone nearly just as quickly as the others, leaving the gates wide open. I was only when they entered the throne room that someone stood their ground. As the doors swung open, the normal servants quickly hid under the satin chairs and the oak closets. But the king’s Royal Guard quickly stood to attention with drawn weapons.

The king sat in his throne with stern eyes, no doubt having heard of what was coming. But not that early that he had been able to warn his wife and children. Queen Toriel gasped and turned pale. Prince Asriel let out a startled scream and he and their adopted royalty Chara quickly ran into their mother’s arms, the latter drawing their favorite dagger, just in case.

The king narrowed his eyes and lifted his hand. All available weapons in the room were pointed at the giant monster.

“Stop! Don’t hurt him!” Frisk cried out in panic. The room was instantly silent.

Too quiet…

Frisk was suddenly aware that they had stopped singing.

Quickly they tried to pick the song up from where they left, but they stumbled over their words and gave a little squeak as enormous hands grasped around their middle.

The room stayed absolutely silent as the kid was lifted off the floor, up and up….and awkwardly cradled against the monster’s chest. Frisk couldn’t see his face, but they could just feel the heat of a venomous glare going being thrown over the top of their head. The fact that the glare wasn’t on them gave them the courage to look up and softly inquire:

“Sans?”

The red eyes lowered in surprise when he heard his name, but his face softened slightly and he gave them a little smile. Then he went back to leveling a glare at the king, challenging him to give the fatal order.

The king slowly lowered his hand, and the guard their weapons. “Are you certain that’s wise my child?” His voice was deep and cautious, looking at the beast before him. He was a big guy, but this monster easily dwarfed him being nearly twice his size.

“Yes!” The child called out. “He’s big and strong, and quite scary, but he’s not a bad guy. He just wants to be left alone and not attacked by young machos every fifteen minutes.”

Asriel and Chara seemed to peek out from their mother a little more, and Toriel herself seemed to have regained her composure, her back straight and the aura around her strong and regal. She was eyeing Sans closely and for some reason the monster was actually avoiding eye contact with her.

“I’m not certain about this.” The king spoke slowly. “I do not wish to leave this creature unchecked, but we are in debt with you for capturing it and… seemingly having tamed it somehow?”

Frisk could feel a huff going through the monster’s chest and ruffling their hair, but he didn’t really protest to the assumption. Huh?

“So we can’t exactly kill it now either.”

“It could stay in the castle park.”

Heads snapped towards the queen. Her children had nearly completely come out from behind her back as she stood proud and tall. Asgore might be king, but everyone knew who the true strength of the royal family was. She slowly walked forward until she was in front of the monster.

“If he stays there, we can keep an eye on him as you wish. But he’ll have the room to roam around and the only people that will come there will leave him alone as long as he behaves. And the child can come live with us if they chose to do so.”

Whatever the queen must have seen in Sans, it must have been worth her trust. And as their eyes finally met there seemed to be a mutual respect between the two forces. And even if you couldn’t see that, the slight dip of Sans’ head left no doubt.

When her eyes drifted to Frisk though, those eyes instantly turned motherly.

“My child, the bag you are wearing tells me that you’re living in the orphanage a few miles away. Would you like to come live with us here at the palace instead, and be part of our family. After all, if I remember correctly someone promised half a kingdom and the hand of our daughter.” There was a sharp edge in her voice as she said that, turning to the king who was fidgeting with a lowered head.

“Oh, I don’t want the kingdom.” Frisk chirped. “I found Sans by chance, and I just wanted to make sure he would be safe. And I’m way too young to know who I’m gonna like, especially when I’m not even sure of my gender too. If I’m going to live with you, I much rather would want Chara and also Asriel as my siblings.”

Said child looked dumbfounded, once again surprised someone would want them around. Toriel looked proud, mom mode quickly starting to kick in.

“Excellent my dear! We will send for someone to get your things from the orphanage. Sans, would you please follow me? I’ll show you the gardens, there you can have as much rest as you wish.”

Frisk could feel the monster hug them a little bit closer, like a child holding a doll for comfort. But he obediently followed the queen nonetheless.

Looks like she wouldn’t need to sing to make him do what she wanted.

And thus from that day on, Frisk lived with the Dreemurr family. They were treated as equal to the other two royal children, learning and playing along with them. Asriel warmed up quickly to his new sibling, energetically hopping around and pulling them along into his every game. Chara was more reserved and sometimes seemed to test the younger child, but they too eventually warmed up and shared their books with them.

And Sans lived in the garden, sleeping his days away in the shade. Eventually, it turned out he didn’t like to be that lonely though. Frisk would visit them every evening, singing their song as he fought back sniffles, his enormous skull laying down in their lap. And after a while Asriel and Chara would join too.

And eventually the three royal children would be playing in his garden under his watchful and amused gaze, the monster laying right in the middle of the sunniest spot he could find and halfheartedly grumbling as the children crawled over them in their games.

Sans got along with the queen too. He would listen to her talk, sharing her books and recipes. He would even make these strange huffing sounds whenever the queen shared her most terrible puns.

As the 3 siblings grew up, they each became much respected and loved by their people.

Asriel became a just and confident king, respected and loved by his people.

Chara became his advisor, smart and resolute as they were, determined to make sure their siblings would be safe.

And Frisk, they were the keeper of the Beast of Ebott, their best friend and a constant reminder that peace can always be an option. Because of them, monsters were left alone in the kingdom. And monsters, under the protection of someone so powerful and kind, saw no reason to be mean to humans anymore.

#Undertale AU #feraltale #Feralfell #Short story

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iris-writes-things · 7 years

Text

A Day At The Races chapter 4: Jailhouse Rock

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut, or read the illustrated version on my Patreon!

This fan fiction contains internalized racism, internalized homophobia and heavily prejudiced characters. If you are sensitive to any of the above, proceed with caution or not at all.

After seemingly getting revenge on his bully, Keith wakes up in a cold jail cell. To make matters worse, his father cuts him off from his friends, his phone, his cigarettes. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Red is being put up for auction.

As always, things have to get worse before they can get better.

Chapter 4 of 6 Completed 1407 words Romance/historical

When Keith woke again, it was on a moldy smelling cot in a cold jail cell at the local police station. He huddled into his jacket for warmth. His feet felt like clumps of ice inside his beat up sneakers, as did pretty much the rest of his body, the cotton jacket did very little to relieve him from the cold. Instead, he sat up. Rubbing the heels of his hands into his crusty eyes before running his fingers through what could be considered the worst bed head he ever had.

In short, last night hadn’t treated him well. Last night had shown him all he could have had, all he wanted to have, before stripping all of it away from him, just to remind him that the universe had it out for him.

The vivid memory of the look on Lance’s face when Keith was torn away from him, bent over his car as his rival’s dad cuffed him and read him his rights haunted him. He remembered how Lance stayed behind to get answers, even after everyone else had fled the scene. Only to be told to stay away from him. It all left a sour taste in Keith’s mouth. He tried to swallow it down along with the bile he felt rising up his throat.

Jimmy must have known he was going to lose, he must have been the one who tipped off his dad, he was the reason Keith was in a jail cell, freezing his toes off for what could have been easily solved with a hefty speeding ticket. Keith’s eyes snapped upwards when he heard a rattling sound; it was Jimmy’s dad unlocking the door.

“You’re lucky, kid. Your dad just paid the bail.” Officer Parker told him.

Keith, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure that meant he was lucky. Already dreading the ride home, Keith got to his feet and walked over to Officer Parker, who brought him to his father. Keith’s dad gripped his arm tightly, with an almost bruising force as he thanked Officer Parker before practically dragging Keith out of the police station. Keith all but whimpered as his father shoved him into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. When his dad got into the driver’s seat and started the engine, Keith spoke up weakly. “Dad, I’m sorry about the racing, but I only—”

He was cut off by a loud, barking laugh from his father. “The races?! You think I’m mad about the races?!”

“Well, aren’t you?” Keith asked, slightly taken aback. If his dad wasn’t mad about the races, what was he mad about?

“Of course I am, but sometimes a dad has to prioritize. What the Hell did you think you were doing making out with that boy?!”

“It was only a kiss, we didn’t go any—” Keith recoiled and shut himself up upon his father’s glare. “Honestly, I don’t think I was thinking at all…” Keith mumbled, looking down, cramming a bent cigarette between his lips and lighting it with shaking hands. However, it wasn’t long until his dad snatched it away to take a drag from it himself. “Hey!”

“Son, for the next month, you’re grounded. No telephone, no television, no friends and last but not least, no smoking. I’ve already called Mr. Shirogane and Mr. Holt to send you home the second they see you anywhere near the diner and the garage.”

Keith huffed, crossing his arms and glaring out the window. All this trouble just because he kissed a boy. It didn’t seem worth the fuss.

“I should have seen it coming. Should have nipped it right in the bud when you decided to grow your hair out. I swear to God, all I ever asked for was a son, but now it’s looking more and more like I got a daughter instead.”

***

The following day, Keith was confronted with stares from everyone at school. Keith Cogain, the rebel without a cause, showed up with his hair trimmed short, neatly parted on the right side of his head and drenched in hair gel. Not a single one of his unruly hairs would fall out of place. It felt like a damn helmet when it dried. He was outfitted in a stark white button up shirt, tucked into neatly pressed pants.

“Thanks, mom.” He sarcastically mumbled under his breath. Keith loved his mother, he really did, but this was pushing it. This was humiliating. This was putting a sign on his back that screamed ‘Please beat me up, I’m an easy target!’ and Keith hated every second of it.

The stares were soon replaced by whispers, which were, in turn, replaced by laughter and Keith could feel the ‘tough guy’ image he spent years building crumbling under his feet. No more façade to hide behind. There was only the short, scrawny Asian kid who just happened to know how to be really, really fast.

He was about to bolt out of there when a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a nearby classroom.

“Oh my God, Keith, I had to see it to believe it…” Katie stared up at him in awe. She had barely even recognized him in the hallway, but as the only colored kid left in this school, Keith tended to stand out.

“Would you stop staring at me like that?!” Keith snapped, his frustration finally getting to him. A pang of guilt struck him when he saw the girl recoil from his outburst. “I’m sorry…” he whispered.

“Hey, it’s okay. I would be on edge too if I were in your situation.” Katie said, rubbing his arm reassuringly. “Word on the street is that the police are auctioning off Red sometime next week.”

“For real? That’s soon.” Keith said, deep in thought. They had gotten cheap cars from the police department auctions before, but those had all been impounded for at least a year before they were sold. “Katie, I can’t go to that auction myself. My dad will actually kill me if I set foot outside the house. You’ve got all my money, I need you to win that car back for me.”

“Yeah, about that…” Katie whispered. “Word on the street is also that Jimmy wants it as well. I promise, I’ll give it all I’ve got, but we’ve got tough competition.”

Keith smiled sadly as he pulled Katie into a tight hug. “You’ve got this. I believe in you, champ.”

***

“Keith, buddy, I’m really not sure I should be helping you skip school.” Hunk weakly protested as the younger boy hopped into the passenger seat of his pick-up.

“Come on man, it’s just a ride to Carlsbad. You’re the only one who can get me back here before my dad shows up and won’t rat me out.” Keith said as he quickly counted a hundred dollars off a large wad of cash, before stuffing the money back into his jacket.

“Seriously, why don’t you just put everything in your account at once?”

“Because an eighteen year old turning in two thousand dollars once every other week would be a little suspicious, wouldn’t it?”

“And the reason you don’t use the bank here...?”

“Also too suspicious. The tellers in Carlsbad catching on to a pattern is okay. They don’t know my parents. But tellers at our bank, the one my parents use, catching on to a pattern is not okay, because they can and will tell my parents and I would be grounded for the rest of my life.”

“Eh, fair enough.”

***

“Good afternoon, sir, how can I help you?” The teller asked, her tone sugary sweet. She was young, fresh out of high school from the looks of it. Cute, even, had she been Keith’s type.

“I’d like to make a deposit, please.” Keith placed his $100 on the counter and managed to force a smile. “K. Cogain.”

“I’m going to need to see some ID.”

Keith nodded, flashing his driver’s license.

“Wow, Mr. Cogain, I wouldn’t have recognized you! You sure clean up nicely. Are you seeing anyone by any chance?” The teller smiled up at him, more flirtatious than anything else this time.

Blood rushed to his face, coloring his cheeks and ears a bright red. “N-no… But there is someone I’d like to date.” He stammered nervously.

The girl behind the counter only smiled wider. “She’s a very lucky girl, you know?”

‘Yeah… Lucky girl...’

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olivereliott · 4 years

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Traversing The Sangre de Cristo Range

[NOTE: 2020 is the tenth year of my blog at Semi-Rad.com, and since I started it, I’ve been fortunate to get to do some pretty wonderful adventures. Throughout this year, I’ll be writing about 12 favorite adventures I’ve had since I started writing about the outdoors, one per month. This is the second in the series. The other stories in the series are here.]

[All photos by Jim Harris/PerpetualWeekend.com]

It seems like the most obvious question when you look at Colorado’s Sangre de Cristo Range from the west side: I wonder if anyone’s walked across that from end to end?

I had first seen the mountains from the San Luis Valley in 2006, staring out the passenger-side window of my friend Nick’s pickup as we drove back to Denver from skiing at Wolf Creek. For an hour and fifteen minutes driving on CO-17 from Alamosa to Poncha Springs, you parallel the mountains, looking up at them from the valley floor at about 7600 feet, counting dozens of summits above 12,000 feet, all the way up to 14,345-foot Blanca Peak. And that’s what I thought: I wonder if there’s a way across those mountains?

So I went home to think about it for several years, every once in a while pulling out a map, the National Geographic Trails Illustrated Sangre De Cristo Mountains 1:75,000, running my finger along the spine and not seeing too many topo lines bunched up indicating steep ridges. Seemed like it might go on foot, maybe, without roped climbing. I spent some time poking around on the internet to see if there was any information about it, and couldn’t find anything. Maybe someday I’d give it a shot.

—

When Jim Harris and I walked out of a friend’s driveway in Salida, Colorado, in September 2013 to start trying to find a north-to-south route across the Sangre de Cristos, we had spent about eight hours together, total: One brief chat at a booth at the Outdoor Retailer trade show, two breakfasts at the Park Cafe in Salt Lake City, an hour and a half at a coffee shop near Park City planning this trip, and a couple hours assembling the gear and food the previous day. I didn’t know much about him, but I did know he had survived a 33-day backpacking trip in Wrangell-St. Elias National Park, so he would probably not be too worried about a trip along the spine of a mountain range with multiple bailout points on either side to a highway less than 10 miles away.

We figured the trip would take somewhere from eight to 16 days: It looked to be about 100 miles, 50,000 feet of elevation gain (a ballpark guess based on a rough line I’d drawn on an online mapping program). We split the food in half, arranging with one of Jim’s friends to resupply us for our second half at the South Colony Lakes trailhead.

I had pitched the trip to a magazine, thinking it would make a good story, since we were making our own route across the Sangres. I think we could have argued that we were the “first” to do it, but I was pretty sure that somebody out there had to have done it already. I mean, it’s in Colorado, which is home to 5 million people, and the idea seemed so obvious and intriguing, it just had to have been done before. The fact that I’d been unable to find information on the internet was good for the adventure factor of our plan, but wasn’t irrefutable evidence that we were pioneers of any sort.

We hiked up a service road at the north end of the range, to the top of an unnamed 11,695-foot peak with communication towers on top, still below treeline. It was a mellow beginning to the traverse, which we knew from that point onward would be mostly trailless. For a minute, we discussed walking over to the summit of Methodist Mountain, the northernmost summit of the range, and then decided against it, as dark clouds started to build to the west. We headed south along the ridge and soon encountered an enormous maze of deadfall, requiring jungle-gym moves to get under, over, and around, with our packs at their heaviest. I joked, “I really thought it would take longer for this whole thing to feel like a bad idea,” as we crawled through the mess. Finally, the deadfall maze ended and we picked up a faint trail just below the ridge and walked it, stopping at about 6:30 p.m. at the two-inch deep water feature marked on the map as Salamander Lake. The rain picked up and thunder started to rumble.

We ate dinner, settled into our two-person tent, and I fell asleep with that not-quite-complete relief you have when the planning is over and you’ve finally started into the Big Thing, but you’ve only just started and don’t have any idea what the next days will bring, or how many of those days it will take you.

We had packed as light as possible: one sub-4-pound tent, ultralight sleeping pads, only one cell phone between us (to update our girlfriends every once in a while when we had cell service, and to text Max our ETA for the food resupply meet-up), one pair of pants each, bare minimum of everything else.

But for the magazine article, I was supposed to record a GPS track of the entire trip. I didn’t own a GPS, so the magazine sent me one, advising me that at the rate of recording every .01 mile, it would go through two AA batteries per day, so on top of all that ultralight strategy, I had 14 AA batteries in my pack, or about 12 ounces of batteries. Plus a battery pack, which weighed seven ounces, to keep our one cell phone charged but which also also could be recharged using a hand crank on the side of the battery. (Fully charged, it could re-up one iPhone to about 90 percent, and once I realized that five minutes of hand-cranking the battery produced approximately one percent of phone battery charge, I turned the phone off for the entire trip, only turning it on to text once a day on top of a peak where we had a signal.) Jim was carrying a Canon 5d Mark III with a couple lenses, so I didn’t complain.

—

We were up at 5:00 a.m. on the morning of Day 2, scarfing oatmeal and instant coffee by headlamp, and hiking again by 6:30. We tagged the summit of Simmons Peak (12,050 feet), then traced the ridge all day, alternately walking on alpine tundra and picking our way up and down talus, over the summits of an unnamed 12,401-foot peak, Hunts Peak (13,701 feet), and then Red Mountain (12,944 feet). I tried my best to keep up with Jim, who seemed to be neither sweating or out of breath as he chatted away, as if we were sitting across from each other in a coffee shop and not sucking wind at 13,000 feet.

By the time we hit the top of Red Mountain, clouds had been building for a couple hours, and by the time I signed the summit register, rain drops were pelting the page. I slipped into my rain shell, pulled my packback on and aimed toward Jim, who was already a few hundred feet down the east slope of the peak. Jim had a pair of legs built from long days of backcountry skiing, easily chugging up steep slopes and quickly bounding down them from the top. I did not. No matter what, I would be slower than him on whatever terrain we descended, spending a half-second more getting my footing on a piece of talus, a half-second more bending my knee to lunge down to plant my other foot on a different rock. A few dozen of those and Jim would be a hundred yards away and a couple inches tall in my view.

The low grumble of thunder, the first of the day, broke somewhere to the south, where all those clouds had been gathering. I scanned the clouds for a flash, then decided it might be better to use the precious seconds to drop down in elevation. It was 1,300 vertical feet down to West Creek Lake below. Jim would make his way down the steep slope in 15 minutes, and it took me at least 20.

Fifteen seconds after we had the tent set up, the rain got more ambitious and started to downpour, the kind of big drops that, even in the dry air of the Rocky Mountains, actually gets you wet and keeps you wet. We hustled to pop the rain fly on before the floor got soaked. We chucked packs inside and dove into the single door. I lay on the bare nylon floor with tundra underneath, content to be out of the rain and finally done moving after a seven-mile, 3,800-foot day. I devoured a Snickers bar at cartoon-character speed and listened as the rain got louder and louder, then turned to hail, piling up two inches deep on the only ground I could see just outside the tent fly.

Every day, we bit off a new chunk of terrain in the same routine: Wake up to watch alarm beeping at 5 a.m., find watch, turn off alarm. Unzip sleeping bag, pull puffy jacket from beneath head, put it on, deflate sleeping pad, become tiny bit sad at hiss of air signaling end of comfort, stuff sleeping bag in stuff sack. Slide feet into shoes, open tent door, light stove. Oatmeal. Coffee. Pack backpack. Repeat bad joke about going for a walk up on the ridge again today, heave backpack onto shoulders, start walking in the dark. Sunrise, tundra, talus, summit, talus, tundra, talus, summit, snacks. Look south, start to think about how far we’d get today. I look at the next peak thinking that would be a nice goal, say nothing, Jim looks two or three peaks beyond that, suggests we try to get there today. We do. Find an alpine lake on the map, navigate down to it, set up tent, eat dinner, sleep until 5 a.m., repeat.

It was monotonous, it was beautiful, it was one of the hardest things I’d ever done, and the simplicity of it was right in front of us every time we popped back onto the ridge: A mountain range, straight ahead, valleys on either side, just find a way across it and keep going.

Theoretically, the idea for a magazine feature was to find a cool, new thing to do and collect enough information to enable readers to do it themselves, if they wanted to. Quite early on, I wasn’t sure I’d recommend it to many people, unless they had a similar obsession with the range, always wondering what it’d be like to walk across it—and also had two weeks of vacation to find out, and also were masochists.

—

We agreed, at some point in our daily conversations, to make the goal a sort of “Haute Route,” or high route through the Sangres. Tagging every summit would be a great goal, but we’d skipped the very first peak on the ridge, Methodist Mountain, on the first day, and had skipped a couple other unnamed mountains before we started talking about it. We had to descend off the ridge every evening to a lake or creek to get water, and the idea of retracing our steps to get back on the ridge at the exact same point we’d left seemed contrived—the goal wasn’t to do a walking survey of the entire ridge, after all.

We got rained on every day but one, and could almost set our watches by the afternoon thunderstorms rolling in. We found faint trails sometimes, but mostly chose our own route across the tundra and talus. We made the occasional questionable decision to head up a gully full of sliding scree instead of a ridge that looked fifth-class from a half-mile away, or to bushwhack up a mountainside of neck-high willows because it looked shorter. We had glorious sunsets, wonderful and unexpected scrambles up peaks we might never have thought to climb if they weren’t in our way on this traverse, and had literally every campsite to ourselves, every single evening. Bighorn sheep sauntered through our campsite, rain hammered our tent, and we slowly built one of those friendships that survives for years after it’s been tested by being next to each other for 24 hours a day for a dozen straight days.

Several nights, I woke up from dreams and pre-sleep hypnic jerks from a lucid scene playing in my head: my foot, stepping on a two-foot-wide boulder, the boulder sliding away, and my leg flying out from underneath me. I’d jump out of my sleep, waking up from the fall, and realize I was still safe in my smelly sleeping bag.

On Day 8, we left the South Colony Lakes trailhead campground, having met Max for our resupply the previous afternoon and gratefully sent him down with some of our trash, spent batteries, and dirty socks. We climbed up talus on the north face of an unnamed 13,161-foot peak, then walked its east ridge to 13,266-foot Marble Mountain, and looked down Marble’s southeast ridge in the sunshine toward Music Pass—a bank of clouds had crept up the left-hand side of the ridge, obliterating the view of anything below the ridge proper. The clouds would morph throughout the day, rolling in and out of our path, finally closing in on us on our final summit of the day. We didn’t know it yet but we’d seen the sun for the last time for the rest of the trip.

The rain began that afternoon and would continue on and off every day for the rest of the traverse, as we walked through clouds that shrank our universe to a bubble, sometimes a quarter-mile, sometimes less than 100 feet ahead. About 150 miles north of us, torrential rain was flooding Boulder, Lyons, parts of Rocky Mountain National Park, and other areas. We slogged on through the rain, and on Day 9, as we navigated by GPS through visibility as low as 50 feet and mazes of deadfall in the lowest-altitude section of the ridge, it felt like our picturesque, ridgetop, views-in-every-direction, walking-across-the-skyline party had been dropped into a dark hole. Or at least a swamp.

On Day 10, we spent the entire day in undulating rain, buffeted from the east by a cold wind. We hiked up two unnamed 13ers, then to the summit of California Peak, 13,894 feet. The actual terminus of the Sangre de Cristo Range is Little Bear Peak, about 3.25 miles south as the crow flies, or arguably Hamilton Peak, a little south of that, and Jim and I had talked about where to properly end the trip. But after two and a half straight days of rain, and fourth-class and fifth-class terrain between us and Little Bear, we called it a day on California Peak, looking into a cloud, water squishing out of the toes of my trail running shoes.

We sent a text to arrange a rendezvous with Hilary, who would pick us up the next day after 10½ days of hiking, and bailed down wet scree into the drainage above North Zapata Creek. We set up our tent in one of the worst campsites of the trip, at 10,600 feet, hoping for a sunny morning the next day and a chance to possibly salvage a summit 14,042-foot Ellingwood Point and 14,345-foot Blanca Peak. But we awoke to a third straight day of steady rain and said fuck it, walking to the trailhead, where Zapata Creek was so swollen with rain we could hear boulders rolling underneath the water.

Our shoes, brand new at the start of the trip, were destroyed after 105 miles and 43,000 feet of elevation gain. We’d crossed 63 summits, and traversed 91 miles above 10,000 feet.

Some not-small part of me, I think, wanted at the beginning to map a route that other people might follow in the future. But at the end, I was sure we hadn’t done that. So I had to settle for what we had done, which was put to bed a years-long curiosity. Seeing that thing, wondering what was up there, and wandering around like a couple of idiots, in a long tradition of other idiots doing the same thing. Maybe I wanted the effort to be important, or at least more important than to just me. In the end, wonder is still a pretty good reason for a big adventure, I think.

Throughout our long days traversing the Sangres, I had the feeling that someone would come along and do a better traverse of the range, ticking all the summits, doing the whole trip faster, or both—if they hadn’t already. When the magazine posted our story online in 2015, one of the social media comments was from a guy who’d done the traverse with three friends back in 1977, finishing on Blanca Peak on Day 21, with four food drops and lots of stops to fish. Which a) proved someone had done it before and b) made me wonder how much fun it would be to take your time and do it over the span of three weeks.

More recent forays across the range included: In 2016, Cam Honan did a traverse of the Sangres, somehow going through Great Sand Dunes National Park before returning to the ridge and finishing on Blanca Peak. In 2018, Cam Cross and Nick Clark established the fastest known time of the traverse, going south to north in just under four and a half days (!), and in 2019, Justin Simoni did it solo in a little over six and a half days, south to north as well. And, in spring 2019, Josh Jespersen, Rick E. Schuler, and Isaiah Branch-Boyle spent 13 days doing the first ski traverse of the range. So it appears to have been done faster, and done with more summits, and even on skis and splitboards. But it still seems only to draw people who are curious enough to put in the effort to find their own way across, which may be the only sort of people who will ever take a whack at it. Seems like everyone hits the same two big sections of deadfall that are just heinous to navigate through, and is less than enthusiastic about those portions of the ridge. The route would be a little more accessible if a team of people armed with saws would go up there and cut a path through those sections, but you know, I think that would be a bit disingenuous. Just because it’s something you wouldn’t recommend to 99 out of 100 people, it doesn’t mean it isn’t a worthwhile adventure.

—Brendan

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