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preciouspeterbparker · 3 years

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i wish i were, part 3

part one

part two

summary: it’s getting harder to pretend that everything is okay.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: step- inc*st, smut, underage sex, suicidal ideation (oops), ANGST, depression, self-harm mention (doesn’t actually happen, just intrusive thoughts), it’s all mentioned very casually so if this is triggering for you please don’t read!! <3 , ambiguous ending

this is the last part y’all! thanks for going on this ride with me. this was my first multi-chap fic and it kinda gave me the confidence to know that i’m capable of writing longer stuff without it being super shitty lol. sorry that it’s taken me so long!!

love you all

- bloo

It's getting harder to pretend that everything is okay.

Peter hates to say it, fuck, the thought physically pains him, but he’s glad the school year’s almost over. He’s glad that it’s almost time for graduation, time for Tony to leave for the special summer program MIT invited him to participate in.

He just wants to stop feeling like this, never wants to feel like this ever again. He always feels heavy, weighed down, like his clothes are soaking wet. It’s a feeling that goes deep into his bones, leaving him cold, aching, and tired.

It’s a good thing there’s not really any work left to do for school, other than exams; Peter spends most of his time in bed, headphones on and staring at the wall, the one that separates his room from Tony’s.

He keeps hearing Pepper’s voice in his head. He thinks you hung the moon, babe. It’s so cute. The words make him burn inside, make him want to dig his fingers in and peel his skin back until the feeling spills out of him. Until his blood spill out, until he doesn’t have to deal with this anymore- Fuck-

That’s how his brain is working, now. The intrusive thoughts have reached new levels. Peter’s always had them, he’s been passively suicidal for most of his adolescence, but it seems that any minor inconvenience has him ready to end it all. But it makes sense, he supposes. He’s already hurting, already weary and withdrawn. It really wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge.

Too bad he doesn’t really want to die. He just wants everything to...stop. So that he doesn’t have to feel like this.

And because the universe is obviously enjoying fucking with him, the first thing he sees walking out of first period is Pepper walking down the hallway, a faded black t-shirt hanging from her shoulders, exposing the bright red of her bra straps.

Peter recognizes the garment immediately.

It’s the Black Sabbath shirt, the one he’d kept under his pillow for over a week. The one he’d spilled multiple loads of cum onto before finally putting it in his laundry and carefully slipping it back into Tony’s room once it had been washed.

And now Pepper’s wearing it. Which means Tony gave it to her.

Peter stops, freezes right there in the doorway of Mrs. Flannigan’s classroom. He blinks, staring blankly in the direction the blonde had gone. His classmates protest behind him, pushing forward until he snaps out of it. Taking a few stumbling steps to the side, he leans back against the wall.

He feels like he can’t breathe. Some kid walking down the hall looks at him funny, and he realizes that there are tears rolling down his cheeks. Hastily wiping them away, he slowly pushes himself off the wall and starts making a hasty exit to the bathroom, head down and eyes trained on the linoleum.

Then-

“Hey, Peter- Wait, Pete what’s wrong, what happened?”

Shuddering, barely able to contain the sob that threatens to rip its way out, Peter ignores Tony, just pushes past him and doesn’t stop moving until he’s locked in the private restroom.

With his back to the door, Peter slides down til his butt’s on the cold ground, arms wrapped around his knees as he tries to muffle his cries as he sits there, shaking.

He just wants it to stop.

***

Something’s up with Peter, and Tony has a sinking feeling that it’s got something to do with him. But he doesn’t know what he possibly could have done.

They’d had such a nice time celebrating his birthday. He even had a new photo in his wallet, a polaroid of him and Peter cheesing goofily into the camera. Looking at it brings a smile to his face.

He really does love his little brother. Though he was young, Tony can remember life before Richard and Peter came into their lives. He remembers being an only child as lonely hours spent trying to entertain himself while his mom was busy working, trying to support him as a single parent. He’d been ecstatic upon meeting Richard and finding out that he had a little boy, too, that he was going to get a brother.

Tony knows that he and Peter haven’t been spending as much time together as they usually do, but he just chalked it up to it being his senior year. He wanted to spend the time with his friends, with his girlfriend, making the best of their last bit of time together before everything changes.

Peter’s words from his birthday ring in his head. I don’t want you to...forget me. Maybe he’s feeling left behind?

He’s only got a little over a week left until graduation, and then a week after that he leaves for MIT. That’s not much time at all.

The teen resolves to make some more time in his schedule to spend with his younger brother. Rhodey and the guys and Pep can deal for a couple days.

***

Peter’s pulled out of the clusterfuck of ruminative thoughts that have kept him awake for the past week by the squeak of his bedroom door being opened. He blinks under the covers, instinctively curling in on himself. He’s been under here for hours, but he still feels so cold.

Tony’s voice comes through the small crack he’s created between the door and the jamb, one eye peeking inside. “Peter? Are you….” He pauses and clears his throat before continuing softly, “Are you okay?”

The lump under the covers that is Peter shifts a little. His voice is dull and monotone when he replies, as apathetic as he can muster. “...Just leave me alone, Tony.” So much for that. Even saying his brother’s name hurts, a lot more than he thought it would, making his voice crack pathetically. Peter pulls his hands up to his chest and tries to quell the sudden surge of emotion that rushes through him, stifling a whimper. Please just go away.

Of course, instead of listening for once in his fucking life, Tony opens the door further so that he can slip inside. It closes behind him with a soft click and he takes a tentative step towards the queen bed that’s pushed up against the walls in the corner of the dark bedroom. "Pete…" Peter can hear him softly pad over to the nightstand and flick on the small lamp sitting there. His breathing in the quiet room is near deafening to Peter. “I…” He hovers there for a minute before sighing and sitting at the foot of the bed. “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong. So that I can… I just want to help, Pete.”

The silence stretches on uncomfortably between them and even under the covers, Peter can feel the worried gaze burning him alive.

His skin is crawling with how badly he wants to crawl out of the covers and into Tony’s lap, the way he would when they were younger and he was upset. He needs to get Tony out of here. He can’t-

Peter moves so that his head is exposed, but he looks down at the bed rather than the other teen. "No, it’s fine. I mean I-, I’m fine," Peter sniffles, blinking furiously in an attempt to will the tears away. Fuck. His- fuck, his throat is tight, he can't swallow. His mouth falls open, a shuddering breath escaping as the muscles in his throat spasm. "I get it, Tony. I promise I get it, I really do. I do. She's-"

Fuck. He must really be exhausted, he wasn’t supposed to say that, wasn’t supposed to let on the truth of why he’s upset. Peter's eyes flit around like he's on speed, darting from one focal point to another without him truly seeing anything. His voice is hoarse, thin. It's as small as he feels. Miniscule. Insignificant. He’s gonna ruin everything but he can’t make himself stop. "I mean, I can’t- I can't compete with-" The words come to an abrupt halt, his mouth snapping shut.

Tony nudges Peter’s foot with his knee. “What? Peter.” He bumps against Peter again until the younger boy looks up to make eye contact.

That stupid fucking crease forms between his older brother's eyebrows. Peter wants to slap him. Or kiss him. Mostly he wants to scream.

"Peter, what? Compete with who? Are you talking about Pepper? I know we haven’t been spending much time together, but I’m gonna fix that before I leave, I promise. I don’t want you to feel left behind, not at all but I still don’t get- What’s this got to do with -," Tony starts, placatingly. But there’s something in his eyes, in the barely there tremor in his voice- And Peter suddenly realizes that Tony knows, has to know at least a little bit.

He swears his vision flashes red for a second. "It has everything to do with her," Peter all but shrieks, nails digging crescent-shaped welts into his palms. He feels overwhelmed, trapped. Like a hermit crab without its shell- vulnerable, horribly exposed. It comes out without his consent, and so does his fucking stutter. Fuck it all. "And I know- I know- I know I'm fucked up, Tony, I know it, but I love you, the way that you love h-huh-her.”

He takes a shuddering breath, reeling from saying the words out loud for the first time. “I'm sss-suh-sick, and g-gross and you- I know I'm a fff-fuh-freak and nnn-now- now you’re gonna hate me!" Peter sobs, his entire body shaking as he works himself towards an anxiety attack, a panic attack, a heart attack, fucking something. “I can’t even fu-fu-fu-fucking talk-” There’s snot and tears running down his face, he’s upset himself so much he can’t get through a fucking sentence. He knows he’s making a fucking fool of himself. He’s so stupid, why did he ever think that anything could come from this. He just wants it all to stop, he wants Tony to leave so that he can figure out some way to fix this, to make it all go away-

Tony’s staring at him, mouth parted, dark eyes wide and concerned. "Baby, what- I could never hate you, babydoll." It’s like the nickname comes out instinctually, the sound of Peter’s stutter instantly taking him back to the way he would console Peter when they were much younger, pulling him into his arms and rocking him like his own little baby.

He climbs on the bed and burrows into the nest of blankets and pillows that Peter has created, but he stays sitting up. His arms wrap around his baby brother and pull him up into his lap so that he’s close to his chest, in spite of the younger’s attempts to squirm away. “Calm down, Pete.” Tony presses his lips to Peter’s head when his cries only increase, frowning at how hot the skin of his forehead is. “You’ve gotta calm down,” he soothes. “C’mon, it’ll get better once you calm down, baby, you know that.” One of his hands glides up and down Peter’s heaving back.

Gasping, Peter shakes his head. He buries his face in the space where Tony’s pec and arm meet, taking a shuddering breath through his mouth. He’s trying to calm down but it’s not working. “I’m so- I’m so ssss-sss-suh-sorry, Tuh-Tony!” He feels like he’s gonna pass out. Shifting a bit, he pulls his head back in an attempt to get some more air. They almost make eye contact but he hurriedly looks away. He’s ruined everything. Tony hasn’t reacted to his confession yet but Peter knows that it’s gonna be bad, it’s gonna be so bad when he does.

What’s he got left to lose?

Peter can't help himself; he leans in. The tips of their noses brush, and he pauses there for a moment. He can hear Tony's sharp intake of breath through his own heaving as they finally lock eyes. The look in Tony's chocolate depths is- Peter doesn’t really know. Tony's never looked at him like this before, no one has.

“Tony,” he whispers shakily, breath catching in his throat before closing the distance between them. Time stands still for a moment before something breaks, the tension snapping like a rubberband pulled too tight. Their mouths meet and Peter immediately whines at the feeling of Tony’s lips on his, body instinctively arching up against his brother’s, too lost in it to feel embarrassed of how easy he is to get worked up.

It’s...everything he ever dreamed of.

Tony’s hands move to cup his cheeks, and Peter’s own hands find their way into the other’s dark, wavy locks as their mouths move against each other. There’s a swipe of tongue across his bottom lip, timidly asking for entrance. The younger obliges immediately, letting the warm muscle slide into his mouth where it meets his own. It sends shivers down his spine and he keens when his tongue is sucked into the wet of Tony’s mouth. His dick begins to fill rapidly in his sweats, leaving him feeling lightheaded and a bit disoriented.

Peter’s never made out with anyone before, but this-

He thinks he understands what all of the hype is about, now.

They pull apart, both gasping for air. Tony moves his head slightly, taking heaving breaths that blow onto the exposed skin of Peter’s neck, and his entire body seizes. The elder brother pauses, eyes darkening, before he latches his mouth there and sucking, hard- Fuck, Peter swears he’s about to cum in his pants.

“Tony.” The name is all but ripped from his throat, ragged and wanton and filthy sounding. He didn’t know he could feel this good. There’s precum steadily leaking from the slit at the tip of his cock, and though he can’t see it at the moment, he’s sure there’s a wet spot staining the crotch of his pants.

More moist air on the sensitive skin of his neck, now slightly red from being rubbed by the stubble covering Tony’s chin. “Shit, Peter,” comes the eighteen year old’s wrecked gasp and his hips shift, nudging his own erection against Peter’s thigh. “Fuck, fuck.”

Peter feels like he’s losing his mind. “Tony, Tony lemme- Wanna touch you, please-,” he says, unable to put together a full sentence. The cock he’s been dreaming about for almost a year is within his reach and he doesn’t know how they got here, has no idea what’s going to happen after, but he’s so fucking close to getting what he’s wanted for so long but thought he could never have. His hands flutter restlessly near the front of his brother’s basketball shorts and the bulge that’s pressing insistently against the loose material.

“Yeah,” Tony gasps, shifting Peter out of his lap so that he can lie down on the bed on his side and then he pulls Peter down with him, facing each other. “Me too, can I…,” he trails off, the fingers of his right hand running down Peter’s body from his shoulder down to the sharp point of his hip bone.

All Peter can do is nod jerkily, already reaching to tug at the dark red fabric that’s wrapped around the older teen’s waist. He lets out a desperate, frustrated sound when they get caught, but Tony’s hands take over for him, so he pushes his own pants down to his knees instead. His dick hangs down heavily once it's free of its confines, and there’s a quiet thud as Tony’s slaps against the dark hairs smattered across his lower belly.

Looking at his big brother’s cock for the first time in the dim lighting makes Peter’s mouth water. He can make out the slight shadow of a vein running the length of it, and his tip is big, a drop of precum sitting there just waiting for him to lick at it. He’s bigger than Peter, in both length and girth. It’s perfect, something right out of his fantasies.

Tony rocks his hips forward and their erections rub against each other, prompting them to let out synchronous groans. “Holy shit,” Peter whines, his own hips stuttering as they start to rut against each other in earnest. They quickly get into a slightly stumbling rhythm. It feels so good, their cocks both so hot, so hard. He already knows this is going to be over before it really even starts but he couldn’t care less. “Tony, Tony, yes-”

The brunette all but growls. “That’s it, Petey. Fuck, your cock feels so good, I never- Shit,” Tony pants before spitting into his palm and wrapping his hand around both of their shafts. “Fucking hell-” His toes twitch against the inside of Peter’s ankle. “Pete-”

Peter’s movements get jerkier, his hips stuttering at the feeling of Tony’s wet hand, the way their dicks are sliding against one another. He’s so close, so fucking close. “Please,” he whimpers, fingers digging to Tony’s shoulders where he’s holding on in an attempt to ground himself. HIs tongue licks at his brother’s bottom lip. “Wanna cum, Tony, lemme cum-”

“Yeah, fuck, yes Peter, cum, cum for me-” Tony groans, the speed of his stroking increasing. The rhythm is jerky, and it’s so uncoordinated when combined with their frantic undulating, but it feels amazing.

“Tony, Tony, Tony,” Peter chants as his orgasm slams into him like a brick wall. His muscles lock up, and there are probably crescent-shaped welts in the skin of Tony’s shoulders and back. Thick, white ropes of cum shoot from his cock and make a mess in his brother’s hand. A whine escapes him as he grows more sensitive in Tony’s grasp.

The feeling of the warm liquid smearing over his erection is what does the older teen in. He crushes his mouth to Peter’s as he cums, fucking into his fist and rubbing against the other’s softening cock, licking lewdly into the wet of his mouth. “Pete,” he sighs, pulling away after he’s ridden out the wave of his orgasm.

“I love you,” Peter whispers contently, snuggling in and pressing a kiss to a freckle on Tony’s shoulder. This is everything he’s ever wanted, to be held in his big brother’s arms like this: like a lover. Maybe he was worried for nothing, maybe everything will be okay. Sure, they’ll have to hide it from everyone, especially Mom & Dad, but once they’re both in college… They have different last names, no one would ever have to know. They could be happy. Peter just wants to be happy, just wants this feeling to stay.

Tony shifts slightly and takes a deep breath, the puff of air ruffling Peter’s sweat-slick auburn curls. “Pete,” he says again, softly. “I love you too, I do.” He pauses, pulling back slightly and loosening his hold on the younger boy and rolling onto his back so that they’re both looking up at the ceiling. “But I-”

Peter freezes, the afterglow fading instantly. His heartbeat picks up, and there’s a slight ringing in his ears. He grips the sweat damp comforter in his hands, fingers twitching restlessly, stroking back and forth over the fabric in an attempt to soothe himself. No. No, no no, this isn’t- Tony- He can’t-

Another heavy sigh. “We can’t- We can’t do this again, Pete,” Tony says into the quiet of the night, still slightly out of breath from exertion. His voice is soft, gentle. He’s trying not to hurt Peter; Peter thinks that’s bullshit.

There’s a lead weight in his stomach. He feels like he’s drowning. He feels like he’s gonna be sick. He feels dirty. He feels-

He’s so tired of feeling.

Tony hesitates before pulling his shorts up and sliding out of the bed. He reaches out, brushing his fingers over Peter’s hand, jerks back when the younger immediately tenses and recoils from the touch. “I’m sorry,” he whispers before hastily making his way to the door, shutting it gently behind him.

“Just go, Tony,” he croaks before rolling over in the bed, away from the love of his life his brother.

Peter lays there for the rest of the night, unmoving, staring at the ceiling, tears running down the sides of his face, seeing nothing.

If only he could feel nothing, too.

***

“Where...where ya goin, Pete?”

Peter is putting clothes in a small duffel bag. He makes a mental note to remember to grab a new thing of toothpaste when he gets his toiletry bag together. “I’m, uh, gonna go stay with Ned. For a few days.” More like a few weeks, but he doesn’t need to tell Tony that.

It’s only been two days since they-

Peter’s already had enough. He can’t be here, he can’t skirt around the elephant that is his feelings towards Tony, can’t handle the awkwardness in the air as his stupid fucking brother tries to go on as if nothing ever happened. As if it meant nothing to him.

As if Peter meant nothing to him, means nothing to him.

Peter can...he can be okay with that. He has to be. But he can’t be here. He can’t.

“What about mom and da-” Tony cuts himself off, and Peter can tell that’s not what he is really trying to ask. Of course he’s so fucking disgusted, so fearful of someone else knowing, that he can’t even say it. No, what he really means is-

“I didn’t tell them I kissed you, Tony,” Peter hisses, tears burning in his eyes. He yanks the zipper of his bag closed, biting back a scream when it gets stuck for a second. “I’m not stupid. Why would I tell them what we did? I don’t want them to hate me, too. Don’t worry about what I told them, they said I could go.”

Maria and Richard are under the impression that Peter’s just stressed about his grades and going a little stir crazy. When they’d talked last night, Mom had frowned gently at him, mentioning how down he’d looked lately and letting him know that he was loved and cherished. Dad had actually been the one to suggest spending some time with Ned; maybe seeing his best friend would help pull Peter out of his funk.

If only they knew.

Tony gapes at him, an incredulous look on his face. “But what about Tuesday? You’re gonna miss my graduation? For what, to fuck around with Ned? Peter-”

Something in him snaps. He clenches his jaw, swallows harshly. Glares tearily at his brother. “Would you please just stop it?”

The taller boy sets his shoulders and crosses his arms, defiant. “I don’t want you to go.” His eyes are narrowed, searching Peter’s face. For what, the younger has no idea. Nor does he care.

“It doesn’t matter what you want, Tony,” he yells, glad that Mom and Dad are out at the grocery store, getting supplies for Tony’s graduation party. His voice cracks on his brother’s name. Always on his name. “Not anymore. I don’t- I know you don’t- Do you know how much it hurts me? To- to hear you? To know, to have to listen to-”

Tony’s mouth opens, but no words come out. “Hear us? You- you heard us? When?” His eyes are wide. He must realize exactly what Peter’s talking about, when he’s talking about, and he looks uncomfortable, vulnerable in a way that Peter’s never seen him before. Something ugly deep inside the younger teen feels satisfied for a moment before it deflates. He’s left feeling just as drained as before.

Tony continues, “Peter, I-” He cuts himself off, looks away.

Of course he can’t even come up with something to say.

“For fuck’s sake, Tony, you don’t have to explain everything to me!” It comes out as a sob. Peter feels like he’s a volcano; the words are erupting and he can’t do anything but allow it, powerless to stop them. “Nothing you say will make it better! I know you’re straight! I know it’s- that it’s wrong. I know Pepper is-,” he chokes, gasping. Why is this happening? Everything is going so fast. How is he freezing and on fire at the same time?

“She’s gorgeous and I’m just the path-th-thetic little br-brother who th-thinks you hung the moon.” Peter’s spluttering, flapping his hands at his sides as he tries to do something with the energy humming inside him. He wants out, he needs Tony to go so that he can finish packing. He has to get out of here.

Tony takes a step towards him. “No, Peter, how could you-”

Peter’s sniffling, eyes squeezed shut. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, trembling. Why won’t Tony just leave him alone? He just wants to be alone. “I know I’m ugly and I- I bet you can’t w-w-wait to go to MIT, to go away from me!”

“Babydoll,” is what leaves Tony’s mouth, so soft Peter almost doesn’t hear it. His hands are shaking as they land on his younger brother’s cheeks. Warm tears are gently brushed away by his thumbs. “Pete.”

Brow furrowed, Peter slowly opens his eyes and blinks the tears back in order to look at his brother. Tony looks...scared? What does he have to be scared of?

Peter tries to pull away, out of Tony’s grasp but the older teen just clutches him tighter. “Tony- What? It’s fine, j-just stop! Let me go, I need to finish-”

Tony closes his eyes and crashes their lips together.

don’t hate me

@spidey-sins @silkystark @thegreenmetblue @snailshome @hp-nv-221b @lemondrop313

if you wanna be untagged lmk

#starker #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #starkercest #bloo writes bad things (tm)

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ferret-not-microwave · 3 years

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Les Amis Modern AU: What They Wish Others Believed About Them (Part 4)

[I kind of wrote this in response to some general trends in characterising the Amis. There are some stereotypes which I'm not quite comfortable with.]

[So much delay. Sorry.]

Joly:

• Really, really wishes that people don't laugh at him for his anxiety issues. He is truly terrified of getting infected with some disease or the other, and even more terrified of spreading it to Joly and Chetta. It doesn't help that he is one of the most sincere students of the lot, and spends a lot of time reading medical journals, which feed into his panic. He feels safe wearing masks, using rubbing alcohol (or wearing gloves), and having a bag full of basic first aid supplies, and gets embarrassed if anyone judges him for it. Also, he doesn't like it if "concerned" people ask him whether he had a past history of debilitating disease or something, he doesn't want to discuss it at all, okay? -_-

• When Joly fusses about illness in the Musain, it is him letting his guard down. He has to actively rein in his anxiety to function in the hospital, and gets super exhausted from hiding it. His tells in the hospital are are wide eyes behind his protective goggles and a compulsive toying with the wristband of his gloves. He's one of the most courageous individuals ever because of what he faces on a regular basis. He hopes that he might get some reassurance from the Amis to stop his spiralling thoughts, and he mostly gets it.

• Joly definitely has a wild side, and is more than his anxious, serious self. If there's one who can one-up Courf's cheesy pick-up lines, it is Joly. With a eyebrow quirk that leaves everyone giggly and blushing. If there's one who can set a Karaoke stage on fire (not literally, that would be R), it's Joly. If there's one who can down shots to match Bahorel, it's Joly. The one who is the most eager to go skinny dipping? Joly. The one who is, oddly, the most eager to break a pinata? Joly. Joly is more than a "quiet science nerd who checks his tongue in the mirror all the time".

• Joly and Ferre INSIST that they do not talk about random medical trivia all the time. Honestly, their shared interests involve Jane Austen and massive amounts of gossip with tea, along with Doctor Who, Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF TEA, IN EVERY SENSE OF THE WORD.

• There are days he wants to tackle people like an angry Pikachu. But real life is tough, and not everyone has the privilege of confronting people. But he really, really can do without people casting aspersions on his poly relationship with Bossuet and 'Chetta ALL THE TIME. He has been confronted as an "opportunist" in Pride walks, faced with people's pitying look to Bossuet or 'Chetta as though he is stringing them both along or "sharing" 'Chetta with Bossuet, cheered on and slapped on the back by straight cismen for "knowing how to have fun", and once directly asked if he's the one who will marry 'Chetta. He goes into panic often, and for the longest time thought himself a really awful person.

• Beware a Joly in a farmer's market. Not because of haggling, but because some people ALWAYS assume that he's amazing at math while he actually fumbles at the cash counter. Similarly, he hates it if people crack shady jokes about him being a Marie Kondo around him (just because he likes neatness AND MARIE KONDO THANK YOU VERY MUCH). And no, he doesn't like rice all the time.

• Please give back the Tupperwares. Unlike popular opinion, Joly won't chase you down for his Tupperware like some do, and isn't particularly possessive about them. That doesn't mean that he can replace misplaced Tupperwares for all eternity, please. ;_; (Same goes for the beeswax food wraps and dino bandages, c'mon peeps don't help yourself to them indiscriminately ;_;).

• Apart from his baggy sweatshirt and dinosaur pajamas aesthetic, he also has a dress shirt and pleated pants collection that would probably leave Jay Gatsby jealous AF.

Bossuet:

• Is really self-conscious about his receding hairline. He had taken to shaving his head to make it look cool, because he's really uncomfortable with weird jokes about his age and baldness. Shaving heads is pretty high-maintenance at times, and he's slowly opening up to let the hair grow back on the sides of the head for the heck of it. He used to have a large collection of hats too, which he still uses occasionally, but now it is just a fashion accessory, not a way to hide. He likes scarves as well.

• He used to flinch and swallow his discomfort when people would touch his scalp without permission, now he firmly brushes off their hands with a light scowl.

• Similarly, he hates it when people actively try to compare him to Joly. He hates being considered less successful, a "third wheel" to Joly and 'Chetta and someone who can be taken less seriously. This doesn't mean he is jealous or angry with Joly at all though.

• He feels really, really angry when Joly sometimes breaks down in front of him and 'Chetta when confronted with comments on their relationship. He can and will stonewall anyone who hurts either of them.

• Bossuet understands Joly's anxiety because he faces anxiety as well. He often gets nightmares of his "bad luck" turning batshit Final-Destination-esque and resulting in horrible accidents to Joly, 'Chetta amd the rest of the Amis. He knows the "bad luck" jokes are good humouring, but it wears him down a lot in exam/interview/work meeting weeks and leaves him third and fourth guessing himself. He had also entered a bout of depression because the "bad luck" jokes had convinced himself that he can't progress in life because what's the use. It took a lot of work and, oddly, a super niche article from the Amis blog detailing research on how some societies actively ostracize people for being "unlucky" and how it is linked to major societal oppression, to help him.

• Bossuet loves having a heart of gold. Sometimes some people tell him not to be so nice ("what if that person has cheated you off money with a sob story?"). He refuses, because he cherishes being nice and knows his limits. He sometimes worries if he's being stupid, like when the great "attendance-by-proxy" disaster happens. But Marius' broad and grateful smile, "hi, how are you doing?" texts every morning, and monthly batch of AMAZING chocolate cookies makes it worth it.

• Bossuet's accidents do lead to some happy accidents. He stumbled on a whole new recipe of gooey brownies by accident. An amazing combination of dark chocolate and red chilli peppers (maybe not so weird in retrospect)? By accident. He fell upon Courfe's sandcastle once, but it resulted in a rare hermit crab crawling out. Courfe gave a treat at the new brunch place he was saving up for, because apparently that hermit crab had made Ferre all starry-eyed and happier than he had been in weeks. And as for the rest pf the accidents? Nothing that duct tape , 'Chetta, Joly and occasionally Feuilly can't help with. In all, his accidents are always smallish, and never monumental.

• Bossuet can put 'Chetta and Ferre to shame with his eyebrow raising (at least occasionally? Hehe?). He does that a lot when people ask him if he has put water on fire or has fallen into wells. "Like bruh? I don't go anywhere close to wells, I love sidewalks and what's with everyone asking me about the kitchen being on fire?" He also does that a lot to piners (R, Ep, Courfe, 'Parnasse).

• Bossuet is one of Enj's closest friends in Law School (apart from Courfe), because Law classes and shared optional papers. Duh. They often have long discussions which are super pleasant, fluffy, yet sensible because of his really sensitive optimism. Bossuet's unorthodox insights make their way into Enj's notes for ABC meetings, and he credits him always. Similarly Enj bails him out with attendance issues. Bossuet often calmly advices him about R. Since Joly has a similar relationship with Ferre, Bossuet and Joly sometimes help Enj and Ferre sort out lingering grievances between them, or plain hear them out. Enj and Bossuet have Froyo days.

Musichetta:

• Loves, loves, LOVES books. Has no idea why people think nerds come in a kind of stereotype only ("I don't look like you", she complains to Joly and Ferre one day, "but I can defeat you two in a Jane Austen quiz WTF!" They agree emphatically, and Ferre adds "and maybe Jehan too. Maybe".). She is a massive sucker for Comic-Cons and hates men who try to prove otherwise. -_- She loves libraries as much as she loves bars.

• Has no idea why people think she's super bitchy or about to eat them up. Many people plain run when she so much as looks at them while doing a shift as a barista in the Musain. Or ask for "the nicer barista" (Cosette?). When she breathes a sigh of relief when someone treats her nice, she also braces herself for self-righteous "saviours". "Are you sure you are doing okay with those men?" "They are using you!". If she poured milk all over a client's trousers because of such a comment not-so-accidentally, no one needs to know. ;)

• Sometimes, she feels drained out. Having to support both her partners anxiety can leave her down too. They are amazing people, who love her a lot, and know that she needs her recharge time. Often Bossuet takes over in caring for Joly and vice-versa. 'Chetta has a small arrangement with Courfe on those days. If he has free time, the two of them go for an amazing, super relaxing spa session. Bahorel is back-up spa partner. The two of them know not to ask questions, but let her unwind her thoughts and air them out.

• 'Chetta joined Les Amis L'ABC much later. One of her pet peeves were when Joly or Bossuet would go to protests which could easily turn violent because of right wing trolls and the police swarming the city. Specifically, when they went without more than a word or two to her. She would get worried sick, particularly if they couldn't pick up the phone within half an hour of the protest ending, and would cry alone because she didn't want to come off as needy and one of those people who do not support their cause.

• She finally broke down before them after Bossuet had a small concussion. They were really shamefaced at having not thought about her feelings, and their apologies ran for hours. While Joly promised to regularly give her updates, Bossuet asked her to join the ABC if she is comfortable with it. It took time for her to accept that she was being in the group because of the cause and not because she wanted to helicopter-mom Joly and Bossuet, but when the next protest happened, she realised that she was in a place she always wanted to be in.

• The Amis thought that she was a member anyway. She would holler at

• 'Chetta hates it when people think that it's Joly or Bossuet who end up lavishing gifts on her all the time. True, they do, but she does it too. She's a sucker for thoughtful gift giving, and she spoils the Amis A LOT OF TIMES. She can scour the Earth for ideal gifts for her boys, and she often takes care of a stray bill or two, as much as she humanely can. She doesn't play a one-upping battle of gifts though, she just loves a lot.

• She is really self conscious about her small hands and tiny feet. Which seem to her too small in comparison with the rest of her body. Sometimes she used to wear really fluffy mittens in winter to hide how small her hands her. Not so much now. :)

•She confided to Jehan that she didn't like people romanticizing her small hands and feet because she thought they were putting unrealistic standards of the "frail beauty" on her when she was anything but. She said this after she heard R chortle about how Joly had introduced her as having tiny hands and feet. The discussion ended in her gaping and then crying out of laughter because (according to Jehan) apparently Joly was really drunk when he first talked to the Amis about her, and had also said something like "she has fortune-teller eyes, yannow! Ask Bossuet! And her dimples! Marius, you booby, you pool noodle, I know how you feel like when you met Cosette!"

Apparently Bahorel had replied with "you need new pants" and then started laughing like no tomorrow. Bossuet, not so drunk (because he was late to the party), had taken the sensible route and shown the Amis the picture the three of them took after their first date.

• Seriously, she knows zilch about tarot cards or natal charts.

#les amis #les amis d'abc #les miz #les miserables #joly #bossuet #musichetta #undoing poly stereotypes #anxiety #we love them don't we?#stop bald shaming #stop laughing at anxiety #don't judge #ferret's freshly microwaved post

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beelspillowpet · 3 years

Note

My favorite character is a bit of a hermit (crab) and he gets so jealous or maybe even envious ALL THE TIME. If he asks me to play games with him or binge anime together and I have plans already he shuts down and thinks he’s worthless. He doesn’t handle rejection well even if it’s NOT really me rejecting him. He fears that he’s useless and that he’s a yucky otaku. Needs constant reassurance that he’s not yucky or useless. But he has some good points too

He is loyal and he is kind and is really tolerant and open to listening to my problems even if they are normie things that he doesn’t understand. He’s really talented as well and can draw, sew, edit footage and he’s like a pro gamer.

-bunny chan

Honestly a lot of the bad that comes with Levi is something I see in a lot of people, but glossing over the fact that he’s a loyal friend above all, even if he has problems with his own worth and it bleeds out into how others see him, he is a well-meaning person. He is someone who has been hurt, time and time again by either rejection or long periods of loneliness. Being alone in your head all the time is never good for you, and Levi is a perfect example of why. He was someone who was probably loved dearly, and after his fall, was depressed and alone in a house full of others who were mourning and fell apart. He hid away, and continues to hide today. You were his light to bring him out of that, and he wishes he could feel like he deserves it. He blamed himself a lot for what has transpired over centuries, of course he will be a downer. would you expect him not to be?

he’s found you. and whether you take him or not, he will still love you. this is why i love leviathan.

#ask game #jinx's game show #jinx thoughts #jinx asks #obey me #obey me leviathan

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aros001 · 3 years

Text

Read through light novel vol. 15. Random thoughts.

Well, I just found one of my favorite volumes of this series. For all the right and wrong reasons.

There is a certain trope or term I've heard of for comedy. Where a joke or skit can be really funny but can also go a little too far with the performance to where it can be a little annoying. But there are also plenty of times where the joke/skit takes it even FURTHER than that and it circles back around to being funny again. Naofumi with Raph-chan is a little like that. His love for the little furball was cute and funny at first, then it became a little odd and maybe a little cringey, and now it's gone to such an extreme that it's circled back to funny again, with the Shield hero now commanding a legion of Raph-chans. Also, Naofumi and Ruft bonding over Raph-chan is genuinely really sweet. Between that, how much he clings to Naofumi (or Raph-chan) when he's scared, and just the liking he's taken to the kid, I think Naofumi has definitely found his son figure. Honestly their relationship feels a little more parent and child than even Naofumi and child Raphtalia's was and it took me a bit before I figured out why that was, at least for me.

Naofumi was very parental to Raphtalia and does still somewhat think of her as his daughter. However, when they first met it was also a situation where Raphtalia had to grow up very quickly, and not just physically through leveling. She was bought as a slave and didn't want to go back to the trader. She wanted to fight back against the things that took her family and village from her. She wanted to be Naofumi's sword. She was the sole reason he could gain any significant experience and level up into the Shield Hero he needed to be. The romantic feelings she gained for him were almost certainly a factor but overall, for her sake and his, staying a child, staying as someone's daughter, was not an option. What Naofumi needed wasn't a daughter but a partner. Someone he could lean on and trust.

With Ruft, there is no need for him to grow up quite yet. Yes, Naofumi took him to the village so he could get some experience with the real world and he does plan on toughening him up, but Naofumi is not dependent on Ruft like he was Raphtalia. There's no pressure for Ruft to grow up because Naofumi and everyone else will be fine regardless, so he has more freedom to be a kid. And unlike Filo and the village kids, he doesn't have the added complication of also being Naofumi's slave. Naofumi can treat him and care for him like a kid.

Side note, but is it weird that, even though I know he's related to Raphtalia, before I finally was given an image of him I kept on imagining Ruft looking like Gohan from the very beginning of Dragon Ball Z? Chinese Emperor clothes and all. It feels a little unintentionally racist of me given that Q'ten Lo is meant to resemble isolationist period Japan.

“The Bow Hero mentioned that he has a skill which allows him to scout out the surrounding area from a higher vantage point,” Raphtalia recalled. Itsuki said that? I mean, he was the Bow Hero. It wouldn’t be strange for him to have a skill that allowed him to search for distant targets. That sounded like quite a convenient skill too.

I'm glad about this little detail. I was just saying in the last volume that it felt like the other three heroes didn't seem to have any abilities that weren't directly attack-based. And then later with the hero conference we get even more added to their arsenals beyond just "attack, big attack, and bigger attack" like they'd been showing up until now. Before it felt like the other three could be a bit interchangeable in battle with Naofumi, as it's three attackers and one defender, with range being the only difference. But now, between the four of them, it's a good mix of attack, defense, support, healing, and debuffs. The Four Holy Heroes actually work as a party together.

“R-Raphtalia. Brother. I just want to go and see Master Naofumi! Move aside,” Atla stated.

“No,” Raphtalia replied.

“Never,” replied her brother.

“Raph!” barked a horde of Raphs.

I can hear the freaking echo! I'm dying!

“To be more accurate, they are filolials who act like mountain bandits, attacking wagons carrying off goods and stuff like that,” Melty continued.

...

“Hold on a moment. What the hell is going on then? And—” I finished my thought in my head. If this was the issue that Fitoria wanted help with, then . . . “You’re telling me filolials fight over wagons?”

“Yes. That’s what I’ve been told,” Melty confirmed. Uwah! So she wanted me to resolve some kind of turf war? If these were wild filolials, they weren’t going to go down without a fight.

“The loser has to give their wagon to the winner,” Melty explained. “Also, if it’s the season of love, they can only find love by defeating their opponent.” What were they, hermit crabs?

This is going exactly where I think it's going, isn't it?

[Two chapters later]

“It’s been a while, father-in-law. It’s me, I say, Motoyasu the street racer!”

F******************************************K!

I get Motoyasu is under the effect of his curse series but...it's just so hard to like this guy. It was even before Witch betrayed him and his curse activated. Especially when he uses his Temptation ability to "show Filo his love", basically trying to force her into loving him. Thank goodness it didn't work and that Raph-chan can clear away the effects it did have. Naofumi could stand to be more considerate of Raphtalia when it comes to the Raphs but Motoyasu has been straight up harassing Filo. He tried to keep her trapped in her "angel" form when rescuing her from Naofumi's "brainwashing" and probably was going to keep her that way forever if Witch didn't have her "accidentally" killed along with Melty when removing the brainwashing. I'm pretty sure she was the main person he wanted to peep on in the baths at Cal Mira. He stole her favorite wagon and transformed it into...that. And then there's the shape of...

No...

No!

I'd heard a rumor but...

NO!

I thought it was a web novel thing!

WHY DOES MOTOYASU HAVE A DILDO SPEAR?!?!

Or...god, what if it's not a dildo?!

“I’m taking your daughter. Using my Lust Envy Spear IV,” Motoyasu exclaimed. God. This was all depressing me intently.

“Filo-tan! I will stop you and take your purity!” Motoyasu thrust his spear at Filo.

“Boo!” She wasn’t interested. Then I noticed what he was pointing at. Below the waist, shall we say.

....................Kill him. Kill him. F**king kill him. I don't care about the consequences to the world. Kill him. Kill him now. Have Aura and Mare come over from Overlord and Iris come over from Konosuba. They'll all team up with Filo so that the lolis he loves so much can snap his f**king neck.

I get he's under the effects of a curse (two curses even; lust and envy) but he's almost everything he and Witch accused Naofumi of being. He's brainwashing people and an attempted rapist. All he's missing is abusing his slaves and kidnapping Melty.

...F**k. Okay, back to reality.

So Quirks exist in Itsuki's universe? Last volume I made a comparison between Motoyasu #2 and Bakugo from My Hero Academia because they fit similar tropes for me, but in terms of actual backstory and character, Itsuki is definitely the better comparison. Thought he was special in elementary school because of his powers but got slapped with a bit of reality upon entering the special school for powers. For both of them, this fed into an inferiority complex. It does also add more to Itsuki's hero complex. Bakugo's Quirk and natural talents had him overpraised from youth, leading him to fear the failure of living up to expectations of him. For Itsuki, it goes a little the other way, where his expectations for himself were high, got shattered because the powers above his level were much greater and thus nothing was expected to become of him in comparison, and so he fell into console games where he could be important and the main character for once.

None of this forgives how he treated Rishia but I'd still rather have this understanding and explanation of his character than not. He and Trash have a slightly similar problem for me, and it's not the story's fault. Itsuki's curse has left him pretty fried and emotionless, though it's slowly coming back to him. He hasn't really had a chance to redeem himself. He's working to better himself, yes, but he's also in a state where he'll do everything he's told. He had a nice, split-second apology to Rishia he managed to get out but that's about it. Similarly with Trash, he and Itsuki have sympathetic backstories but he is so lost in his hatred the Shield Hero, Siltvelt, and a few other things that he has not taken responsibility or shown remorse for any of the things that had happened because of him, including his youngest daughter nearly being killed multiple times. Before he was half-crazy and now after meeting Alta and Fohl he just seems withered away and beaten. Trash and Itsuki's situations are sympathetic but they've yet to do anything that puts me on their side beyond basic human empathy and pity.

Compare that to Ren, whom I'm glad I quite like now. He never did anything as bad as Trash or Itsuki, nor does he have as tragic a backstory as either (that's been told to us yet anyway), but he still felt remorse for the bad things he did do and has actively worked to try and make up for them or make certain they don't happen again, because he knows he screwed up. I'm not just supposed to pity him. Like with Naofumi, I'm supposed to see him rise and he does, at several points in this volume being very helpful to very heroic. And I like how he and Naofumi contrast with each other without completely butting heads like stubborn bulls, like over the bandits for justice. They're both heroes but Ren is working hard to be a real hero to make up for the lack of one he was before, while Naofumi outright sees himself as a bad person, that all his good deeds are for selfish motivations and that he's not deserving of being hailed as a hero to begin with.

Well, I think that was all I was going to talk about. Yes sir.

...

.......

.................

.....................

..............................Alta on the cover. Alta on the inner art and quote page. Most of this book being about Fohl's fear over Alta's safety. There were so many red flags you'd think the Phoenix's explosion broke the fourth wall and set fire to the pages themselves.

Yeah, this death was better than Ost's. Ost's death still worked despite her short time with Naofumi's party because there was still emotion during that time and she still is often referenced, remembered, and mourned for even in volumes well after her death, so it feels less cheap and manipulative and more like it actually meant something. With Alta though, it's not just better just because we knew her longer (though that's certainly a factor) but because of the effect on the main characters, especially Naofumi. The raw pain, the denial, the begging, the self-blame, the sheer seething anger, the emptiness. Even the way it's written when she first jumps in the way and after the attack finally ends, it feels like the aftermath of a grenade. Everything is blurred and shaky, everything is silenced except for the ringing in his ears and its not entirely clear what's going on, only that something bad just happened. Naofumi runs through every emotion you'd want from someone like him and it has an even more personal meaning than that. Alta sacrificing herself for him gave Naofumi a bit of a hard slap in the face as to what everyone he cares about would feel if he sacrificed himself for them, which he's tried doing a few time already. It was a very good send-off for Alta.

This was also both the best and worst time for Naofumi to finally be told outright that Raphtalia loves him. Looking forward to either loving or being very frustrated with where this goes. Though regardless, that final art of them just hugging and crying it out is going to hold a special place in my heart.

Trash was apparently the Seven Star Staff Hero. I’d never seen him holding the staff and honestly wondered if the original king was dead and this was just a doppelganger.

Just where was he hiding the Seven Star Staff?

After the dildo spear, please don't ask me to imagine where Trash hides his staff.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/shieldbro/comments/fndipx/read_through_light_novel_vol_15_random_thoughts/

#rising of the shield hero #random thoughts #reddit repost

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vampire-named-gampire · 3 years

Text

Carry On Countdown - Day 17

Hello! Another ficlet for the @carryon-countdown! It’s once again something that I crammed, so forgive me for any grammar mistakes

Prompt: Blanket fort Word count: 1.5k Rating: G but also like there are jokes so maybe T? Summary:

Three idiots + a handful of blankets + hermit crabs = a disaster

PENNY

When I come back home from uni, Simon is sitting on the sofa, staring into space. My heart falters at the sight. Simon’s been doing better, but there are still bad days. He doesn’t turn to my direction when I come in.

I drop my bag by the sofa and go to the kitchen to get us some water and snacks. (Chances are he hasn’t had any today.) Then, I sit down next to him, placing a bag of salt and vinegar Walkers on the coffee table. (It’s not the most nutritional snack, but Baz has infiltrated our pantry.)

Simon smiles a little and reaches for the crisps. “Thanks.”

“How are you?” I ask. He hates these types of questions (so do I), but it’s important that he communicates his feelings. (Yes, I may have sat in one or two of his therapy sessions.)

Simon just shrugs. “I’ve been thinking, y’know? About the past.”

“About Watford?” I ask. He shakes his head and shoves a fistful of crisps in his mouth. (Simon does that, when he doesn’t want to answer straight away.)

“No more like… childhood past. Care homes and such. And how much I missed out,” he sighs, taking another crisp from the bag. “I mean, I don’t want to feel sorry for myself, but at the same time, I just wish I could do some of the normal childhood things, you know?”

I want to say I know, but I don’t. Yes, both Simon and I had to grow up very fast because of the whole Humdrum and imminent war situation, but at least I had a normal childhood before Watford. I had Christmases and food on the table and people telling me they love me. Simon didn’t. He never got to experience playing around with his siblings or have his parents teach him how to ride a bike and then spell his scrapes away when he fell. It makes my heart break for him.

Then, an idea crosses my mind. I jump off the sofa.

“Where are you going?” Simon asks as I sprint for the bedroom.

“To get supplies. We’re doing normal childhood things!”

BAZ

When I get to Simon’s, the living room’s a right mess. More specifically, it’s a mess of blankets and pillows and cardboard boxes. It takes me a few moments to realize that it’s a blanket fort.

I can’t decide whether to sigh, smile or just walk back out. What on earth has possessed Snow and Bunce this time to make a blanket fort?

Just as if on cue, Snow’s curly head peeks from in between the blankets.

“Baz! We built a blanket fort!” he beams.

“I can see that.”

“Please, this is more of a blanket castle!” Bunce sounds from the inside. “Baz, can you turn off the light?”

“Turn it off yourself,” I say, taking off my shoes and my coat. And then I do turn off the light because I’m a pushover and I’d do anything for these two idiots. The fort glows faint golden shade. Bunce must’ve spelled some lights on the inside of it. (I hope they’re not using real lights – that could be a fire hazard.) (You can be a pyromantic vampire and still be aware of fire hazards, thank you very much.)

“Thank you!” Bunce’s voice sounds from the inside.

I get on my knees (even though I’m wearing very expensive trousers) and edge towards the fold of blankets where Simon’s head was peaking out just moments ago. “Can I come in?” I ask. Truth be told, I was never allowed to build blanket forts as a child. I’m intrigued to see what the fuss is all about.

Simon’s head peaks out again. “Password,” he demands, smiling.

Huh? Password?

Of course the idiots have a password. I should’ve expected this. But what would Simon want for a password?

I’m fully aware of my still puzzled expression as I lean forward and press a kiss on his forehead. Simon giggles.

“That’s not the password,” he says, blushing a little. (It’s good to see him like this.)

“It should be,” I retort.

“A password should be something that works even if Penny comes to the door.”

“You think I won’t kiss Bunce?” I raise my eyebrow at him.

“Ew!” Bunce’s voice sounds from the inside.

“On the forehead!” I clarify.

“Disgustingly sappy!” Bunce calls back.

“Come on, just try again. You can guess it, I promise,” Snow prompts me. I sigh.

“Can you give me a hint?”

“It’s one word. Something that I like.”

“Scones!”

“No! But damn, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Sandwiches?” I try again. He smiles and opens the blanket for me. I crawl inside.

They’ve really made something of the place. Bunce must’ve spelled it bigger, because there’s enough room for Simon and I to sit upright, even with his wings. The walls are adorned by tiny glowing orbs and they’ve got a pile of snacks in the middle.

“Welcome to Fort of Being Responsible Adults,” Bunce greets me solemnly. I bow my head, playing into it.

“I feel honoured to be here.”

“The rules are no sabotaging the fort, no snogging and no stealing of snacks. Are we clear?” she asks.

“The sabotaging might be a bit hard to resist,” I say, smirking at Simon. He jabs me in the ribs in return. (The snogging rule is unfair, really, especially since my ideas for a password are much better.) “May I call an emergency meeting?” I ask.

“Emergency meeting called. What would you like to discuss?”

“The password sucks.”

“It does not!” Simon objects.

“Snow, ‘sandwiches’ is the weakest password in the history of passwords. I’ve seen hermit crabs stronger than your fort password.”

“Hermit crabs are actually quite strong for their size,” Simon mutters.

“Are you suggesting we change our password hermit crabs?” Bunce asks.

I roll my eyes. “I’m suggesting we change it from sandwiches. We can have a democratic election.”

“There are only three of us…” Simon starts.

“I suggest we do change it to hermit crabs,” Bunce says.

“I think it should be onomatopoeia,” I say. Simon frowns at me. (He hates long words.)

“You think the password should be onomatopoeia or that it should be an onomatopoeia?” Bunce asks, deep in thought.

“Guys, I don’t even know what onomato-whatever means!” Simon cuts in.

“What do you suggest then, Snow?”

“Goblins!”

I roll my eyes at him. “If we’re going for magickal creatures, we could’ve at least gone with vampires,” I say.

“Baz, that’s like having your name for a password!” Simon objects.

“And having goblins for a password is like having the name of your celebrity crush,” I retort. (I’d sooner go three days without blood than pass up an opportunity to tease Simon over the fact that he thinks goblins are fit.) (I’d sooner go four days without blood than admit that I actually kind of agree with him.)

“They’re well fit,” Simon shrugs. (Always stands by his beliefs, that one.)

“Guys, I came up with a password. Goblin crabs!” Bunce exclaims. Both Simon and I groan.

“Bunce, that sounds like an STD.”

“I’m not sure it’s not,” Simon mutters.

“You probably know all about it,” I say, which is a low blow, even for me.

“Hey!” Simon protests, poking me in the ribs. I squirm, which is my great mistake, because the next moment, Simon gets this devilish look in his eyes and then he’s on me tickling me.

��Stop, stop!” I protest while laughing.

“Penny get in there!”

He doesn’t have to tell Bunce twice and suddenly I’m being attacked from both sides, laughing and squirming and struggling to catch my breath and damn them, they know I’m very ticklish.

“Stop, stop! I take it back, I’m sorry!” I wheeze. I feel myself losing balance and the next moment, I’m flat on my back on the floor, left to the mercy of Simon and Bunce. (And they don’t have any.)

Simon leans over, determined to continue his attack, but one of his wings catches in a blanket, pulling the whole fort down with him.

We all end up lying on the floor, laughing, with blankets and bedsheets piled upon us. My ribs are hurting from all the tickling and I squirm when Simon’s arm slides around my side, but he doesn’t tickle me, just pulls himself closer, laughing quietly into my shoulder.

I turn my head in his direction, suddenly overwhelmed by feelings of fondness for him. Seeing Simon so happy is such a rare occurrence and it never fails to catch me off guard and make me disgustingly sappy. I can’t help it; he’s been depressed for so long that seeing him smile is like music to my ears. Seeing him laugh so hard that he’s crying is a whole fucking symphony.

I lean over and press a kiss on his forehead.

“No snogging!” Bunce scolds me.

“The fort no longer stands Bunce. The rules are meaningless,” I retort.

We all laugh some more about it. In the end, it’s Simon who speaks again.

“Rest in peace, Fort Goblin Crabs. You served us well,” he says solemnly.

“Rest in peace,” Bunce and I echo. Simon snorts.

“What?”

“Goblin crabs.”

That sends us into a fit of giggles again.

---

A/N: here’s how I imagine Baz looking on his first attempt of guessing the password

#please check the link it's the best part of the fic #um anyway this is my first time trying to write penny's POV #idk what else to say my back hurts #i'm sorry about goblin crabs #it's downright awful #carry on countdown 2020 #coc 2020 #carry on #wayward son #any way the wind blows #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #baz pitch #penelope bunce #snowbaz fanfiction #snowbaz fic #snowbaz #my writing

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brooklynislandgirl · 3 years

Note

For the headcanon{s}, can you talk about Beth's mental illness? How it does and does not impact her daily life, if things trigger it, how she handled this after losing Riley {in verses that are sans Riley, obviously}, and what some of her experiences have been? I feel like it's something people determinedly overlook about her, and I'd like to know!

This.

“You can’t be fuckin’ serious!”

“You keep a civil tongue in that head of yours, boy. I think I know what’s best for your sister.”

“With all due respect, sir... you haven’t known what’s best in-”

Beth is an oyster.

Vague lines and curves that are nothing remarkable perhaps to the point of being unappealing. She can only burrow into the Sand....sandy...Andy. Andy and the Admiral are outside of the room, arguing about the proper course of treatment. She can’t hear every word because she’s underwater and all the sounds are so far away as to be indistinct from the beeping of the monitor that is keeping track of her vital signs. The bandages on her pseudo-pods ~arms, they’re arms, Beth~ are too heavy. They keep her trapped to this bed where she can’t really move and she doesn’t know why. It’s all wriggling around inside of her. A parasite. One she has to wrap in smooth layers of aragonite and conchiolin. Layer after microscopic crystalline layer. Maybe if it’s smooth enough and round enough, maybe if it has enough lustre, then they will set her free. She’s so very tired but she doesn’t have her turtle, and the thin cotton gown isn’t warm enough, worn thin in places. The blankets are too scratchy and the air smells funny, too many chemicals that it’s making her feel nauseous.

But that’s all wrong. Oysters don’t have blankets and they aren’t tied down to beds and they don’t... they don’t...

“Electroshock! How can you? Look at her. She’s just a kid!”

“And your sister nearly killed herself tonight, Andrew. I am done discussing this with you. I’m your father, and a neurosurgeon. If anyone is capable of choosing a treatment plan, it isn’t a teen age boy.”

~*~

Beth was fourteen years old when she was diagnosed however wrongly with Depression mood disorder with features of psychosis, after she smashed her bedroom mirror with her fists, deeply slashing her arms from wrists to elbows. The symptoms leading up to this moment certainly were red-flags for what was wrong with her, all of them classic to the specific diagnosis: the trouble concentrating or making decisions, chronic fatigue, feelings of guilt and worthlessness, insomnia, restlessness, loss of appetite, phantom aches and pains that didn’t seem to go away, persistent sadness and anxiety. It isn’t uncommon for girls and young women diagnosed with Turner Syndrome to also develop depression. And her father felt the matter was cut and dry, despite strenuous objections from her brother.

She spent three miserable weeks in an in-patient psychiatric facility receiving less than pleasant electroconvulsive therapy, psychotherapy and was prescribed citalopram {Celexa}. Which made Beth absolutely nauseous to the point that she had trouble keeping water down, only worsened her sleeping troubles, and made her jittery. As soon as the Admiral shipped out again for a year long deployment aboard the USNS Comfort, Andy took her back to the doctor to get a second opinion.

It was then, at fifteen, that she was re-diagnosed correctly with Rapid Cycling Bi-Polar Disorder. Andy nursed her through the withdrawal of the citalopram and taking over her care regiment seemed to do his sister wonders, as she started to be the sweet and gentle girl he’d always known her to be. He’d sort out her medication by days of the week, would make sure she took the right ones at the right times with her meals, going out of his way to cook things she could stomach, letting her sleep in his bed when she wanted to, and for years after, she seemed to improve. She went months without crippling depression and her manic and hypomanic states were few and far between as well.

Then everything changed.

Beth was accepted into several universities and chose Columbia, knowing that their pre-med program was top-notch and their medical school was even better, and wouldn’t require her to change schools for the duration of her education. Having just turned sixteen in June she was starting a new life perhaps far younger than she ought to have.

There was major upheaval, stress and abject terror at leaving Hawai’i behind, going almost as far away as possible. She was not prepared for the cross-continent move. Neither was she prepared for living on her own. Perhaps she simply expected to live with Andy the whole of her life, or at the very least through her under-grad years. But after the initial first two months that it took to move into their grandparents’ apartment in Brooklyn, and Andy setting up all of her bills, hiring a cook and house keeper, making sure she got settled in as a freshman, he enlisted in the US Air-Force. She saw very little of her brother for the next two years, and the only thing that kept Beth from failing out of school was the idea that she would be sent home to live with the Admiral.

She began to notice that her medication {bupropion aka Wellbutrin} seemed less effective during this time. She was barely getting more than three hours of sleep at night, and maybe half that during day time naps. She experiences bouts of nausea that once again made eating difficult to prioritise, a feature that would last her entire life thus far, with Beth being at least twenty pounds consistently underweight. She also began to experience chronic sore throats, what she describes as her bladder shrinking down to the size of a pea, and worse...tinnitus that became co-morbid with her audio processing disorder.

The few times during the year that she was able to see Andy, things seemed to get better....until she crashed immediately after he left again.

Beth decided she no longer wanted to take her medication.

~*~

“C’mon Beth, I’m getting married, it’s not like I’m dying!”

“GET OUT! GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!” She’s throwing things at him. She’s destroyed seven plates,six coffee mugs and at least one irreplaceable vase. There are so many tears, so much snot, it’s hard to believe his sister is almost eighteen and not eight. But thankfully, she’s still so short she can’t reach the stemware and is forced to come out from behind the island kitchen.

Which means he manages to get his arms around her, a bear hug from behind that locks her stick-figure arms to her chest. She fusses and has a fit, kicking and trying to bite him, but his training in Pararescue has taught him how to hold someone without hurting them.

“I’m not gonna leave you, jelly bean, I promise. And you’ll like Lana. She’s a real nice girl, her family’s from Jersey, and she’ll be moving in with us. You won’t have to-” “LA LA LA! NO CAN HEAR YOU!”

Beth is a hermit crab.

She can just shrink back into her shell and keep everyone out. She can hide down in the bottom of the sea and let the water of her Mother’s arms wash over her and if anything gets close, she’ll pinch them to bits.

But she really isn’t. She isn’t a hermit crab, she’s just a girl and there’s nothing that can keep everything inside of her from dying a slow and painful death. Because now Andy is not only not going to be around, but he’s getting married. To a stranger no less. But like a hermit crab, her house is too small and this woman is never setting foot inside of it. And it’s his stupid fault, because that’s what her brother is...stupid.

Doesn’t he know that no one will love him like she does? That no one depends on and needs him as much? Doesn’t he know they’re supposed to be together, forever and always? Doesn’t he know he’s the only person who truly loves her? The person who said he’d never leave her? Why does he need a wife anyway? She can do everything this Lana person can, and better. If he’d just let her prove it, he’d see!

~*~

But he didn’t. Andy ended up getting married.

Beth dropped out of medical school before completing her residency, but applied her credits to nursing. She was absolutely certain the Admiral was going to have a stroke that she had decided not to become a neurosurgeon like him, or his second choice, a cardiologist. Emergency room nursing suits her needs. She is indoors and on her feet throughout the darkness of the night when home is ever so lonely. It feeds the excessive energy that floods her system and lets her literally crash, semi-conscious during the sometimes three, sometimes four consecutive days she has off.

Life settles into a medication-less routine. Beth finally grows her final inch in height, puts on a few more pounds so she doesn’t seem nearly as cadaverous as she did before. She can blame late occurring puberty for that and for just the most brief moments of time, things seemed to have found their balance. There were no great highs. There were no life-threatening lows. Beth could finally breath.

At least until....the sun burned out and destroyed everything in a single knock on the door.

Perfunctory words that echo in her dreams.

~*~

“Miss Riley, on behalf of the Chief of Staff, United States Air Force, I regret to inform you of the untimely death of your brother, Second Lieutenant Andrew M. Riley-”

Beth Riley...isn’t anything any more. All of everything that was bright and best within her is now a single leg and some bone fragments in a beautiful koa wood casket. It is a folded flag put into her hands. It’s the reception in the Admiral’s house and an incredibly long line of people talking and talkingandtalkingandtalkingandtalking and saying nothing at all. She can’t breath. She can’t feel. Nothing makes sense and it never will because what do you say when half of you is ripped away and gone forever? What do you do when the world stops turning and the sun has burnt out of the sky?

Beth slips out of the house without being noticed. She manages to get in her brother’s Mustang and heads into the city proper, and ends up at the bar he used to like to frequent when he was on leave. She sits at the bar and orders scotch, 25 year Macallan.

She buys the bottle. She buys the entire bar drink after drink until last call.

She lets someone take her home. Gets into his apartment. Doesn’t really feel his mouth and his hands pawing at her. Doesn’t feel anything really at all until she shoves him away. Things become blurry after that and she only really vaguely remembers calling Jay from a payphone some blocks away.

She can’t find her shoes. But that doesn’t matter.

Nothing does.

Three months later ~one hundred days, to be precise~ Beth quits her job. She turns her utilities off. Throws a few things including her wallet, her passport, and her rosary into a sea bag that she’s had forever.

Darfur. The Democratic Republic of Congo. Amsterdam. Uruguay. Wherever Médecins Sans Frontières will let her go, to treat people living in the worst conditions. Ironic, isn’t it...that no matter where she goes, Beth always manages to make it back. That all those fears Andy had of her killing herself from neglect or inattention, or even possibly through deliberate action, and she can’t get so much as a life-threatening paper cut? It isn’t fair.

And maybe...maybe it doesn’t matter. There’s a lot of ways you can die in Louisiana.

She hears the coffee in New Orleans is really wonderful.

#mynameisanakin #She's Talking To Angels {Bethisms}#Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks #mental health tw #medication tw #suicidal ideation tw

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purplesurveys · 3 years

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1171

survey by ohsh1t2wksl8

What Rhymes With “AB”?

1. Do you have nice abs? Do you know anyone who has nice abs? Andi works out and they like sharing with me their progress every month. They’re turning out to have great abs. 2. Do you blab other peoples’ secrets? Do you like to gossip? I’d still join in if it were about something juicy, tbh. But those years are also far behind me for the most part; I like taking part in wholesome gossip these days, like if someone from high school gave birth or found a better relationship to be in. 3. Have you ever ridden in a taxi cab before? Where to? Yes, we’ve had to take taxis to the airport a few times. I never understood why; for the next few trips after that we used our car to get to the airport anyway, so those couple of rides were weird. I can tell you it’s not very convenient being squished in a sedan with 5 people, with all our bags to boot. :( I’ve also had to take cabs in Singapore, China, and Korea when we went. 4. Do you know anyone who’s caught crabs? Probably. I just wouldn’t be aware of it. 5. Have you or someone you know ever had a hermit crab as a pet? One of my colleagues from college, Hannah, owns a couple of hermit crabs.

6. Do you know how to dab? I guess. I’ve just never willingly done it. 7. Do you have any clothing that looks drab? I don’t think so. If not black, most of my clothes are in muted, calm shades, but not dull or depressing ones. 8. Do you use abbreviations in place of longer words? Do you ever refer to something as “fab”? Not abbreviations, but shortcuts. I always call delivery fee ‘deli fee’ instead. And some people my age would usually call Starbucks ‘Starbs.’ 9. Does you body have any excess flab? Where? Yeah, my upper arms will jiggle a bit if I shake them. 10. Who do you know that likes to gab a lot? What do they go on and on about? My mom is insanely talkative and will go through 5 backstories before proceeding to her actual story. 11. When’s the last time someone jabbed you with a needle? No one’s ever done it to me on purpose (and that’s very crappy??) but I’ve stabbed myself in the palm a few times while I’ve been embroidering. I haven’t gotten back to it for several months now, though. 12. Did you have a science lab class during school? Yeah, we had separate lab classes in high school. I liked them, since it was fun to be more hands-on instead of just spending 45 minutes listening to lectures and staring at the blackboard. I especially enjoyed when we were allowed to mix chemicals, heheheh. 13. Have you ever nabbed something from a store before? What was it? We accidentally stole a box of crayons from a bookstore once. No one noticed my mom still had it in her hand until we walked out of the store haha. We immediately went back inside and either paid for it or put it back on its shelf, I don’t remember which. 14. Do you know anyone who’s been to rehab? What were they in for? I don’t think so. But this is also keeping in mind that the Philippines is a shitty country with no decent rehab centers because most people believe that those with addiction problems don’t deserve a second chance at life. 15. How many backstabbers have you cut from your life? Just one. I’ve been careful ever since that person. 16. Do you pick at your scabs? Sometimes. 17. What’s the last slab of meat you’ve eaten? I had a few pieces of pork in the jjajangmyeon I ordered last Thursday. I don’t think I had meat at all yesterday. 18. Is anything in your house looking shabby? No, my mom is very particular about cleanliness and she’ll immediately fix up a area she thinks is starting to look shabby. 19. When’s the last time you felt crabby? Why? I’m usually crabby every morning at the start of my shifts, just because I always feel tense about the flood of deliverables that would inevitably come to me; though I do start loosening up once I’m able to figure out my schedule and time management for the day. 20. Who’s the last person you wanted to stab? What did they do in order to make you feel that way? One of the clients I handle. He was onboarded just this January but we quickly learned that he’s very hard to work with; and my team actually received news super recently that he’s gonna be let go of/is willingly resigning because of the challenges in ways of working. I’m soooo relieved. It was a tornado as soon as he came in. 21. How many tabs are open on your internet browser right now? Continued 8 hours later. On this current window, 10 tabs. I have other windows open though. 22. Has anyone ever tried to get grabby with you when you didn’t want them to? I don’t know what this means...but based on what I saw on Google, does this also mean possessive? If that’s correct, then yeah, it’s happened before. My ex was super suspicious of guys and didn’t like my guy friends for no reason at all, which I found disturbing. 23. What would you put on a Krabby Patty? Oh god, I would just go for the recipe they already show on Spongebob. I would honestly go for the King-Size Ultra Krabby Supreme double batter-fried on a stick though; that looked craaaaazy good on TV. 24. Do you know anyone named Abby? That’s my mom’s name. 25. Do you have one of those grabber claws that helps you grasp things that are out of reach? Not anymore, but we had a toy like that when we were kids. 26. Do you like to play Scrabble? Are you any good at it? I do like playing Scrabble. I think I do pretty well in word games in general, but I think I got even better at Scrabble since I took an actual class on it, so I learned a lot of rules and tricks to be able to win. 27. Is it cute when babies babble? What do you think they’re trying to say? It’s cute but it’s not at the top of my list. I’m guessing they’re just excited about everything since it’s all new to them. 28. What’s the last thing you dabbled in/with? Livetweeting after SO FUCKING LONG. I don’t think I’ve done it in like 6 or 7 years...doing it all over again was such a thrill, and it was as exciting as it had been from when I was a teenager. 29. Do you have any dividers or folders with any tabs on them? Just on my laptop haha, nothing physical. 30. Did your parents keep close tabs on you when you were a teenager? Initially, but they gradually let go the older I got. 31. How high has your bar tab been? Idk, maybe a little over ₱3000? I remember how my friends and I ended up buying a crap load of pitchers and bar food from our usual bar once since we ended up really enjoying our time there. 32. Have you ever made jewelry out of the silver tabs on soda cans? Nope. [a-zebra-is-a-striped-horse]

#survey #surveys

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lovemesomesurveys · 3 years

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[-lastcall]

what is the one thing you remember most about January of last year? I was preparing for my Disneyland trip in February. It’s crazy that we had no idea what was soon about to happen and how quickly everything would go to shit.

you look at the clock and it’s 11:11, do you wish? Nah.

how do you think you will look 3 years from now? The same, probably.

once you graduate (if you haven’t already) are you leaving your hometown? I’m still here.

What is your dream job? I don’t have one. :/

what would be number one on your bucket list? I want to travel.

how old do you think you’ll be when you make your will? I don’t know.

you get a text message. who do you hope it is? There isn’t anyone I’m hoping to get a text from.

are there any songs that you hear that just make you wanna dance? Can’t help but head bob to catchy songs, ha. That’s about as much “dancing” as I do.

do you get any of your songs from LimeWire? LimeWire?? Wowww. I haven’t used that since the late 90s/early 2000s. How old is this survey?

what’s the oddest thing you are wearing right now? I’m not wearing anything odd.

you and your best friend get in a fight. why do you think that is? Bumping heads about things.

do you use the word “basically” a lot? No.

do you use proper grammar or use IM talk? I like to use proper grammar.

what is your biggest annoyance at the time? Nothing really at this current moment.

you see the person you fell hardest for. what do you do? I don’t know.

have/are you depressed? Yes, I have depression.

did you grow up in the united states? Yes.

are you dreading tomorrow? No.

i’m going to see the person i like tomorrow; any confidence boosters? Hope it went well.

do you call anybody ‘baby’? No.

if your school had a winter formal on new years, would you go? I don’t know if I would have or not.

where is the fanciest place you have ever visited? Uhhh.

who is the one person you can completely be yourself around? My mom.

are your pop-ups blocked on your computer? I haven’t seen a pop up in yearsssss.

do you know a guy that has voice cracks, but it’s cute? No.

do you wear earrings on a normal basis? Nope. It’s been a long time.

what stereotype would people associate you with? *shrug*

how old were you when you realized that life goes on? I realized that a long time ago.

do you consider yourself mature? In some ways.

are your parent’s night owls or morning birds? My dad is a morning bird and my mom is a night owl.

do you like to sing? Yeah. Too bad I can’t sing well at all.

are there some songs that you will never understand the lyrics to? Yeah.

do you own a lot of picture frames? Not really.

who is your favorite author? Some current favorites are AJ Rivers, Mary Stone, and Willow Rose.

how many pillows are on your bed? Like 10 lol. I have a thing for throw pillows. I should probably put some away cause they’re taking up a lot of space.

how is your hair right now? Messy.

is your phone fully charged? No, it’s like 80 something percent.

what’s your favorite thing about the holidays? I just love that time of year between October and December. I really enjoy the holidays.

are you still in school? Nope.

how many days/months until your next birthday? Two months. :O

what is your favorite type of cake? Funfetti, white, strawberry, red velvet. Buttercream frosting with the exception of red velvet, in which cream cheese frosting is a must.

how many rings do you wear on a day-to-day basis? Zero.

when will you next laugh until you cry? I don’t know? I haven’t laughed that hard in a very long time.

has anyone ever told you they would never leave, and did? Yes.

do you worry too often? I definitely do.

do you still speak with the person you fell hardest for? Nope. It’s been almost 6 years now since the last time.

when you get old, will you live in a nursing home? I hope not.

do you like getting pictures taken, or are you the photographer? I’d very much rather be the one taking the photos, not being in them. Ew.

who has seen you at your worst? My family.

what/who makes you laugh more than anything? My brother.

do you remember who you liked this time last year? I didn’t like anyone in that way last year. Or now.

what color is your alarm clock? I use my phone for that, which is gold.

do you look older than your age? I’ve been told I look much younger.

what color is your hair? have you ever colored it? It’s naturally dark brown, but I had been dyeing it red the past few years.

does your family put up christmas trees during the season? Well, just one - in the living room. <<<

what did you ask for, for christmas? Clothes and other miscellaneous things.

what car do you drive/plan on driving? I don’t drive.

when was the last time you were honestly surprised? Hmm.

when it is your birthday, do you have parties? Not anymore.

do you remember what you were for halloween when you were 8? No.

what should you be doing right now? I don’t have anything I need to do at the moment.

do you consider yourself social, or total hermit crab? I’m a total hermit crab.

where did you get the shirt you are wearing? Hot Topic.

is there a promise you would risk your life to keep? Hmm.

doesssssssss ittttt botherrrr youuuuuu whenn peopleee wriite likeee thisss? Uh, yes. It does. Stop.

when was the last time you sneezed? *shrug*

how long does it take for you to get ready in the morning? It takes me like an hour to get ready nowadays. I’m moving a lot slower.

look to your right, what do you see? My closet.

will you save this survey to your profile? I’m posting it to Tumblr. <<<

have you ever been in a hurricane? No.

when was the last time you gave advice? It’s been awhile. I’m not the one to come to for advice right now.

are you wearing socks? I always wear socks.

have you ever played dirty santa? No...

what do you do on christmas eve? do you visit family? The past several years it’s just been my parents, brother, and I. We do our Christmas dinner that night and watch Christmas movies. It’s very chill and lowkey, but I love it.

do you catch yourself thinking about the past/present/future the most? The past and present.

do you have annoying neighbors? Ugh, one side of us are very annoying.

what was your high school mascot? I’m not sharing that.

do you remember who you last slapped? I’ve never slapped anyone before.

have you ever back-talked your parents? Yes.

do you stand up for what you believe in? I just answered this in a previous survey and got more into it.

does you dad still live with you? I still live with my parents, yes.

when is the last time you were actually frightened? Hmm.

why was the reason you last bled? I’m constantly picking and biting my lips and they’re extremely chapped.

how many times do you blink a day? Uh, I have absolutely no idea. Who knows that??

do you wear makeup, everyday? No. It’s been almost 5 years since I’ve worn any makeup.

what’s your name, anyways? Stephanie.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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papadannie · 4 years

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*post this with anxiety*

Little and Broke [Part 1?]

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Preschool is a nightmare.

There's no truer statement than that. Having a place full of toddlers who barely just learned to walk, around more toddlers who barely just learned to walk is a fucking nightmare.

Especially if you have twins.

Such is the case for poor Jung Hoseok.

He knew that he had to start the twins in preschool himself. He didn't have anyone else to rely on with them. He had himself, his mother, and occasionally his sister. When those two were busy, Hoseok was alone with two reminders that the woman he loved is gone.

Don't get him wrong. He loves them. Every fiber in his being is absolutely in love with the way Jimin smiles or the way Tae lights up with Hoseok opens a picture book. Always saying 'Daddy, that's pretty!' or 'Daddy, can I draw like that?' Granted, it's in broken, baby babble and barely understandable. Or the way Jimin tries to follow Hoseok's dancing when he's practicing a new routine for his class. The way he trips over his feet or gets his little chubby legs tangled. He always giggles it off and tries again.

Hoseok loves his kids. But.. It's stressful. All alone.

He feels her presence a lot. Like she has her hand on his shoulder telling him it's okay, that she's here. But when he turns around, that is when reality sets in.

The funeral was something he hadn't prepared himself for. He cried. So much that his suit was stained with tears and his sons were comforting him instead of the other way around. He assumed that they didn't understand. They were only 2 when she passed. Barely walking, definitely not talking. They just knew that daddy was sad, and when daddy is sad, we give him big hugs and kisses just like mommy does.

After a year, he took off his ring. People kept telling him it was time. It was time to look for someone who could help. Someone that could love him again. But he never looked. Still hasn't. But he knows the ring isn't there right now. When he's fidgeting because it's the first day of the boy's preschool. When he's watching them color in front of him waiting for her voice to say 'Well, get them in there! They need to make friends, Hobi~' That comforts him.

"Alright boys, let's go. Don't want to be late." He felt himself brighten up out of habit. He always smiled around the boys. Never really crying or showing he's upset unless he's at his breaking point.

Gathering the twins up is a challenge in itself. Jimin is a mini Hoseok. Bouncing when putting on his shoes, when Hoseok tries to push the sweater over his head. He always puts his head into an arm sleeve because of the bouncing, but giggles and situates himself before putting on that million watt smile that matches his father. Hiding his gorgeous brown eyes. An imperfect perfection from his chubby cheeks. Whenever he laughs, giggles or smiles his eyes disappear into the cheeks. You will always know when Jimin is truly happy if you can't see his eyes.

Taehyung on the other hand is quiet like his mother. Hoseok silently resented Tae when he first started to show he was like her. His shiny brown hair, different from Jimin and Hoseok's black. His wide, brown eyes always curiously looking at things. Like music videos that Hoseok puts on the tv to try and copy the moves from to integrate into his routines. He has a beautiful, boxy smile that resembles his father and his mother. Hoseok with his heart smile and his mother with her gummy smile. Hoseok has never heard him full on laugh like Jimin, just little giggles that make his heart soar.

"Chimmy, where's your bag?" Hoseok grumbled while putting the straps over Tae's shoulders. Tae let him while he played with a sewed on patch on Hoseok's leather jacket. "Chim!"

"Right here daddy!" Jimin ran, well, waddle ran to him.

Hoseok couldn't help the smile that came to his face when Jimin bumped into his side and went into a giggle fit. Tae let out a soft giggle, which just added to Hoseok's warming heart. Maybe this won't be so bad. Seeing them make friends, seeing them laugh and smile with new people. He felt the warmth on his shoulder again, almost tearing up right there on the spot. Maybe he should call his sister. His mom, someone. So he doesn't have to do this alone.

One other person came to his mind.

Jin. He could call Jin.

Jin was married to his late wife's sister. They became friends at his wedding when him and his wife started dating. They got along pretty well, always saying they were lucky to have the two sisters. But after she passed, her sister wasn't far behind with a suicide due to grief. They had their first born, Yoongi, before she broke down and threw herself into a particularly rocky river. An apparently bloody scene. Hoseok was still in his depression at that time.

He didn't even spend much time with his own boys, much less worrying about how Jin was doing. But he was guessing it was just as bad as he was. Wailing his heart out until his voice went hoarse. Crying until dehydration. Not eating for days. Thank god for Hoseok's sister, bringing and physically forcing food down his throat. He was worried about Jin.

Last he knew, Jin had moved from the home that the couple shared. Moving into a more studio-like apartment. He never really talked to him after his wife's funeral. He had Yoongi. A handsome baby boy clinging to his father with tears in his eyes while Jin explained why mommy wasn't there. He remembers the boy's wobbling bottom lip and his small nods of understanding. But his small fist never unclenched the back of his dad's tux jacket.

Unlike Hoseok, Jin was composed and calm in front of everyone. He cried when he gave his last goodbyes, when he touched the coffin while giving it a kiss with Yoongi and then at her parent's house when Yoongi screamed so loud it popped Hoseok's ear drums - making a loud ringing in his ears for what felt like hours. He remembers seeing Jin run so fast to the boy, asking frantically what happened. But when he just said he wanted his mom, Hoseok couldn't even hold his own tears. Jin broke down then, it was the first time Hoseok had seen it.

His face turned red, tears flowing like waterfalls as he tried to comfort his son. Taking him outside into the crisp Autumn air to let himself and Yoongi breathe. He remembers them coming back, Yoongi blissfully asleep against Jin's shoulder and Jin holding him like if he let go, the boy would be gone too. But they parted ways. Two lost souls who lost the two women they cared about most in this life.

"Are we gonna see uncle Joon?" Jimin smiled big when they exited the car, bouncing on the sidewalk while Hoseok helped Tae out of his booster seat.

Namjoon had been Hoseok's roommate in College. A close friend and someone who helped take care of the boys after their mother's death and when Hoseok was in a dark place.

He loved the moon, nature and the ocean. Even once had a hermit crab as a pet in their small apartment. They named him J-Mon, standing for J-Hope which had been Hoseok's stage name and RM which was the handle that Namjoon posted music under.

He and Namjoon grew close, very close before Hoseok met his wife. Like people say, experiment in College. Party, drink and have fun. Namjoon was gay, very gay. He didn't hide it, he had no reason to. He grew up with a family who supported his loved of the ocean, supported him when he went into marine biology but never knew about how Namjoon turned into RM at night during club or party hours.

Hoseok knew, of course. He had found his mixtape under a pile of music that Namjoon had collected over the years. From American pop to J-pop, Namjoon had it all. If you said that the man hated music and wanted nothing to do with it, Hoseok had proof that, that wasn't true at all.

When he found the mixtape, he popped it in to practice to different songs. He had no idea RM had been his roommate until he heard the raspy, deep, breathy voice that told him good morning hours before. Until he listened to RM rap and sing about his life, about how the ocean is blue and sky is purple at night, how depressed he had gotten when someone did something to him.

'What are you listening to?' He remembered Namjoon's surprised face when he heard his own voice coming from their sound system and Hoseok's tears running down his face. It seemed like he had listened to every word RM had rapped. Every syllable, every hardship. Their friendship was slightly strained with Namjoon telling him he interrupted his privacy until one night they sat down and talked.

They talked about Hoseok's hardships with his pansexuality, about Namjoon's when he came out to his parents as gay. About how Hoseok wanted to dance but was forced into this medical school by his parents, how Namjoon wanted to make music but loved the ocean too much to abandon it.

They also kissed that night. Passionately. Neither pulled away, they easily fell into Namjoon's blankets and only came up for air after, what felt like hours. 'You have really soft lips, Hobi..' Hoseok laughed at him then, only pulling him down after they had caught their breaths.

For a few years, him and Namjoon had a sort of friend's with benefits relationship. One without labels. Neither wanted to hurt the other, both didn't want to date until they were out of college and could actually focus on their significant other. Until Namjoon met Jackson, a music major who fell in love with RM.

Hoseok was jealous at first, hating Jackson. The guy was cocky around Namjoon, talking about music and whining about how Namjoon never called or texted him back. It was later revealed that Namjoon had a small crush on the musician, telling Hoseok about it and that he thought he was falling in love with him. Hoseok thought it was going to break his heart when he saw Namjoon holding hands with Jackson, or seeing them at their civil union ceremony. But it didn't.

He did start hating Jackson again after the pair had adopted a cute newborn that Namjoon had decided to name Jungkook and Jackson fled. Leaving a poor, innocent infant in the arms of a fragile and cracking man. Of course, this sent Namjoon into a self-hate spiral. One that no one could get him out of. He didn't let anyone near Jungkook for his first year of life out of fear that he would get attached then they would leave.

Even Hoseok wasn't allowed to see Jungkook, only hear his little noises and giggles over the phone when he called to make sure Namjoon hadn't done anything too drastic.

'Hobi, why did he go? Did he hate Kookie? Did.. Did he fall out of love with me?'

"Maybe, Uncle Joon brings little Kookie here for his preschool too." Hoseok finally answered, fixing Jimin's little jean jacket before turning towards Tae to brush down his bedhead from sleeping in the car.

You see, Yoongi was the oldest of the four at the age of 6. Jimin and Tae behind him by two years at the ages of 4 and Jungkook behind them at the age of 3. Yoongi had moved onto kindergarten while this would be Jimin and Tae's last year in preschool. He hated that it was only 2 years ago, on the dot, that his wife had nagged him to get the boys into school to make friends and socialize.

So much can happen in 2 years.

#bts #bts imagine #bangtan sonyeondan #bts parent!au #jin is yoongi's dad #namjoon is jungkook's dad #hobi is tae's & jimin's dad #good guy!hobi #sad boy!namjoon #emotional rock!jin

7 notes · View notes

hamiltimes · 4 years

Note

Answer all of them. 1-170. have fun.

HELL YES LETS GOOOOOOOO

1: How tall or short do you wish you were?

5′2″. Exactly how tall I am now. I like being short.

2: What’s your dream pet? (Real or not)

I’ve always wanted a ferret. They can weed out people for me. If a person says “Ew, it’s a rat” then they ain’t worth my time.

3: Do you have a favorite clothing style?

Whatever’s on sale. Preferably baggy and comfortable

4: What was your favorite video game growing up?

Always has been and always will be the Nancy Drew computer games. I’m obsessed. There are 32 games (we don’t talk about number 33), and I’ve played each one dozens of times.

5: What three things/people do you think of most each day:

My laptop, my dog, my tumblr account

6: If you had a warning label, what would yours say?

Warning: Prone to spontaneous breakdowns, both physically and mentally.

7: What is your opinion on [insert person/thing here]?

Honest opinion on @Elizard-Hamilton, the person who sent this ask: They’re super sweet and kind, and probably the first reciprocal tumblr friendship I’ve ever had.

8: What is your Greek personality type? [Sanguine, Phlegmatic, Choleric, or Melancholic]

Don’t know what that is, too drunk to figure it out right now.

9: Are you ticklish?

God yes. But I retaliate. If you tickle me, you will die.

10: Are you allergic to anything?

No, that’s the one medical thing that I don’t have.

11: What’s your sexuality?

Hetero-Demi Sexual. So I like men, but I’m only sexually attracted to them if we’ve been close for a long time.

12: Do you prefer tea, coffee, or cocoa?

Cocoa, always. Specifically, Tim Hortons Hot Chocolate. Medium, 2 creams.

13: Are you a cat or dog person?

Dog. Always.

14: Would you rather be a vampire, elf, or merperson?

I answered this one already, definitely merperson.

15: Do you have a favorite Youtuber?

Nope.

16: How tall are you?

See above.

17: If you had to change your name, what would you change it to?

I’d just add an L to my name. New name, pronounced the same.

18: How much do you weigh? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!]

Right now, 126 lbs. But I should be 110. I just got off a medication that made me gain 40 pounds practically overnight. I went from 100 pounds to 140 pounds. I’m slowing losing the weight.

19: Do you believe in ghosts/spirits?

Not in the traditional sense, but I do believe there are things about the departed we don’t yet understand. Kind of like way back when they though lightning was a supernatural event, until they found a scientific explanation for it. I think there’s stuff we just haven’t discovered yet.

20: Do you like space or the ocean more?

Ocean.

21: Are you religious?

Nope, athiest.

22: Pet peeves?

Idk, I can’t think of any right now.

23: Would you rather be nocturnal or diurnal [opposite of nocturnal]?

Wtf I don’t know? Who cares? I’d rather be whatever koalas are. They sleep 22 hours a day.

24: Favorite constellation?

The only one I can think of right now is big dipper. That makes it my favourite and also my least favourite constellation.

25: Favorite star?

See question 24, but North Star.

26: Do you like ball-jointed dolls?

I don’t know what that is? Do you mean like Barbie? I litterally watching Barbie Nutcracker right now, lol.

27: Any phobias or fears?

Spiders.

28: Do you think global warming is real?

Duh.

29: Do you believe in reincarnation?

No.

30: Favorite movie?

Does Hamilton count? If yes, that. If not, Knives Out. I’m a sucker for a good murder mystery.

31: Do you get scared easily?

Yes.

32: How many pets have you own in your lifetime?

Oh god. Idk. You’re going to make me do math on vacation. Lets see. 3 Dogs, 2 Cats, ungodly numbers of fish, 2 rats, 5 hermit crabs, 3 hamsters, probably others I can’t remember.

33: Blog rate? [You’ll rate the blog of the one who’s asking.]

@elizard-hamilton 10/10. 5 stars. Thumbs up. Gold Star.

34: What is a color that calms you?

Royal Purple. I used to have a bedroom where everything was royal purple. The walls, the furniture, the bedding, the accessories. Everything. It was a great time in my life, so the colour makes me think of good times.

35: Where would you like to travel and/or live?

I’d love to go to Belgium. My grandmother was born there, and we still have family over there that I’ve never met.

36: Where were you born?

London Ontario

37: What is your eye color?

Hazel

38: Introvert or extrovert?

Introvert

39: Do you believe in horoscopes and zodiacs?

Not at all

40: Hugs or kisses?

None of the above. I have Asperger's, I don’t like to be touched.

41: Who is someone you would like to see/visit right now?

I’d love to see my BFF from high school again. Haven’t talked to her since we graduated. Rachel, if you’re out there, I miss you.

42: Who is someone you love deeply?

My parents.

43: Any piercings you want?

None.

44: Do you like tattoos and piercings?

Nope. I don’t have anything against them, they’re just not for me. If you have them, I won’t think any less of you. There’s nothing wrong with them.

45: Do you smoke or have you eiver done so?

Nope. I’ve already got really shitty lungs (I have Cystic Fibrosis), I’d rather not make them worse than they already are.

46: Talk about your crush, if you have one!

Oh gosh, he’s cute, funny, talented, a great singer, a great writer, he wrote a hit broadway musical... oh, he doesn’t count? Then no, no one right now.

47: What is a sound you really hate?

Styrofoam rubbing against more styrofoam.

48: A sound you really love?

The notification sound tumblr makes when I get something in my inbox

49: Can you do a backflip?

HA no.

50: Can you do the splits?

HA HA no.

51: Favorite actor and/or actress?

Do I even need to answer this? I’m going to anyway. It’s..... drumroll........ Danny Devito! Lol, no, it’s Lin Manuel-Miranda

52: Favorite movie?

This is the same as question 30.

53: How are you feeling right now?

Drunk. Next question.

54: What color would you like your hair to be right now?

Purple. I used to have purple hair. Then I got older and got a real job and I’m not allowed to die my hair anymore.

55: When did you feel happiest?

At 16, with my purple hair and purple bedroom and my bff in like grade 11

56: Something that calms you down?

Hamilton

57: Have any mental disorders? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!]

Asperger’s, Depression, situational anxiety.

58: What does your URL mean?

Every time is Hamiltime. Because it’s always time for Hamilton.

59: What three words describe you the most?

Bizarre, confrontational, idk. Is there a word that means unwilling to put up with anyone’s bullshit? Because if so, then that.

60: Do you believe in evolution?

Yes. Evolution is a fact, it’s been proven. So this question should not say do you believe in evolution, it should say do you accept evolution.

61: What makes you unfollow a blog?

If they start posting stuff i disagree with, or if they totally veer into a new fandom I’m not interested in. I’ve lost so many good blogs to kpop.

62: What makes you follow a blog?

Idk, I like their stuff?

63: Favorite kind of person:

Kind people.

64: Favorite animal(s):

Pug.

65: Name three of your favorite blogs.

I’m not going to start naming friends, cause I’ve got way more than three and I know I’m going to forget someone, so here’s 3 random blogs I enjoy: gmoringgnight, tinywhim, torsnavi

66: Favorite emoticon:

I’m on my laptop, i don’t have emoticons right now, but probably the one where he’s crying laughing

67: Favorite meme:

All of them. I love all the memes.

68: What is your MBTI personality type?

I’m too drunk to remember right now, ask me tomorrow.

69: What is your star sign?

Pisces

70: Can your dog roll over on command, if you have a dog?

He cannot. He’s an idiot. But he can give you a high five, if that counts for something.

71: What outfit out of all your clothes do you like to wear the most?

Leggings, T-Shirt, Hoodie. Whatever’s clean.

72: Post a selfie or two?

73: Do you have platform shoes?

74: What is one random but interesting fact about yourself?

I can solve a rubik’s cube

75: Can you do a front flip?

LOL NO

76: Do you like birds?

To look at, not to own or touch

77: Do you like to swim?

Very much. In the water, it’s the one place my back doesn’t hurt.

78: Is swimming or ice skating more fun to you?

Swimming. I don’t skate. I know, oh wow, a Canadian who can’t skate. Sue me.

79: Something you wish didn’t exist:

Trump.

80: Some thing you wish did exist:

Alex Clairmont-Diaz

81: Piercings you have?

My ears are pierced.

82: Something you really enjoy doing:

Reading

83: Favorite person to talk to:

My mom

84: What was your first impression of Tumblr?

Amazing, finally a place I can be as weird as I want and it’s totally anonymous.

85: How many followers do you have?

I have no idea.

86: Can you run a mile within ten minutes?

HA no

87: Do your socks always match?

Yes

88: Can you touch your toes and keep your legs straight completely?

When I was 14, they did a surgery where they put metal rods in my spine to keep it from growing crooked. My spine doesn’t bend at all. So I’ve never tried to touch my toes, but I’m going to go with no, I can’t.

89: What are your birthstones?

I think Aquamarine? I don’t remember.

90: If you were an animal, which one would you be?

Koala. They sleep 22 hours a day.

91: If a flower could aesthetically represent you, what kind would it be?

I can’t think of any flowers right now beyond rose and tulip, and neither represent me. Is there a flower that’s really ugly? If so, that.

92: A store you hate?

Gap. I despise that store with every escence of my being.

93: How many cups of coffee can you drink in one day?

None. It tastes like manure.

94: Would you rather be able to fly or read minds?

Ooh, fly. No more wheelchair.

95: Do you like to wear camo?

I don’t think i particularly like or dislike it. I just don’t wear it.

96: Winter or summer?

SUMMER ALL THE TIME

97: How long can you hold your breath for?

Not long at all. See explanation above, r.e. Cystic Fibrosis

98: Least favorite person?

Trump

99: Someone you look up to:

My mom

100: A store you love?

Hot Topic. Yes, I’m basic like that.

101: Favorite type of shoes

Flats, cause I don’t have to attempt to bend over to put them on.

102: Where do you live?

Hamilton, Ontario, Canada. Yes, I’m serious.

103: Are you a vegetarian or vegan? If so, why?

Nope.

104: What is your favorite mineral or gem?

Wtf? Are people supposed to have a favourite mineral or gem?

105: Do you drink milk?

106: Do you like bugs?

107: Do you like spiders?

108: Something you get paranoid about?

If I remembered to turn off my computer before I go to bed.

109: Can you draw:

Nope

110: Nosiest question you have ever been asked?

On a daily basis, people ask me why I use my scooter or my wheelchair. Every day. Not so much during the pandemic, but yeah.

111: A question you hate being asked?

“When are you going to get a boyfriend?” “When are you going to settle down?”

112: Ever been bitten by a spider?

NOPE

113: Do you like the sound of waves at the beach?

Who doesn’t?

114: Do you prefer cloudy or sunny days?

Cloudy, cause then I can stay indoors guilt-free

115: Someone you’d like to kiss or cuddle right now:

My dog. But he’s with my sister.

116: Favorite cloud type:

???? Is this something I’m supposed to have an opinion on?????

117: What color do you wish the sky was?

???? IDGAF ??????

118: Do you have freckles?

119: Favorite thing about a person:

Their laugh

120: Fruits or vegetables?

Fruit

121: Something you want to do right now:

Get another drink, but that’s probs not a great idea

122: Is the ocean or sky prettier?

Ocean

123: Sweet or sour foods?

Sweet

124: Bright or dim lights?

Dim

125: Do you believe in a certain magical creature?

126: Something you hate about Tumblr:

I can’t reblog ads. Some of those ads are really, REALLY funny.

127: Something you love about Tumblr:

Completely anonymous. I could be anyone. For all you know, I’m actually Mike Pence. (I promise I’m not)

128: What do you think about the least?

Idk? There’s probably lots of stuff I’ve never thought about at all

129: What would you want written on your tombstone?

Nothing, but I want there to be a little machine on top that looks like a parking meter, and when you put money in it you get wifi for an hour.

130: Who would you like to punch in the face right now?

Trump, most of the politicians in the states. I want to go to New York, and I can’t because y’all can’t get your shit together and kick this virus.

131: What is something you love but also hate about yourself?

My face. Not going to elaborate.

132: Do you smile with your teeth showing for pictures?

Yes, but only because I get yelled at if I don’t.

133: Computer or TV?

Computer.

134: Do you like roller coasters?

I used to. Then the back surgery and now I can’t anymore.

135: Do you get motion sickness or seasickness?

Motion sickness no, seasickness yes.

136: Are your ears lobed or attached?

Lobed.

137: Do you believe in karma?

I believe that what you do will eventually come back to bite you in the ass, but I don’t believe in some cosmic force that balances the scales.

138: On a scale of 1-10, how attractive would you say you are?

0. Not going to elaborate.

139: What nicknames do you have/have had?

None. My name has always been Adele. The few people who tried to give me nicknames got shot down real quick.

140: Did you have any pretend or imaginary friends?

When I was little, yeah

141: Have you ever seen a therapist/shrink?

Yes ma’am. For over a decade.

142: Would you say you are a good or bad influence to others?

Both at different times.

143: Do you prefer giving or receiving gifts/help?

Giving. I never know what to say when receiving.

144: What makes you angry

A lot of things these days. Can’t think of anything specific. My sister, usually.

145: How many languages do you speak fluently?

Two. I speak French and English.

146: Do you prefer boys, girls, and/or non-binaries?

Boys.

147: Are you androgynous?

Nope.

148: Favorite physical thing about yourself:

My face. Not going to elaborate.

149: Favorite thing about your personality:

My “take no shit” attitude.

150: Name three people you would like to talk to right now in person.

Lin Manuel Miranda, Renee Elise Goldsberry, anyone from West Wing

151: If you could go back into time and live in one era, which would you choose?

Revolutionary America

152: Do you like BuzzFeed?

I’ve been known to partake.

153: How did you meet your spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/partner? [If you have one.]

Nope. I’m forever alone.

154: Do you like to kiss others’ foreheads or hands for platonic reasons?

No. I have Asperger’s. No touching.

155: Do you like to play with others’ hair?

No.

156: What embarrasses you?

When I need to ask for help for really simple things because of my wheelchair or other disabilities. I hate it.

157: Something that makes you nervous/anxious:

The future, for reasons way too complex to write in a tumblr post.

158: Biggest lie you have ever told:

I convinced half my second grade class I was related to Elton John once. That was fun. They believed it for like 3 months.

159: How many people are you following?

Hundreds.

160: How many posts do you have on your blog(s)?

I don’t even know how I would find that out.

161: How many drafts do you have on your blog(s)?

Right now, I have 12, but that’s because I’ve queued up the next 4 days HamiltonHungerGames. Usually, I have none. I don’t understand how people have drafts. When I feel like writing something on tumblr, I start a post, I end the post, I post it. I never use drafts

162: How many likes do you have on your blog(s)?

??? Again, I have no idea how to find that information.

163: Last time you cried and why:

I honestly don’t remember.

164: Do you have long or short hair?

Usually long, but right now short. My mom decided to give me a covid haircut, and she does not understand the meaning of “Just a trim”.

165: Longest your hair has ever been:

Down to my butt.

166: Why do you like, dislike, or have neutral feelings about religon?

Dislike. I’m not going to talk about it here, but if you’re really curious you can dm me.

167: Do you really care how the universe and world was created?

Yes, because if we know where the universe and world came from, we can figure out where it’s headed. See the book Origins by Dan Brown.

168: Do you like to wear makeup?

Not at all.

169: Can you stand on your hands or head for more than thirty seconds?

I can barely stand on my feet for more than 30 seconds.

170: Did you answer the questions you were asked truthfully?

Tried to.

Ok, this took me an hour and 45 minutes. I’m tired, I’m drunk, I’m going to regret this in the morning, I’m going to bed. Night y’all.

5 notes · View notes

thegreatantonchekhov · 3 years

Text

The Man In A Case

By Anton Chekhov

Translated by Constance Garnett

“Ah, freedom, freedom! The merest hint, the faintest hope of its possibility gives wings to the soul, does it not?”

AT the furthest end of the village of Mironositskoe some belated sportsmen lodged for the night in the elder Prokofy’s barn. There were two of them, the veterinary surgeon Ivan Ivanovitch and the schoolmaster Burkin. Ivan Ivanovitch had a rather strange double-barrelled surname -- Tchimsha-Himalaisky -- which did not suit him at all, and he was called simply Ivan Ivanovitch all over the province. He lived at a stud-farm near the town, and had come out shooting now to get a breath of fresh air. Burkin, the high-school teacher, stayed every summer at Count P-----’s, and had been thoroughly at home in this district for years.

They did not sleep. Ivan Ivanovitch, a tall, lean old fellow with long moustaches, was sitting outside the door, smoking a pipe in the moonlight. Burkin was lying within on the hay, and could not be seen in the darkness.

They were telling each other all sorts of stories. Among other things, they spoke of the fact that the elder’s wife, Mavra, a healthy and by no means stupid woman, had never been beyond her native village, had never seen a town nor a railway in her life, and had spent the last ten years sitting behind the stove, and only at night going out into the street.

“What is there wonderful in that!” said Burkin. “There are plenty of people in the world, solitary by temperament, who try to retreat into their shell like a hermit crab or a snail. Perhaps it is an instance of atavism, a return to the period when the ancestor of man was not yet a social animal and lived alone in his den, or perhaps it is only one of the diversities of human character -- who knows? I am not a natural science man, and it is not my business to settle such questions; I only mean to say that people like Mavra are not uncommon. There is no need to look far; two months ago a man called Byelikov, a colleague of mine, the Greek master, died in our town. You have heard of him, no doubt. He was remarkable for always wearing goloshes and a warm wadded coat, and carrying an umbrella even in the very finest weather. And his umbrella was in a case, and his watch was in a case made of grey chamois leather, and when he took out his penknife to sharpen his pencil, his penknife, too, was in a little case; and his face seemed to be in a case too, because he always hid it in his turned-up collar. He wore dark spectacles and flannel vests, stuffed up his ears with cotton-wool, and when he got into a cab always told the driver to put up the hood. In short, the man displayed a constant and insurmountable impulse to wrap himself in a covering, to make himself, so to speak, a case which would isolate him and protect him from external influences. Reality irritated him, frightened him, kept him in continual agitation, and, perhaps to justify his timidity, his aversion for the actual, he always praised the past and what had never existed; and even the classical languages which he taught were in reality for him goloshes and umbrellas in which he sheltered himself from real life.

“ ‘Oh, how sonorous, how beautiful is the Greek language!’ he would say, with a sugary expression; and as though to prove his words he would screw up his eyes and, raising his finger, would pronounce ‘Anthropos!’

“And Byelikov tried to hide his thoughts also in a case. The only things that were clear to his mind were government circulars and newspaper articles in which something was forbidden. When some proclamation prohibited the boys from going out in the streets after nine o’clock in the evening, or some article declared carnal love unlawful, it was to his mind clear and definite; it was forbidden, and that was enough. For him there was always a doubtful element, something vague and not fully expressed, in any sanction or permission. When a dramatic club or a reading-room or a tea-shop was licensed in the town, he would shake his head and say softly:

“It is all right, of course; it is all very nice, but I hope it won’t lead to anything!”

“Every sort of breach of order, deviation or departure from rule, depressed him, though one would have thought it was no business of his. If one of his colleagues was late for church or if rumours reached him of some prank of the high-school boys, or one of the mistresses was seen late in the evening in the company of an officer, he was much disturbed, and said he hoped that nothing would come of it. At the teachers’ meetings he simply oppressed us with his caution, his circumspection, and his characteristic reflection on the ill-behaviour of the young people in both male and female high-schools, the uproar in the classes.

“Oh, he hoped it would not reach the ears of the authorities; oh, he hoped nothing would come of it; and he thought it would be a very good thing if Petrov were expelled from the second class and Yegorov from the fourth. And, do you know, by his sighs, his despondency, his black spectacles on his pale little face, a little face like a pole-cat’s, you know, he crushed us all, and we gave way, reduced Petrov’s and Yegorov’s marks for conduct, kept them in, and in the end expelled them both. He had a strange habit of visiting our lodgings. He would come to a teacher’s, would sit down, and remain silent, as though he were carefully inspecting something. He would sit like this in silence for an hour or two and then go away. This he called ‘maintaining good relations with his colleagues’; and it was obvious that coming to see us and sitting there was tiresome to him, and that he came to see us simply because he considered it his duty as our colleague. We teachers were afraid of him. And even the headmaster was afraid of him. Would you believe it, our teachers were all intellectual, right-minded people, brought up on Turgenev and Shtchedrin, yet this little chap, who always went about with goloshes and an umbrella, had the whole high-school under his thumb for fifteen long years! High-school, indeed -- he had the whole town under his thumb! Our ladies did not get up private theatricals on Saturdays for fear he should hear of it, and the clergy dared not eat meat or play cards in his presence. Under the influence of people like Byelikov we have got into the way of being afraid of everything in our town for the last ten or fifteen years. They are afraid to speak aloud, afraid to send letters, afraid to make acquaintances, afraid to read books, afraid to help the poor, to teach people to read and write. . . .”

Ivan Ivanovitch cleared his throat, meaning to say something, but first lighted his pipe, gazed at the moon, and then said, with pauses:

“Yes, intellectual, right minded people read Shtchedrin and Turgenev, Buckle, and all the rest of them, yet they knocked under and put up with it. . . that’s just how it is.”

“Byelikov lived in the same house as I did,” Burkin went on, “on the same storey, his door facing mine; we often saw each other, and I knew how he lived when he was at home. And at home it was the same story: dressing-gown, nightcap, blinds, bolts, a perfect succession of prohibitions and restrictions of all sorts, and --’Oh, I hope nothing will come of it!’ Lenten fare was bad for him, yet he could not eat meat, as people might perhaps say Byelikov did not keep the fasts, and he ate freshwater fish with butter -- not a Lenten dish, yet one could not say that it was meat. He did not keep a female servant for fear people might think evil of him, but had as cook an old man of sixty, called Afanasy, half-witted and given to tippling, who had once been an officer’s servant and could cook after a fashion. This Afanasy was usually standing at the door with his arms folded; with a deep sigh, he would mutter always the same thing:

“ ‘There are plenty of them about nowadays!’

“Byelikov had a little bedroom like a box; his bed had curtains. When he went to bed he covered his head over; it was hot and stuffy; the wind battered on the closed doors; there was a droning noise in the stove and a sound of sighs from the kitchen -- ominous sighs. . . . And he felt frightened under the bed-clothes. He was afraid that something might happen, that Afanasy might murder him, that thieves might break in, and so he had troubled dreams all night, and in the morning, when we went together to the high-school, he was depressed and pale, and it was evident that the high-school full of people excited dread and aversion in his whole being, and that to walk beside me was irksome to a man of his solitary temperament.

“ ‘They make a great noise in our classes,’ he used to say, as though trying to find an explanation for his depression. ‘It’s beyond anything.’

“And the Greek master, this man in a case -- would you believe it? -- almost got married.”

Ivan Ivanovitch glanced quickly into the barn, and said:

“You are joking!”

“Yes, strange as it seems, he almost got married. A new teacher of history and geography, Milhail Savvitch Kovalenko, a Little Russian, was appointed. He came, not alone, but with his sister Varinka. He was a tall, dark young man with huge hands, and one could see from his face that he had a bass voice, and, in fact, he had a voice that seemed to come out of a barrel -- ‘boom, boom, boom!’ And she was not so young, about thirty, but she, too, was tall, well-made, with black eyebrows and red cheeks -- in fact, she was a regular sugar-plum, and so sprightly, so noisy; she was always singing Little Russian songs and laughing. For the least thing she would go off into a ringing laugh -- ‘Ha-ha-ha!’ We made our first thorough acquaintance with the Kovalenkos at the headmaster’s name-day party. Among the glum and intensely bored teachers who came even to the name-day party as a duty we suddenly saw a new Aphrodite risen from the waves; she walked with her arms akimbo, laughed, sang, danced. . . . She sang with feeling ‘The Winds do Blow,’ then another song, and another, and she fascinated us all -- all, even Byelikov. He sat down by her and said with a honeyed smile:

“ ‘The Little Russian reminds one of the ancient Greek in its softness and agreeable resonance.’

“That flattered her, and she began telling him with feeling and earnestness that they had a farm in the Gadyatchsky district, and that her mamma lived at the farm, and that they had such pears, such melons, such kabaks! The Little Russians call pumpkins kabaks (i.e., pothouses), while their pothouses they call shinki, and they make a beetroot soup with tomatoes and aubergines in it, ‘which was so nice -- awfully nice!’

“We listened and listened, and suddenly the same idea dawned upon us all:

“ ‘It would be a good thing to make a match of it,’ the headmaster’s wife said to me softly.

“We all for some reason recalled the fact that our friend Byelikov was not married, and it now seemed to us strange that we had hitherto failed to observe, and had in fact completely lost sight of, a detail so important in his life. What was his attitude to woman? How had he settled this vital question for himself? This had not interested us in the least till then; perhaps we had not even admitted the idea that a man who went out in all weathers in goloshes and slept under curtains could be in love.

“ ‘He is a good deal over forty and she is thirty,’ the headmaster’s wife went on, developing her idea. ‘I believe she would marry him.’

“All sorts of things are done in the provinces through boredom, all sorts of unnecessary and nonsensical things! And that is because what is necessary is not done at all. What need was there for instance, for us to make a match for this Byelikov, whom one could not even imagine married? The headmaster’s wife, the inspector’s wife, and all our high-school ladies, grew livelier and even better-looking, as though they had suddenly found a new object in life. The headmaster’s wife would take a box at the theatre, and we beheld sitting in her box Varinka, with such a fan, beaming and happy, and beside her Byelikov, a little bent figure, looking as though he had been extracted from his house by pincers. I would give an evening party, and the ladies would insist on my inviting Byelikov and Varinka. In short, the machine was set in motion. It appeared that Varinka was not averse to matrimony. She had not a very cheerful life with her brother; they could do nothing but quarrel and scold one another from morning till night. Here is a scene, for instance. Kovalenko would be coming along the street, a tall, sturdy young ruffian, in an embroidered shirt, his love-locks falling on his forehead under his cap, in one hand a bundle of books, in the other a thick knotted stick, followed by his sister, also with books in her hand.

“ ‘But you haven’t read it, Mihalik!’ she would be arguing loudly. ‘I tell you, I swear you have not read it at all!’

“ ‘And I tell you I have read it,’ cries Kovalenko, thumping his stick on the pavement.

“ ‘Oh, my goodness, Mihalik! why are you so cross? We are arguing about principles.’

“ ‘I tell you that I have read it!’ Kovalenko would shout, more loudly than ever.

“And at home, if there was an outsider present, there was sure to be a skirmish. Such a life must have been wearisome, and of course she must have longed for a home of her own. Besides, there was her age to be considered; there was no time left to pick and choose; it was a case of marrying anybody, even a Greek master. And, indeed, most of our young ladies don’t mind whom they marry so long as they do get married. However that may be, Varinka began to show an unmistakable partiality for Byelikov.

“And Byelikov? He used to visit Kovalenko just as he did us. He would arrive, sit down, and remain silent. He would sit quiet, and Varinka would sing to him ‘The Winds do Blow,’ or would look pensively at him with her dark eyes, or would suddenly go off into a peal -- ‘Ha-ha-ha!’

“Suggestion plays a great part in love affairs, and still more in getting married. Everybody -- both his colleagues and the ladies -- began assuring Byelikov that he ought to get married, that there was nothing left for him in life but to get married; we all congratulated him, with solemn countenances delivered ourselves of various platitudes, such as ‘Marriage is a serious step.’ Besides, Varinka was good-looking and interesting; she was the daughter of a civil councillor, and had a farm; and what was more, she was the first woman who had been warm and friendly in her manner to him. His head was turned, and he decided that he really ought to get married.”

“Well, at that point you ought to have taken away his goloshes and umbrella,” said Ivan Ivanovitch.

“Only fancy! that turned out to be impossible. He put Varinka’s portrait on his table, kept coming to see me and talking about Varinka, and home life, saying marriage was a serious step. He was frequently at Kovalenko’s, but he did not alter his manner of life in the least; on the contrary, indeed, his determination to get married seemed to have a depressing effect on him. He grew thinner and paler, and seemed to retreat further and further into his case.

“ ‘I like Varvara Savvishna,’ he used to say to me, with a faint and wry smile, ‘and I know that every one ought to get married, but . . . you know all this has happened so suddenly. . . . One must think a little.’

“ ‘What is there to think over?’ I used to say to him. ‘Get married -- that is all.’

“ ‘No; marriage is a serious step. One must first weigh the duties before one, the responsibilities . . . that nothing may go wrong afterwards. It worries me so much that I don’t sleep at night. And I must confess I am afraid: her brother and she have a strange way of thinking; they look at things strangely, you know, and her disposition is very impetuous. One may get married, and then, there is no knowing, one may find oneself in an unpleasant position.’

“And he did not make an offer; he kept putting it off, to the great vexation of the headmaster’s wife and all our ladies; he went on weighing his future duties and responsibilities, and meanwhile he went for a walk with Varinka almost every day -- possibly he thought that this was necessary in his position -- and came to see me to talk about family life. And in all probability in the end he would have proposed to her, and would have made one of those unnecessary, stupid marriages such as are made by thousands among us from being bored and having nothing to do, if it had not been for a kolossalische scandal. I must mention that Varinka’s brother, Kovalenko, detested Byelikov from the first day of their acquaintance, and could not endure him.

“ ‘I don’t understand,’ he used to say to us, shrugging his shoulders --’I don’t understand how you can put up with that sneak, that nasty phiz. Ugh! how can you live here! The atmosphere is stifling and unclean! Do you call yourselves schoolmasters, teachers? You are paltry government clerks. You keep, not a temple of science, but a department for red tape and loyal behaviour, and it smells as sour as a police-station. No, my friends; I will stay with you for a while, and then I will go to my farm and there catch crabs and teach the Little Russians. I shall go, and you can stay here with your Judas -- damn his soul!’

“Or he would laugh till he cried, first in a loud bass, then in a shrill, thin laugh, and ask me, waving his hands:

“ ‘What does he sit here for? What does he want? He sits and stares.’

“He even gave Byelikov a nickname, ‘The Spider.’ And it will readily be understood that we avoided talking to him of his sister’s being about to marry ‘The Spider.’

“And on one occasion, when the headmaster’s wife hinted to him what a good thing it would be to secure his sister’s future with such a reliable, universally respected man as Byelikov, he frowned and muttered:

“ ‘It’s not my business; let her marry a reptile if she likes. I don’t like meddling in other people’s affairs.’

“Now hear what happened next. Some mischievous person drew a caricature of Byelikov walking along in his goloshes with his trousers tucked up, under his umbrella, with Varinka on his arm; below, the inscription ‘Anthropos in love.’ The expression was caught to a marvel, you know. The artist must have worked for more than one night, for the teachers of both the boys’ and girls’ high-schools, the teachers of the seminary, the government officials, all received a copy. Byelikov received one, too. The caricature made a very painful impression on him.

“We went out together; it was the first of May, a Sunday, and all of us, the boys and the teachers, had agreed to meet at the high-school and then to go for a walk together to a wood beyond the town. We set off, and he was green in the face and gloomier than a storm-cloud.

‘What wicked, ill-natured people there are!’ he said, and his lips quivered.

“I felt really sorry for him. We were walking along, and all of a sudden -- would you believe it? -- Kovalenko came bowling along on a bicycle, and after him, also on a bicycle, Varinka, flushed and exhausted, but good-humoured and gay.

“ ‘We are going on ahead,’ she called. ‘What lovely weather! Awfully lovely!’

“And they both disappeared from our sight. Byelikov turned white instead of green, and seemed petrified. He stopped short and stared at me. . . .

“ ‘What is the meaning of it? Tell me, please!’ he asked. ‘Can my eyes have deceived me? Is it the proper thing for high-school masters and ladies to ride bicycles?’

“ ‘What is there improper about it?’ I said. ‘Let them ride and enjoy themselves.’

“ ‘But how can that be?’ he cried, amazed at my calm. ‘What are you saying?’

“And he was so shocked that he was unwilling to go on, and returned home.

“Next day he was continually twitching and nervously rubbing his hands, and it was evident from his face that he was unwell. And he left before his work was over, for the first time in his life. And he ate no dinner. Towards evening he wrapped himself up warmly, though it was quite warm weather, and sallied out to the Kovalenkos’. Varinka was out; he found her brother, however.

“ ‘Pray sit down,’ Kovalenko said coldly, with a frown. His face looked sleepy; he had just had a nap after dinner, and was in a very bad humour.

“Byelikov sat in silence for ten minutes, and then began:

“ ‘I have come to see you to relieve my mind. I am very, very much troubled. Some scurrilous fellow has drawn an absurd caricature of me and another person, in whom we are both deeply interested. I regard it as a duty to assure you that I have had no hand in it. . . . I have given no sort of ground for such ridicule -- on the contrary, I have always behaved in every way like a gentleman.’

“Kovalenko sat sulky and silent. Byelikov waited a little, and went on slowly in a mournful voice:

“ ‘And I have something else to say to you. I have been in the service for years, while you have only lately entered it, and I consider it my duty as an older colleague to give you a warning. You ride on a bicycle, and that pastime is utterly unsuitable for an educator of youth.’

“ ‘Why so?’ asked Kovalenko in his bass.

“ ‘Surely that needs no explanation, Mihail Savvitch -- surely you can understand that? If the teacher rides a bicycle, what can you expect the pupils to do? You will have them walking on their heads next! And so long as there is no formal permission to do so, it is out of the question. I was horrified yesterday! When I saw your sister everything seemed dancing before my eyes. A lady or a young girl on a bicycle -- it’s awful!’

“ ‘What is it you want exactly?’

“ ‘All I want is to warn you, Mihail Savvitch. You are a young man, you have a future before you, you must be very, very careful in your behaviour, and you are so careless -- oh, so careless! You go about in an embroidered shirt, are constantly seen in the street carrying books, and now the bicycle, too. The headmaster will learn that you and your sister ride the bicycle, and then it will reach the higher authorities. . . . Will that be a good thing?’

“ ‘It’s no business of anybody else if my sister and I do bicycle!’ said Kovalenko, and he turned crimson. ‘And damnation take any one who meddles in my private affairs!’

“Byelikov turned pale and got up.

“ ‘If you speak to me in that tone I cannot continue,’ he said. ‘And I beg you never to express yourself like that about our superiors in my presence; you ought to be respectful to the authorities.’

“ ‘Why, have I said any harm of the authorities?’ asked Kovalenko, looking at him wrathfully. ‘Please leave me alone. I am an honest man, and do not care to talk to a gentleman like you. I don’t like sneaks!’

“Byelikov flew into a nervous flutter, and began hurriedly putting on his coat, with an expression of horror on his face. It was the first time in his life he had been spoken to so rudely.

“ ‘You can say what you please,’ he said, as he went out from the entry to the landing on the staircase. ‘I ought only to warn you: possibly some one may have overheard us, and that our conversation may not be misunderstood and harm come of it, I shall be compelled to inform our headmaster of our conversation . . . in its main features. I am bound to do so.’

“ ‘Inform him? You can go and make your report!’

“Kovalenko seized him from behind by the collar and gave him a push, and Byelikov rolled downstairs, thudding with his goloshes. The staircase was high and steep, but he rolled to the bottom unhurt, got up, and touched his nose to see whether his spectacles were all right. But just as he was falling down the stairs Varinka came in, and with her two ladies; they stood below staring, and to Byelikov this was more terrible than anything. I believe he would rather have broken his neck or both legs than have been an object of ridicule. ‘Why, now the whole town would hear of it; it would come to the headmaster’s ears, would reach the higher authorities -- oh, it might lead to something! There would be another caricature, and it would all end in his being asked to resign his post. . . .

“When he got up, Varinka recognized him, and, looking at his ridiculous face, his crumpled overcoat, and his goloshes, not understanding what had happened and supposing that he had slipped down by accident, could not restrain herself, and laughed loud enough to be heard by all the flats:

“ ‘Ha-ha-ha!’

“And this pealing, ringing ‘Ha-ha-ha!’ was the last straw that put an end to everything: to the proposed match and to Byelikov’s earthly existence. He did not hear what Varinka said to him; he saw nothing. On reaching home, the first thing he did was to remove her portrait from the table; then he went to bed, and he never got up again.

“Three days later Afanasy came to me and asked whether we should not send for the doctor, as there was something wrong with his master. I went in to Byelikov. He lay silent behind the curtain, covered with a quilt; if one asked him a question, he said ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ and not another sound. He lay there while Afanasy, gloomy and scowling, hovered about him, sighing heavily, and smelling like a pothouse.

“A month later Byelikov died. We all went to his funeral -- that is, both the high-schools and the seminary. Now when he was lying in his coffin his expression was mild, agreeable, even cheerful, as though he were glad that he had at last been put into a case which he would never leave again. Yes, he had attained his ideal! And, as though in his honour, it was dull, rainy weather on the day of his funeral, and we all wore goloshes and took our umbrellas. Varinka, too, was at the funeral, and when the coffin was lowered into the grave she burst into tears. I have noticed that Little Russian women are always laughing or crying -- no intermediate mood.

“One must confess that to bury people like Byelikov is a great pleasure. As we were returning from the cemetery we wore discreet Lenten faces; no one wanted to display this feeling of pleasure -- a feeling like that we had experienced long, long ago as children when our elders had gone out and we ran about the garden for an hour or two, enjoying complete freedom. Ah, freedom, freedom! The merest hint, the faintest hope of its possibility gives wings to the soul, does it not?

“We returned from the cemetery in a good humour. But not more than a week had passed before life went on as in the past, as gloomy, oppressive, and senseless -- a life not forbidden by government prohibition, but not fully permitted, either: it was no better. And, indeed, though we had buried Byelikov, how many such men in cases were left, how many more of them there will be!”

“That’s just how it is,” said Ivan Ivanovitch and he lighted his pipe.

“How many more of them there will be!” repeated Burkin.

The schoolmaster came out of the barn. He was a short, stout man, completely bald, with a black beard down to his waist. The two dogs came out with him.

“What a moon!” he said, looking upwards.

It was midnight. On the right could be seen the whole village, a long street stretching far away for four miles. All was buried in deep silent slumber; not a movement, not a sound; one could hardly believe that nature could be so still. When on a moonlight night you see a broad village street, with its cottages, haystacks, and slumbering willows, a feeling of calm comes over the soul; in this peace, wrapped away from care, toil, and sorrow in the darkness of night, it is mild, melancholy, beautiful, and it seems as though the stars look down upon it kindly and with tenderness, and as though there were no evil on earth and all were well. On the left the open country began from the end of the village; it could be seen stretching far away to the horizon, and there was no movement, no sound in that whole expanse bathed in moonlight.

“Yes, that is just how it is,” repeated Ivan Ivanovitch; “and isn’t our living in town, airless and crowded, our writing useless papers, our playing vint -- isn’t that all a sort of case for us? And our spending our whole lives among trivial, fussy men and silly, idle women, our talking and our listening to all sorts of nonsense -- isn’t that a case for us, too? If you like, I will tell you a very edifying story.”

“No; it’s time we were asleep,” said Burkin. “Tell it tomorrow.”

They went into the barn and lay down on the hay. And they were both covered up and beginning to doze when they suddenly heard light footsteps -- patter, patter. . . . Some one was walking not far from the barn, walking a little and stopping, and a minute later, patter, patter again. . . . The dogs began growling.

“That’s Mavra,” said Burkin.

The footsteps died away.

“You see and hear that they lie,” said Ivan Ivanovitch, turning over on the other side, “and they call you a fool for putting up with their lying. You endure insult and humiliation, and dare not openly say that you are on the side of the honest and the free, and you lie and smile yourself; and all that for the sake of a crust of bread, for the sake of a warm corner, for the sake of a wretched little worthless rank in the service. No, one can’t go on living like this.”

“Well, you are off on another tack now, Ivan Ivanovitch,” said the schoolmaster. “Let us go to sleep!

And ten minutes later Burkin was asleep. But Ivan Ivanovitch kept sighing and turning over from side to side; then he got up, went outside again, and, sitting in the doorway, lighted his pipe.

NOTES

elder Prokofy: the village elder was the elected head of the mir (village commune)

Anthropos: Greek for man

Turgenev and Shchedrin: Ivan S. Turgenev (1818-1883) and Shchedrin (real name Mikhail Y. Saltykov, 1826-1889) were considered liberal and enlightened in the 1850-1860’s

Buckle: Henry Thomas Buckle (1821-1862) was an English historian

Little Russian: Ukrainian

Aphrodite: refers to Botticellil’s painting “The Birth of Venus”

pothouses: taverns, pubs; the pun is that the Russian word for tavern, kabak, means “pumpkin” in Ukrainian

aubergine: eggplant

kolossalische scandal: ein kolossalischer Skandal, a colossally unpleasant incident

vint: a bridge-like card game

#Chekhov

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atamascolily · 4 years

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Lily liveblogs: “Resistance Reborn,” part four

When we last left off, Finn and Poe and friends were about to go to a birthday party for one of Maz's smugger friends who has the list macguffin they're after. Please note they're not actually crashing this party for once - Maz got them actual invitations, lol.

Meanwhile, Bratt the Brat comes back to the office and beats Yama to a pulp, only to be taken aback when his superiors commend her for her loyalty in reporting Monti's theft. But he's offered a chance to prove his loyalty if he can fix the mess, even though he's still in denial about Yama and Monti's true allegiances because he’s a sexist asshole.

The party is awesome - ocean and fish and rich people and smugglers, with the First Order providing security (??). Poe and Finn eat a bunch of sea-themed canapes and banter. It's delightful and I want entire fics of this instead of, like, three pages. They had to bring presents, and one of the other members of Poe's team got the gifts, so it's a surprise to him too when the birthday girl opens it, but it's a dwarf lylek, a spiky hermit-crab/praying mantis creature that stays small "as long as you don't feed it flesh".

The guest of honor is delighted because--who would have guessed?--she used to be an entomologist! I love her, and I'm kinda sad she's a throwaway character, because she's a member of the Collective, the Corellian techie version of antifa, which sounds wayyyy more interesting than the actual book.

(I was also hoping that the lylek would start devouring canapes when the First Order inevitably breaks up the party and the shooting starts, only for the lylek to get HUGE and start going after stormtroopers... but alas, no, that doesn't happen either. DON'T TEASE ME LIKE THAT, OKAY??)

There's an auction to get the list macguffin as a fundraiser for the Collective and Poe is trying to figure out what the trick is because they're rapidly running out of cash. CorSec breaks up the party in the name of the First Order, which is weird because I thought the FO was providing security, but whatever.

Wedge, Norra, Snap, and Tasa Nasz, the ex-Imperial badass, go to the shipyards to steal ships for the Resistance. There's a Baleen-class freighter, and I love it. They run into Yama Dee, badly injured from Bratt's beating, and we learn that Yama is 15, so Bratt isn't just an abusive asshole, he's a child abuser, ughhh. Our heroes are rightly incensed and vow to help Yama, who is uniquely positioned to give them what they need.

Leia and Rey are sitting around on Ryloth, when... Rey has a bad feeling seconds before the First Order starts taking over (for totally unrelated reasons) and the Resistance forces have to GTFO.

Back at the party, the birthday girl is devastated because her husband was shot in front of her, so she agrees to give Poe the list macguffin for revenge (it's hidden in her jewelry in the form of a snake, which is a nice touch). They jump into a pool to escape the FO, and Finn hauls them out. Poe is afraid she's lost the necklace, but it turns out to come when called, which everyone agrees is awesome.

Bratt attacks the FO officer accusing him of treason and runs back to his office to track down information about Monti the Traitor--only to find Wedge and company with Yama and the escaped prisoners (including Leia's old political friend). Yama confronts Bratt, who denies everything, and Yama is appalled when she realizes she's parrotting his exact same arguments, that she is becoming the same as her abuser.

They fight, only to be interrupted by Teza, who is unsympathetic when she learns Bratt is the one who beat Yama in the first place. She tells Bratt he has a choice: either let Yama continue the beatdown, or she shoots him. Bratt is aghast at the idea of letting Yama beat him, so Teza shoots him and he bleeds out on the floor in astonishment while everyone else walks out. Leia's senatorial friend tries to offer him a hand up, but Bratt bats it away and dies alone and confused.

(Please note that the main reason the ex-Imperial comes along seems to be so she can be the agent of divine justice without our "good" heroes having to get their hands dirty. For all that ST fans like to talk about "edginess" and "grey Jedi" and "moral complexity" in TLJ, this is still Star Wars and our heroes don't shoot (usually) shoot people at point-blank range and leave them to die even when they're assholes.)

Wedge and company meet up with Poe and company, who have lost their own ship, so they steal a FO shuttle and escape with the prisoners and the full list. Since Ryloth is no longer safe, Poe makes a deal with the Collective for a safe haven in exchange for the rest of their credits.

Leia and her old friend have a tearful reunion. Poe makes an inspiring speech about scattering to the winds to become the spark that will burn the FO down. I don't know how much sense that makes in terms of strategy and tactics, but everybody is impressed. Poe has overcome all his angst about Crait and is happy to be--in charge? Second in command? I have no idea how the chain of command even works right now.

Wedge and Norra leave to do their own stuff; Snap wants to go with them, but Poe won't let him. Finn says he's coming with Poe, and that's Rey's cue to show up.

"Where are we going?" Both men turned to find Rey, looking expectant.

Finn grinned. "I didn't want to ask."

Rey grinned back. "You didn't have to."

The two friends laughed, leaning in to touch shoulders in acknowledgment. Rey looked at Poe, eyes narrowed as if unsure. "You don't mind?"

Poe pressed a hand to his heart, giving Rey a small bow. "I'm honored."

She flushed, pleased as he'd hoped she would be.

This is great, and I love it, but this doesn't have as much emotional resonance as it could have because THIS IS LITERALLY THE SECOND TIME IN THIS BOOK THAT ALL THREE OF THEM HAVE BEEN IN THE SAME ROOM WITH EACH OTHER AND REY AND POE HAVE SPOKEN TO EACH OTHER and so it feels like... it wasn't really earned??

Leia is smiling at the three of them in satisfaction because "the Resistance is in good hands" and "she's got us".

Poe slung an arm around Finn's shoulders and pulled Rey in close on the opposite side.

"That's right, Poe said. She's got us.

"Now let's go and save the galaxy."

Again, this is all A++ good, but I don't feel like any of this has been earned. At all. Like, does Poe know anything about why Leia believes in Rey, what Rey can do? They're just all friends now because of Finn even though Poe and Rey barely know each other?? Is he this affectionate with everyone?? I don't mind this closeness, but... it would have been nice to have more of this earlier so it doesn't feel so out of the blue and forced.

Also, what did this book accomplish? So the Resistance has some ships now. It has a few more fighters, they freed a bunch of influential prisoners from the New Republic that the First Order had taken into custody, and they have a list of current and future targets to warn. And they're not dead yet, so that's good.

But Leia and Rey barely got to do anything in this book, Rose is barely there at all, and Finn is only tangentially involved at the end. Most of the plot features Poe, Wedge, and occasionally other characters like Bratt, Snap, and Dross Squadron.

So despite the marketing, which makes it sound like this is an All-Resistance Adventure featuring our main trio, I would say Poe is the protagonist, because he's the only one with a character arc: moving from depressed and angsty over the failed mutiny at Crait to letting go of his failures and moving on to be a leader. There's also a smaller arc with Wedge moving from retired warrior and active farmer back to warrior again, but it's much less nuanced.

Outside of that, though, the book feels like it's tugging in too many direction and not going anywhere near the ones I find most interesting. There are lots of characters I'm expected to care about who are not in the films, and little in the narrative itself makes me want to. (The only reason I know about Leia's friend, for instance, is because I read a summary of Bloodline on Wookieepeedia.) It feels like Disney made a very deliberate decision to make all the plotlines 100% more convoluted and confusing than they needed to be, just so you'd read/buy all the supplementary material, and that is a... choice, I guess. But it makes me grumpy.

Honestly, if I wasn't writing a ST fix-it fic, I wouldn't have bothered with this. I found Resistance Reborn to be adequate, but mostly unexceptional, and occasionally frustrating. The few really delightful bits are when major movie characters are together in the same room, but that is weirdly and woefully rare, and I honestly do not understand what the story group/Disney was thinking here in not making those the meat of the book.

Question: who is Disney's target audience for this book? I'm honestly not sure, and I'm not sure they know, either, and I think this book demonstrates that. Which is... really weird for a billion-dollar corporation intent on milking every last cent out of the franchise, that's all. I don't get it.

TL;DR:

The Good:

Stormpilot feels (brotp or otp depending on your preferred ship)

the Collective (Corellian techie antifa)

Poe’s fabulous hair

fancy dress party heist

Wedge’s garden and space chickens

barely any mention of Kylo Ren whatsoever

The Meh:

loads and loads of characters that are not in the movies and therefore hard to keep track of or care

macguffin plot macguffin

cooler plot threads and story ideas are teased and never followed up on (in this book, at least)

The WTF:

movie characters barely interact with each other

assuming they have a role at all

does any of this matter?

feels like filler

#star wars #WHY DISNEY WHY #tlj fix-it #lily liveblogs #resistance reborn

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