#i have literally fifty reviews in preparation but it takes so much time
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A review of "The Wonderful Won-Won" chapter 4 (part 1 because I'm a fangirl)
@hillnerd I said I would do it after my exams to take the time to say all I wanted to say and so do justice to your work, so here I am ! I always keep my promises. But Tumblr would not let me reblog this particular chapter, that's why I had to do a separate post.
Edit : I have seen your post about your father. I send you my best regards and all the hugs. I know it is hard. Love you. I know it's not much but I hope it will cheer you up a bit.
So if you want to find the chapter I'm talking about, go see Hillnerd's blog or follow this link : https://m.fanfiction.net/u/666390/
I recommend you all the other fics written by Hillnerd, they're fantastic.
So... yeah, my reaction to your chapter when I read it for the first time...
OH MY GOD ! OH MY GOD ! OH MY GOD ! Oh mon Dieu !
I'm smiling, a huge grin on my face even if nobody can see it because I'm alone, in my student room, at 2am and I'm too lazy to revise. I'm squealing on my bed, my face is tear-strained because I cried, and I feel very emotional. I swear, my heart swelled at least twice its size !
This is definitely one of my favorite chapters in fanfiction ever.
Let's go back in time to see what happened :
"The brain's tentacles were ripping him to shreds and reality was warping around him as an unsteady pulse echoed in his ears. Spiders the size of houses walked over him while their young devoured his limbs, leaving him unable to move. Powerful convulsions constricted his chest and air bellowed over his shredded lungs. All he could feel was pain, a tangible darkness, and the sensation of being drowned, but backwards?"
It feels so realistic. You got all the sensations of being in great pain yet being unable to move. I especially love "the unsteady beat in his ears". The spider anecdote makes me shudder. How awful !
"The only real thing he could think about, besides the pain, was her. What was her name again?"
Oh man, Hermione is on his mind and in his heart at all time, even in his darkest hour. She's the only thing that can take his mind off pain *eyes water*
The convulsions struck again and again. He longed to be able to lose himself in the darkness, but something kept tethering him to the unimaginable pain. He was drowning again, and his limbs were back, stiff as lead.
No no no my Ronnie is suffering so much he wants to black out, and what if the darkness meant death ? How come this is totally canon ? How come I enjoy this ?
If he could only say her name one time, maybe all of this would end? It almost seemed like an answer to a riddle. He just couldn't think what the riddle was or what the name was he should say. It was like trying to hold a fist full of sand, with each grain slipping through his fingers until he only had a few grains left.
Argh, my little Romione heart. Touché. He tries to hold on to her, the key to happiness, the light in the dark, the fire of comfort.
"How long was he—"
It's nothing really. A tiny sentence. But the fact that the person who said it was unable to finish it is just so perfect, so moving - as if the idea of Ron suffering was unthinkable. *eyes water again*
Why could he not control his body?
Oh god, I know this frustration. Your writing is so moving, you are able to convey so much feelings in the simplest sentences.
Ron did as he was told, even though the light was so bright he could feel it throbbing in time with his heartbeat. A loud ringing tone pulsed in his ears, high and sharp.
I can feel exactly what he is speaking about.
"Can I… Can I touch him?" his Mum ask Pomfrey, sounding teary.
Aaaaaaaah you got me again. The hesitation in her voice when she probably wants nothing more, when she probably craves to touch him... That's it, my vision is blurry, I need to take a tissue (fortunately there's a box on my bedside table)
Ron tried to form a word, any word, to say to his mother, but as soon as he could so much as rasp a coughing fit took him. It rattled and tore through him unlike any cough he'd ever had before. Dark red blood exploded from his lungs and splattered the matron's apron. His lungs rattled as cough after cough shook his chest and tore through his throat.
I just felt a pain in my heart. A pang. It's so heartwrenching to see him suffer like this.
Ron had to concentrate, but was able to barely wiggle them and they felt whole enough.
Oh Ron, how can you make me laugh in a moment like this ?
He tried to wipe the back of his arm across his mouth, but his arm just wouldn't move off the bed, lamely twitching at his side. A slimy trail of sputum and blood oozed out of his mouth, but Pomfrey wiped it away with a handkerchief.
All is in the details. I'm picturing Ron, unable to move, his eyes open and unfocus, a trail of blood flowing from his mouth that he can't even wipe and MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT.
"We love you, sweet boy. We love you so much,"
Yes ! Give him love ! All the love ! I love you too Ron !
Ron began to panic as he tried again and again to make words. He couldn't. Tears came to his eyes and he started to breathe hard.
Nooo he can't speak my poor little Ronnie he must be so afraid and nooo he has tears in his eyes, my heart felt another pang why are you so good at this ?! That's it, I need a pause because I am actually crying. I am sniffing in my bed, tears have rolled off my cheeks and dampered the mattress. Damn you !
Ron tried desperately to say yes, but all that came out what a strange sound similar to the ghoul that lived in his attic. He tried to nod his head but it wouldn't do what he said and just barely moved to the wrong direction. What was wrong with him? He was trapped. Trapped in his own body unable to say or do anything!
I just want to hug you so much Ron. I can't but I really, really want to. That's one of the worst things in the world, being conscious but not being able to do anything.
"You are alright. What you are experiencing is temporary. You will be able to speak later. Maybe in a few hours. This is not permanent. The part of your brain that forms speech is injured, but will be healed - probably by the time you wake up tomorrow. You will regain movement in your body as well, but that might take longer before it's completely healed. Do you understand, Ron?"
You are such a good healer Mrs Pomfrey. And you need a raise.
"The bleeding will continue on and off again the next few days."
How come people think that the Bezoar erased every consequence possible of the poison ? Ron did not spend so much time in the infirmary for nothing !
"Hermione was here?" Ron asked, trying to sit up as quickly as he could. Instead his head rose off the pillow a few centimeters and he weakly collapsed back onto the bed. He gave another attempt to sit up, but the Matron of the hospital wing made it impossible to succeed.
He seems so surprised it is awful but so sweet. The fact that he tried to sit up twice pulled at my heartstrings.
"Did Hermione seem upset?" Ron blurted before realizing it was Pomfrey he was asking.
God the sweetheart somebody helps me !
Your heart stopped, and you weren't breathing for a few minutes, so it might take a bit for your memory to be back to normal.
HIS HEART STOPPED ! HE WAS NOT BREATHING ! OH MY FUCKING ALLMIGHTY GOD !
What happened? Why am I in the hospital? Who visited? Who poisoned me? Will I be ok? Was Hermione here? Where are everyone? Was Hermione upset? Is everyone else ok? Where's Harry? When can I leave? Will I be able to play quidditch? What potions do I have to take? Where is Hermione? Should there be all this blood? Are you sure this is normal? When will I be able to walk again? How am I going to the bathroom? Did anyone but my parents see me when I couldn't talk? When will I be able to sit up on my own? Why can't I use my hands? Do I still have to do my homework? Can't I drink more water than that? When can I eat? Can Hermione visit me again?
Oh. My. God. My heart swelled. I am once again crying thank you very much my bed is now full of dirty tissues. But like, this list is one of the sweetest and most heartbreaking things ever. I need to squeal. So I put my phone aside and do just that (which means rolling in my bed, laughing and probably looking like a maniac). "Did anyone but my parents see me when I couldn't talk ?". How perfectly insecuringly Ron that is (yes I invent words and no I don't care) ? "Is everybody else okay ?" . Man you just got poisoned, you are in unberable pain and you still ask for everybody else ? You're just so... so caring and I love you ! "Can Hermione visit me again ?" God the sweetest of sweethearts 2.
He coughed and felt some blood beginning to make its way down his throat.
Somebody do something ! My little Ronnie ! Bad, bad Draco !
How could one person look so perfect and make him feel magically better?
He's so in loooove. That's why I love Romione : the raw love and painful need for each other.
Well, better besides the feeling that he was choking on blood and couldn't fight off a possessed scrambled egg if he had to.
How dare you make me laugh again ? A possessed scrambled egg *snorts loudly*... I'm laughing through my watery eyes...
...he couldn't help but smile.
That's my sweetest of sweethearts Ron 3. He is in pain yet he smiles because the person he loves most is there and he's my little sun.
Last thing he wanted was the sight of bloody teeth sending Hermione away.
*snorts again* *then feels her heart pang again because it's an horribly sad piece of humor*
Ron could vaguely recall reading something about a poisoning, so nodded, hoping that would leave him alone with Hermione.
*shakes her head and smiles* That's so Ron. He just wants to be with the people he cares about.
"You're really here," Ron smiled hopefully. He thought he'd never have Hermione to himself again. She was biting her lip with worry, but she was there. She was beautiful, though a bit paler than usual. Was she in the hospital wing because she was injured? "How are you feeling?"
FOR F*CKS'S SAKE ! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME ! SH*T ! I NEED ANOTHER TISSUE ! AND I AM NOT HALFWAY THROUGH THE CHAPTER ! P*tain de b*rdel de m*rde ! It is so incredibly perfect and moving and Romione-y. The fact that Ron does not believe his eyes that she cares for him, that he smiles hopefully, that he thinks he would never be with her again, the fact that Hermione is biting her lip but does not say anything, and the selflessness of Ron who as usual does not think about himself at all but worries about his loved ones even though he just got poisoned...
"Better, now that you're awake."
My Romione heart swelled again.
Her hand gently made its way into his, sending a thrill through him like the first time he'd ever ridden a broom. He tried to squeeze it hard back, partly to ground himself that this was real, and partly to let her know something of how happy he was to see her, but all he could manage was a limp clammy hold. She didn't say anything to him, simply putting another hand on top of his one weak one.
I am at a loss for words. I am just so emotional. This image of them together is exactly why I love Romione so much. It is very poignant and moving.
"So… I kind of lied. I don't entirely remember what's been going on… I just wanted to see you," Ron said quietly.
At this point I just want to cherish this chapter forever and I definitely need another box of tissues, so I stand up and go search it. It's the "quietly" that actually killed me : picturing Ron, searching Hermione's eyes, whispering this to her is so sweet.
"Oh shit! Please don't leave. I'm so glad you're here. It's fine… I can catch up on this crap later."
He is so emotionally open I just... Hermione, cherish this boy.
He honestly didn't care if he sounded pathetic or desperate. She was the one thing he could hold on to when time was bending, and he wasn't sure of what was real and not.
My Romione heart does not thank you for the emotional roller-coster.
"I'm not going anywhere,"
Aaaah Hermione you pulled at my heartstrings. No, not you too ! I have enough heart pangs with Ron thanks !
"Sorry I'm so stupid right now. I just can't seem to keep a hold of things in my mind for long."
There self-depreciating Ron goes again... Like, am I hallucinating, or is he actually apologizing for not being well after having been poisoned ?? #Rontheboywhoapologizesforeverything
"You're far from stupid," Hermione said with her trademark scowl, and he grinned at that. "You were nearly killed. You had anoxia, where your brain didn't get enough oxygen. It's literal brain damage."
Yes, Hermione ! Tell him he's great ! Prevent him from being self-depreciating ! I love it so much when people let their appreciation of him shine through ! And she's so cute when she gets so anxious and worried that she has to ramble about facts, explain things and expose her knowledge !
He almost laughed at being brain damaged, but tears began to pool in her eyes.
Again so perfectly Romione-y. Ron sees the funny side of things, or the sadly funny side of things when he gets self-depreciating, and Hermione cries because she saw all the implications.
If it weren't for magic you might not be able to remember anything ever again, or talk, or move, and could have been mentally infirm the rest of your life. It wouldn't have been temporary. You'd not be yourself and I just — I just can't stand the thought that-that someone as alive and as - as wonderful as you could ever be struck down and unable to be yourself and I was so so afraid I was going to lose you and the last things I ever said to you were-were horrible, and I just —"
Oh my Romione. And my eyes are watering again. She's so devastated at the idea of a tetraplegic or diminished Ron, and I am too, that's the wrongest thing ever in fanfiction; and she's using the world "alive" to describe Ron and that fits him so well, and she feels so guilty that's awful even if it pleases me a little (I hate it so much when in fanfiction Hermione "accepts" to forgive Ron for Lavender. 😒)
"Oh, Hermione, don't—" he said while weakly raising his arms as high as he could so she'd come into them.
My HEART ! YOU STABBED ME ! I NEED A F*CKING TISSUE AGAIN HE'S SO CARING AND SWEET !
~ Squealing time interruption ~
Hermione needed facts and figures to comfort her. "Hey, according to this parchment, I'm going to be ok, right?"
He knows exactly what to say to makes her feel better and that's instinctive. That's my Ron and I love him.
She gave a great wet sniff and nodded, though she looked even paler than before.
They're so terribly cute together. Hug her Ron, my girl needs it badly !
He'd have to humiliate himself a bit to get her to laugh, but it would be worth it.
So you are once again going to be very self-sacrificing, okay Ron, but what are you talking about ? How could you...
"And apparently there are some spells in place, so we don't have to worry I'll wet myself in the bed, even though I'm so mentally infirm," he said with a conspiratorial grin.
*jaw drops, eyes water (my fucking god I really am a mess and I look like I just had a heartbreak but okay), heart swells with enough Ron-love to fill a swimming pool*
~ squealing time interruption ~
Okay, I'm extremely moved and that's for a very personal reason. I have had 16 general anaesthesias in my life, yet I have always refused, even when I was seven, to use bedpans to... you know, because I am so proud; I hate admitting weakness and that felt so degrading, even if it's totally normal; so for Ron to humiliate himself like that just to make Hermione laugh is quite extraordinary and extremely selfless. I would never have done that.
End of part 1
#now people know why i don't review much#i have literally fifty reviews in preparation but it takes so much time#i am a fangirl at heart#i hope i win the reward for the longest review ever
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How Does Eating Humans Work?
Hello, Gotou here. We’re shamelessly borrowing from the format of a KnY Fanbook #2 comic to launch an investigation into demon metabolism and development by crossing the Sanzu River again to interview demons in the underworld. While we’ll be using canon materials as a base, the analysis and conjecture herein is personal, so we ask for your understanding. Also, please note that consuming any food in the underworld will make you unable to return, and we cannot promise your safety even though the interview subjects are dead, so please come along at your own risk.
Some of the questions we’d like to answer are, why do demons need to eat humans? How much do they need to eat to survive? Are there factors that influence how eating humans makes them stronger? If they don’t want to kill humans, what are their other options?
We’ve rounded up some special guests below the cut (hidden for length and grossness), everyone from the lowly Temple Demon to the lovely Tamayo, to see what their actions in canon might tell us.
First, a review of what canon tells us, mostly as summarized in Fanbook #2:
1. With one exception named Yushirou, all demons were created by Kibutsuji Muzan, for his own purposes. They all have some amount of his blood, and can be divided into four classes depending on how powerful they are. From top to bottom, the Upper Moons, the Lower Moons, demons with special abilities, and other demons without any special characteristics.
2. Demons may be stronger depending on how much of Kibutsuji Muzan’s blood they have. Most beings’ cannot handle a large amount of his blood, and it will rupture the cells and that being will die, but there are demons who adapt well to it.
3. Typically, sunlight is the only way to kill a demon, by either bathing them in sunlight or cutting of their head with a Nichirin blade. However, there are powerful demons for whom chopping off their head does not work, and if it’s strong enough, demons can also be killed by wisteria poison.
4. Demons eat human blood and flesh. The more they eat, the stronger they become, and the faster their regenerative abilities become. Some humans have “Marechi,” a rare blood type, which is especially nutritious to demons, and eating one Marechi is the equivalent of eating several humans.
That’s an interesting thing we’d like to come back to, especially since we’re looking for quantitative information about how demons gain nutrition (though I have my doubts we'll get enough for statistical analysis). As an interesting note, Fanbook #2 also tells us that if demons try to consume the same edibles humans do, they’ll vomit it back up.
I’m told that Miss Tamayo drinks tea, though. That’ll be an interesting question for later. In my notes, it seems she’s also explained to Tanjirou back in Chapter 15 that demons will normally go berserk if they go a long time without consuming any blood or flesh. Berserk is one thing, but I wonder if they can starve to death? We’ll see if these canon clues will lead us to anything.
We’ll begin now in an interview format. Hopefully this will go smoothly, but I’ve got a feeling it won’t. First up, we’ve the Temple Demon.
Temple: Who were you calling ‘lowly’ just now? Up there, above the cut?
Gotou: That was in a literal sense, not having Blood Techniques means you’re in the bottom common tier of demons.
Temple: Argh. Fine. What do you want to know?
Gotou: In Chapter 2, you were spotted with three human victims. However, it seems you left their bodies mostly intact and only ate small parts instead of consuming one full human at a time. Could you comment on this?
Temple: I’d have gotten to more later if that whelp with the strong legs didn’t interrupt me! Who’s got time to eat entire humans anyway? I went for the easy stuff first.
Gotou: I see. It appears you might had focused on key organs, like the heart and the liver. Would you say these are especially nutritionally dense?
Temple: I guess. If I’m going to eat humans, I’m going to start with what’s worth bothering to digest. Blood’s easier on the stomach, so that’s what I was busy with on the lady there.
Gotou: Then it takes effort to digest? Hmm. Let’s come back to this later. How many humans would you say you consumed, including these three?
Temple: Not a lot… I tried to get a variety so I could get stronger faster, but…
Gotou: I’ll put down a guess as ten or less. Let’s move on to someone who has a sharper memory for numbers. One of our longer-lived guests at Mt. Fujikasane for 47 years, the Hand Demon. While most of the demons on the mountain had only eaten two or three humans, you’ve eaten a whole 50 of the children who headed into the Final Selection, didn’t you?
Hand: Yes, that’s right. It was hard at first since I wasn’t very strong, and the demons usually all went crazy there eating each other, just like that one brat who got away in Chapter 7 said. If you could manage to kill any of the kids, you had the other demons to fight off to even get a piece to yourself. That was enough to get me by, and stronger, little by little. Your body learns to make your meals last, and make the most of what you can get. I usually only had a bite of one child a year, can you imagine how horrible that was? Most demons who survive usually figure out some way to develop and survive better, and once my cells found something that worked for me, I kept doing it. I got really good at snatching away prey from other demons, and soon enough I was a bigger threat than any of them. None of them could, you might say, lay a hand on me.
Gotou: That’s an interesting point about self-development. A demon named Nezuko was spent two years doing that in her sleep.
Hand: She must have had a big meal before that!
Gotou: Well, anyway. It seems that in near starving conditions, your metabolism made the most of what you had, leading to the most efficient use of whatever food was available to you.
Hand: That’s right, I got really good at it. Wasn’t always pretty, but I made it work. I got to a point where I could go two years without eating and still keep my wits about me while the other demons were going mad. But I chose to eat. I liked to keep my appetite for specific children.
Gotou: That smile is not reassuring. Some humans taste better than others, I guess?
Hand: That’s for sure. This one kid tasted awful, like rust and man sweat! I still don’t have that disgusting taste out of my mouth! But he was one of my more satisfying meals, so I ate more of him.
Gotou: Then why would you… nevermind, I don’t like that smile, no further questions. While I had hoped to keep these interviews focused on quantities of humans consumed, it does seem personal taste is worth asking about. I had tried to invite a Swamp Demon from Chapter 11, but it kept arguing with itself and it felt like I’d be wasting my time. The one definite thing I learned was that this demon is picky, with a distinct preference for 16-year-old girls. Based on the number of trinkets he kept, it seems he had consumed at least seventeen of them, including several in one town. Sheesh, that’s sort of a rough mission to send a first-timer on. I’ve got a more cooperative guest here to discuss her tastes, a Snake Demon who, according to Chapter 188, has a special taste for baby flesh.
Snake: Thank you for having me here. It’s good to be appreciated again.
Gotou: Did you only eat babies?
Snake: Goodness, no. Babies are delicious, but they aren’t very nutritious. And their skulls certainly aren’t that big, the ones I lounged around with were from the people whom I killed and stole from. But you know the nice thing about baby skulls? They’re still soft. They take a long time to digest, but I can swallow them whole.
Gotou: Like… like a snake, then. Sorry, I’m a little ill hearing that. Let’s back up, were all those skulls the remains of adults you ate, then?
Snake: Meh, I ate some of them of better-looking ones, but most of them I only killed. I could usually kill a lot more at a time than I could bother eating, my killing record was fifty women all at once.
Gotou: And you didn’t find that wasteful?
Snake: Wasteful? Not at all. I wasn’t exactly in dire straits, I lived a more luxurious life than most demons do. That meant I could afford to wait for a truly delicious meal, like how you humans might leave something in a slow-cooker to enjoy the perfect combination of doneness and tenderness, plated in the most appetizing of ways.
Gotou: I guess demons and humans are similar in that regard.
Snake: I’m so glad you can relate! Then you understand the frustration of a meal you’ve be preparing for years opening up the slow-cooker and running away right when they were just about done.
Gotou: I have never had that experience.
Snake: I’ll get you, my pretty. And your little snake, too.
Gotou: I think we might have gotten a little off-topic here. It does seem digesting humans comes with some difficulty. I’d like to invite the Drum Demon in next. Your name is Kyougai, I hear?
Kyougai: !!
Gotou: Kyogai, right?
Kyougai: You’ve heard of me! You know my name!
Gotou: I happened to, yes.
Kyougai: What have you heard???
Gotou: That you were kicked out of the Lower Moons for being unable to consume enough humans.
Kyougai: Oh. ……..yeah, that’s me.
Gotou: I thought demons go berserk if they go a long time without consuming humans. Wouldn’t that make an inability to consume them problematic?
Kyougai: It wasn’t that I couldn’t eat them! Like I said in Chapter 24, I had to in order to sustain myself, just like any other demon. But, at some point, I couldn’t eat as much as I used to. That happens to humans too, doesn’t it? When you just can’t stomach anymore?
Gotou: You mean like when you’ve overeaten? In a human’s case that feeling may go away within a few hours.
Kyougai: Sort of like that, but you know, humans reach a time when nothing is appetizing or the thought of eating makes them feel sick, right? Isn’t that the human condition?
Gotou: …uh… maybe if they have a medical condition? Or anxiety? Do demons get anxiety? Or eating disorders?
Kyougai: I… I don’t know. I just wasn’t good enough.
Gotou: I think it’s plenty good if you stopped eating humans. Though to have developed Blood Techniques and been a Lower Moon in the first place, you must had eaten a great number of them.
Kyougai: You think I’m great?
Gotou: What?
Kyougai: No, sorry, I was getting ahead of myself. It’s true, I used to be able to eat as many as the other Lower Moons always consumed. Our stomachs were stronger, you might say. Demons got strong by eating humans, and then the more you did that the better you usually got at it, so the strong ones would eat more and more and keep getting stronger and stronger. At least, that’s how it usually worked. I’ve seen other demons below me reached that point too, where they feel the drive to eat, but then they have trouble digesting it for a long time, so they don’t wind up eating that many people.
Gotou: Then it would make sense to eat the most nutritionally dense parts first.
Kyougai: Or a Marechi.
Gotou: Yes, or a Marechi.
Kyougai: It was a great idea, wasn’t it?
Gotou: I cannot condone any consumption of humans as a good idea.
Kyougai: I knew it. I’m nothing. Go ahead, stomp all over everything I ever tried to accomplish.
Gotou: I think I’m going to move on to my next interviewee now. It looks like we’ve got… oh, would you look at this? Lower Moon One. Enmu, I believe.
Enmu: You can believe whatever you want. I’m happy to help.
Gotou: I don’t need any help, thanks. I’m curious, since you were one of the stronger demons out there, it seems you had a stronger capacity for consuming humans.
Enmu: I did, I was always careful and paced myself so the Demon Slayers wouldn’t notice me. I took my time. I liked to enjoy e-e-e-a-c-h one.
Gotou: Then you had tastes too? Like babies, or 16-year-old girls?
Enmu: I could season any human to my liking. They’re all very easy to prepare.
Gotou: I’m still trying to get quantitative data. Can you tell me at least a rough estimate of how many humans you consumed?
Enmu: I told this more precisely to that boy with the earrings back in Chapter 59, and I can tell you this too. At my best, I could had eaten over two-hundred people at once if I took my time.
Gotou: OH MY GAW----sorry, I dropped my pen. Two hundred, at once?
Enmu: Yes. If I had just. Had. A little. More. Time.
Gotou: Clearly there is a huge difference between what common demons are capable of and what the Twelve Moons are capable of.
Daki: Psh, those were all any random common people. That’s nothing to brag about.
Gotou: Excuse me, and you are?
Daki: Daki, Upper Moon Six. You want something really impressive, you talk to the Upper Moons.
Gotou: I’m sorry, I don’t see you on my list.
Daki: What! Your list is stupid. Look me in the eyes, I’m Upper Moon Six!
Gotou: Very well, then. What can you tell me about your diet, Miss Upper Moon Six?
Daki: That’s more like it. It’s true that digestion takes a while, and takes some effort. Even though we Upper Moons may have eaten hundreds of people in our lifetimes, it’s not as if we gorge ourselves. The clever ones among us save prey for later to eat when we feel ready for it.
Gotou: Food storage? How do you keep them fresh?
Daki: You leave them still alive, numbskull. Nobody wants to eat something cold, that’s gross.
Gotou: I see, so that’s why demons prefer to go after new kills instead of saving what they’ve already managed to kill. That also might explain why the demons on Mt. Fujikasane wouldn’t had eaten many humans, if they found long dead ones in edible.
Daki: You want to know the real secret to eating humans? You can eat what you find tastes good, sure. But to get stronger, you eat strong people. Like your Corp members, the ones besides chumps like you? Using all that Breath makes their muscles really lean and potent, it’s like they come offering themselves as protein bars for us.
Gotou: You make them sound like a fad diet…
Daki: The real secret is eating Pillars. Besides Marechi, they’re the strongest meals out there. Guess how many I’ve eaten?
Gotou: I don’t have the data to make an educated guess.
Daki: Then get educated! Look back at Chapter 88! I’ve eaten seven Pillars, and my brother has eaten fifteen!
Gotou: Your brother? Who is he, then, Upper Moon Five?
Daki: What? Ew. Gross. Gross! No way, ew!
Gotou: Hmm… eating Pillars, huh? Well, I can think of one Pillar who was…
Douma: Me too!
Gotou: Speak of the devil.
Douma: Actually, we Upper Moons can! And he's not Satan, that's not how this works. But I guess Muzan-sama’s curse doesn’t effect us now. Ask me anything you want!
Gotou: That Chapter 143 reference was such a rude entrance. I understand that Pillars are particularly nutritious—
Douma: Oh, please don’t misunderstand! I don’t even eat all the Pillars I’ve encountered. There was the one Flower Pillar who got away from me, but some of the boy pillars I just leave around. What’s really the key to consistent nutritional intake is women! It’s really unhealthy for a demon not to get enough women in their diet, that’s why even if you’re only looking for Marechi or Pillars, your metabolism is going to get thrown out of whack with sudden big meals. You grow a stronger metabolism with consistency, I believe!
Gotou: If I could stop you there, I had an image from Chapter 142 I preferred to focus on for this case study. I see you keep a wide collection of skulls, from victims whom I assume you ate.
Douma: Yes, they all stayed together inside me for eternity, but the room looked lonely without décor.
Gotou: It seems other demons usually go for nutritionally dense organs like hearts or livers, or easy to digest parts of the body, perhaps just blood sometimes. Eating the entire victim, bones and all, doesn’t seem to be the norm.
Douma: Bones are organs too, you know! That’s where blood is made, at its freshest. They do take more practice in learning to digest, and I had to find a way around not having to chew them, but the bone marrow is very, very good for you, so I make sure to consume it frequently. It may take more time and it causes some of my followers to panic more while they wait, though, that’s a bit of a downside. Oh, and I guess bones can make good storage for some sneaky poison. Even fingernails and hair follicles, who’d have thought?
Gotou: I don’t think hair would have much nutritional value in the first place. In all my years, I can never recall seeing a victim with their hair eaten.
Douma: Tsk, tsk! Clearly you haven’t done much metabolism research in advance. I was really impressed by how well Shinobu-chan understood how my digestion would work. Eating hair can do amazing things! Isn’t that right, Genya-kun?
Genya: ?????????
Gotou: Genya-kun!?
Genya: What am I doing here?
Gotou: I don’t think you’re supposed to be here. Isn’t there, you know, another side? The other direction?
Genya: What are you doing here? Did you die?
Gotou: I’m here doing research on demon metabolism and how they get stronger by consuming flesh.
Douma: What can you tell us about what up with having your friend feed you hair you found on the floor in Chapters 170-171, Genya-kun?
Genya: I’m not a demon!! Why the hell are you asking me?
Douma: ‘Hell’! Haha, good one!
Gotou: How do you even know about that? You were dead almost a full volume before that. And Genya’s different, he’s not a case study in how demons consuming humans works!
Douma: Are you certain?
Gotou: I hear the term get thrown around a lot that he’s ‘half-demon’, but—
Genya: I’m not a demon!!!
Gotou: --how would that even work? That would imply that one of his parents had to be a demon, and that—
Genya: What did you say about my mother!?!
Gotou: What? Nothing—
Genya: You say that to my face! You just trying saying something about my mother to my face! My mother never actually ate any flesh, you got that? She doesn’t deserve any of this!
Gotou: Genya, calm down, what—
Douma: I see we’re learning nothing about hair at all. Maybe Kokushibou-dono would provide better commentary on that?
Genya: Mom? Mo-o-o-o-m? Are you down here somewhere?
Gotou: And there he goes… wait, did you say Kokushibou? Upper Moon One? Oh no—he—he didn’t want me bothering him, he did not agree to another interview—
Douma: He-e-e-e-e-y, Kokushibou-dono! How did that work with Genya-kun eating your hair? Hair can be nutritious, right?
Kokushibou: You would gain… nothing… from consuming human hair… it’s not… flesh… you wasted your energy digesting it…
Douma: Aww, cutting it off them would had been sad, though.
Kokushibou: Demon hair… like demon weapons… is made… from our unique cells. It’s not dead… like human locks. Because that boy ate my live cells… it affected him…
Gotou: Yes, because he had a very, very unique metabolism, analyzed separately in this post. To be perfectly clear, Genya is completely human with cells that could temporarily transform, and he never consumed human flesh.
Kokushibou: He… vexes me…
Gotou: Um… while I’ve got you here, you’re one of the longest lived demons, clocking in at over three, maybe four centuries. Do you have any estimate of how many humans you’ve consumed?
Kokushibou: ……I see in… Chapter 100… that you are 23 years old?
Gotou: That is correct.
Kokushibou: Do you bother… remembering how many meals… you’ve had in a mere 23 years?
Gotou: I’m very sorry to have bothered you.
Douma: Kokushibou-dono’s ancient compared to the rest of us! But if I tried, I could probably recall. Let’s see. One, two, three, four…
Gotou: Is that? Your finger in your brain? Oh—ohhh—that is disgusting---I really don’t need to know numbers that badly, please stop. Is there maybe just some average you can give me for the Upper Moons instead? Like how many you’d eat in a month?
Douma: I wish I could, but a certain someone was an annoying outlier and didn’t like to eat so many humans. He made me worry all the time about his health.
Gotou: Really? Who might that be?
Douma: Hello-o-o-o-o-? Akaza-dono? Yoohoo! He spends all his time with his wife now and never answers when I call, it makes me so sad. Akaza-dono did eat humans, plenty of strong ones, but any time he wasn’t under orders from Muzan he liked to spend his time training instead of eating. Fanbook #1 says he did that way more than eating!
Gotou: Training? What sort of training?
Douma: Similar things to what your Corp members did, I imagine. Doing squats, throwing punches, things like that.
Gotou: Then demon muscles had similar function to human muscles, and could be strengthened through hard work? That’s surprising.
Douma: I know, right? I’ll let you in on a secret, I don’t think it was the physically repetition that did anything. I think it was his willpower getting honed and shaping his muscles.
Douma: I had to focus when I acquired new skills too, like breaking down poisons. A lot of sad, lowly demons, like that Hand Demon fellow? They focus as hard as they can in their desperation, or focus on some strong emotion or attachment or whatever, and they grow and develop because of it. Sometimes all their weak bodies can manage is an ugly mutation, but that’s proof enough of how much focus they had.
Gotou: That sheds a lot of light on Nezuko, actually.
Douma: Shed “light” on Nezuko-chan, hahaha! Sunlight! You humans are all so witty!
Gotou: Speaking of willpower, I’ve got one more interview I need to get to down here. Of all the demons I have records of, only Nezuko went her whole time as a demon without consuming any human flesh, although she did go through moments of berserk cravings for it. It’s possible that other demons were killed before they could consume anything, but typically they will consume flesh as soon as possible, which is why its common for their family and close relations to be among the first ones killed. Tomioka-san even mentioned in Chapter 1 that these close relations are especially nutritious.
Gotou: A demon about as old as Kokushibou, if not older, is a special case of her own. She was one of the only demons we know of to have escaped Kibutsuji’s curse and acted in dependently of him, including having created a demon of her own after two hundred years of trying. Most notably to our purposes, she trained herself to subsist on small amounts of blood, after having survived on corpses and wild animals for a time, according to the extensive Taisho Secrets at the end of Volume 21.
Tamayo: I explained this in more detail to Tanjirou-san in Chapter 15, but I went on to purchase blood from poor people, and extracted it in ways that wouldn’t be harmful to them. The one demon I created, Yushirou, could subsist on even less. I gained enough self-control that I could treat injured humans without feeling tempted into a berserk state.
Gotou: I was just talking to Douma about willpower making demons capable of accomplishing new physical developments. Was that how you were able to gain this state? I heard you even enjoy a cup of tea now and then.
Tamayo: Yes, I’ve taken a liking to it. I’d offer you some if not for this, you know, being hell. It’s nothing like the hell I went through when first resisting consuming humans, though. My demon body refused to take anything but fresh human flesh at first, but in the hardest moments, I always remembered a kind demon hunter who said he believed in me and my desire to defeat Kibutsuji Muzan. I believe Nezuko may have summoned her strength to resist the call of her demon cells in a similar way; she knew she had her brother there to rely on. Once she mastered something as remarkable as resisting the need for human flesh, it gave her the freedom to prioritize other developments.
Gotou: You spent centuries researching demon cells, especially how demons may break down and metabolize poisons.
Tamayo: I had not studied the metabolism of poisons until working with Shinobu-san. The medicine we concocted for Kibutsuji was only possible thanks to her work, and I couldn’t had worked with many of those wisteria-based substances on my own. I feel I was only there to fill in the gaps of her brilliant understanding.
Gotou: You’re very humble. I would pass along my thanks and compliments to Shinobu-sama too, but I’m pretty sure she’s not down here. On that note, did Genya-kun go back home?
Tamayo: He did after a nice reunion with his mother just now, it was very sweet. Shizu-san and I get along well, after all, we both carry similar guilt.
Gotou: Wait, was his mother a demon? That means Wind-sama’s mother was too? Wait?? What??
Tamayo: The worst hell I went through, or that any demon has gone through, is to realize what you’ve eaten after the hunger-driven madness clears. Being similar to your own cells, they’re easy on a volatile new anatomy to break down and digest. That’s why many demons may have driven themselves to forget everything all over again, or to twist their personalities to justify the horror, saying that because they ate the hearts of their loved ones and because demon flesh can live forever, then they never truly killed them. The truth always remained untwisted for me, and to this day, it torments me more than anything in this underworld can try.
Gotou: …
Tamayo: You should wake up now, Gotou. You’ve been through a lot; the nightmares must be taxing on your health. Please remember to eat well.
#kny fandom theories and meta#too many characters to tag#I wrote this draft early last week and only this morning had time to edit it but it took foreeeevvvverrr on my slow computer#now off to work#eat well everybody#I'm off to work#kimetsu no yaiba#demon slayer
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I know you did a prompt a while ago about Amy having a fan and Sonic told him to basically get lost. So could you do something like that but make the guy feel more entitled to Amy and she owes him her love. And when she rejects him he gets really aggressive so it justifies Sonic being more aggressive in turn? I love how your depict protective Sonic soooo cute!
So, I have MANY jealous and protective Sonamy stories XD Shifting through them, I think you meant this one? (x) For future reference, if any of you lovely Anons want to maybe just... link?... the actual prompt I would be very much appreciative since I have over 900+ lol
(Preview prompt image provided by ArtsyAnnieRose (x) Please support the artist :)b)
As I mentioned when reviewing this Prompt on my youtube --> Pajama Blogs Ep. 1 Prompt Requests (x) Timecode: - 54:21 - I try and not do the same prompt twice, which means I like to rewrite things so that I don’t just keep making the same stories for different requests. So with this one, I’ve thought a lot about how to present it, and I think this will be fun! (Also, side note: I’m not making this cute and parody-like, I’ve changed my mind XD I have the right to do that! lol)
***TRIGGER WARNING***: (now you know it’s gonna get good.) I have subtly littered red flags throughout this story, if you have experienced stalking or manipulation strategies in your life please be aware they will be showing up in this fic. Due to the subtle nature of these traits, please be informed that I am in no way trying to downplay the danger of these situations, but showing that to the main character currently in these situations, her view of them is naïve and she sees no danger. Therefore, the gravity of the situation seems friendly and kind, but in no form am I saying these techniques are alright or acceptable. The ‘stranger’ character in this story is a creep, no matter how ‘charming’ or ‘sweet’ he may be portrayed in the innocent main character’s view. (If I write this correctly, hopefully, that message will be more clearer towards the end of the story.) I encourage any who recognize these toxic behaviors to please question your relationship with that individual and find safe, healthy relationships to pursue/keep instead. Whether your relationship with these kinds of people are platonic, friendship, or romantic in nature--please keep yourselves, families, friends, and other such loved ones safe. I will not be listing or detailing all occurrences of these moments within the story; however, with some psychology basics or google searching, you can find these common red flags or complexed manipulation strategies and how to better identify them.
Prompts are on shutdown! Do not send in any prompt requests at this time. Thank you!
Okay... let’s dive right in.
DIVE, DIVE, DIVE.
Note: This is another unconventional, more mature-themed story that I- well...
But my hope is that it’s still a story worth telling, so if you choose to, please enjoy.
Prompt:
Upon a rather dark and greying sky, as though the mentions of brief rainfall and storm weren’t apparent, many citizens in this bustling city were making their usual rounds around the mall. Carrying a thin jacket with an umbrella’s strap swinging at her side, Amy light-heartedly mused over a recent magazine’s article on the most eligible men, and read the chatty writer’s remarks on how Sonic The Hedgehog seemed to be away when the interviews for them were called.
She thought that so like Sonic, always away, but secretly just close enough to still keep tabs on what’s going on with the many locations in the world.
Eggman seemed to have a base everywhere, and while things had been pretty quiet as of late, she looked up from her magazine and once again wondered where in the wide, blue world he could be.
Was he bored? Off on another adventure? ... Napping? Eating? Was he eating enough?
She sighed with a dreamy look on her face, lost in her thoughts before a stranger flicked his wrist as he approached her, and a charging wind blasted in her direction. Blowing her back, it swiftly hit against her loosely closed umbrella, since Amy wanted to be prepared for any sudden downpour, and triggered it’s spring to further yank her back.
“Ah!” Amy tried to turn around to catch herself, the strap around her wrist forcing the sudden about-face as she grabbed her umbrella’s long steel pole to try and counter the pull.
“Woah!” the stranger that was passing her from the front suddenly stumbled at the sight and quickly rushed behind her, leaning over and grabbing where her hand was on the open umbrella as the wind suddenly stopped. His hand lingered by her side as though to brace with her and help, before noticing the wind stop and looking dumbfounded at the umbrella.
There was a silence as Amy felt the stranger was almost holding her, and turned to him with blinks, “Heh-heh... umm... Thank you.” her body was bent as she tried to use her heels against the pavement to counter-force the sudden rush of heavy wind, but with it’s immediate halt, she stepped forward and away from the strange, intimate moment to close her umbrella.
He stood more straighter, fixing himself up too before smiling kindly to her, “Does this happen to you often? Sudden, emmmm...” He swirled his palm-facing upwards hands around as he held the long, hummed note. “Bursts of photo-aesthetic air through your hair?”
Amy chuckled lightly, briefly looking back at him before continuing to fix her umbrella, worried it may be broken as the spring wasn’t going down well enough. Realizing it was probably jammed, she blew up some air to her bangs, figuring the worst, “Yeah, real convenient for a photoshoot. Maybe the photographer will settle for a water effect?” she gestured humorously up to the clouds, “All I need is a chair,” she teased, “Thanks again for the help. Really! You came out of nowhere!”
“Much like wind.” He joked back, putting his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to her. “You... wouldn’t mind if I take in the view of that shot, would you?”
“Huh?” she didn’t quite understand what he was making reference to.
He smiled as if realizing she didn’t get it and shook his head, “Nothing, nevermind. I’m clearly wasting your time,” he took out his own umbrella, looked at her a moment, then back to it. His long, brown and heavy jacket then flopped back to his side as he offered her it, “No offense, but I did just meet you. I would offer you my umbrella, but I’m worried I may never see it again. However, I have a solution,” He opened the umbrella and then gestured his hand to a restaurant near him. “So that we’re not strangers anymore, and I can trust you with something so dearly precious to me as an old, fifty cent umbrella I literally picked up from a second-hand store... might I entreat you to a meal?”
Amy smiled, relieved he was being so gentlemanly. “I wouldn’t mind at all!” she cheerily perked up, looking at her umbrella and tossing it in a garbage can. “I’m Amy,” She took his hand, curtseying. “Amy Rose.”
She did notice he was probably older than her, but he did a little bow and she realized she hadn’t notice his real height until his eyes matched her level. He held his eyes with her sights... and she wondered why he was pausing so long, “I know...” He finally whispered out, tilting his umbrella over her head, “You’re pretty famous, you know. Anyone would be lucky to help you out in a pinch. I’m Oscar, I work around here.”
Guiding her into the outdoor restaurant, he sat her at one of the white tables with it’s own umbrella on it and closed his, settling down on the opposite side of her. “Well, then! Do you mind this spot?”
“Oh, it’s my favorite, actually!” Amy chimed, knowing the location very well.
“Really?” He seemed a little less intrigued at that than Amy would have normally supposed someone would, but then after putting his umbrella away, leaned forward as though very attentive and putting his fingers together, his elbows on the wooden round table of white and letting his nose press down against his hands. He had gotten comfortable, and Amy, thinking this was his way of showing interest in what she meant, continued to sweetly respond.
“This is so funny, but I come here almost every Thursday and Friday for the new deals at my favorite store! I usually order the same thing too,... I really love ice cream.” Amy felt a strange new energy at meeting someone for the first time, and continued to feel refresh at this new-found friendship.
“Ice cream? No way! That’s my favorite too!” Oscar parted his fingers as though excited to hear this. “I have a sweet tooth. I know, I know, so silly of a man like me.”
“Oh, no! Not at all!” Amy waved her hands out, “What’s your favorite kind?”
“Well,...” He thought a moment, before smiling back to her and holding a wink, “I have an idea, you tell me yours first. I bet it’s probably very different.”
“I’m a simple girl, Vanilla is mostly my cup of tea. But... whenever I’m feeling adventurous, I go for it! Scoops of Vanilla and Chocolate with some random new flavor of mint or cookie flavored and then I top it with all sorts of stuff!”
He coughed as though shocked, “...That’s literally my favorite too!”
“What!?” Amy was excited to hear this, “I thought I was the only one that eccentric!”
“I know! That’s why I thought your answer would be completely different!” As Oscar continued to review Amy’s interests, he kept nodding along and reaffirming that they shared many similar interest and hobbies before the waiter appeared. “I love to chase certain thrills and excitements. I’m sure, being an adventurer, I figured that may be the reason why you place yourself in such perilous circumstances as well.”
“Your orders, lady? Sir?” The waiter asked, trying to kindly cut in as Oscar pulled out his wallet.
“Strawberry sunday with a hint of vanilla, you?” he looked back to her.
“Ha! That’s my Thursday order!” she giggled into her hand, “Same here, please!”
He shook his head, a little theatrically, “It’s almost like... where have you been all my life?”
“I mean, I know, right!? And you work around here! That’s so weird that I’ve never seen you before... where-”
“Ah, there’s really nothing interesting about me. I’m much more fascinated in the adventures you take. What with your friends always weighing you down and everything.” He basically ignored the waiter as he tried to ask any follow-up questions, and Amy just looked between the two and then smiled politely to the waiter, showing that that was all they were going to have.
“Weighing me down..? Oh no, without Sonic and the others, I couldn’t do anything as big as saving the world! We all need each other, you know?” She happily confirmed before he spoke again, sighing.
“I guess they would have you think that way, huh?” a offhanded comment that made Amy’s eyebrows furrow, but she just continued to speak about the wonderful traits and abilities of her friends, in which case, he kept shaking his head as though she was wrong.
“What?” She finally asked, “You don’t seem to like Sonic, Tails, or Knuckles...”
“I just think you could do with some different friends.” He shrugged, “Some that wouldn’t constantly leave you behind or undergrade your merit.” In that moment, the waiter came back to place down their orders.
“U-undergrade..?” She looked down a moment, “N-no, no one’s holding me back or anything. I choose how I help out, I can’t always keep up with Sonic and the others so-” she stopped a second and shook her head, getting frustrated, “I-I mean, I can go with them whenever I want!” she retorted, and noticing her shift in demeanor, he took some ice cream and then held out his hand.
“Oh no, no, no. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t keep up. I meant that you’re invaluable and they don’t treat you as such. But don’t worry, I’m here now, and I’ll show you how a true heroine should be treated. This meal is on me.” he gestured to her ice cream, “After this, I’ll show you some places that you probably haven’t been to before.”
“O-oh... T-That does sounds exciting!”
For a few weeks after that, Amy began to hang out with Oscar frequently. They would text back and forth, and she couldn’t help but smile when he always called her beautiful and made her feel so special. However, although the places they first went to weren’t so bad... he started showing her back alleyways with clubs and other ‘themed’ places that made her slightly uneasy.
She knew he was older than her, but would decline any invitation if he stated, “But I know a guy, he’ll let you in.” and continued to protest and remind him of her age.
That being said, the parks were lovely though!
He would often bring her little gifts and flowers too, stating that the next time she came with him, he’d bring some home-made food and had a habit of patting her head or brushing something off her hair if it landed on her. Though, Amy never noticed the ‘leaf’ that had fallen on her shoulder, or the ‘bug’ that was buzzing around her headband.
He also would usually lead her when they walked and talked, if they came to a corner, he would lightly put his hand to her back, until one time she mentioned his hand went just slightly lower than normal and he apologized profusely.
All was going very well, he even carried her bags and offered to take them home with her, but she insisted she would take the train and that he needn’t worry.
Finally, on a Friday when she was heading down for her sale, texting Oscar, a familiar wind picked up and almost brought up her dress.
“Oh, look out!” Oscar appeared and grabbed her dress, pushing it down. “Phew! Close one, aye?”
“W-where did you come from?” Amy adjusted her dress as he held his hands to the rim of her dress still, but when she looked up at him, he immediately released them.
“I suppose I just naturally come when you need me.” he scratched the back of his head, looking away as though shy. “I don’t know... sometimes, I can’t sit still, I get this feeling like you need me, and lo and behold!” He gestured to her, “You really do need someone looking after you twenty-four seven, huh?” he squatted down to look up at her, then his face turned to concern. “It’s a shame you don’t have anyone to look after you... especially in moments like this.”
“W-what are you talking about? I have Sonic!” Amy placed her Miles-Electric away and gestured for him to stand upright, but instead, he took her hands and placed them on his cheeks, acting cute but a lot younger than he actually was.
“But he didn’t save you, I did~” he whined, squishing her hands to his cheeks and rotating them around as she thought him slightly weird and took them away, pushing him back as he stumbled. “H-hey!”
“Oh, you! Sonic is just the same way! He can’t sit still when he senses someone needs him... hey, that reminds me of my article...” Amy remembered the magazine she was subscribed too, and looked over to see that within his usual trench coat, was a page of that article sticking out. “Ah!” She pointed to it, amazed, “You read ‘Famous Quips’ too!?!”
“Doesn’t everyone?” he seemed to speak quickly, before shoving the magazine back in deeper. “Ehem, kinda a girlie magazine... promise not to tell anyone? I don’t wanna lose my street-cred!”
She laughed, “You are like Sonic! Always acting so cool...” she shook her head and took his arm, what she had started doing since he offered it so many times, and they walked down the street.
He bought anything her eye rested on, which made her beg him to at least let her pay for food, as he mentioned a concert happening at the club he kept trying to get her to go to.
“Come on, you’ll love this band! We adore the same music too! I know a perfect spot in the back where no one will see us and the bouncer is my friend!” his voice was enthusiastic, nudging her every now and then with his elbow as she looked away and rolled her eyes. “You’re not a babe anymore, Amy! You’re gonna end up going to clubs eventually, might as well be with someone you know, right?”
“I don’t know...” Amy looked down,... and he gently stopped walking to look away from her.
“...Do you not trust me?”
“W-what?” Amy let go of his arm, “What do you mean? Of course I do!” she was very hurt by his accusation, “I mean, we’ve hung out so much, I just don’t really think clubbing is my thing...”
“You never want to do what I suggest.” He looked down, “I go to your favorite store with you and help you bargain hunt, I take you around the park... I’m just saying, the one time I want to go and do something, you keep saying no.” he folded his arms, and Amy began to panic that he was really offended by her.
“T-that’s not true, Oscar! I...” she looked away a moment, and he looked back at her.
“...Ah, I can’t stay mad at you.” He pulled her into a hug, holding her there. He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, hey, let’s go get ice cream and talk about it later, okay? I’ll pay again.”
Her eyes shifted about, not sure what that was all about. “N-no, I’ll pay.” she tried to move away but kept an arm around her and led her on.
“I wouldn’t be considered a man if I let the woman pay!” he insisted, and ended up paying for the meal.
As it got late, he offered to carry her bags home again, and whined in a goofy way when she kept saying it was too late to have guests over, but maybe sometime.
“If you won’t see the concert with me, at least take me to your place sometime. It’s the least you could do for me.” He gave her the bags, then stroked her hair again, “You really shouldn’t be taking the train at night, you never know what sicko might be on it. You’re tough, Amy dear, but you’re still a girl and you know how you’re prone to cause problems.” he laughed, but that stung Amy’s pride a bit.
She held her bags and looked away a moment, “...Is that... how I come off to people?”
“Oh sure!” he then continued to stroke her head, “...You ... didn’t notice?”
“...That I look weak?” Amy shook her head and he instinctively removed his hand.
He held it in the air a moment, before letting it rest on Amy’s head again, as though realizing she wasn’t doing that to make him stop.
“No... the part where I... gave you a new nickname.” He smiled, tenderly and squatted down to her level again, keeping his hand on her head. “Amy dear. I think it’s cute!”
“...O-oh, I mean, I don’t really like how it could appear though.” Amy had a bead of sweat form and he abruptly got up, looking upset.
“Don’t like how it could appear!? What does that mean!?” He snapped.
She flinched at his sudden uproar, as he grabbed a bag from her, “I’ve been wanting to introduce the nickname to you all day! And that’s how you think about it!?” he looked as though he was going to either smash or rip the bag, but just looked furiously away from her, “I thought about it a lot, you know! It was suppose to mean something!”
Amy grew slightly afraid, but not taking this sudden mood-swing again, she opened her mouth to say something.
He interjected and looked dead in her face, “You really don’t trust me, do you, Amy?”
Thinking she didn’t want to hurt him, she shook her head, “I-I never said that!”
“Don’t yell at me,” he looked downhearted suddenly, even though she wasn’t raising her voice that much, not like he was.
“I’m not-”
“You are, and it’s really making me feel like you’re just... you don’t consider me a friend. I told you people usually reject me,... I was vulnerable to you!”
“Oscar, calm down a moment and-”
“You’re the one who’s not ‘calming down’ you can’t do a single thing I want to do! You’re being... selfish!” he flopped the bag down in front of her, startling her as he took off stomps and a hissy-fit.
Not able to process that sudden shift in behavior, Amy was lost to her thoughts and... slowly... proceeded to get the bag and head to the train station.
Numerous texts came flooding in that week as she hadn’t gone back to the plaza and mall, and she kept wondering how he knew she wasn’t there. They had hung out multiple times, maybe he was just expecting another hang out without actually asking this time...
Still, she felt somewhat obliged to text back: Sorry, I’ll see you Friday. This Thursday, I just felt sick.
Oscar: Do you need anything? Send me your address, I’ll bring you medicine and make you some food! I really am sorry if I scared you, I shouldn’t have done that. You’re beautiful and I’m just insecure. You know how I can be, just like you, I get really attached to people and just want to be accepted. I’m really sorry, please don’t not see me again! I promise I’ll get myself under control, we’ll do whatever you want to do this time! Honest!
Amy didn’t text back...
Oscar: The concert is next Friday, I won’t mention it again but... it would be really awesome if we could see Pop Pinkies together... I know it’s my favorite band and our favorite music is what they play so... just think about it at least, alright?
That Friday, Amy was wearing something that made her almost blend in with the crowd. Unlike her usual bubbly skip in the streets, she was hiding beneath her umbrella and coat, as though not wanting to be spotted.
A sudden burst of wind and she panicked, darting behind a corner and putting her umbrella away. “Dumb wind.” she mumbled, looking around to make sure Oscar wasn’t there...
The wind suddenly shifted as she poked her head out, “That’s odd, wind doesn’t usually change direction unless...” she turned and gasped as she saw Sonic, leaning his head towards her and looking confused.
“...Since when did you start taking the back-alley ways? Don’t you know that’s dangerous, Amy?” He blinked, furrowing his brow as he straightened up and folded his arms, “Heh, long time no-”
Amy’s mind was suddenly triggered by something Oscar had said, and she tuned out Sonic completely, her world going dark...
“I just think you could do with some different friends. Some that wouldn’t constantly leave you behind or undergrade your merit.”
“You’re tough, Amy dear, but you’re still a girl and you know how you’re prone to cause problems.“
“Is that... really how I appear to you?” Amy’s voice quaked as she spoke it, “Do I really look weak... even to you?”
Sonic was taken aback by the tears forming in her eyes, and immediately dropped the friendly banter, “Amy? What’s wrong? Weak?” he didn’t know where she got that notion from. “N-no, I-... Amy, is something wrong?” he moved forward to reach for her but pulled away, something Amy wasn’t used to as she really did--for a brief moment--think he was going to place his hand on her head.
Almost as if expecting that, she leaned her head in a strange way and then back, not sure why she did that.
He didn’t notice the action though, but she hugged herself, also remembering that after the light head pats was usually a strong and forceful embrace...
“...Amy?” she hadn’t responded to him, and now, Sonic was noticing a very clear change in Amy.
“N-no, of course you wouldn’t think that... I’m sorry, I really don’t... I don’t want to be around people right now.” she looked away, “I... I made someone feel really bad and I don’t know what to do.”
“Really? What did you do?” Sonic lifted his hand and she immediately looked at it, which made him pause. “...Umm... I was just gesturing... Amy...” His ears bent back, not sure why she looked so squarely at his hand. “Is everything okay?”
She really thought he was offering her hand, but she didn’t want to take it... not this time.
“I made a new friend, and he’s mad at me. I’m worried... if I hurt him again, he’ll really be in a bad emotional state, and it’ll be all my fault.” Amy put her umbrella up and started to walk away from Sonic, “I want to take a new route, I didn’t even want to come out today...”
“...Amy, you don’t control this new friend’s behavior, they do.” Sonic corrected her and walked beside her, focusing heavily on the signs of uncomfortability Amy was showing. “...What happened with this ‘new friend’ of yours?” He directly asked, and Amy relayed to him how she met him, then how he liked all the things she liked and agreed with everything in the beginning, how charming he was before the more time she spent with him, he seemed to change and start acting funny... but not in the good way.
“...He likes everything you like?” Sonic lowered his head a little, honing in on some things Amy briefly mentioned.
“Yeah, isn’t that crazy? He’s a guy but he totally loves sweet things and a popular girl’s magazine I enjoy.” Amy smiled, closing her eyes as though cheering up when thinking about it.
“...And he knew your order before you even made it?” Sonic folded his arms, putting two and two together.
“Yeah...” Amy suddenly slowed down in her steps, her eyes widening.
Sonic closed his eyes, matching her speed as he began to help her focus on the more important parts of her story, “And this... strange wind that passes by here... only comes at you and blows your dress up or opens your umbrella?”
She stopped.
He continued to walk, “And you say he works around here... which means he may have seen you come and go multiple times... and probably watched you ordered and heard what you liked, and saw what you read, and knew about you from the news and press... he disliked your friends and took you places and then entitled himself to being in charge over your Thursday and Friday venues... then, to really top it all off with the icing on the cake and all that jazz... he’s been insisting you go to a adult-themed club with him and throws a tissy-fit when you say no?”
Sonic stopped, his fists had already tightened into such hard balls of fury that he had to take silent deep breaths just to contain himself.
“And worst of all... he’s tried to copy me and put it in your mind that your friends don’t respect you the way we should... isolating you,” He put out a finger, “Grooming and manipulating you... Amy, you should have written this guy the moment he snapped at you... and probably sooner, but I’ll take that as you were just seeing the best sides of him... and not the dirty kind.” he didn’t turn around, but he felt Amy lingering behind him and knew if he said anymore, she may just start crying. “...Where do you think this creep is now?”
“He... He’s not a creep.” Amy lied, feeling in her heart that she just did lie, for Oscar’s sake...
Sonic tsk’ed and turned around, “How can you stand there and defend him!? Do you even know what Grooming is!?”
“...I... I don’t.” she wiped her eyes, “I don’t think I know anything...”
The manipulation had really set in on Amy, she was denying something she knew was true and didn’t know why. She was defending a man who clearly was up to no good, and yet... she cared about him still.
“Sonic... I think... I think I’m sick.” she held her stomach, the realization setting in. “You don’t think... he wanted me to take him to my house to..?”
“He wanted to what!?” Sonic lunged forward, holding his fists back and to his sides as he tried to remain level-headed, pulling away from her. “Amy, you know the truth now, it’s time to end this... ‘friendship’ you two have.”
Amy fell to her knees, “That’ll kill him!”
Sonic immediately looked behind him, Amy almost begging him not to make her do it as Sonic couldn’t stand to see her this broken and twisted up from Oscar’s scheming.
“Amy...” he wanted to say so many things..! But instead, just turned around and held a strong look, “You have to face this... but you won’t be alone.” He offered her his hand, “I won’t leave your side, and I’ll be there the whole way through. You deserve to go out and have fun without someone telling you that it can only be ‘their’ way of fun.” He looked so serious... but she felt a peace wash over her at how she knew his words were never lies or deceits for something devious. His words were for her and her well-being... not once did Sonic ever yell or enforce his way about things at all. He listened to her, even though she knew he must be raging inside at his friend’s predicament... it’s not like she purposefully got herself into this mess.
“You know how you’re prone to cause problems.“
She placed her hands up against her eyes, crying. “Am I... being a burden to my friends, Sonic?”
He immediately scooped her up into a bridal-style hold, “Which store did you want to visit today, Amy? Or do you want to just go home?”
“Please, I want to go home.” Amy held onto him as without a second word, he zoomed off.
The next few days, Sonic instructed that Amy block the number, but text messages seemed to not be the only thing Oscar knew... He called her home number, which surprised both of them, and the phone never stopped ringing.
That next Thursday, Sonic accompanied Amy everywhere she went, and they didn’t spot Oscar anywhere. But come that Friday...
Sonic was carrying some of Amy’s bags, she didn’t look fully recovered from anything, but at least she was wearing brighter colors in her coat she wore that day, and a nice sun hat as Sonic held the umbrella up for her.
He looked a little bored, but kept his eyes peeled when a sudden wind shoved him to the pavement.
“Ah! Sonic!” Amy turned around but was immediately grabbed around the waist, pulled back. “Gah!”
“I can’t believe you let him back into your life!!!”
Amy’s ears rang with Oscar’s voice, before shoving him back and falling down beside Sonic, who quickly shook off the wind blast and spun around to pick up Amy’s things, placing the bags by the store’s window.
“So, this is the wind-manipulator, eh?” Sonic rotated his shoulder out, having landed on it pretty roughly, “Look, I don’t know anything about you, and neither does Amy, really! So either get the hint and quit bothering Amy, or I’ll have to take matters into my own hands!” he hunkered down, getting ready for a fight, but... he also seemed not to be putting on airs or a show.
Sonic... although smiling a bit as he spoke to him, suddenly took a darker and more focused attention on how Oscar was holding himself.
Oscar looked to Amy, not even talking to Sonic, “I told you everything about me... What does that lying Sonic know about you!? I’m the one that’s been with you this whole time while he’s been off, probably with some other girl!”
Amy thought that ridiculous, and seeing him in a new light, she was able to at last come to fact with this pervert in front of her. “You... you were never my friend... were you, Oscar?”
He bit his teeth down, “Is that what he made you think?!”
“No, that’s what he made he realize!” She threw up her hammer and blasted wind at her.
She was forced to slide against the concrete, “I don’t mean to hurt you, Amy dear!” he cried out, “We’ll settle this when he isn’t around!”
“I think you’ve got it backwards, Oz!” Sonic, seeing that his hands controlled the wind, kicked it away from Amy’s direction and then spun in a rotation within the air to punch him down.
He stumbled, as though not used to physical fighting and tumbled all the way over into the street.
“I’ve known Amy much longer and deeper than you have! You’re just some creep who takes advantage of little girls!” Sonic’s fists was shaking, clearly, he didn’t want to just leave it at one blow. “Amy, get behind me!” He gestured out his hand and Amy immediately got up and moved behind him.
“I can... I think I can fight him!” She tried to state, but Sonic looked behind his shoulder and she put her head down. “I... I want to but...”
“...You still care about me, don’t you, Amy dear?”
“Quit calling me that!” Amy threw her arms down, “You used me! You weren’t my friend! I can’t believe I trusted you!”
Sonic turned to the man, “Why are you even answering him, Amy? He’s not talking to you, he’s talking to some Amy Dear girl he’s been building in his mind. You were never anything to him... it was the girl he was crafting that he was interested in.” Sonic slowly walked towards him as the man started to scoot back, clearly not able to fight Sonic The Hedgehog.
“Let’s play a new game...” Sonic suddenly lifted up a device, “Is your real name Warner Windstrom? You’ve got a bounty on your head that the cops are just dying to claim...” he pressed the button as suddenly an alarm went out, and from around the corners, police vehicles blocked his way of escape. “Oh, and that club? A typical place where your old ‘hostages’ claimed they were drugged. Trust me, pal, I’ll personally make sure you don’t get out of jail again.” Sonic let the police start moving in but Warner immediately shoved air beneath him and flew into the sky, shocking everyone as Sonic held up a arm over his eyes and moved back to Amy, shielding her as well.
She was in shock, that kind man she knew was suddenly a criminal and had previously hurt and abused other women... She didn’t know Sonic set this all up, but she probably wouldn’t have let him if she had known.
“I thought we were just gonna talk to him!” she cried out, putting her hand on his shoulder before shaking her head, “I’m defending him again... aren’t I?”
“Amy shouldn’t be with a loser like you, Sonic!” Warner cried out, “You can’t always save her! You can’t always be around to-!”
Before he could finish, a hammer slammed into his gut.
“Nice one, Amy.” Sonic complimented, as Amy stood up beside him.
She didn’t say anything, but judging from the neutral expression... and tears streaming down her eyes...
He just looked back at Warner, “I know this is a lot to take in... but trust me on this one... You’ll be alright.”
Amy summoned another hammer, “Want to give me a lift?”
“Certainly.” Sonic spun into a ball that lifted him up into the wind, then uncurled to reach out for Amy as she jumped, “Hit him hard!” he encouraged as he threw her up the rest of the length.
She pushed her dress down as he extended his arms to her, “Amy, please! You know me! I love-!”
She just growled and let out a piercing war-cry, slamming her hammer down on his face, “I’m not your friend, I’m not your anything, buzz off!!!!”
He slammed to the ground, and as the wind ceased, Sonic landed and caught her immediately, and the two watched as the police immediately took him.
He kept trying to call out to Amy but she didn’t say anything back, just ducking her head into Sonic’s shoulder.
Sonic’s eyes never left Warner’s face... but leaving the scattered bags around, he took her to the park near by and sat her down.
He waited there... as Amy was just frozen in her thoughts... unable to speak.
After some time, she got up and walked to stand beside him, “What about the bags?”
“Not concerned.” Sonic stated, then looked back to her, “You okay?”
“No,” Amy admitted, “You were right. It’s gonna take time... but I wish it would all just go away now.” she placed her hands on the side of her arms, “How... how did you know? When I was telling you about him... how did you know he was no good?”
Sonic tilted his head back and forth, then tapped his head. “When you’ve been around the block a few times... helping justice here and there... you learn a thing or two about red flags, Amy... you don’t have a lot of dating experience--or just knowing bad dudes are like that--in general! I don’t blame you... but I do think that you should be careful who your friends are.”
She scooted closer to him... then tilted her head to his shoulder.
“..Can you help me get better?”
“No,” he lightly tilted his head to hers, “But I can be with you while you figure it out.”
There was a long moment of silence as they held that comforting moment...
“Will I ever be me again?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly.
“...No,” He responded, tenderly, as though a whisper as he looked up at the rain being to slowly drop all around them. “But I can be with you as you learn to accept her.”
Amy closed her eyes, feeling the small drops of rain before it all at once, speedily came down on them.
“...Will you still love me? At the end of it all?”
Silence...
“I already do.”
Rain scattered as Sonic held his eyes straight up into the clouds... the storm in his heart subsiding as Amy cried and her shoulder’s bounced beside him.
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Since I didn't lose enough followers from the last time I posted a Hot Take, a further one:
I feel like a LOT is made, in the proshipping community, of The Discourse. Like, "I ship this thing and I KNOW it's going to get discourse because of x, y, and z reasons" which...can't ALWAYS be helpful, because sometimes I think it prepares us for a fight that isn't necessarily going to happen. Especially with m/m ships where...and it could be that my experience with fandom is different, especially since I haven't been involved in a lot of the *massive* fandoms...the vast majority of the time, the discourse I've seen hasn't been over whether a given ship should EXIST, it's more about the manner in *which* it's shipped, usually supporting the idea of "if you file off the serial numbers and turn them into Any Two Guys, it's fine." Not to say that no one will ever say "you can't ship this thing" for m/m or f/f ships, rather that it's much less common. Specifically if it's non-sexual because, of course, if it's sexual, it means you're fetishizing or whatever the new buzz word is (though if they're ace, you're erasing gay men, so, really, who wins?) mlm ships can, historically, get away with things that other ships would be *crucified* for. Which isn't to say that discourse CAN'T be bad for mlm ships, rather that it's often a totally different manner than people usually think. Ditto for f/f ships which often are pressured to lose whatever personality they had to fit into a somehow even more saccharine box.
Where I've seen the *most* discourse for a ship EXISTING? F/m ships, where shippers are often just....slapped with a "Dumb Straights" label and dogpiled. Like, I've seen people support every kind of awful m/m or f/f ship, but, the second a m/f ship displays any level of toxicity, they make VERY AGGRESSIVE posts about how that ship is literally the devil and only a brainwashed straight would ship it, which is...massively alienating to bi shippers. You ship enemies to lovers with a m/m or f/f ship, that's just Gay Culture (unless it's like...C@tradora, in which case there WAS a significant pushback but, even then, a number of shippers of that HATED the comparison to, say, Reylo, even though they both DID involve an enemies to lovers dynamic that was actually....enemies to lovers, instead of two people being mildly impolite to one another.) I have never, when I've made content for a m/m or f/f ship, at least on here or AO3, had someone leave negative comments about the ship itself, but it happens frequently when I make content for m/f ships, especially by people who ship a m/m or f/f ship with one of the characters. There is a level of entitlement involved there. It's like we're seeing a reversal of the ff.net era when writing a m/m or f/f fic would very easily get you a nasty review reminding you that those characters are STRAIGHT.
You see much more handwringing over whether a m/f ship Sets A Bad Example, never minding that, even in cases where an abusive relationship was glorified in a mass market product, like Fifty Shades of Gray, as opposed to a bunch of fans enjoying something...those things were released with a bunch of discussion on how it would influence domestic abuse stats. meanwhile, there's a large assumption of m/m or f/f = non-toxic that is....worrying. I've seen same sex ships where one attempted to push the other into suicide as "Oh, how soft!" And it isn't to say that people can't ship those, or even that they're REQUIRED to ship m/f ships with the same dynamic, because I'm really aware of how societal dynamics can change how we view these things, but rather I'm saying that there IS some very real misogyny and biphobia present in modern fandom discourse that isn't always discussed in favor of "All ships are equally targets."
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food war, souma said. shokugeki, erina thought.
this is easily one of the best one-shots i have ever written prove me wrong
The second Yukihira barged into Erina’s office at Legislation belting out that old Tokyo Karan Koron song they were both humming during the freshman hell camp when he accidentally knocked her over, the first seat knew she was in for another shokugeki. He held court in the hall with Alice and Kurokiba for ten minutes before prancing gleefully into the office; the fact that she couldn’t hear a single word of their conversation was quite concerning indeed. When those three were within fifty meters of each other, it was usually louder than fucking sonic bass. As much as she loved quiet, silence from Yukihira Souma and Nakiri Alice was usually not a good thing.
“Yo, Nakiri! What’s up?”
“Yukihira-kun, it’s two in the morning,” she reprimanded. “Why the hell are you not doing your paperwork?”
“Let’s have a food war in two days,” he continued, ignoring the question. “Last one of the semester.” They’d had ritual shokugekis at least once a week since the beginning of their third year, usually for trivial matters like relegation of paperwork — now since when did she think Elite Ten work was trivial? Goddamn that lazy Yukihira! — and lunch. Never their seats. Erina wished she could say he had finally learned his place, well under her royal station, but she knew he was already too busy reviewing all his Michelin-starred job offers to pay attention to high school chair placements and shit.
It was funny to think he pretty much had the whole damn culinary world begging for his presence and yet he was on the verge of failing his French Language and Culture seminar because he was using a goddamn Paris travel guide from the Elite Ten Archive as his textbook. She couldn’t blame this on him, though—considering the fact that Saiba-sama sent him roughly six thousand yen a semester for “basic needs and shit, figure it out if ya wanna surpass me, ungrateful brat”, she was surprised Yukihira could even afford his prized bargain eggs.
Their shokugeki record currently stood at 42-15. Erina had relinquished a few wins just for his pride’s sake, not that he had any pride to start with. But never once had he called it a food war. She decided that he must’ve had a few too many shots of espresso that day. Caffeine did some weird shit to him occasionally, and he’d been drinking way more coffee than he should’ve due to the continuously growing stack of paperwork he’d procrastinated on.
“You already know you’re losing, right? What’re the terms? And what’s this for?”
“Gather a faction,” he replied. “We’ll each head a group of six members total and have a rentai food war. The theme will be ‘war zone.’”
“War zone? Alright, that’s new. Sounds fun. What’re we wagering?”
Yukihira didn’t miss a beat. “I want to take you out on a date over semester break.”
WHAT!? Now since when—!?
“You don’t mind, right?” he asked, and Erina was surprised to see how anxious he looked. Now that was a first. Yukihira Souma, flustered?
Erina flipped her hair over her shoulder in an attempt to hide her blushing. “I mean, it’s not like I will lose, so I acquiesce. Let’s see. What do I want from you? Ah. If, no, when I win, I want you to have all your paperwork done by the Friday after the shokugeki.”
Yukihira ran his tongue over his lower lip and picked at the knot of his headband. “Alright, that’s a deal. See you tomorrow, Nakiri. Prepare yourself and your faction for our rentai food war.”
“You mean rentai shokugeki.”
“Rentai food war. Team Yukihira will be me, Alice, Kurokiba, Yoshino, and Mimasaka.”
“You know that’s only five people, right?”
“My bad! Five people per faction.”
Erina was slightly confused that he hadn’t tried to get Hayama or Takumi. He would need them all if he were to win against her in a shokugeki, especially now that she’d have team members on her side as well. “If that’s the case, I highly doubt it’s going to stay Team Yukihira for much longer. I will be looking forward to the shokugeki with Team Denmark Nakiris. Now leave. Your presence here is disturbing me. I have to finish this stupid proposal. Any chance of you doing it for me?”
“Nah, I’m heading back to the dorm. I have a shokugeki first thing in the morning. Night, Nakiri.”
Throwing a sultry grin over his shoulder, Yukihira sauntered out of her office, and Erina listened as he bumbled down the hall—Night, Kurokiba! Alice!—and accidentally knocked over a coatrack in the lobby—Ow! Fuck!—before she heard his scooter zoom past the Legislation building.
-
Let the record show that the first seat had had her doubts about the legitimacy of this particular shokugeki starting from the moment he called it a food war, but when Yukihira and company emerged from the ingredients warehouse with nothing but a load of tomatoes and a covered shopping cart, Erina knew for sure the shit had hit the fan. She and her faction—Hisako, Hayama, Megumi, and Takumi—had begun preparing an elite gourmet emulation of a military ration meal, but before long, Team Nakiri was just watching what in the sam fucking hill Team Yukihira was doing.
Alice dropped the tomatoes into her centrifuge and soon enough they had a few dozen vials of that weird liquid umami she’d debuted in the Autumn Elections back in freshman year. Then Yukihira yanked the canvas sheet from over the shopping cart and revealed ten gigantic Nerf water guns.
Holy shit. Erina groaned. War zone. I should’ve known.
And when the heiress to the Nakiri kingdom and future queen of the culinary world found herself being pelted with liquified tomatoes, she and her carefully organized, elite faction were utterly helpless, which was kind of a letdown considering the fact that they were all holding razor-sharp knives and other potentially hazardous cooking utensils (ladles could be dangerous!) while Team Yukihira was armed with literal plastic toys. Of course, Kurokiba was wearing his bandana, but his berserk mode could only look a certain degree of threatening when he was venting fire, bellowing at the top of his lungs, and—wait for it—blasting the shit out of Hayama with two hot pink water guns.
Erina took the beating with all the dignity she could muster and contented herself with promising that Yukihira Souma would not live to see another day.
Or, maybe she’d go out with him first. What the hell, she’d have all the time in the world to annihilate him afterwards.
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I came for Baranski, I stayed for Baranski - a quick Christmas On The Square review someone* actually asked for
(* thank you, anon)
Disclaimer: I am in no way a professional of any sorts when it comes to film and I'm not a journalist either. The last movie review I've written was probably for a school assignment in eighth grade. I didn't do research for this and I've watched the movie exactly one time, so this is just for fun.
It was a Sunday, Sunday the 22nd of November, nearing the end of the train wreck of a year that is 2020. I woke up on an air mattress around seven am, my head aching, my throat itching with pyrosis and light nausea, it was still dark outside behind the closed blinds in front of the windows, when I slowly realised where I was, one of my best girlfriends sleeping next to me in her bed. I had crashed at her place after a warm, fuzzy evening of mulled wine, tacky Christmas movies I would never watch alone (Christmas Chronicles and Holiday Calendar, which I quite honestly didn't enjoy at all, but the company made it fun anyway), doing our nails, wearing the fun kind of face masks for a change and smoking too many cigarettes, as the soft pain in my head informed me right now. She woke up an hour later and the morning went by with coffee and reheated pizza for breakfast, when we decided to watch another movie and I realised that it was THE Sunday I'd been waiting for through Zoom interviews and Dolly Parton twitter memes and the infamous wig gate that will be briefly discussed in the following, and so we clicked on the small icon in the Netflix menu that said "Christmas On The Square".
And oh boy, was it a ride.
To start off, I should mention that I have a hard time watching most modern day American Christmas movies, as I noticed quite vividly again when I watched the two aforementioned Netflix productions last night. The character development is always foreseeable to say the least, the plot lines are plain clichés hunting each other like they're the kids in The Hunger Games, and the writing is generally so bad that you can join the actors in reciting the entire scripts on your first watch. I watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas once a year while I'm gift wrapping and pause every fifteen minutes to shamelessly stare at forties Christine Baranski (I think we should all turn away from the birth of Jesus and instead count our years based on Christine Baranski's date of birth) in flamboyant nightgowns and short Christmas themed dresses, looking so fabulous that every interpreter of Santa Baby ever could only dream of it, I watch Love Actually at least five times a year to lust over Hugh Grant, cry with Emma Thompson and miss Alan Rickman, I enjoy Bridget Jones, which I would definitely consider a Christmas movie, and that's it. That's my yearly Christmas time entertainment routine and I can barely tolerate anything beyond, because I'm still traumatised from the time when I was around five years old and on a holiday family visit where had to sit through National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, the dumbest movie I have ever seen (my apologies if you like it but also, who hurt you?), with my cousins. I hated it. I hated every minute of it. And it scarred me for life.
But this was a Christine Baranski movie, I knew she was going to play the lead and so I was pretty much as excited about this as I could. And the fact that Dolly Parton wrote the whole thing didn't hurt either. As I said earlier to my friend I was watching it with, I have the pop cultural taste of a fifty year old gay man, a quality I am most proud of, and this simply ticked off all my boxes.
I expected something similar to a Mamma Mia experience that wouldn't cause me to crave packing my bags, give Covid the finger and run off to Greece. Light-hearted entertainment, easy to stomach, uplifting music and so little plot that the simplicity feels like a creative choice. That's what my pained, hungover brain knew it could cope with and that's not what I got.
The movie started and I was immediately in the zone. I saw Christine Baranski's name in the front credits (an experience that never fails to make me scream "Yass Queen" at the screen, regardless of where I am and who I'm with, as if I'm the sobering result that pops out of the package when you order Jonathan Van Ness on Wish), the setting was wonderfully corny (I grew up watching Gilmore Girls once a week, so give me warm fairy lights and a gazebo and I'm perfectly happy) and as my friend wondered whether Dolly Parton, in her exaggerated homeless attire that didn't make her look shabby at all, was green-screened into the setting because she stood out so much (which she was because the background dancers were dancing in slow motion, but to be fair, we were probably still a little too drunk to notice that from the start) and I told her I thought that it was just the natural glow someone who's Dolly Parton simply carries with them everywhere they go, I was happy. This was the movie I was prepared for. A movie in which the most problematic thing would be stereotypical characters and the wig they hid Christine's real, flawlessly handmade by God herself hair under.
And then, around five minutes in, Christine Baranski's childhood love interest was revealed as she pressed her perfect pointy nose against the window of his shop and sang about her unrequited love.
And suddenly, things started taking turns at a pace I was still way too sleep-deprived for.
Suddenly, in the middle of my general amazement at seeing Christine Baranski do literally anything and laughing loud at her impeccable comedic delivery, there were unresolved daddy issues, hanging prominently at the wall in her marvellously designed house (she literally says "Daddy" at one point and I couldn't help but think that only someone with her vocal skills could keep from making it sound cringe-worthily kinky). One moment, I was clutching my chest above my heart while she was bonding with little bartender Violet and munching on pretzels while downing some whiskey in that elegant way only Christine Baranski can bond with ten year olds who had it rough, eat pretzels and down whiskey, and the next she felt responsible for said girl's mother's death (which she kinda was too, but I'm not the boss of her). I was still busy making fun of how the very annoyingly, but when you're snacking on pizza with extra cheese at nine in the morning also highly funny, slow talking pastor's name was Christian, and suddenly there was a cancer scare.
It was a lot, a hasty sprint from major issue to major issue with a hint of comedic relief every now and then, and it didn't get any less until the very, rather poorly resolved, end.
The entire, constant up and down was followed by the movie's peak of suspense, the near death of precious Violet, something I couldn't even get too invested in because I was still so busy worrying about Christine's MRT results (I was truly fucking worried), not to mention that I hadn't even started to really process the sudden revelation of the love child and how it had affected her character's actions until this point. Was her constant tendency of pushing people away, as we've seen most clearly with her angel in training assistant who's name I cannot recall right now, the result of her broken trust in her father who practically ripped her son away from her after she had just given birth to him? Was it a result of her never getting the closure she needed with plaid flannel wearing Carl she was clearly still in love with? Maybe both? And what of the many issues was it that made her so incredibly shaken up when Violet blamed herself for her mother's death? Was it 'just' due to the fact that the closed pharmacy was on her, or was there more to it? Was it because she had grown up without a mother herself? Or did I miss a major piece of information because I was momentarily distracted, dumbfoundedly staring at Christine's very blue eyes? No time to ponder on that, little Silverinia, because here comes unconscious Violet in an ambulance, WEE WOO WEE WOO WEE WOO!
I'm not going to go in depth about what plot lines I thought were especially carelessly handled and why, real standouts were the sudden forgiveness towards her father who had still acted like a shitty asshole even though he might have had his reasons, because giving the baby up for adoption just wasn't his choice to make, and the fact that I kind of didn't buy how quickly Regina managed to forgive herself, especially for Violet's mother's passing, considering how deeply her tall, slim, dare I say angelic and entrancing figure was buried beneath the weight of all her issues. It felt rushed and incomplete, but that's as detailed as it gets because my major point is something else.
I think this movie made the great mistake of trying to be more than your average, flat, happy ending Christmas movie. I think no one involved thought it was possible to make it a big hit if the only real plot would've been great Dolly Parton music, fun ensemble dance choreographies, Christine Baranski's outstanding acting skills, fun settings and costumes and a redemption arch with as little plot as it could possibly take to make Christine likable to those who aren't already lost forever in the rabbit hole of being obsessed with her (poor fuckers, can't relate). They didn't notice that with the legends that were involved, they could've easily gone the Mamma Mia way. And I think that's why they tried to include heavier plot lines than most creators would've chosen, experiencing loss at an early age, struggling to find closure, dealing with sickness, teenage pregnancy, parents forcing their choices on their children when they affect their childrens' lives first, adoption, and the fear of losing your kid.
It was a lot and I don't want to say that it didn't work because my friend was crying, like, pretty hard and I questioned my entire existence all through the movie in not the worst way, and I did enjoy it a lot while watching. The "grief is love with nowhere to go" line was a real standout, for example, where the attempt of complexity DID work. It positively gave me fleabag season two, "I don't know what to do with it now, with all the love I have for her." - "I'll take it. It sounds lovely. You have to give it to me." feels, and that's about the biggest praise I can come up with. BUT (and this is written in capital letters because it's the big but) I'm also totally convinced that I wouldn't have enjoyed it if they hadn't cast Christine Baranski for the lead role. In my humble opinion, the hasty, not really at all resolved plot of this movie only worked because Christine Baranski is just a fantastic actress. She quirks a mocking eyebrow and you laugh. She parts her perfectly painted red lips and you immediately hang on them because you don't want to miss a single breath she, a literal goddess, graces us mere peasants of people with. She smiles and you're happy. She laughs and even while she's still laughing, you can't wait to hear her do it again. Her eyes fill with tears and you feel goosebumps on your arms, her voice slightly trembles, a breath hitches in her throat and you feel your heart shattering to pieces. As Chuck Lorre once said, this woman could read you the phone book and you would end up laughing tears because she just gets the job done. She knows what she's doing, she's an absolute pro in her game, and it doesn't matter, not even a little bit, what she's working with, because the work she eventually delivers with it is always at a minimum of 200%. I forced my friend to watch this movie with me because I adore this woman, and I felt for this movie because I felt for her. It wasn't the plot that sadly brutally overestimated itself, it wasn't the songs that I obviously enjoyed, nor the comedic elements that truly made me laugh a lot, it was all her. I came for Baranski, and I stayed for Baranski. This woman can do anything. She can even look graceful in a terrible wig job.
(side note / unpopular opinion: I actually didn't think the wig was all too bad. It wasn't good, actually far from good, but for me, nothing can match the awful wig game of Mamma Mia 2. I loathed that wig, I absolutely cannot stand it. So this didn't feel all that terrible. It definitely wasn't the most problematic part about the movie.)
I enjoyed watching this. It was a nice distraction from all the bullshit in the world. Watching it today was the first thing this year that actually brought me something close to excitement about the holiday season, even though everything will be very different and probably not quite as jolly this year. But it just gave me good vibes and as someone who did not watch this as a film reviewer, that's the biggest part of what leads me to enjoy a movie.
Will I watch this again? For sure. Will I enjoy it when I'm not hungover, having freshly done nails and munching delicious pizza for breakfast? Probably not as much, but it'll still have Christine Baranski in it. Would I recommend watching this? If you share my obsession with Queen B, one hundo. If you don't, probably not.
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Let’s Review || Chapter 13
Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.
relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark
rating: Explicit
warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark
casual reminder: this story is r o u g h. themes of rape, kidnapping, power imbalances, etc.. This story does not depict healthy or safe relationships. Trigger warnings for explicit torture, blood, vomit, and the usual. be advised, be safe.
The apartment was filled with plants. Like, a ridiculous number of plants and a good portion of them weren’t suited for the indoors. She’d woken up on a couch, was kissed goodbye by Peter and Tony, and got swept up by a very enthusiastic Bucky before she really knew what was happening. We want to show you something. Shivers had gone down her spine because she wasn’t sure she wanted to see anything they were so excited to show her, but it turned out to just be a metric fuckton of plants.
Actually, there was a ton of stuff in the apartment that hadn’t been there that morning. There were empty shelves all over the place and yarn, fucking yarn for days. A bazillion crochet hooks and knitting needles and books—books. She could barely read on a good day but they’d bought about fifty million books on crocheting and knitting and plants.
In real life, if Bucky and Steve were her boyfriends who’d done something stupid, the ridiculous amount of stupid I’m Sorry gifts probably would’ve worked. There was a spark of amusement in her chest anyway but she refused to glorify it. There was no amount of ‘Oops Sorry’ gifts that could make up for kidnapping and imprisonment. They couldn’t fucking enrich her environment like she was an animal at the zoo and expect her to lose her mind over it.
“A lot of the plants need to go outside,” Steve was walking around the living room, “JARVIS has greenlit construction on a rooftop garden and greenhouse so we only need to keep them inside for a little while. We’re also gonna set up an indoor garden room, with humidity controls and special lights, we just have to get the windows replaced.”
“And we wanted to get your opinion on these,” Bucky invaded her space a moment later, wrapping his arms around her from behind and holding his phone in front of them, “you like to lay in front of the windows, do you want one of these daybeds?”
“Or one of these,” Steve stepped up with his own phone in hand, several photos of indoor hammock style lounge chairs, “we can anchor it to the ceiling.”
A numb sort of feeling seeped into Penny’s bones and she found herself looking at the phones silently, listening to them go on and on about her ‘options’. Fucking options. Penny didn’t have options, that had been made very clear to her multiple times over the course of the last several days. The last month, in fact, if she was being completely honest. From the moment she learned of Tony Stark’s involvement in her little brother’s life, her options had slid out from under her like sand.
“I’m going to go lay down,” she stated quietly, ignoring the fact she’d taken a three hour nap, and pulled away from the pair.
She didn’t sleep though. JARVIS began projecting movies onto the wall without being asked while Penny stripped off her jeans, not bothering to change into anything, and crawled into bed. She wished the bedding was heavier, wished the room was colder, why weren’t there more pillows?
Several movies played while she lay curled around a pillow, not moving other than to breathe. At some point they brought her dinner, prepared just for her by Chef Cohen, and watched while she picked at it for a good hour before giving up. While Steve left to go put away the leftovers, Bucky slotted himself behind her and returned the pillow she’d been holding before. He fell asleep after about an hour, just before Steve returned with a book and a glass of water.
“I don’t want you to get dehydrated again, doll,” he explained quietly as he slipped into bed, waking Bucky with the movements but not acknowledging it, “drink this before you fall asleep.”
Penny didn’t bother to inform him she likely wouldn’t be falling asleep, not for any reasonable amount of time anyway. She drank the whole thing regardless, resettling herself down into the bed once she’d finished and letting the soldiers find their places around her. It took half an hour before she realized something was weird, that her eyes were getting heavier while she tried to watch her movie. Part of her wanted to be excited— if she managed to fall asleep, it would be the first time in ages that she had a chance to sleep through the night. But the other part of her realized that something was off.
“Shh, baby, don’t tense up,” Bucky murmured from behind her, his hands petting over her stomach slowly, “you’re so tired precious, just go to sleep.”
“Whahdiju—” Penny couldn’t even finish her slurred sentence; it was like something had attached to her body and was pulling her down, she was sinking deeper and deeper into the mattress but she could hardly move.
Steve cupped her face from where he lay in front of her, gently brushing his nose against hers, “goodnight babydoll, we’ll see you in the morning.”
A strangled noise escaped Penny, she thought she should be hyperventilating but she literally couldn’t. Her body was being pressed down on, was still sinking further and further into the mattress until she couldn’t think anymore. The sleep was restful to a fault, a dead slumber with no dreams at all.
When she woke, she was alone in the bed. The soldiers were nearby, she could hear their voices, but she wasn’t wrapped up in them like she usually was. It took longer than it should’ve for her body to respond to her brains orders, longer for her to have complete control over her extremities. She felt out of place and confused, much like the first time she’d woken up in the tower after being drugged.
She’d been drugged more in the last year than most people were in their entire lives. In the back of her mind, she remembered how lucky she’d been for so long; sure, it was about time for it to run out, but why did it have to go so spectacularly?
A low thrum of despair started in her heart and spread throughout her body like a virus, slinking through her veins and infecting her flesh. She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to quiet the cries escaping against her will. Obviously, she’d never felt safe in the tower. She was entirely at the mercy of her captors, their whims were her existence. They could put their hands on her, hurt her, lock her in a room and throw away the key, but being drugged felt like something worse. It was an extra step in stripping her autonomy that she somehow hadn’t expected and it was more than terrifying. They could literally do whatever they wanted to her and she couldn’t do a thing to stop it.
“Jesus! Penny, baby what’s wrong?” She was swept up into Steve’s arms, the blond cradling her close to his chest, “Are you hurt? Are you sick? Penny, doll, talk to me baby, please—”
A tremble was running through her entire body, chest heaving with silenced cries while he continued to rock her. Bucky appeared through the blur of tears, pressing himself against her back where Steve held her and wrapping his arms around the pair.
“Just let her cry, Stevie,” the brunet quietly ordered, running his hand up and down his panicking boyfriend’s back, “let her get it out.”
Penny wasn’t sure how long it took for her to stop bawling. Eventually she just sort of opened her eyes and found herself sitting on Steve’s lap on the edge of the bed, once again exhausted and numb.
“Feel better, doll?” Bucky asked quietly, stroking her hair gently and sighing when she didn’t bother to answer, “maybe we shouldn’t go in today.”
“We have to,” Steve shook his head, pressing his lips to Penny’s covered shoulder, “Baby, Bucky and I have to go to work today. We’ll still be in the tower, JARVIS can contact us for you if you need us.”
As if she would ever, ever ask JARVIS to contact them. As if they were in some fever dream where Penny would be devastated if they left and never came back. As if she wouldn't be elated if they died.
Penny just nodded, allowing them to pet and coddle her until they needed to leave. Apparently breakfasts with Peter were now only on weekends, although Penny was allowed to go to see him as long as she checked first.
The soldiers spent a stupid amount of time 'saying goodbye' to her, fretting over leaving her alone as if she wasn't a goddamn adult. Contempt welled in her chest, crawling up her throat. She swallowed it down as hard as she could; she wouldn’t break the ‘be sweet’ rule, not when her ass was just starting to feel normal again. It took a good twenty minutes before the door shut, JARVIS automatically locking it behind them.
“They’re gone, JARVIS?”
“The soldiers are on the elevator heading for the conference floors, Miss. Should I call them back?”
“No!” Penny jumped at the sound of her own shout, “No, definitely not. I just… will you warn me when they start to come back?”
“Of course Miss, I would be happy too.”
“What is Peter doing right now?”
“Mr. Parker is still asleep, Miss.”
Disappointment settled on her shoulders but Penny quickly shook it off, looking around the living room. There were still a million and one plants scattered about, most looking desperate for water. Her disdain rattled through her; watering the plants would be giving in. They’d think she liked the plants, that they’d made her happy. But she hated the idea of letting them all die just to send a message. It wasn’t the plants fault that they’d been purchased by monsters.
It took almost half an hour to water them all and another forty minutes to sort them by the amount of sunlight they needed. JARVIS was critical in the endeavor, identifying everything Penny didn’t recognize and immediately reporting the optimal conditions for growth. The more effort and energy and time it took, the more Penny felt her rage growing.
“Those fucking bastards, do they not realize how delicate these are? They’ll die without enough sunlight!”
“I fucking hate these, they’re the worst JARVIS.” “Peacock plants require very strict care routines, shall I set reminders Miss?” “You can set it the fuck on fire I hate these.”
“Please tell me this isn’t a zebra plant.” “Should I lie to you, Miss?” “How the fuck am I going to keep a zebra plant alive in fucking New York?”
“They bought crotons. I hate crotons, JARVIS. You move them two inches and they get mad and drop all of their leaves.”
By noon, Penny was seething and it wasn’t just the plants that had driven her rage. The sheer injustice of her situation was setting in, overpowering the fear and the sadness.
“They just took us, JARVIS, how could they think that was okay?” She demanded, looking at the little red light in the corner of the room, “They just fucking took us like we were—like we were puppies in a cardboard box! We’re people, JARVIS! We’re people and we have lives and they just fucking took us away!”
“A-and they think that I should just accept it! I should be happy to be here, to be locked in a literal tower like some fucked up Disney princess, I should be thankful they stole us!”
Penny roughly placed an African Violet onto the kitchen counter, slamming her fist down next to it a moment later. She dropped her face into her hands, elbows rested on the counter, and heaved a massive sigh. Her face was hot to the touch in her rage.
“I can’t even get mad, I can’t be mad at them or I break their stupid fucking rules. Be Sweet, what the fuck does that even mean?!” She threw her arms out in irritation, screeching when her hand hit the mug Bucky had used for breakfast. It flew off the counter and smashed against the ground, pieces of ceramic flying everywhere, “oh mother fucker! Now I’m gonna get in trouble for that.”
“There is no rule against breaking dishes, Ms. Parker.”
Silence settled over the kitchen, even the sound of her breathing quieted. They had told her she couldn’t be violent and she had to be sweet—those were the only rules. Penny darted out of the kitchen and ran to the closet, snatching a pair of Bucky’s slippers before running back.
“Hey JARVIS, can you play music for me?”
“Of course, Miss, what would you like?”
“Ever heard of Break Stuff by Limp Bizkit?”
It only took about an hour to destroy every single plate, bowl, and cup in the kitchen. Every single piece of smashable cutlery had been demolished while a loud, raging playlist screamed through the apartment. Her chest was heaving with effort, eyes scanning the carnage that was the floor. A sense of contentment was washing through her for the first time in a month, a fleeting peace thrumming through her bones. It felt wonderful, even if it would only last for a little while.
"JARVIS, can you ask Chef Cohen if he has time to make me lunch maybe?" Penny asked absently, broken glass and ceramic making satisfying crunching noises as she left the kitchen and flopped onto the couch.
"Do you have anything specific in mind Miss?"
"No, just whatever he wants to make. How do I turn on the TV?"
"I can do that for you if you'd like Miss. The remote control is kept in the basket beneath the side table to your left."
"Thanks JARV, I got it," Penny hadn't actually sat down with the intention of watching TV in ages but it sounded like a good way to pass time, "maybe you could help me find something to watch though? I'm not sure where to start."
Binge watching TV shows was a phenomenon Penny was pretty sure she could get behind. She spent the whole afternoon parked out on the couch, happily eating the huge lunch that had been sent up for her and secretly admiring the very pretty array of succulents that had been purchased for her.
"Ms. Parker, the soldiers are preparing to return home for the day."
A small under current of nerves rocketed through her. The kitchen was a warzone and part of her wondered how badly she was gonna get beat for destroying everything she knew would make acceptable shattering noises. Technically, destroying the kitchen wasn’t against the rules. When the door to the apartment opened, Penny plastered a sweet smile on her face. Be sweet had never been defined, but she would be sweet as fuck.
“Hey doll,” Bucky greeted upon seeing her, eyes sweeping over her sprawled position on the couch and the empty food cart next to the coffee table, “did you have a good day?”
“Yes,” Penny continued to smile, making sure her tone was sugary.
She could see the suspicion settling over their faces, the furrowed brows and pursed lips. They exchanged a look and her smile widened.
“Penny, what’s going on?” Steve asked gently after a moment.
“I’m being sweet,” her lips pulled back to show her teeth, the expression still a smile but a rather brutal one, and carefully tried to keep her eyes from straying to the kitchen.
Somehow Steve still divined her intention though and turned to walk to the kitchen while Bucky approached her. The brunet looked simultaneously suspicious and amused, carefully scooping her up into his arms and sitting on the couch with her sprawled on top of him. A low, long whistle came from the kitchen and Bucky raised an eyebrow at her, only to have Penny very abruptly press her lips against his.
It was a trick, he was fully aware that she was trying to distract him, but fuck if it didn’t work. Penny initiating any sort of intimacy had been a practically nonexistent dream and he very quickly decided he couldn’t give half a shit about what was in the kitchen. He adjusted her on his lap and leaned back against the arm of the couch, tucking her up close to his chest and sighing into her mouth. Fuck he’d found heaven, fuck he couldn’t care less what she’d gotten up to in the kitchen, she was kissing him and she was soft and her weight on top of his chest was perfect.
Steve could literally see his lover melting into the couch cushions under Penny’s clever, if obvious, tactics. The kitchen was a disaster and he wondered if anything had been left intact but he did love getting to see his two favourite people wrapped up in each other. Plus, poor Penny seemed to have forgotten her original purpose in kissing Bucky and had gone boneless.
“Our doll left quite a mess in the kitchen, Buck,” he called lowly, watching the brunet fight to bring himself back to full consciousness and reluctantly pull away from the kiss.
“Fuck you’re so sweet,” Bucky rumbled, dragging his lips against Penny’s several times before forcing himself to stop, “manipulative little doll.”
“How long did it take you to break everything, precious?” Steve felt a small smirk tugging at his lips, eyes tracking Penny’s careful smile and the nervousness beginning to rise in her eyes.
“I don’t know,” still smiling, a sugary sweet voice, their doll was a little shitkicker.
“JARVIS, why didn’t you tell us that Penny was having a fit?”
“Ms. Parker was in no danger and was not showing any signs of emotional distress, Captain.”
“Destroying everything she could get her hands on doesn’t count as a sign of emotional distress?”
“I am unable to differentiate human emotions unless they are accompanied by biological changes in temperature, heart rate—”
“JARVIS, call Tony up here please.”
Penny’s body pulled taught at that and he could see her throat move as she swallowed, the nervousness continuing to rise. Her cheeks were an appealing shade of pink and Steve crossed the room to sit on the coffee table in front of the couch, stealing her off of Bucky’s lap and bringing her to sit across his thighs.
“You’re being sweet, huh baby?” He murmured quietly, nose brushing her cheek bone, “show me how sweet you can be.”
He pressed his lips against hers but didn’t move further, forcing Penny to adjust her position in order to kiss him properly. There was only a moment's hesitation, broken by the sound of Bucky’s near delirious sigh, before Penny’s lips started moving over his in a languid fashion. He quickly came to understand why Buck had just about melted into the couch when she gave in, their doll was an excellent kisser and she was so, so sweet.
“And here I thought you’d fallen and couldn’t get up.”
Penny tried to pull away at the sound of Tony’s voice but Steve kept a hand on her cheek, holding her in place for a few more seconds before letting her lips fall away. He guided her head down to rest against his shoulder, carefully running his hand down the length of her hair without tangling his fingers in her curls.
“Go check out the kitchen, wouldja?”
“Did you break the coffee pot again, Ol’ Timer? Need the youngin’ to come fix—oh, that’s an impressive level of destruction for such a little thing. Did you have to climb on the counters to get to the top shelves precious?”
“Tony, why wouldn’t JARVIS alert us that Penny was having a breakdown?” Bucky reached out and swiftly stole Penny from his boyfriend’s lap, carefully curling her into the cage of his arms and ignoring her grumbling when he manipulated her limbs into a more comfortable position.
“J, explain yourself,” Tony Did Not Roll His Eyes, but he did really, really want to.
“Ms. Parker was not breaking any rules that had been explained to her, nor was she exhibiting any signs of emotional distress.”
“I’m pretty sure going ape shit on the entire kitchen counts as emotional distress, J,” Tony admonished carefully.
“Then I do apologize, sir.” The AI did not sound apologetic in the least and if nothing else, JARVIS was smug.
“Since we seem to have to explain this implicitly, Penny doll, wrecking the kitchen is not okay,” Bucky tipped her head back with a careful nudge, forcing eye contact, “you can’t destroy the kitchen because you’re upset.”
He wasn’t even bothered, to be honest. The tower was still standing, she hadn’t set anything on fire, and she was entirely unharmed; it was a better outcome than he had been expecting upon leaving their tiny monster alone for so long. She hadn’t even attempted an escape and honestly he was planning to count the day as a win. A quick glance at Steve confirmed he felt the same way.
“JARVIS, if Penny goes on the warpath again, I expect you to inform someone,” Tony ordered, ignoring the small spark of heat in his chest upon seeing Penny give in to Bucky’s embrace and lay against the brunet completely.
“Yes, sir.” Petulant. The robot voice in the walls sounded petulant and Steve didn’t appreciate JARVIS having such strong emotions.
“Now, was there anything else or can I get back to my baby?”
Before either of the soldiers could respond, Penny popped back up, “Can I see Peter?”
“Not tonight, precious,” he ignored the sad look on her face and pressed on, “I’ll send him up tomorrow to have breakfast with you, fair?”
Penny didn’t look all too placated but she nodded, grudgingly accepting the pretend compromise. It wasn’t an actual compromise, Stark didn’t give anything up in exchange for them meeting in the middle, but being able to see through the manipulation tactic was its own success.
“Come give me a kiss before I leave, precious.” Cheating. Stark was cheating and they both knew it.
When she hesitated for too long, Bucky cleared his throat and gave her a nudge, “Be sweet, Penny.”
Standing up was a fucking chore. Her entire body protested the action, Steve ended up guiding her hips up off the edge of the couch. Stark had his hand stretched towards her and she forced her feet to move as he gestured her towards him.
Being touched by Tony Stark was like touching a livewire. When she grabbed his hand, goosebumps ran down her arm and her heart began to race when he pulled her to his chest. His presence was simultaneously terrifying and calming. The kiss he placed on her forehead was scorching and afterwards, when he tapped his own fingers to his lips, she felt her body tremble. Stretching onto her toes, she pressed a chaste, barely brushing kiss there before quickly backing away and retreating into the bedroom.
The door slammed behind her and Tony turned his gaze to the soldiers, “I’ll send someone to clean up your kitchen. I do need to talk to you while I’m up here though— their disappearance is starting to gain attention.”
Bucky groaned, head falling back against the couch, “We’ll need to stage some bodies then, do we have any options on hand?”
“One that’ll fit for Penny, maybe, but nothing for Peter,” Tony crossed his arms over his chest, one hand running over his goatee, “shouldn’t be too hard though. Have you talked to Rumlow recently?”
“Not in a few days,” Steve rolled his neck in annoyance, “too fragile.”
“Make sure you leave him alive for now,” it was an order, “Penny’s having a hard time adjusting, we may need some leverage.”
“Is Peter acting out?”
“Hardly,” Tony snorted, “force more intimacy, affection broke Peter in half like he’d never experienced it before.”
“Penny has some trauma with sex, from Rumlow,” Steve glanced towards the bedroom door, “she almost doesn’t know how to react to phsyical contact.”
“She has to be punished for the stunt in the kitchen,” Bucky tilted his head thoughtfully, “we can’t go any further until that.”
“She didn’t technically break any rules—”
“Don’t start Super Stupid,” Tony pointed at the blond quickly, “she’s not a child, she knows better.”
“We do owe Rumlow a visit,” Bucky didn’t give his boyfriend a chance to respond, “We’ll take Penny along.”
“It’ll traumatize her,” Steve frowned, resting his cheek on his fist.
“And you’ll pick up the pieces afterwards,” Tony gave them both a careful expression, “she needs to know that you’re her support system, that she has to rely on you for comfort and safety.”
“Break her down and build her back up,” a soft hum escaped Bucky, the wheels beginning to turn in his brain as he considered the implications of shredding Penny down to her bare essentials, “systematically.”
“Poor thing,” a heavy sigh escaped Steve before he slapped his hands down on his thighs and stood, turning to face the door she was hiding behind, “I hate seeing her sad.”
“We’ll get through it, Stevie,” Bucky followed him to his feet and squeezed the blond’s shoulder, “and so will she. Penny! Penny doll, come out here, we’ve got places to be!”
#steve rogers x oc x bucky barnes#steve rogers x oc#bucky barnes x oc#dark!steve rogers#dark!bucky barnes#dark!tony stark#dark!mcu#let's review#let's review chapter 13
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Second Child, Restless Child
Chapter 7 - The World Outside Calling Me
@valkyrie-5583
Read on AO3
Y’all, it happened. We’re finally updating. It would not have happened if @themetaphorgirl had talked me off the ledge so thank you Caitlin. Also thanks to my sweet little duckling of a sister, @starstwinkleplanetsshine, for always reading my drafts, from like, the start of time.
OKAY SO
Section Chief Ramos is the least helpful person on the planet, Kit and Hotch have a ridiculously uncomfortable conversation, and Gideon finally confronts nobody's favorite liaison/nurse.
or
In which Kit feels really lost, really sad, and really unsure of her job.
She would have rather been anywhere else. She would have rather been in Gideon’s office being chewed out for speaking out of turn, or back in the ER during flu season, or facing down an unsub without Morgan.
Anywhere but in front of Section Chief Ramos’s office door, tapping her foot and clenching and unclenching her fingers. She needed to stop messing with the seams on her scrub pants - they were starting to wear - but she didn’t want him to open the door and see her pulling at her hair. She did a good job of masking her quirks and outlets for her pent up energy in the clinic with everything moving at such a rapid pace, but standing in front of the door, waiting for it to open? That was torture. Regardless of the fact that Ramos chose her to represent the clinic, and therefore the health department, as part of the Health Liaison trial run, she knew he didn’t like her very much.
Ramos didn’t like anyone very much.
He let her stand like that for seven minutes before the door opened. Ramos wasn’t exactly a large man. He had nothing on Hotch, who towered like a giant over her and gave off every vibe you would expect from someone in the FBI. Instead, his entire intimidating demeanor was in his eyes. Eyes that were glaring right at her.
“Nurse Colghain,” he said. There was no hint of kindness about him. “Come in.”
She followed him into the room and sat where he directed. His office was more clinical than Hotch’s, which she guessed made sense considering he was the Health Department/Academy Clinic’s Section Chief, but still. He could use some pictures of the wife he was rumored to have. Instead, he had plaques and other achievements around. Egotistical. Narcissistic. She gave a minute shake of her head to will the thoughts away.
I need to spend less time with the profilers.
“This is your monthly review,” he said, jarring her from her thoughts. She nodded, unsure of what else to do. When he didn’t continue right away she awkwardly nodded again. “Yes, sir.”
“You began the pilot Health and Wellness Liaison position on January tenth. Today’s date is February twenty second. In this meeting we will review position requirements, health meeting reviews, and you will give a report of duties and activities you have been able to complete in this time, as well as any other pertinent information to assess the validity of this pilot position. Do you understand the purpose of this meeting?”
She raised an eyebrow at him, looking down to see a small device with a red light blinking sitting right next to his hand.
Ah.
He was recording it. Ramos was formal, but not that formal. She wondered who would hear what she was about to say.
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Good. Let’s begin.”
The first part was easy. Just reviewing her position requirements, which she’d long since memorized for both her Head position, and her position at the BAU. Normally they had quarterly reviews, but because of the infancy of her position, Kit had been notified they would be monthly “until further notice.” She assumed that would mean they would be more like a check-in. Shorter.
She was so incredibly mistaken.
After the first part Ramos leaned back in his chair, something shifting in his eyes and the atmosphere in the room. He was smug. As if he’d caught her in a trap.
“Nurse Colghain,” he said with a little too much confidence. Not Agent Colghain, like Hotch would have said. Nurse. Which, while it was a title she was proud of, he didn’t even call her Head Nurse. Just nurse. One of nearly fifty on staff. Insignificant. Replaceable.
“Please tell me how many Health and Wellness meetings you are required to give a month.”
“Two, sir,” she answered easily. “Every other week, if cases allow, but two a month.”
Ramos nodded, something like mirth cutting across his face. “Then tell me, Nurse Colghain, why have you only held one meeting in nearly six weeks?”
She stared at him for a moment before blinking. “As I said, sir,” she started cautiously. She was being recorded. She would defend herself professionally. “Every other week, if cases allow. As we said before, I’m required to travel for cases related to medical, as well as others, in order to be present for twenty-five percent of out of town cases.”
“And those cases made it impossible for two health meetings to happen over a six week period?”
He was right. She could have made it work, but between Gideon and them going on cases without her, it was hard to find the courage to force the BAU team to sit down and listen to her harp on diet for any length of time. They were busy. She’d seen first hand how their cases wore on them. She’d experienced the wear herself.
“It wasn’t practical based on the number of cases over the last six weeks to take time away from either reports or research for a meeting about one of the approved health topics.”
“Wasn’t practical?”
“No, sir,” She said, voice becoming quieter and more timid as Ramos’s presence in the room seemed to increase. A hand ran over the outside seam on the leg of her scrubs. It itched to tug gently at her braid, but she didn’t dare.
He let there be silence for a moment before he leaned forward towards her. His eyes had narrowed. “Twenty-five percent of cases, Nurse Colghain. That leaves seventy-five percent of your time free to plan and execute the required health meetings.”
She shook her head. “Sir, it’s twenty-five percent of out of town cases. My original duties stated I was to be a part of all in town cases.”
He scoffed. “And what percentage of your time would you say is taken up by cases, in general?”
“Thirty seven percent.”
Ramos looked stunned, and Kit gave herself one moment to be glad she’d been listening to Reid the Friday before when he was rattling off percentages for her. She’d asked because she was worried she would be under the twenty five percent minimum, and was pleasantly surprised to learn she was over.
“That leaves-”
“Plus,” she continued, not letting him get ahead of her, “My team travels on cases without me, too. They were gone another thirty seven percent of the days in the last six weeks, which means that even if I was preparing for a meeting, they weren’t there for me to give it. And we spent three days working on a consultation, which was medical related, and filling out reports for a poisoning case in New Jersey. That’s what, fifteen, sixteen percent? And SSA Hotchner was out one day, which only leaves five-”
“Nurse Colghain,” he warned, “I believe you are far too comfortable. Throwing around percentages as if I am unaware of how you spend your time based on the reports you submit to me.”
She blinked at him for a moment, deflating. The confidence she had spouting numbers withered away under his glare. “But, you- you asked for the percentage.”
“For one. I don’t need a math lesson from a clinic nurse.”
Ouch.
She crossed her arms over her chest, staring down at her knees and staying quiet. She wanted out of Ramos’s office. Back to the clinic where she knew she wouldn’t be questioned.
“This month, I expect three meetings.”
Her eyes snapped up, jaw falling open. “Sir?”
“Three, Nurse Colghain.”
“But-”
“Full reports and reviews. Understood?”
She stared at him for a moment before nodding her head in submission. She wasn’t going to win an argument with Ramos without getting written up, and it wasn’t worth it to aggravate an already aggressive situation.
“Understood?” He repeated with a little more force, and she found her resolve buckling under his harsh tone.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Let’s talk about the meeting you were able to have.”
Let’s talk about literally anything else. Let’s go back to arguing over correct percentages and health meetings that haven’t happened yet. Let me, I don’t know, punch myself in the face repeatedly instead.
Íosa Críost, Kody. Dramatic much?
“The Health and Wellness meeting regarding sleep, sir?” She asked tentatively. Ramos wrote for a while before he addressed her again, setting his pen down and pulling out seven forms from a manila folder. The review surveys filled out by the BAU team.
“Yes. I have the reviews here, written by the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and I will be honest in telling you that the director was… surprised by the results.”
Her heart sank. Surprised couldn’t be good and with the way she’d slammed the forms onto the table in front of them all and stormed off without a word. It hadn’t quite been a week, and they had gone on a case without her on Sunday afternoon. She hadn’t seen them since the Friday after it had happened.
She’d kept to herself, too, and had chickened out of talking to Gideon, telling herself she had meetings to plan and case reports to finish. Morgan had been the only one to try to talk to her, even offering to go to Gideon with her, but she’d declined, and the only reason she’d spoken to Reid was to get the percentages that Ramos had just ostracized her for.
Her tantrum of sorts was embarrassing at best, and after she worked a whole clinic shift, did a full set with her cúpla at the bar, and slept on it, she wasn’t really ready to face him. Any of them. It had been a relief when she’d shown up to the office and found that they’d flown off to Middle-of-Nowhere, Nebraska, population five dead girls and a terrified town.
Kit sat forward in her chair, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Surprised, sir?”
Ramos nodded, face morphing as he gave off a wave of annoyance. “Yes, pleasantly surprised. It isn’t often that a meeting ends with a positivity rating of one hundred percent.”
Kit’s eyebrows pulled together as her jaw went slack, eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to process what he’d said. One hundred percent positivity rating. How was that possible?
“I don’t understand, sir,” she finally said, “All of them? They were all positive?”
He nodded, though looked as if it truly pained him to do so. “Yes. All seven reviews were positive regarding your content and professionalism. Some more positive than others, of course, but all positive.”
“Even Gideon’s?” She said before she could stop herself, not believing what she was hearing. There was no way that Gideon had given her a positive review. There was no way that anyone had given her a positive review. She’d argued with him. She’d slammed the surveys into the round table and abruptly finished their meeting before stomping out. She had to be missing something. Or, being punked. Did the FBI punk people?
Ramos raised an eyebrow at her. “I cannot show you the reports, as it’s a matter of confidentiality, but yes. SSA Gideon is a part of the BAU team, which would mean that his review survey of your meeting was positive.”
It should have made her feel better. It should have made her feel good to hear that Gideon, who she was sure without a doubt hated her, gave her a positive meeting review. Especially considering the fact that he was the one she had been arguing with before she so ceremoniously took her leave. She should have been settled, and put at peace over it.
It should have made her feel better.
It didn’t.
It pissed her off.
Lying to fit the mold didn’t seem to be Gideon’s style, and the fact that he’d done it, to her, made her furious.
“Are we done here?” She spouted without thinking. She suddenly felt like she was vibrating, and she needed out of Ramos’s clinical office and the uncomfortable chair she was sitting in.
He sighed, setting down the review surveys and folding his hands on top of them.
“I have one last thing.”
She shifted in the chair, but stayed quiet. The longer she was quiet and listened, the faster she could probably leave. Anger pulsed through her chest, and she knew exactly where it was going once she was done listening to whatever annoying thing Ramos wanted to finish with.
“Before, you said my team in reference to the BAU.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, sir.”
“They are not your team. You are not a part of their team.”
She watched as his eyes went hard, his voice slow and simple as if he was explaining something to a child. Some of the ice that had hardened over her heart started to melt, her anger ebbing slightly as her chest started to swim in the melting slurry.
“I’m sorry?” She asked.
“You are not a part of their team. You are a part of the health department. The clinic staff.”
“But,” she started, “Hotch said-”
“SSA Hotchner is your point of contact for the BAU. He isn’t your supervisor. I am. You report to me. And you, Nurse Colghain, are separate. A liaison. A connecting point. Not a part of the disorganized, ridiculous mess the Behavioral Analysis Unit has become.”
“The BAU is full of incredibly talented people.”
Morgan. Elle. Hotch. Reid.
She’d seen them work first hand, many times in her six weeks with them, and she was always confused as to why people didn’t seem to understand the magnificence of what they did. She could read people’s emotions, sure, and very well. She’d give herself that. But what they did? What each one of them did? It impressed her to no end. Even Gideon, when he wasn’t pissing her off, was an incredible profiler to watch.
“The BAU worries about finding maniacs,” Ramos said dismissively. “You worry about keeping people alive.”
She shook her head, sitting straight up in her chair. “Profiling keeps people alive.”
Ramos shrugged, clicking off the recorder before looking her dead in the eyes. “And you are not a profiler, Nurse Colghain. You are a nurse. Right now, you’re splitting two positions, and not doing one incredibly well. A questionable liaison. Arguably, a decent nurse.”
Questionable. Arguably decent.
“They are a team,” he continued. “You are a clinic nurse, and you will never be more than that. Do I make myself clear?”
Kit let her eyes hold his for a moment. Every bit of her icy anger had melted, leaving her feeling upset, and sloshy, and confused. Hotch assured her all the time that she was a part of their team, but Ramos was her supervisor. He was in charge of her position, and he told her she wasn’t a part of the BAU team. She never would be. She didn’t belong.
She didn’t feel like she belonged in the clinic anymore, either. Between only being there three days a week, once on the weekend when she’d never worked that rotation before, and the traveling for cases that sometimes took more than one day, she had lost some of the “home” feeling she associated with the clinic and her nurses.
I don’t belong much of anywhere.
“Yes, sir.”
She finished her clinic shift quietly. That wasn’t necessarily unusual. Unlike the last six weeks in the BAU, the clinic was never something new. Always something different, but never anything that was surprising or particularly stressful. She could spend days upon days quietly directing with very few words, saving the most gentle and caring ones for younger academy cadets that were very far away from home and either sick or broken. Something about nursing softened her. It always had.
The BAU did the opposite. Somehow, in only six weeks, it had brought a part of her out that she hadn’t known for a long time. The part that smoked cigarettes under the bleachers during study hall and complained loud and long about music lessons and stepdance, though she secretly loved both. That wore dark lipstick so she wouldn’t look just like Monty. Who had more detentions than both her cúpla, though both Ari and Monty had their fair share.
The BAU brought out the part of her that argued. That fidgeted and got frustrated and stood up for herself. The part of her that was confident. The part of her that was trouble.
While her rebellious nature had taken time to soften all those years ago, Ramos had stripped her of its reprise in an hour's time. She stood for far too long after her shift was over, staring at the outside of the locker she shared with Monty. She’d dodged her twin by hiding in the bathroom until five o’clock had come and gone. The chipped paint of their shared space was partially covered by the plastic name plate that sat in the top middle, reading, “D. Colghain / M. Colghain.”
They’d requested to share a locker, and now three days a week, it was empty when Monty came. They didn’t get to meet in the break room and exchange quips back and forth before Monty had to work, and Kit had to go home without having seen her other half, the fire to her ice, before she figured out something for Ari and her to eat, plunging into sleep before he could ask her about the things she saw with the BAU.
So, after her meeting with Ramos, and the rest of her shift, Kit had been sure to clear out long before Monty was there. She didn’t want to talk to Monty, because Monty didn’t get it. No one really could. She was in a strange position that not one person had been in before, and all Monty would do was remind her that the clinic was her home, like Ramos had, even though the clinic didn’t feel entirely like home anymore.
She didn’t belong at the BAU. She never would. Ramos made it very clear she wasn’t supposed to let herself.
What the hell am I doing? What am I supposed to do?
You could talk to Hotch, Kody. He has kind eyes. He’s nothing like Ramos.
Ramos’s words echoed in her ears.
SSA Hotchner is your point of contact for the BAU. He isn’t your supervisor. I am. You report to me. And you, Nurse Colghain, are separate.
“What the hell am I going to do?” she mumbled in her mother tongue, staring at the locker a few minutes longer before she started for the metro station.
-----
Kit stood outside the glass doors the next morning earlier than she normally would. Instead of the anger she felt the day before in Ramos’s office, anxiety lived in her chest. She’d popped her fingers so many times the night before that they were sore, and she was thankful it was still February so she could wear a thick sweater that covered the red marks she’d scratched into her forearms. She hadn’t realized she’d been doing it, and while it hadn’t gone on enough to draw blood, they’d stung in the shower and looked much more angry than they felt. She usually pushed up the sleeves of her sweaters and cardigans, because she hated the way the cuffs felt around her wrists, but she had already mentally prepared herself to leave them down and deal with the annoyance all day.
Time passed faster than she thought it would, and when she was grabbed gently by the shoulder she jolted, turning and shifting into a defensive position without having to think. It didn’t reach her that she was fairly unlikely to be attacked on the sixth floor of their FBI building, but Hotch was clearly unphased by her reaction, hands up in front of him to signal his intent.
“Sorry, I called your name twice,” he said evenly. “I could tell you weren’t quite grounded.”
She took a breath before relaxing, hands coming not down to her sides, but to settle on top of her backpack straps. Her hands clutched tightly around them, and she took another breath before saying, “I um. I wasn’t. Thanks.”
Hotch nodded, picking up his briefcase from the ground and nodding towards the double doors she had just been staring at. She followed behind him as he walked through the door. “How was your meeting with Ramos?” He asked, clearly attempting to be casual. While it should have made her feel good, and included, it just made the weight that had been vibrating around her chest settle deeper.
You aren’t included, Kody. You’re separate.
“It was informative.”
“Anything I need to know?” he asked as they walked. The casual, conversational tone of his voice sounded less forced than before, and it made her chest feel tighter and tighter as their steps synced. Six weeks didn’t seem like a long time, but she felt like she’d been splitting with the BAU a lot longer.
She needed to force that all down and away.
“No, Agent Hotchner. Though, I will be required to give three talks by the end of March. We were short last month, and Section Chief Ramos made it very clear that it’s unacceptable.”
Hotch stopped short, turning and raising an eyebrow at her. She didn’t call him Agent Hotchner, she hadn’t in six weeks. The confusion and concern coming off of him set the weight in her chest even deeper, and she worried at her lip between her bottom teeth as she waited for him to affirm her request.
“Of course,” he finally said, “Though that should be on me. It was a busy month, but I should have made time.”
“No, Chief Ramos made it very clear that it’s my responsibility. I’d like to do one this week, if possible. Friday, if your team isn’t on a case.”
Hotch looked at her with searching eyes, and she could tell he was profiling her. She didn’t need to ask, she knew the look by then. They all had one, and this was Hotch’s.
There’s no inter-team profiling. Even he agrees with Ramos.
“Is there something bothering you, Colghain?” He asked finally, both of them stopped in their tracks. “Something Ramos said?”
She shook her head quickly. If she said something, she would probably get in trouble. She reported to Ramos, not Hotch, and it was clear she was on thin ice.
“No, sir. I just want to do my job well.”
“Is it Gideon?” He continued, dropping his voice though there was no one else in the bullpen. It was too early. “I spoke with him about the meeting last week. He said he would talk to you once we got back, but if you need me to-”
“No,” she said quickly. There was more force behind her words than she intended, and she watched as Hotch shifted from offensive, to defensive. “No, thank you,” she tried again, softening both her tongue and her body language. “It’s nothing. Really.”
“If Ramos made you uncomfortable-”
“Stop.”
Kit shook her head too quickly at him, watching the miniscule shift in his face. He’d flooded the space around them with a level of concern she couldn’t handle. She couldn’t have him care about her.
He shouldn’t care about her. She wasn’t one of his to worry about.
She fiddled with her fingers, letting her hands tug at her sleeves, but not push them up. “Listen, Agent Hotchner, I appreciate your assurance that I’m a part of this team, but I’d like you to stop telling me that.”
His eyebrows came together, eyes softening. “Kit, you are a member of my team.”
“But I’m not. I’m a liaison from the health department.”
He shrugged at her, shaking his head and gesturing towards JJ’s empty office. “JJ is a liaison from the communications department.”
Kit shook her head, giving a sad smile and waving him off. “It’s different.”
She didn't want to tell him about Ramos. It would be like tattling, and they were FBI agents, not kindergarteners. As far as she knew, Hotch was JJ’s supervisor. She was a part of them. Kit was separate.
“I don’t see how it’s different,” he said, “but if you really feel that way, know that it isn’t on our end. By isolating yourself, you’re creating a barrier.”
“I thought we didn’t profile one another,” she said, feeling annoyance start to dance inside her chest. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know what Ramos had said.
What if Ramos is full of shit?
What if Hotch is full of shit?
He simply raised an eyebrow.
“The rule is on inter-team profiling. Did you not just say you weren’t a part of my team?”
She stared him straight in the eyes for a moment. The air around him had settled into the feeling she probably hated most of all.
Pity.
She latched her hands to the backpack straps over her shoulders to keep herself from pulling down hard on her twin braids.
“I need to prepare for the health meeting on Friday. We’ll do one in the afternoon. I’ll see you at the morning briefing.”
She turned away from him and walked to her desk without letting him respond to her, and she knew it was petty, but she didn’t need Hotch’s pity. She didn’t need anyone’s pity.
She could do grief, and anger, and fear all day. She could handle trauma, and regret, and incredible sadness. Illness. Confusion and skepticism.
She hated pity.
She didn't need anyone to pity her. The middle child of nine. The rebel. The decent nurse.
Trouble.
She didn't need it. Not from Hotch.
And she didn't need him to see the tears of frustration and self loathing pooling on her lashline.
She’d clearly gotten too big for her britches, and Ramos had helped bring her back down to earth. She wasn’t a stiff. She was a nurse. That’s all she’d ever be.
-----
“Colghain.”
Kit looked up from the papers in front of her to Gideon’s even voice. He was looking at her with the same intensity he always wore, beckoning at her with one of his hands before walking back into his office without another word.
She raised an eyebrow, significant anxiety flooding into her chest. She didn’t want to deal with it. She’d already had a conversation with Hotch that she didn’t want to have. She’d had a conversation with Ramos the day before that left her upset and self-loathing and desperate to feel like she belonged somewhere she most certainly did not belong, and never could, and never would.
And, Kit had avoided having a conversation with Gideon at every turn. She’d perfected it, as far as she was concerned. Hotch had tried to make them talk, and they’d either argued, or she’d avoided it completely. She didn’t want to have an actual conversation with Gideon. She hated Gideon. He hated her.
Why would he ever want to actually confront the issue?
“You better go, Lep,” Morgan said casually, flipping through a file. He looked exhausted. They all did.
“I don’t want to talk to him.”
“What happened to the girl that was like, ‘oh yeah, I’ll talk to him tomorrow,’ like, a week ago? Scared?” He teased, swapping his voice to a higher pitch in an imitation of her.
Despite the frustration she’d found with Hotch that morning, and the dread that flooded through her at the realization that she shouldn’t be getting close to anyone on the BAU team, she found herself smiling and rolling her eyes at the man in front of her. Morgan was different. He’d said it himself that they were friends, and Kit didn’t think that meant just at work. After all, they trained together on mornings she worked her clinic shifts, too.
“Oh, belt it, Morgan. I saw that you didn’t get a flu shot this year, are you scared of something? Needles?”
She’d been waiting on that one, but he just chuckled and shook his head. “No, that’s pretty ricky over there. I don’t need a flu shot. Immune system of a champion.”
Kit had to bite her tongue in order to keep from calling him “Antibiotics Guy” out loud, settling for rolling her own eyes and standing up from her chair.
“Sure, Morgan. We’ll see. Will you back me up if you hear screaming?” She asked, the nervous energy never leaving her as she stood to face the music. Maybe they’d fight and she’d get fired. It would sure make being a part of just the clinic an easier feat.
She’d never worried about getting fired this often in her life, even when she was nineteen years old and working trauma in the ER. It surprised her how calmly she considered it as her weeks with the BAU added up.
He chuckled and nodded at her, turning back to his file and speaking with his eyes on the page in front of him. “Sure thing. Hey, can I have your desk space if he roasts you to a fine crisp? I like to spread out.”
“Oh, múchadh, Der.”
“I don’t know what that means!” He taunted, but she didn’t turn back around. She was already steeling herself for battle.
Gideon was sitting at his desk, glasses on, and didn’t look up when she entered his office. She stood there for a moment before she knocked on the door frame.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yeah, sit down,” he mumbled, scribbling something in his notebook.
As bad as she wanted to tell him no, she would definitely not sit down, she could hear Hotch’s voice echoing in her mind.
I spoke with him about the meeting last week. He said he would talk to you once we got back.
The BAU team was back, and now, she needed to sit and listen to whatever it was that Gideon had to say.
You’re just a nurse after all. You should be the one apologizing.
“Gideon-”
“Colghain, I’m going to be honest, I don’t like that you’re here.”
Wow.
“Okay?” she said, dejected confusion on her tongue. Gideon wasn’t oozing annoyance or frustration like he usually was, but she couldn’t read him. He was almost apathetic. He wasn't even looking at her.
“The bureau forcing a new position like this says that they don’t trust units to manage themselves.”
Kit thought about that for a moment. She’d heard that from Morgan, and she understood why he would feel that way. He was a senior agent. He’d come back into the field after being on medical leave. She’d actually been one of the nurses that had read over his file before they would clear him to go back to work. Gideon had been in the BAU since its conception, and it made sense that he didn't like change.
"What about JJ?"
"Pardon?"
He looked up then, the tendrils of his confusion tugging at her skin.
Kit kept her train of thought. "JJ came from the communications department. She was a new position at some point, but you seem to get along with her just fine. You trust her."
"JJ isn't interested in anything but her position," he said simply. "And she’s proven that she does it very well."
"I'm not interested in anything but my position, either," she said. She felt like she was gaining some footing. “And, as of the last six weeks, I feel like I’ve shown that I can do my position well. Or at least, I can when I’m being allowed to do it.”
“Your position as a babysitter?”
“My position as an expert in my field.”
Their eyes were locked now; Gideon’s unwavering, Kit’s challenging.
“My job is to keep the team healthy, inform you all about healthful practices, go on takedowns, and give my input on cases that need it.”
“Reid knows anything your input could give us.”
“Not when he’s running a fever and trying to think straight while masking from you all.”
Gideon’s face shifted for a fraction of a second, but the concern that flooded the room told her she had the upper hand.
Good, asshole.
“Which you didn’t know, did you? In New Jersey. Not only was I reading tox screens and dealing with pushback at every turn, from you, on a case that was medically mine. I was also managing the symptoms of your protégé, who if you hadn’t noticed, has the constitution of a wet piece of cardboard.”
Gideon was on the defensive now, standing up from his chair. “We had an unsub to worry about. Reid can take care of himself.”
Kit stood from her seat to match him. She didn’t report to Gideon. She wasn’t on his team. He was on Hotch’s, and as far as she was concerned, she didn’t have to give in to him. They weren’t on the same team at all.
“And while on that case, regardless of you trying to step in and do my job regarding Hill, I still managed to take care of Reid, give valuable information about botulism and rohypnol, and get our foot in the door at the hospital.”
Gideon didn’t respond for a moment, and while it probably wasn’t a good idea, Kit kept going.
“And, just so you know, I don’t appreciate you lying for me on official documents. I’m a professional, and I’m damn good at my job.” All the things she’d talked to Morgan about were flooding back.
You just told me, so tell him.
That’s what he’d said.
Maybe she would.
She laughed once. “I’m good at my job. I proved it to the Health Department. My siblings and I are the youngest Head Nurses the clinic’s ever seen. We were the youngest in the history of the hospital we were at before that. Hell, the Director sees my files directly, and was on the team that selected me for this position. Me, not either of my cúpla.”
She watched him for a moment before she added, venom on her tongue, “I’ve proved myself again and again. I don’t have to prove it anymore. Not to you.”
“I didn’t lie,” was all he said, though his apathy had melted. There was something else there. Something she couldn’t place.
“What?”
“I didn’t lie on any official documents. Never have.”
She blinked at him for a moment.
The survey, you idiot.
“You gave me a positive review of my health meeting. The one you very specifically stopped before I was done to tell me I was wrong, and then argued with Hotch that I was wasting your time.”
He shrugged, pacing to the window and peering into the February air. “My personal feelings about the necessity, or existence, of your health meeting on sleep don’t change my opinion of your delivery. During the meeting, until I interrupted and jibbed, you were incredibly knowledgeable and professional. You were concise.” He shrugged again. “It was the best delivered health meeting I’ve been a part of during my time with the bureau.”
She stared at him for a moment, face working through a plethora of emotions before she settled on annoyance. “Then why in the hell,” she started, “would you have interrupted me?”
“Principle,” he said simply. “Understand, Colghain, I have an issue with your position. I also have an issue with the fact that you profile as a reformed rebel, and the sort of restless trouble that lies behind your eyes tells me you never really left it in your past. You’ve repressed it. You’ve buried it. You mask it in the clinic, and you’ve tried, unsuccessfully, to mask it around this team.”
What the hell sort of inter-team profiling is that?
You’re not on his team. You aren’t on the same team at all.
“As a person,” he said finally, sitting down in his chair, “I don’t mind you. Elle is a rebel in her own right, and I think it helps her in this job. As a position, yours is one I don’t care for, and don’t anticipate lasting very long. Hotch would like us to get along better, which I’m not opposed to. If you stay out of the way of the profilers, I have no issue with you being here. As a member of the team, I worry that you’re in over your head. Mind your temper.”
“I’m not a member of the team,” she said automatically, though she didn’t sit to match him. “I’m separate.”
“Even better,” he agreed, picking back up his notebook and gesturing towards the door. “That’s it. You can go.”
Is he… dismissing me?
The likeness to her high school principal ignited in her chest like heartburn, and shook her head. “If you stay out of the way of my duties and contributions, I have no issue with you, either.”
She stood for a few seconds before turning towards the door.
“And Colghain?” She turned to face him, but his eyes weren’t on her anymore. Almost like they never were. “Yes?”
“Be nice to Reid. He cares about what others think more than he’d let on.”
Kit stood and blinked at him for a moment before she found herself rolling her eyes. “I thought Reid could take care of himself.”
Gideon scoffed before shaking his head, dismissing her again as he mumbled under his breath. “Trouble.”
“Jaded,” she said simply, striding out the door without another look back.
Did that help? Did that even help at all?
Of course it did, Kody. There was an agreement in there somewhere. Stay out of each other’s way, and everything will be fine. Hotch will be happy to hear it.
Kit walked quickly back to her desk, sliding into her seat and placing her head in her hands. She wished the day was over, but it was barely two, and she needed the next three hours to prepare her meeting for Friday. Two days to prepare wasn’t optimal, and she wondered if she’d need to stay late at her desk. They were supposed to play another set the next night, and she didn’t want to cancel on her cúpla like she had for five straight weeks after starting her position.
“Are you okay?”
She considered leaving her face in her hands and pretending she didn’t hear him, but Gideon’s words, to her great distaste, rang in her ears.
Be nice to Reid. He cares about what others think more than he’d let on.
She sighed and sat up, directing her eyes to the sheepish looking doctor to her right and nodding. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she said. Morgan had disappeared, which she didn’t notice at first, and Elle was nowhere to be found.
“Did you talk with Gideon?”
“Yeah.”
“Was it… good?”
Kit watched his body position shift as his discomfort increased.
He probably thinks you’re going to snap at him, or tell him it’s none of his business. Good job, Kody. Great. You’ve given him anxiety.
She nodded, giving him a small smile. “I guess it was,” she decided. She wasn’t sure, but that’s where she settled. “Thanks for asking.”
“Yeah. Yeah, um, sure. I just know that things have been weird and that you don’t really get along, but I told him that you know a lot of things and you’ve got a lot to add to the team. Actually-” He stopped himself suddenly, eyes lowering and hands fidgeting before he shook his head. “Sorry. I was rambling, I’m sure you have things to do.”
She watched him for a moment before she found herself shaking her head. Reid, she was learning, was largely harmless. Plus, she could use his overflowing memory to her advantage.
“Actually, how much paperwork do you have to do? I could use some help with something.”
He looked back up at her and took a second before grinning. “Oh, my paperwork is done.”
“Great,” she said, settling back into her seat and picking up her pen. “What can you tell me about physical activity in adults between the ages of twenty and sixty?”
His grin shifted into a full smile. “Tons.”
“Perfect,” she said, leaning towards him to show she was engaged and ready. “Tell me everything.”
#Brenna writes things#or at least she tries#Second Child Restless Child#SCRC#Criminal MInds#Criminal Minds fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#gaelic/irish#OC#female OC#I'm updating it's amazing#we did it#Kit is not in a great space in this moment
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It’s all about connections (SasuNaru) (Part 1)
Finally, here’s the very first part of the !YoutubeSasuNaru story - the idea’s quite silly but I had fun writing it so hope you guys enjoy it! (English is not my first language so please don’t be too much of a grammar nazi Summary : Sasuke has had that massive crush on a youtuber for years when Rasengan randomly starts going to his class.
You can also read it on ff.net and ao3.
Part 1 (here), Part 2 (clic), Part 3 (clic), Part 4 (clic)
Poc.
The ball of paper missed its trajectory and crashed into the corner of the wall, barely half an inch away from the waste basket that originally intended. The student didn’t mind, though - he was far too busy trying to finish his economics presentation that was due for the next day.
Despite the fact that many of his classmates insisted on seeing him as a relentless hardworking student, Sasuke Uchiha was very much like any other normal twenty-one year old boy : a procrastinator at heart. So it was precisely on the night before the big day that he finally decided to finish it, even though he had had all of his vacation time to do so. Well - it would be a lie to say that it would take a superhuman effort to accomplish that task, but unfortunately the young man had another flaw: he was a perfectionist.
Even if he had to pull an all-nighter or give nothing back at all, Sasuke had always refused to be average - because before (and in addition of) setting high standards for others, he would always set himself very high standards.
The black-haired man frowned as he read what he had written on the previous line and, impulsively, he ended up tearing up the entire page of his notebook and threw it on the floor.
However, the paper pellet did not make a Poc - as he had, this time, managed to reach the bin, it made a Ting instead : he had just received a notification.
His mind being elsewhere, the student rummaged around on his desk, looking for his phone. It wasn’t a text message, but a Youtube alert. One of his Subscriptions had just uploaded a new video. Sasuke took a quick look at the time (1:03 am) and let a loud sight when he saw how long the video was: fifty-seven minutes.
Of course, it has to be Rasengan.
He was the only one there who could publish a barely edited gaming review at such odd hours. One hour of uncut video was too much, even if it was to discuss the New Zelda. ‘That moron clearly don’t understand how the logistics of youtube work,’ the young man thought while stretching his legs under the table in order to get into a more comfortable position.
Because even though Sasuke might found the Youtuber’s marketing choices quite stupid and questionable - he was still his favorite. The only one he was following so.. assiduously.
And if he was really going to pull an all-nighter in order to finish his presentation on time, he might as well relax a little on the go
**
The coffee machine finally agreed (even though it sure had taken its’ sweet time) to give him his change money, but it still wasn’t not enough to lift Sasuke’s spirit. He really had spent his entire night working on the presentation. Well - he even had to give up his usual fifteen minutes of hot morning shower for just three minutes of shampoo-rinse-toothbrush altogether to make sure that everything was perfect.
But at last - there he was ! His eyelids stung horribly and he could feel the dark circles hollowing out his eyes, but everything was finally ready to make sure he would receive his usual congratulations for the seriousness and thoroughness of his work.
An amused grin escaped his lips when he looked into the face of Kiba Inuzuka, one of his classmates - a gamer and procrastinator emeritus who unfortunately didn’t have enough wits to back it up. With some luck, they would be called in alphabetical order for once and it would save Inuzuka the embarrassment of going Sasuke’s presentation.
Or maybe not.
Sasuke left the cafeteria just as the legendary lack of luck of the dog-loving student seemed to catch up with him:
« FOR FUCK’S SAKE NARUTO DON’T PUT YOUR DR PEPPER ON TOP OF MY COMPUTER ! »
**
« Hey Sasuke, did you also get Ichiraku’s mail about the internship? »
Shikamaru Nara calmly called out the black-haired young man as he sat down.
« Yes, I got it. And my documents have been signed and validated by the office earlier today.
- Cool, mine too, Shikamaru sighed. ‘t'was about time. »
He nodded his head knowingly: all the steps of searching, finding and getting the official documents concerning the internship signed were an unspeakable mess. Luckily, though, his partner this time was not a nutcase of Zaku Abumi’s caliber.
The Nara was placidly calm (Sasuke wouldn’t dream of seeing him threatening the Dean of blowing up the uni if he were to fail the exams) and quite intelligent: in short, he was one of his peers. And their little discussions were not too unpleasant.
« Well, we’ll talk later about carpooling?
- Yeah. And also dividing the task.
- Yeah, no problems, Shikamaru sighed as he turned away - tired in advance of the amount of work ahead. Ah, good luck with your presentation by the way. »
Pfft.
He didn’t even bother to answer.
Wishing him luck ? Sasuke gladly left ‘good luck’ to losers such as Inuzuka or Sarutobi who were very likely to be sending prayers at that very moment to every heavenly spirit existing, Jashin included, to have the course delayed.
Good luck ?
Sasuke definitely didn’t need it.
He was brilliant, meticulous and confident: talking in front of sixty or more people didn’t bother him at all - unlike the younger Hyuuga who getting more and more on the verge of fainting as she practiced her speech. More than that, it was even something he enjoyed. Knowing every aspect of a subject - mastering it ; defending it tooth and nail, tearing apart every remark made by his opponents until they surrender..
Some malicious people would say that Sasuke liked to boast on stage, that he was too arrogant. That he was far too pleased to thwart the traps set by his teachers, to answer the questions of his classmates with a smirk. A smirk just visible enough to make them understand how foolish he thought their interventions were. Or worse, that he had precisely expected for a moron to make that remark, thus allowing him to assert his assistance with a dutifully prepared response.
Saying that Sasuke Uchiha sometimes behaved like a complete asshole would be quite slanderous - indeed.
Because, no he did not.
He was brilliant, meticulous, confident… and humble on top of that.
« Hurry up, Kiba, I think it’s already started!
- You should have eat your lunch quicker ! »
The two latecomers were forced to take the front row seats of the auditorium while Sasuke finished to prepare. The slide show was on, the cable was connected - he was simply waiting for Mr. Hatake’s approval to start.
**
« And to finish with and anticipate some questions you may have, I’d like to add that while the data I used regarding market flows may be from two thousand and four, other studies that I have provided in the appendix tend to show that all exchanges concerning telephony have been profitable thanks to the takeover of the company by its competitor three years ago. »
Click.
He couldn’t have done better.
The teacher scribbled an umpteenth inscription on his rating form with a discreet approving wink and Uchiha smiled smugly.
Perfect - everything had gone on smoothly.
His onyx eyes wandered around the room: not surprisingly, half the auditorium hadn’t listen a word to what he had said, too focused on themselves (and the realization of their own projects).
Pfft.
The other half, however, completed his little moment of glory: some of them shook the head in bitterness, disappointed in what they had done in comparison, others gave him an admiring look. In the distance, Shikamaru nodded his head slowly while the Egyptian fury sited beside him, more belligerent, pretended to stifle a yawn.
But Sasuke quickly looked away, his mouth pinched, as he saw the thumb up that Lee Rock had kindly addressed to his attention. Lee was overall quite a nice fellow - Sasuke himself had to recognize it, - but no.
Just no.
« Well, if no one has any question, because I don’t have one either, let’s move on to the next presentation, Kakashi Hatake thought for a moment as he watched over the assembly. Inuzuka, you, in the front row? Well, that’s great, now’s your turn. »
Sasuke, quite disdainfully elated, was about to come down from the stage when a voice stopped him dead in his tracks:
« Oops, you’re in deep shit, Kiba! »
That particular tone was familiar to him.
Strangely familiar.
« Heyyyyy everybody! I know, I know, sorry! I promised to upload more often… But sometimes I just completely forget to turn the cam on. Or to remove the lens cover ahah! Anyway, today…- »
…
Come to think of it, Sasuke knows that he should have, at least, tried to make it look like it wasn’t that big of a deal. He should have try to tighten his jaw, clench his teeth or even hold his breath until he could return to his seat but of course - he didn’t.
That damn brain of his really had to go on mental-break down as he looked over to the lips from which those sweet, sweet words had just escaped.
He literally froze on the spot.
HOLY FREAKING FUCKING FUCK.
Why the hell did Rasengan have to show up in his class on the very-day he looked like utter shit?!
**
Sasuke let himself fell on a chair of the uni library. The research room, fortunately, was still quite empty - this haven of peace was the only place where, he was ready to stake his life on it, this stupid Inuzuka had not and would never set foot in.
Yes - Sasuke Uchiha had simply run away : with clenched fists, he had spent the forty-two minutes separating him from the end of the class to scrutinize meticulously the auditorium clock’s second hand. He had tried everything: scrolling down his twitter feed, pretending to be interested in what was happening downstairs, humming softly a bit of that stupid Latin-sounding song that his brother Itachi kept playing in the car, but nothing helped. That same frightening moment was played again and again in his mind:
Meeting certain cerulean eyes had literally made him go speechless. If he had for a long time now suspected the blond guy of drowning his instagram pictures with saturated filters, he was now forced to admit that this guy had the bluest eyes he had ever seen.
And by blue, Sasuke wasn’t talking about that pale, bland cyan that Ino Yamanaka, a high school ‘friend’ he often saw in the cafeteria, boasted about - no, Rasengan’s pupils were of a deep, bright, intense blue. It wasn’t a grey that stretched to be too light or green; his eyes were neither grayish nor turquoise: they were blue. Irrevocably blue.
Wonderfully blue.
The more he thought about it, the less Uchiha was willing to accept it: there was no way a guy who spent at least twelve hours a day on screens could have such marvelous eyes. He probably wore contact lenses, yeah, there was no other explanation.
All Sasuke could remember was meeting that seing that blue and then - nothing. His foot had stayed up in the air, his breathing hastened and he had stood there like an idiot - staring at the video maker who hadn’t pay the slightest attention to him, his mouth wide open.
How long had he been frozen there, like a fucking fangirl oozing hormones and sebum?
…
Thank’s God - an unfortunate accident had come to his rescue : Kiba Inuzuka and his legendary clumsiness who, probably not expecting Sasuke to suddenly freeze on the spot, had stumbled over the stairs.
PAF.
He had cracked his forehead open and the fit of hilarity (well - they didn’t need much at eight o'clock in the morning) in the auditorium had instantly brought Sasuke out of his enamored trance. He had quickly taken his attention away from the blond young man hurried back to his place, his heart beating fast.
Shit - what the hell was Rasengan doing in his college?
And why did he have do pull an all-nighter on the day before?
Sasuke looked around him and hesitated for a moment before putting his phone in selfie mode in order to inspect the extent of the damages.
Ouch.
He had rarely looked so bad. His eyes were red because of the entire night spent on a computer screen, his skin was tugging at him and - what the hell was that old scale on the edge of his eyelid ? But despair truly overcame him as he looked at the state of his hair - thank God it was still pretty clean, but there was absolutely no volume left. Nasty, long (too long) strands of hair were stuck to his temples and fell back a little on his forehead.
Shit - it was as if he was unpleasantly reviving his teenage years when - even though he still adamantly claimed to that day he had never turned emo, he had tried numerous dubious kind of hairstyles.
The Uchiha turned pale when it really came down to him : this was indeed the very first impression he ever had make on Rasengan.
**
When Sasuke set foot on campus the next day, curious glances were exchanged. While his complexion was as fresh and glowing as ever (he had gulped down five liters of water the night before), his hair was…-
Well - he rather gave the impression that he had swallowed five litres of gel. That observation made the usually impassive Shikamaru raised an eyebrow - for a moment he thought that he too had returned to his high school years.
The Nara genius finally shrugged it off, plunged back into his textbook - well everyone had bad hair day every now and then.
**
Fourth day of the week - Sasuke grumbled as he put his computer back on his bag.
Of course, Rasengan had to disappear completely off the face of the earth as soon as he had decided to rock his best outfits to go to class.
It was as if Rasengan’s divine appearance had to be provoked by Sasuke losing some of his splendor.
…
The next day, Sasuke had the impudence of wearing a T-shirt… with a hole on it (an old accident involving a hook and his brother-in-law, a fisherman), but still - nothing happened.
There was not the slightest sign of the handsome blond with eyes too blue to be true. In a bad mood, Uchiha decided after lunch to put the Ralph Lauren sweater, which he’d slipped into his bag in the morning just in case, in top of his crappy shirt.
The following Monday came quickly but - no, Sasuke wasn’t expecting anything.
His decision to resume his daily abdominal sessions hadn’t been motivated by any hope of meeting a certain blond again.
He was doing it for himself - and for himself alone.
Although it was true that he didn’t even need it.
The coffee machine forgot inadvertently to give him a stirrer - Sasuke sighed. Great, the day was starting out just fine : how the hell was he supposed to retrieve the sugar that had fallen to the bottom of the cup and drink his coffee now?
« Ahah, I can’t believe it, I didn’t even finish my presentation and Hatake gave me the passmark ! »
Sasuke’s ears tensed imperceptibly as he recognized the voice of the injured-Inuzuka who had just entered the cafeteria.
« He felt sorry you had a concussion Kiba, Shikamaru was there too.
- Whatever, man ! I’m definitely going to pass that semester ! We got to go celebrate. »
Celebrate?
Like in a bar or club where Rasengan might also go to ?
Sasuke suddenly found his cup too heavy to carry around and chose to sit down at the table next to the one the two friends had chosen, any worry of lost-stirrer long forgotten.
« Mhhh. Shikamaru sighed and rummaged through his wallet, seeking enough change to buy himself a hot drink. The delicious scent of Sasuke’s coffee was tempting him. You know what I think about your improvised parties.
- Pfff, anyway, you hardly go out anymore now than you got hitched.
- It's not like that, Shikamaru sighed again. Tem and I simply go to different places. »
Sasuke rolled his eyes out, bored. He wasn’t there to hear about other people’s marital relationships: why didn’t they discuss Rasengan’s appearance AND disappearance instead?
The black-haired man had spend the weekend trying to figure something out, but nothing helped. Not a new video on Youtube (well, there was nothing that strange about that, Rasengan’s upload schedule had always been rather dubious), not a single clue on twitter or insta.
Nothing.
« …- never thought you’d actually manage to hook up with her. By the way…-, Kiba’s sentence was left hanging in the air. Oh, here he is. It’s about time! »
Sasuke’s pulse suddenly accelerated. Damn it.
He hadn’t expected Rasengan to pop up out of the blue, though.
Wasn’t his presence so close to his group of friends too suspicious?
Was he going to get busted that easily ?
He needed a pretext - quickly.
« Hey Shino. You’re here just in time, let’s go! »
Eyes glued to the poster for dark-metal band, Uchiha struggled to conceal his disappointment.
Shino Aburame - of course.
Always where he wasn’t expected.
Jaw clenched, Sasuke pretended to take a closer look at the tour dates on the wall while the three companions got up to go to class. The disappointed student was about to do the same when a voice called out to him:
« I didn’t know you liked this kind of music, Sasuke.
- Uh… yeah.
- We’re performing next month at the bar around the corner, Shino let out a rare smile as he reached into his pocket to hand him something. Here, I’ve got plenty more.
- … Thanks ? »
Uchiha arched an eyebrow as he received a Radioactive Worms sticker.
…
Well.
It took all sorts to make a world.
**
Wednesday, nine o'clock - Sasuke sighed as he realized that his computer was already out of battery. He pulled the charger out of its’ case before giving a nasty glance to a student who was cackling a little too loudly a few rows away.
Inuzuka.
Again.
He was getting on his nerves more and more.
For how long has he been getting along like pigs in a blanket with Rasengan? And was he, as Sasuke strongly suspected, responsible of his mysterious disappearance?
It was all so damn confusing.
« Um, yeah? »
The microphone sizzled and Sasuke turned his attention back ont he lecturer who he had almost forgotten.
When he saw who standing next to him, he almost fainted.
Rasengan.
#sasunaru#narusasu#sasunaru fic#sasunaru fanfiction#narusasu fic#narusasu fanfiction#naruto#naruto fanfiction#youtube#sillyme#shino is a key character there#hope you guys enjoyed it#i really need to study but oh well#naruto x sasuke#narutoxsasuke#sasuke x naruto#sasukexnaruto#sasuke x naruto fanfiction#it's all about connections
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Cubicle au
When Baekhyun schedules a one on one meeting with Taemin for that Thursday, Taemin instantly becomes nervous. What did he do wrong? He’d turned in all his work on time. The peer review he and Minho led went well - they only got very minor comments back. He was dressing professionally. What went wrong?
The rest of his Tuesday and all of Wednesday was spent in nervous preparation for this meeting. Then come Thursday morning at nine, Taemin was walking into his least favorite conference room to have a meeting with his boss.
“So you’ve been here about a year and a half now,” Baekhyun starts. Then he laughs. “You’re not in any trouble or anything, don’t look so nervous.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Baekhyun assures him. “I’ve noticed you’ve been making friends with the contracts people.”
“Yeah - Yes,” Taemin stutters a bit, trying to remember to be professional. “They’re nice.”
“They are,” Baekhyun smiles. “And they also have been fighting to get you to be part of their team.”
Taemin blinks once. Twice.
“What?”
“To put it simply,” Baekhyun says, “they’re trying very hard to steal you from me.”
“I don’t know anything about contracts.”
“But you’re a quick learner and eager to take on more work,” Baekhyun tells him. “You’ve impressed quite a few other departments, really. But contracts seems the most eager to take you.”
“So what does that mean?”
“It means,” Baekhyun says, folding his hands, “that if you want, I’m willing to let you work fifty-fifty on both our team and contracts. They’ll show you the ropes, teach you what you need to know, and it will help you get more to put on your resume.”
“And that’s a good thing, right?”
“It’s a very good thing,” Baekhyun says softly. “But you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“I just don’t really know what working in contracts entails,” Taemin says carefully. “I wouldn’t want to mess anything up.”
“That’s why they’d be training you first,” Baekhyun says. “Take the weekend to think about it, and you can give me your answer say, before end of the day Tuesday next week?”
“Okay.”
“This is a good thing,” Baekhyun assures him. “I’m not trying to get rid of you. I’ve actually been arguing with them for weeks that I need you full time, but upper management thinks it should be your decision.”
“Do you need me full time?”
Baekhyun huffs and smirks.
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Baekhyun says playfully. “Realistically? You get your work done so efficiently that I could keep you half time and you’d still get everything done. You won’t keep the same workload of course, that’d be insane, but I’ll just give Minho more work to do if you take the offer. He needs to take on more responsibility anyway.”
“Okay,” Taemin says. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t talk to Minho about it,” Baekhyun says as they leave the room. “He’ll just convince you to stay. I want it to be your decision.”
“Okay.”
As soon as he gets in his car after work, he calls his brother.
“They want me on their team,” he says frantically. “Half time for now. It sounds like my boss talked them out of a full time offer because he still wants me.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Jinki asks, and Taemin can hear people shuffling around in the background. “You’re desirable. I bet you could weasel a raise out of them. Isn’t that how office jobs work?”
“I don’t know!” Taemin whines. “What do I do?”
“Take the offer,” Jinki says simply. “Expand your horizons and all that shit.”
“But what if I don’t do it right?”
“Then they’ll give you back to your current team.” Taemin can hear him shrug.
“I just don’t want to fail,” Taemin says softly.
“Well you won’t be able to succeed if you don’t even try,” Jinki says softly. “Isn’t your friend Key on that team? I don’t think he’d let you fail.”
“Yeah,” Taemin mumbles. “All my new work friends are on that team.”
“Then they won’t let you fail,” Jinki says in a stronger voice. “Just try it. For me?”
“Loser.”
“I know you are but what am I?”
Taemin snorts.
“Fine,” Taemin sighs. “I’ll do it. But I’m not giving him my answer until Monday.”
“Good,” Jinki says. “Make them sweat a little.”
“Kay,” Taemin mumbles. “Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Try not to worry so much. Eat something good for dinner!”
“I will,” Taemin rolls his eyes. “Don’t slip on stage.”
“I probably will,” Jinki laughs.
Friday is boring, mostly spent bickering with Minho about whose turn it is to email a superior about a question they have on their assignment. It’s Minho’s turn, Taemin’s done it the last three times. Taemin doesn’t back down this time, and Minho leaves to go back to his cubicle with a huff to send the email.
Good job, Key messages him. He’s a higher level than you, make him earn his pay once in a while.
Thank you, is all Taemin messages back. He hates written correspondence. He’s never sure how formal to be.
Taemin’s weekend is spent mostly ordering takeout and watching TV and watering his cute little window plants. Jinki texts him multiple times to not chicken out about accepting the offer on Monday.
So Monday morning, Taemin messages Baekhyun asking if they can have a quick meeting about what they discussed last week. They’re back in the same meeting room ten minutes later, and Taemin is grasping his hands together under the table.
“I think I’d like to try going to contracts half time,” Taemin says. He’s very proud that his voice isn’t shaking.
Baekhyun smiles at him.
“I’m glad you decided to,” he tells him. “It will be good for you. And it will be great for your year-end review.”
Taemin only nods his head quickly.
“Um,” he stutters, “So when does this start?”
“I’ll talk with Yunho when I get back to my desk,” Baekhyun says. Yunho is the contracts team lead. “Then we can have a meeting together about it.”
“Okay.”
The day is full of Taemin nervously getting CC’d on emails between Baekhyun and Yunho, going into conference rooms, and having meetings with both teams about how Taemin’s going to be splitting his time between both. The transition will start the next Monday, since it will be the start of a new pay period.
Minho looks like his head is going to explode. The rest of their team doesn’t seem too bothered, more excited for their junior team member to get more experience.
“You’re going to the enemy,” Minho hisses in Taemin’s cubicle towards the end of the day.
“What?”
“Oh my God, they’re not the enemy,” Chanyeol, one of their teammembers, says from his cubicle across from Taemin’s. “We literally all work for the same team. We’re all one big team. Taemin is just getting more experience.”
“You fraternized with the enemy too much,” Minho continues.
“You mean Key?” Taemin asks. Key has already left for the day. He can’t even bite back at Minho.
“Yes.”
“He’s nice.”
Minho huffs and goes back to his own cubicle.
The next month is spent going back and forth between his usual tasks and sitting in Key’s cubicle learning about what he’s going to be doing for the contracts team. Key is a good teacher - better than Minho was when Taemin first started, at least - and he’s patient. It makes Taemin feel a little better, especially when Key makes copies of his tasks and asks Taemin to try it out.
“I’m look over it when you’re done, and then we can compare it to mine,” Key says. “That way you can see if I do anything different.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t worry,” Key smiles. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine. You’ve picked up a lot already.”
“Thank you.”
That’s how most of Taemin’s training goes after the first couple weeks. He’s still only a junior team member, he’s not expected to do anything insanely important, but Key assures him that he’d do great even if he was.
“This is really good,” Key says quietly, scrolling through the assignment he gave Taemin. “Oh, you remembered that from last time! See, I knew you’d do a good job.”
Taemin smiles. He’s really getting the hang of this contracts thing. He actually kind of likes it more than what he does on his usual team.
“You’ll be on our team full time soon enough,” Key whispers, smirking.
Taemin only laughs.
“Oh, are you free this Friday?” Key asks. “We were thinking of having a happy hour this week.”
“Oh, um,” Taemin mutters. “I’m supposed to go see my brother on Friday.”
“You are so sweet,” Boa says, coming up behind him and making Taemin jump in his seat. It makes Boa cackle. “Do you see your brother often?”
“When he’s in town,” Taemin says. “And not too busy.”
“What’s he do?” Boa asks.
“He’s uh, in the entertainment industry,” Taemin stutters. “He’s usually really busy.”
“Oh shit, that’s so cool,” Key says.
“Yeah.”
“Well we can just have happy hour next week,” Key says, waving a hand. “Do you know any good places around here?”
“Not really,” Taemin says. “But I can Yelp.”
Key laughs.
“I like his attitude,” Boa says, smirking. “Send me links to any good places you find!”
“Okay.”
When he goes back to his cubicle, he goes on Yelp and sends three possible happy hour locations to both Key and Boa. Boa picks her favorite, and then Key sends out an invitation to their team for next Friday at five.
“My new team goes to happy hour a lot,” Taemin tells Jinki that Friday when they’re getting dinner.
“That’s fun!” Jinki encourages. “And you like your new team? You like the job?”
“It’s really cool,” Taemin admits. “And they’re all nice. I really like it.”
“See,” Jinki teases. “This is why you listen to your big brother. I know what’s best for you.”
Taemin makes a face at him.
“Then you know I like food best when it’s paid for by other people,” Taemin says, smirking.
Jinki snorts.
“Fine,” he snaps playfully. “My treat. Order whatever you want.”
Taemin picks up the menu with gusto and makes a determined face, ignoring all the prices. He does enjoy when Jinki visits.
“My work friend Key really likes your music,” Taemin says.
“What, really?” Jinki gasps. “And you never told me? Tell me everything!”
“What’s there to tell?” Taemin asks. “He likes your music. We talk about it sometimes.”
“He knows you’re my brother?”
“No.”
“Oh, that’s hilarious,” Jinki laughs. “You want tickets to my show here next month? Invite him.”
“That’s weird!”
“It’s not weird!”
“He’ll think I’m a weirdo.”
“You are a weirdo.”
Taemin glares at him, then orders three extra side dishes when the waiter comes just because he can.
“I’ll give you backstage passes,” Jinki decided. “You must invite your work friend. I want to meet my baby brother’s mentor who just so happens to enjoy my music.”
“You’re the worst.”
“And yet I’m paying for all the food you’re not even going to finish.”
Taemin smirks at him.
“Also I want you to help me with some lyrics I’m working on,” Jinki says. “And I need your piano skills.”
“Skills?”
“You can play piano and I can’t so shut up and help me.”
Taemin smirks wider, and shoves a French fry in his mouth.
The next Tuesday, Key is reading an interview of Onew’s in a magazine while he waits for emails back during work. It almost makes him kind of sad.
“We had the same vocal teacher when we were little,” Onew says, talking about his little brother. “And for some reason, she was so mean to him. Called him tone deaf all the time. I would teach him on the roof after classes, but it really shot his confidence. He focused more on piano instead, so he helps me with a lot of songs, but he refuses to sing anything still. It just makes me sad. He’s really great, but he just got so self conscious after that teacher. I want him to open up more.”
Key sees so many parallels between the little brother Onew talks about sometimes and his favorite little junior team member. He hopes he’s helping Taemin open up more. In a weird way, he relates to Onew in that sense - he thinks Taemin is great and wants more people to see it. Taemin’s starting to feel like a little brother to Key. Maybe he can get some advice from Onew’s interviews where he talks about his little brother.
“Whatcha reading?” Taemin asks, pulling a chair in to sit next to Key for their usual tasks together.
“Just an Onew interview,” Key laughs. Taemin laughs back, but not in the annoying ‘I’m making fun of you’ way that some people do when they find out Key likes this one idol so much.
“Is it any good?”
“He talks about making his latest album and how his brother helped him,” Key says, putting the magazine back in a drawer. “It’s cute. Makes me wish I had a little brother.”
Taemin laughs, and it sounds kind of nervous, but Key just shrugs.
“So what’s the agenda for today?” Key asks himself, looking at their tasks. They get right back to work.
Taemin is grateful. He still doesn’t know how to ask Key to come to the concert with him.
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The Royal Invitation, Pt. 9
Aerowyn Matilde George Rothchester might seem like a very long name, but it definitely is not for a royal in the Kingdom of Dalewin.
After her grandfather, the beloved king, passed away, Aerowyn (also known as Winny) is called back from her art school in New York. She’s thrown back into her royal duties, expected to know what to do.
But with the Royal advisor on tour with the new king, Winny is left to figure things out with his stepson. The only problem, he has no idea what he’s doing, after all he’s only the lead singer in a band.
Co-written story with @scream-tears.
Chapter 9
Winny’s POV:
I brushed out the wrinkles in my rose coloured dress as we walked down the hallway. My heels were really slowing me down, I could barely walk. I had been up on my feet since six in the morning and it was excruciatingly tiring. If this was a taste of what the life of a ruler was, I never wanted to be Queen. All my life, I thought I would be prepared when the time came, but I was seriously doubting myself.
“Come on, princess,” Alex rushed me, about ten steps ahead of me, “we’re going to be late for the meeting.”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I literally cannot walk,” I seethed back, taking the smallest and most awkward of steps.
“Need me to carry you?” He raised his eyebrow at me teasingly.
“No,” I scoffed and tried taking a larger step.
Although I tried to do that, I couldn’t pick up my foot off the floor more. My heel managed to snag on the carpet. I immediately lost my balance. If I had had my normal walking capabilities, I would have easily stabilised myself. But I wasn’t that lucky. I barely managed to stop myself from falling over. If it hadn’t been for that small side table with flowers on it, I would have slapped on the cold marble.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to carry you?” Alex gave me an amused look.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to fire you?” I mocked and kicked off my heels, making his face fall. I technically couldn’t be seen like this, but I didn’t care anymore. “That’s right. I call the shots here, I’m not one of your crew members.”
“Alright, I’m just doing my job,” he defended himself and checked his watch. “We will be late now.”
“Well, that’s too bad for them,” I grumbled and followed him down the hallway again.
We were meeting with all the other advisors. I got why Alex was so set on being on time. He had also taken over for Garry in those meetings. The others didn’t really take him seriously. He had no experience, no knowledge about anything that related to the kingdom, and was literally the lead singer of a band. Not exactly advisor material. But Alex was set on proving himself.
When we finally reached the heavy double wooden doors, he was eager to get in.
“Hang on!” I yelped, slapping his hand away from the door knob.
He sighed loudly and turned to me with a fed up look. “What?”
I glared at him and put back on my shoes, grimacing at the way they made my ankles and toes burn again. Honestly, I did not feel like I could even dare to show my face at that meeting in the state I was in. My hair felt frizzy, my eyes felt heavy, and my skin felt sticky. But there was no time to take a second and freshen up. There was no time for anything.
“Oh, umm, wait a second.” Alex fumbled around with his clipboard for a second.
I watched, confused why he was now holding us back. Eventually, he reached out and started fixing my hair a little. First it was just simply pushing a lock of hair behind my ear, but then he started doing more. He tucked a few more pieces back into my hairdo and pulled a few other whisps out. Apparently I now also had a new stylist.
“Okay, good to go.” He gave me a thumbs up and opened the door without another warning.
It reeked of old white male in there. All three of them were sitting at the large dark wood table, leaning back in their chairs. They gave Alex one horrible look of disapproval, and continued to watch us silently take our seats. I was at the head of the table in the chair my grandpa and now my dad usually occupied. Alex was to my right, like he literally was my right hand man. Each one of us had a pen, a glass of water, and a folder with documents.
They all stared at me expectantly, snapping me out of a small trance.
“Oh, right, yes, umm, let us inaugurate this meeting,” I stumbled over my words, urging the first person to start talking.
“Yes,” the old man next to Alex sat up straight and opened his folder, “I need to bring the emergency financial budget to light.”
“Emergency financial budget?” I opened my own folder, hoping to find another name or something that would give me more information. But, no. It was literally called the emergency financial budget. Weren’t all budgets financial?
“You should have been given a document for you to review before this meeting.” He gave me a stern look.
I nodded and tapped my pen on the table. There had indeed been such a document. “And would you be willing to give a quick recap for the ones who may not have read it?”
He started using a scolding tone. “Miss. Aerowyn–”
“Princess Aerowyn,” Alex corrected, earning himself a few more mean glares.
“– may I inform you that it is your duty to make sure you come prepared to perform your responsibilities.”
“Mr. Dudley,” I responded sternly, “I was given fifteen minutes to read twenty different reports, each with a length of fifty pages or more. I believe it was your responsibility to provide me with a synopsis.”
The man across from Mr. Dudley showed that they still weren’t having any of it. “Why has this meeting been called if our own princess cannot even perform her duties?”
I ran a hand through my hair, messing up the work Alex had done just minutes before. I didn’t know what to do anymore, unruly advisors was not exactly a lesson I got. “I may not be your king, but I am still your authority.”
“We are better off spending our time waiting for the king to return that even try to progress now,” the third advisor added.
“Excuse me,” Alex butted in, “I will remind you to have some respect. While the king is celebrating his coronation – which is well deserved, may I add – Aerowyn is holding everything together here. All these responsibilities have been dropped on her with no advanced guidance.”
Mr. Dudley scoffed. “Public appearances surely do need a whole lot of leadership and command. Traipsing around–”
“I am begging you to hold that thought. Aerowyn has been in five different meetings since this morning and has merely made one public appearance. She has had to prepare for each one of these, including memorising a speech. I believe you have no right to discuss whether or not she is worthy of her authoritative power.”
“I believe that is exactly our job.”
Alex crossed his legs, his ankle on the knee of the other leg, and he leaned back. I almost thought he had given up, but then he came with a new strategy. Changing the subject. “I have a new preposition to make for the good of the country.”
Mr. Dudley gave him a nod, believing he had won this.
“As you know, I will be returning to the United States for the duration of two weeks in a few days time,” Alex started, catching me off guard. I didn’t know he was leaving, which was strange. Wasn’t I the one person that should know? “I propose Aerowyn comes with me.”
I watched as all their faces turned red. Scrap me thinking they were angered by Alex before, they were absolutely infuriated now. So much angry emotion for a group of 60-year-olds who believed I wasn’t worth their time and questions earlier. Turned out they actually knew what I did but just didn’t want to accept it. Who would have guessed?
“Absolutely not!” Mr. Dudley sputtered out angrily.
“It will be best for both her and the entire family and it’s associates,” Alex defended.
“Are you mad?” The man across from him sneered.
“I might be, but not in this case.”
The third shook his head and mumbled under his breath, “what was Garry thinking?”
“How about we leave personal attacks out of this? It would–”
“We cannot permit Aerowyn to leave. With both the King and Queen on their tour, we need somebody here to take care of matters. If she leaves right now, the family will seem weak. We simply cannot warrant this.”
Alex breathed in deeply and leaned forward, standing behind his point of view. “I hear your concerns and recognise them. However, you need to look at the bigger picture here. Would you rather have your princess crumble in the public eye, weakening the public image and confidence right at the start of the new king’s reign or would you rather have your princess leave for two weeks to a place she already lives during the year and have her come back stronger than ever?”
“Excuse me?!” I finally interrupted after watching from a distance for so long. All heads snapped in my direction. “Do I get a say in this?”
Alex relaxed and sat back in his chair again. “It’s your choice.”
“Aerowyn,” Mr. Dudley immediately pushed, “you can clearly see that this would not be appropriate!”
I didn’t say a word, and surprisingly they all stayed silent as well. It was the first moment of peace I had gotten in a long time. I reached out and grabbed the report from the table, bringing it to my lap. The four men continued to stare at me as I scanned the pages. I had no idea what I was reading. All I could do was softly rub my temple with one hand, my elbow on the armrest, messing up my hair even more, while the other hand shakily went to flip the page. Usually I had a very steady hand, but my body obviously thought that wasn’t necessary anymore.
Alex was right. It was my choice. But at the same time it wasn’t. Not even close. I had the authority to suddenly call for a holiday. I could give a few of my duties to other people. But those things weren’t the responsible things to do. As princess and future Queen of the Kingdom of Dalewin, I couldn’t just simply decide to leave. It wasn’t how it worked.
I looked up briefly, all their eyes still on me. I gave a quick wave. “Please, continue.”
There was just more tension and silence. I kept on reading. It was the least I could do. They all had things they wanted to discuss which I knew nothing about. So, they were going to have to say something, or else this meeting was just going to continue on without any talking.
“Maybe a few weeks in the United States isn’t a bad idea,” Mr. Dudley suddenly changed opinions.
Did I really look that bad? Was my appearance really screaming that I needed a break?
“Mr. Dudley, are you certain about this?” The man to my right seemed as shocked as I was.
“Alex– Mr. Gaskarth is correct.” He gave a nod in Alex’s direction. “The worst thing we can have right now with a new king in power is have the crown princess seem incapable. We can take care of matters for two weeks.”
“What about public appearances?”
“King Edward still has siblings who are a part of this family. It might also be the perfect time for Augustus to be introduced if he is willing.”
Something in me was worried that Augustus was being offered as my replacement. I didn’t want him to be overwhelmed with everything as well. But it was only the public appearances, I had to remind myself of that. Gus-Gus had been wanting to help out there for a while, but he had always been considered too young. He would be over the moon if he was given the chance. There was no way he’d let himself mess up.
“So,” Alex smirked at me, “what do you say?”
“Very well.” I closed the folder and put it back on the table.
“I believe that sorts that. We’ll convene in the near future to work through the details,” Mr. Dudley said, no longer mad but also not overly glad. Afterall, he wasn’t the one that won this. He then glanced at me. “If I may?”
I gave him approval through a nod.
“Meeting adjourned,” he called.
The three advisors left through the side door, back to their offices, while Alex and I went back out through the main door. I walked out as composed as possible. My feet were still hurting like a bitch in my shoes.
As soon as the heavy door closed behind us, I jumped on Alex and hugged him tightly. “I could kiss you right now!”
He chuckled, “I won’t stop you.”
“But I won’t.” I let go of him again, continuing from my previous statement and excitedly kicking off my shoes.
“Well, that isn’t disappointing at all.”
“I’m sure it is.” I started skipping down the hallway. “When are we leaving?”
Alex started speed walking after me. “In five days.”
“Five days… two weeks…” I mumbled to myself before spinning around to face Alex. “What are you actually doing back in the US?”
“Blink-182 has an opening act cancelation, we’ve been called in to replace,” he shrugged.
“Blink-182?”
“Yeah, they’re a band–”
“I’m not oblivious, Alex, I know who they are.” I restarted skipping down the hallway quickly.
“You’re forgetting your shoes!” He snatched the pair off the floor, one against the left wall and the other further down the hall and more to the right.
“Fuck the shoes!”
#all time low#all time low fanfiction#Alex Gaskarth fanfiction#Alex Gaskarth#Jack Barakat#Jack Barakat fanfiction#all time low imagines#Alex Gaskarth imagines#Jack Barakat imagines#The Royal Invitation
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Endlich! Ein Grund zur Panik.
“You were at Bywell on the first of Frostmonth. The day the lights went out all over Aeland. The day the Great Haunting started. The day when our soldiers were cured of a madness that tormented them. The day the Amaranthines came to Bywell. I know you know what happened that day. You were a witness. Or maybe you were a participant.” - from the ARC of Stormsong
I seem to be reviewing naught but sequels lately, so, as you might be aware, when reviewing a sequel, there will inevitably be spoilers for the first book. So. You’ve been warned.
Oh my god oh my god oh my God oh my God oh my God OH MY GOD.
The wait is over! It’s STORMSONG! By C.L. Polk! The second book of The Kingston Cycle is here!
So. Witchmark is one of my favorite books that I’ve ever read, like, ever. C.L. Polk’s debut novel not only knocked it out of the park, she knocked it out of Earth’s atmosphere. Somewhere, out there, a baseball is going to pass by the International Space Station and the astronauts are going to be like “hey, who tossed a baseball out of the airlock? Damn it, Sergei, we talked about this!”
I think my metaphor has strayed a bit. My point is, I really liked Witchmark. My copy is up on that special shelf I have reserved for my All Time Favorite Books. Witchmark is one of those books that, once I started reading, I literally could not stop. I’m a slow and easily distracted reader, so finishing a book as fast as I finished Witchmark is a rare thing.
Needless to say, I might just have been a wee little bit hyped for Stormsong.
Just a little bit.
I mean, I did pre-order my copy the minute it was announced to be on sale on Amazon back in November of 2018. I may have taken to Twitter to beg Tor to send me an ARC (they didn’t, I do not blame them). I may have let out a fangirlish cry loud enough to break the sound barrier the moment an eARC became available on NetGalley. I may have obsessively refreshed my kindle app for, uh, several minutes waiting for the file to transfer.
And then I opened the file.
And I couldn’t read it. Some sort of glitch rendered the format of the eARC practically illegible.
You know that episode of The Twilight Zone where Burgess Meredith just wants to be able to read his books in peace, but can’t? But then the nuclear apocalypse happens but he’s stuck in a bank vault and when he comes out, he’s the only dude left alive and he finally - FINALLY - has the time to read and...he immediately breaks his glasses?
Opening that illegible file felt just like that. It broke my poor little fangirl soul. So I complained. A lot. To an embarrassing extent. I think I must have re-downloaded that file at least fifty times, hoping each time that the file would magically reformat itself to legibility. When it didn’t, I gave up and moved on to other things because that’s how my attention span works. Brief flares of outrage followed by “meh.” The wheel in the sky kept on turning and then, it became 2020 and I was like, “fuck it, I want to read Stormsong.” So I went to NetGalley and downloaded the book...again.
And, what do you know, it had magically reformatted itself to legibility.
(Well, not magically, I’m sure some poor tech person at Macmillan/Tor-Forge spent a great deal of time finding the glitch and fixing it. I really hope they didn’t get yelled at because some insane fangirl complained a great deal on the internet... yeah, I’m a shitbird).
Anyway! After all of that, I finally got to read the book. I forced myself to take it slow - I couldn’t just swallow it whole like I did Witchmark and then be left with the agony of waiting for another book. Nope. I made myself savor Stormsong.
Told from Grace’s POV, Stormsong begins right where Witchmark left off: Miles, Grace and Tristan have destroyed the Aether network (Aeland’s power grid) after learning the truth of where all that clean energy came from, namely, human souls, harvested from those killed during the war with Laneer. In fact, that’s the whole reason for the war - gotta keep the lights on, so just start a war to produce more dead, then force imprisoned witches in the asylums to process the souls of the dead into energy so you can flick your light switch on and off at night for fun. And, you know, have heat and power factories and such. The public has no idea where aether came from, they only know that it seems to be gone and now they have no heat in the middle of winter.
Only, its worse than that. Grace, as a Stormsinger with the power to manipulate the weather, senses a massive, hurricane-sized storm just off the coast of Aeland. The storm, when it hits, will bring subzero temperatures and tons upon tons of snow onto a country that now has no heat or electricity. Thousands risk freezing to death and, with the last harvest ruined by a snowstorm, even more risk starvation.
Then there’s the Amaranthines - the immortal, God-like people who are kind of like this world’s Interpol. They want Aeland to answer for their atrocities. Queen Constantina, however, doesn’t believe she’s done anything wrong. So Grace is thrown headfirst into a political maelstrom, between the Queen, the crown prince Severin, the Amaranthines, and an increasingly outraged public. Then there’s the beguiling Avia Jessup. Avia abandoned a life as a wealthy heiress to pursue her dream career as a photojournalist, and she’s damn good at it. So good, she’s close to discovering exactly what it was that kept Aeland’s lights on. A secret Grace knows could destroy the nation.
But maybe exposing the truth wouldn’t be so bad?
When I finished Witchmark, I bemoaned the fact that it would be a very long wait for the next book. But holy shit is the wait worth it. Stormsong is absolutely phenomenal. It is a worthy follow-up to Witchmark and a magnificent continuation to The Kingston Cycle. The whole book is beautiful, magical, and romantic - it’s everything you’d want in a sequel - the story is carried forward with a fresh perspective, but not all the loose ends are tied up, and there’s some great setup for a third book which I am now dying to read. I loved getting to see thing’s from Grace’s perspective. As much as I love Miles, he lives in a world of very black-and-white morality, whereas Grace lives in a world of gray. Miles doesn’t have to deal with the political ramifications of his actions, but Grace does. She has to deal with the Queen and the Crown Prince and the Amaranthine Grand Duchess Aife...oh, and her and Miles’s awful father, Sir Christopher Leland Hensley, who, despite being in prison, still seeks to exert control over Grace.
The romance between Grace and Avia is absolutely lovely - it’s not the slow burn that was Miles and Tristan in Witchmark. Tristan and Miles were strangers who met and then fell in love. Avia and Grace have known each other for a long time, they ran in the same circles their whole lives, and it wasn’t until Avia was tossed out by her father that the two of them lost touch. The mutual attraction was there, but neither ever acted on it. It’s the events of Stormsong that that turn the spark into a flame, and it’s absolutely delightful to watch. Seriously, every time Avia and Grace are together you just want to:
My only complaint is that the ending is a bit abrupt - it ends in the middle of the action, and you just want to scream “no, it can’t end there, there has to be more, right? RIGHT?”
Hopefully there will be more. I absolutely need more. Witchmark ended in almost the same way - the main action has ended, but there is still a lot left to wrap up. For now, though, I’m going to dig in my heels and prepare myself for another wait. Waiting is hard, but the payoff is often oh, so sweet.
Still:
RECOMMENDED FOR: Anyone who loved Witchmark, who wants a fantastic F/F romance, or who just loves Edwardian-style steampunk-y worlds with magic.
NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: Homophobes, people who dislike fantasy/fun/romance, people who are just the worst in general.
RELEASE DATE: February 11, 2020
RATING: 5/5
TOTALLY UNBIASED FANGIRL RATING: 500,000,000,000,000/5
GIF RATING:
ANTICIPATION LEVEL FOR SEQUEL: Olympus Mons
#stormsong#witchmark#clpolk#review#read the book#lgbtq romance#fiction#steampunk#fantasy#kingston cycle#miles singer#grace hensley#tristan hunter#avia jessup#f/f romance
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Rising from the Ashes (14/?)
Summary: When her husband died, Emma wasn’t sure that she could ever move on. He left her with a broken heart and a baby who was only three-months old. It’s enough to take most people down, to make them not want to keep going, but Emma Swan isn’t most people. She’s stronger than she has any right to be. And after years of heartache, she’s found ways to move on…one of those being in Neal’s best friend, Killian Jones.
As she’s always known, however, things are more complicated than they ever seem to be.
Rating: Mature
A/N: Two chapters in one week? What? I’m trying to get back to spacing this and BOTB out, so this one gets another posting even though I’m not entirely sure if my writing speed for chapters will keep up. I’m nervous about this chapter. Seriously. I’ve read through it a lot. So I hope that you guys like it 💕
Found on AO3: Beginning | Current
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Tag list: @jamif @artistic-writer @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @resident-of-storybrooke @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @ekr032-blog-blog @mayquita @bmbbcs4evr @wellhellotragic @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @shady-swan-jones @snowbellewells @snow-into-ash @andiirivera @mariakov81 @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @kristi555 @facesiousbutton82 @superchocovian @jonirobinson64
There’s absolutely no reason for him to be running today. He doesn’t have the time. He should be in his office reviewing his presentation for tomorrow. He and Robin have spent weeks preparing “what if” scenarios for soldiers to have to run through in the new basic training regimes, and it’s been such a challenge having to form things for teaching instead of actual warfare. He’s been retired from the Navy for half a decade this year, and yet he still spends nearly every day of his life reliving scenes and memories of his time in the military. It’s a bit of the crux of being a career military man. When you get out, what are you qualified to do?
Not everyone has this problem. A lot of people go to school through the services and learn trades. He didn’t go to school, but he did learn a trade in logistics and planning to make sure that the ships didn’t go down in the middle of the night by some kind of Titanic shaped iceberg or an attack. It’s still what he does now, even as a civilian. He’d like to quit one day, to do something calmer, do something that doesn’t bring back so many memories of loss or bring forth so much stress, but this job pays well and supports his family. He can stay at least until Ada goes to college.
In seventeen years.
He’s going to be fifty-five in seventeen years. That’s odd for him to think about, but it’s exactly what he thinks of as his legs burn, the muscles and joints aching a bit more than they used to when he was younger. It’s usually not too bad, the running helping more than hurting, but some days it’s not as easy to hold his daughter above his head to make her giggle or to make love to Emma.
Just last week he’d gotten a cramp right in the middle of their activities, and Emma had laughed so hard that he had started laughing too.
Mostly he was laughing through the pain.
That cramp may still be going on in his right thigh.
It’s always an adventure.
And maybe one day it’ll be an adventure where he can take Emma sailing without any thoughts of war and the pros and cons of Norway randomly invading Afghanistan on a particular day or time.
So maybe that’s why he runs. He’s got a lot that he thinks about, personally and professionally, and the release of endorphins fuels him in a way. It stresses his joints, but it destresses his mind. Besides, he will admit that while he doesn’t think he’s a particularly vain man, he does appreciate the way Emma tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth when he lifts her from the ground or the way that she runs her fingers over the muscles of his stomach. Plus, he wants to be healthy for his kids.
That’s why he keeps running for the next thirty minutes, his legs pounding against the pavement and sweat beading at his forehead and down his back, the early February chill keeping him cool to a point where he knows he’ll start sweating more when he gets inside. It always happens, so it takes him a little while longer to cool down and to take a shower at the gym that’s around the block from his office.
“Jones,” a familiar voice calls to him when he’s just finished buttoning up his shirt, and he turns to look at Neal, his hair sopping wet like he’s just showered as well, “aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“I could say the same to you,” he laughs as he pushes his hair back, hoping that it’ll dry correctly since he doesn’t have any of his gel with me. “Lunch break?”
“Yeah, I don’t usually make it here, but it’s been kind of a slow day. Figured I’d eat while I work.”
“That’s how it goes,” he sighs. He bends down to lace his shoes, pulling up his socks the slightest bit before he turns to look back at Neal. “Hey, so Emma is dropping Henry off at my office, and I’m taking him to his therapy appointment. Do you want a ride?”
Neal’s really got to get a car, but now that he might be moving, he’s decided to put off the purchase until he knows for sure where he’s living. It’s likely a good thing. This way he can save up money and put as much down as possible without having to worry about making far too many payments with interest rates the way they are. And if he’s in DC, he may not even need a vehicle. It’s all complicated and still a bit messy, but he and Emma have made plans to sit down and talk to Neal sometime this week, possibly tonight, so that they can actually get through some of this. It’s odd basically regulating a grown man, one who is older than both of them, but they’re trying to figure out how to be a family. Sometimes that takes awkward conversations.
He’s not exactly looking forward to this particular conversation because he’s struggling with the thought that Henry might have to spend some time away from them. Emma is worrying herself sick about it, and she doesn’t even know what’s going to happen. Neither of them do. Hell, Neal likely doesn’t. If he’s honest with himself, Neal likely hasn’t put much thought into either. Killian’s not sure if it’s because Neal hasn’t realized that technically he has a right to having Henry live with him or if he doesn’t care.
Scratch that. Of course Neal cares. He loves Henry, but sometimes he thinks that Neal is more concerned about impressing Henry than being his father. Maybe he still doesn’t know how, maybe he doesn’t think he belongs as a part of their family. He can understand that. He felt that way for a long time, and it must still be difficult for Neal. It might not ever not be difficult, but all he and Emma want is for Neal to feel at home.
And be a father to Henry, to not worry about trying to be more fun or the one who gives better presents. He’s getting there. He really is, and maybe if he and Emma did a better job, Neal would feel more at home.
They’re trying. For as hard as it is on them, he also knows that it’s hard on Neal. So they’re all trying.
“His appointment is at five, yeah?”
“On the dot.”
Neal flashes him a grin while he rubs his hand over his scruff. “Yeah, I’d really appreciate that. Are you going to take me home afterwards or are you going to force me to walk?”
“I thought I’d make you walk. You’ve been letting yourself go, and I didn’t want to say anything.”
He barks out a laugh, the sound echoing throughout the locker room, and it makes Killian smile too, the corners of his lips tugging up.
“I could still take you in a fight, Jones.”
“Please,” he scoffs, tightening his laces one more time before standing up straight, “that never happened. I beat your ass in training every time.”
“Not on – ”
“October fifth.”
“See, you remember?”
“Because you never let me forget about it,” Killian laughs, reaching down to pick up his bag. “It was all I heard for months. It’s been thirteen years, and you still don’t let me forget.”
Neal shrugs, his face still crinkled in happiness. “It was a damn good day. You even bought me a beer afterward.”
“Well, I figured since it was a one-time thing, it was the least I could do.” He takes a step over and claps Neal on the shoulder, smiling down at him. “I’ll see you at a quarter before five, and since I’m not evil, I’ll even let you ride home with Henry and me.”
“Such a saint.”
“I try.”
It’s a quick walk back to his office, and after saying hello to his secretary Anna, he settles down in his office and gets back to working on his proposal while eating the leftover pasta salad from dinner last night. He gets about two hours to himself to plow through things before Robin comes in, closing the door behind him and plopping down on the couch, the leather creaking beneath his weight.
“Are you almost finished with the coding for it? Because we need to send that down to Arthur for him to double check, especially since you’re leaving early.”
“I’ve got one section left,” he sighs, typing out one more scenario before rolling back in his chair and looking at Robin. “Did you come in here to procrastinate?”
“Most definitely.”
“So you’re whining about me leaving early because I have to take my kid somewhere, and yet you’re in here not doing your work?”
Robin shrugs and leans back further on the couch. “I already finished my section, mate. I literally can’t do anything else without you.”
“Aww, Rob, I always knew you loved me, but I never knew how much.”
“You’re an asshole,” he laughs, flicking a piece of paper in his direction.
“And yet you love me anyways.” He curls one side of his lips up into a smirk and winks at him, making sure to exaggerate it. “I really will be finished soon, and I’ll likely work through it tonight once everyone is asleep. Emma and I have a lot to do this evening, though.”
“I get it. I’ve got to go get Roland from his mom tonight, but we always get it done, yeah?”
“Aye,” he confirms. “Now get your ass off my sofa so I can finish this up in time.”
Robin mock salutes before walking away, leaving his office door open. It could be an accident, but Killian knows that Robin did it just to annoy him.
The wanker.
The rest of his day goes by as it normally does. He gets all of his program formatted and sends it off in time so that Arthur can run through the technicalities of it before sending it back to Robin. It’s a long, drawn out process, and when there’s a knock at his opened door, Emma and the kids standing there, he’s more relieved that he’s been in awhile to get to see all of them in the office.
“Hello loves,” he smiles as he gets up out of his chair, reaching down to hug Henry first before embracing Emma and briefly kissing her. “I can’t believe Anna let you in here with I specifically told her not to.”
“It’s because I’m super fast,” Henry explains, not at all amused by his joke.
“That you are. Did you have a good day at school, bud?”
“Yeah, but I need your help with fractions later. Mary Margaret made them weird.”
“Did she now?”
“Yeah, she said something about a pizza, but I didn’t get it.”
“It’s okay,” he promises, smiling at Henry to try to get him to perk up a little. “We’ll figure it out later. Do you want to get out your legos from my desk while I talk to Mum?”
Henry nods his head before dropping his backpack on the couch and hurrying over to get the box of toys Killian keeps in his bottom drawer for the times when Henry is here. Or even when Roland or someone else’s kid is stuck waiting while their parents work.
“I always hated fractions,” Emma sighs as she sways back and forth with a sleeping Ada. “And percentages. I still get those wrong sometimes.”
“We can’t all be geniuses like me.”
“Tone it down, Einstein,” she laughs, her lashes landing against her cheek. “But from what I can tell, Henry had a good day, Ada too, so I hope both of their appointments go well. I’ll call you after Ada and I get finished at the doctor.”
“I’m sure they’ll both be fine. Henry and I are going to pick up Neal and take him to his appointment too, okay?”
“When did that happen?”
“I ran into him at the gym and offered.”
Emma clicks her tongue and sighs a bit, her hands constantly running over Ada’s back. “That’ll be good. If you guys want to go out to get something to eat afterwards, that might be good too. Or maybe a snack since Henry has homework and we were going to talk to Neal tonight. Of course we could always talk to him tomorrow.”
He presses his lips together and reaches forward to caress her forearm, moving his fingers in a way similar to what Emma is doing to Ada. They’re both trying to comfort, even if it’s for different reasons. “We’ll talk to him, and it’s going to be fine. He’s not…we haven’t had many issues with him since we told him about us, and he’s grown a lot since then, yeah? He’s not going to try to take Henry away from you, from us.”
“I know that,” she whispers, looking over his shoulder to see Henry. “I really do. I’m nervous. I can’t help it.”
“I know, love. I know.” He leans forward and presses his lips to her temple. “Go take Ada to the doctor and maybe stop to get something you like to eat too.”
“That’s cute that you assume I wasn’t doing that already. Bye kid,” she tells Henry, waving at him. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bye Mom,” he murmurs, not even looking up from his legos.
You can’t get between the boy and his legos.
He finishes up a few last things, checks to see how many emails he has that he needs to respond to before tomorrow, and then shuts his computer down before taking Henry out to the parking garage so that they can get Neal and drive downtown to their therapists’ offices. Henry gets stuck on talking about how Avery told him a restaurant by the pier serves Mickey Mouse waffles, and of course, that gets him to talk about Disney World and how Grace and Violet went with their families over Christmas break. He and Emma have talked about it before, but it’s expensive and they have an infant they’d have to cart around as well.
Maybe some other time.
Why take your kid to Disney World when you can take them to see a hell of a lot of history in Washington DC instead? At least, that’s what they’re telling Henry about their trip next month.
But Neal easily joins in on the conversation about Mickey shaped waffles and the pros and cons of Woody versus Buzz lightyear. Luckily for Neal, Henry likes a lot of the classic movies, so he hasn’t been subjected to watching every new movie to know what his son is talking about. He still has to watch a lot of them, but he’s got the basic knowledge of Toy Story and The Lion King down.
The Lego Movie was all new to him. That’s a favorite in the house.
(He may never be able to watch it without his ears hurting ever again with that damn song.)
After shuffling through traffic, he pulls into the parking lot of the office building and puts the car in park so that he can take Henry up to Dr. Hopper’s office, the two of them dropping Neal off on the second floor.
“So Momma goes to talk to someone, I go to talk to someone, and my dad talks to someone?” Henry asks in the elevator. “Why don’t you talk to someone?”
Kids. They ask the exact things you don’t want to be asked about.
“I used to,” he says after thinking about it for a minute, trying to answer as delicately as he can. “And I might again. Sometimes we need someone besides our mums and dads or our friends to talk to, and that’s why we talk to Dr. Hopper, yeah?”
“Yeah, he’s nice. He talks about you and Mom a lot.”
“We’re very interesting people.”
“Sometimes you guys are boring.”
He chuckles and pulls Henry into his side right when the elevator doors open to their floor, the two of them stepping out and walking to the receptionist’s desk to tell them they’re here for Henry. Dr. Hopper almost immediately walks out, which has never happened to him at any doctor’s appointment in his entire life, and Henry happily walks back in his office with him. He knows that Emma waits in the office when she takes him, but he needs to go fill up the car with gas. So he gets back in the elevator and walks out into the lobby while responding to one of his emails from work.
When he looks up, though, he stops in his tracks, instinct taking over as he folds back into a corner of the lobby while he watches Neal get into a car outside.
What?
What the hell?
Why is Neal getting into a car? Who is he getting into a car with? Is this some kind of therapy thing? They drive and talk? That’s new but maybe it’s a thing.
Bloody hell. It’s definitely not a thing.
Neal is skipping out on his therapy appointment and getting into a random car, and he has no idea why, the blood in his veins heating as confusion and worry courses through him.
He’s already swiping out of his email to call Neal and ask him if he’s okay, if something is wrong that he had to leave, but something stops him from doing anything. Some kind of inner instinct that he honed from years in the Navy and years as a father understanding when a child is lying to him stops him from reaching out and asking Neal where he’s going right now.
He doesn’t…he doesn’t understand, and with the way his mind works, he can’t focus on anything but running through all of the scenarios that might be happening, even the crazy ones. He seems to only be able to focus on the crazy theories which don’t even seem coherent in his mind as he twists them around and tries to make sense of his muddled thoughts.
Something catches in his throat, and he tries to swallow the gulp that’s there while his heart pounds against his ribcage, something constricting in a way that causes his breath to be a bit shortened. Or a lot. He might not be breathing right now. He’s still alive, so he’s definitely breathing. But he can feel heat spreading across his cheeks and goose bumps rising on his arms.
Fuck.
This isn’t right. Whatever is happening isn’t right. Somehow, without any rhyme or reason, he just knows, and if he’s honest with himself as he has this psychological breakdown in the lobby of an office building, there are things that haven’t been right since the very beginning of Neal’s homecoming. He’s noticed them. Of course he has. But his kids, his relationship with Emma, and making sure that Neal has had an easy transition back into society have been his focus so that he hasn’t put too much thought into everything else. He screwed things up so badly with Emma, to the point where she might not have wanted to be with him ever again, and all he’s wanted was to get back on track with her, to make sure that she knows that he loves her more than his own life. All he’s wanted was to make sure that Ada is still growing as much as she should and that Henry is okay after going through such a transition both at home and at school.
All he’s wanted is for everyone to be okay, Neal included.
This, how he’s feeling, how he’s thinking, is not okay.
But maybe it is. Maybe he’s overreacting. Maybe he’s imagining things.
He’s not imagining things. He can’t be. He’s not crazy. His mind is fully functional. He knows what’s in front of his eyes, and he just watched Neal get into a random car when he’s supposed to be at therapy.
Shit. He should have gotten the license plate.
Why would he get the license plate? What would he do with that? To look up to see if the Uber driver Neal is using is registered on the site? Is it an Uber driver? Maybe it’s a friend. Maybe Neal didn’t feel like talking about things with his therapist today so he called a friend? Why would he do that? Why would he hide that from them?
Then again, why wouldn’t he hide that from them? Emma would make him go, would be upset if she knew that he wasn’t going, so maybe that’s it. He needed a break from talking. Killian understands that. There were days when he used to hate going to therapy as well.
But…
He’s got no bloody clue what’s happening.
It’s likely nothing, and this is just his paranoia and anxiety stepping up when he’s been living in a pretty stressful situation for a long while. Maybe it’s a bit of confusion, but maybe it’s just another thing about Neal that doesn’t add up when he truly thinks about it. Maybe it’s something. Maybe it can explain why Neal’s handling his PTSD better than anyone he’s ever seen. Maybe it can explain why none of Neal’s scars were fresh, why all of them had years to heal. Maybe it can explain why Neal is so hell bent on being an American hero and spending his time in DC. In working in the government even when the government failed him so spectacularly. Maybe it can explain why Neal seems to always be gone, to never be home on time. Maybe it can explain Neal knowing things he shouldn’t know. It’s only been a few things, a few random, unimportant things, but Neal knows things that he shouldn’t since he has been in captivity for eight years.
Or maybe it can’t explain anything. Neal was captured by Al-Qaeda almost a decade ago, and that’s where he’s been. He’s been through a tragedy, and he gets to be home and back with his family, even if it’s a little different than the way he thought it would be. Neal was captured, and he is a hero. That’s what’s happened.
But what if it’s not?
That’s preposterous. That’s the most insane thought he’s ever had, and Neal getting in a car to skip out on therapy doesn’t mean anything.
All of his thoughts are starting to sound like people who believe in conspiracy theories, and he is not that kind of man. He is too logical for all of this. He’s simply stressed and a little short staffed after a hectic day at work and the impending conversation about his son’s living situation. All he needs is to take a few deep breaths and calm himself down so that his mind stops working in overdrive.
His phone starts ringing in his hand and he sees Emma’s scrunched up smiling face from where he’d just kissed her cheek before she snapped the picture. She put it in his phone as her contact name, and it makes him smile nearly every time.
She makes him smile.
“Hello, love,” he greets, clenching his jaw and attempting to calm himself down from the race that his mind is currently running. He hates when he gets like this. It’s helpful at work but not now.
“Hey, babe. So guess who is the father of a perfectly healthy nine-month-old baby girl?”
“I sure as hell hope it’s me.”
“I mean, obviously I was just calling you to tell you about a random baby.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Exactly,” Emma laughs, her voice so light that it nearly breaks him apart thinking about everything that’s just happened. It has to be nothing. It’s just a weird coincidence, a misunderstanding. All of these odd little things happening over the past few months with Neal have been misunderstandings. They can’t be more. They can’t for Emma’s sake, for Henry’s. Emma doesn’t need to go through anything else. She needs to be happy. He’s overreacting in the biggest of ways. He’s got to cut back on coffee. “But seriously, Ada is growing just fine. She’s nineteen pounds and twenty seven inches. Dr. Kay said the only thing was that we need to try some more different textured foods, so I’m going to run by Whole Foods and get some of the things on this list we got.”
“That’s wonderful, love. I’m glad she’s healthy.”
He’s more than glad. He’s so relieved. He knows of all the things that can go wrong in young children, and it’s the biggest comfort knowing that his child is okay. She once had a high fever, just a few weeks after she was born, and that was one of the most nerve-wracking moments of his life.
“You and me both. Sometimes I get so worried about her. Like, it’s so easy to mess things up, and I don’t want to do that.”
“Swan,” he sighs, smiling the slightest bit because he can’t help himself when it comes to her, “you are the best mum on the planet. There’s no competition.”
-/-
-/-
“I’m dying,” Emma groans, adjusting herself in bed again, kicking around the pillows at her feet.
“I’m sure that’s not true, love.”
Emma’s eyes basically turn into black slits, and he immediately inches away from her, putting space between them so that she doesn’t punch him. He likely deserves it.
“I have heartburn that is killing me. Actually killing me. I forgot about this.”
“Do you need something?” he asks softly, reaching over to her and rubbing his fingers into her arm while she still twists and turns on the bed.
“I think I’m going to just lay here and suffer in my misery, but if you want to get the remote for me, that’d be wonderful.”
“Now that I can do.”
He puts his book down on his bedside table before moving the covers off of his legs and rising from the bed to take the few steps toward the television and the remote that’s resting on its stand. He picks it up and tosses it over toward the bed so that it bounces on the mattress toward Emma. She quickly picks it up and turns the television on, flipping through channels.
“I’m going to go get some tea, Swan. Do you want anything?”
“Water. And some more Tums.”
“As you wish.”
It’s still early, the sun having barely risen, so he’s surprised when he finds Henry in the kitchen standing on his step stool as he looks through the cabinets. Usually he sleeps in on Saturdays, and they always hear the floor creak when he walks past their bedroom.
“What are you looking for?”
“Food,” Henry shrugs, not at all shocked by Killian’s presence. “Where did all of our good stuff go?”
“There’s plenty of good stuff in there,” he scoffs, stepping over to look in the cabinet with Henry. “Do you want some oatmeal? Cheerios? What about some scrambled eggs? I don’t think Mum is feeling up to one of our big Saturday breakfasts.”
“I thought babies are supposed to make people more hungry. That’s what Avery says.”
“Isn’t Avery an only child?”
“Yeah, but he’s smart.”
“Of course he is,” he laughs, grabbing Henry by the waist and plopping him down on the kitchen island so that he’s away from all of the appliances. “I can fix you something to eat, and we’ll go upstairs and eat it in my room, yeah?”
“I thought I couldn’t eat in my room.”
“But you can in my room when I say so, and I think your mummy needs some extra snuggles with you this morning.”
“Why? She’s already got the baby.”
Oh shit. He’s been expecting this, but he wasn’t really expecting it until after the baby was here and a lot of their time was spent focusing on her. He most definitely wasn’t expecting it now when Emma’s five months along and Henry has known he was getting a sibling for two months.
This is going to be one of those moments where he terribly screws things up, isn’t it?
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to spend time with you,” he says softly, making sure to be extra careful with his words while he closes the kitchen cabinets.
“But all she talks about with other people is the baby.”
“Mum is excited, lad,” he sighs, leaning back against the counter and studying Henry’s face, wishing his lips weren’t curled down. “I thought you were too. You’re going to be a big brother just like Liam is to me and David is to your mum.”
“I am excited,” he mumbles underneath his breath while messing with his t-shirt, the picture of someone who is not excited, “but what if you and Momma love my sister more than you love me?”
“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, stepping forward and wrapping Henry up in a hug even as Henry squirms away from him a bit before finally wrapping his arms around his back, “that’s just not true. We love you so much, Henry, and that’s never going to change, okay? Yes, you’re going to have to share your time with us with your sister, but I promise that we will love you just as much.”
“Are you still going to come to my soccer games?” he sniffles, burying his head in Killian’s shoulder.
“Every Saturday afternoon. I will be there for as much as I can. And when your sister is big enough, she’s going to be there to cheer you on every Saturday as well.”
“Is she gonna be able to yell like Momma does?”
“Oh most definitely,” he laughs, leaning back so that he can look in Henry’s eyes, his little brows no longer furrowed and his lips beginning to curve up. “She’s going to be a big yeller. She’s going to be a lot smaller than you, but we’re still going to do a lot of fun things. I always wanted a little sister, and you’re so lucky to get one.”
“You wanted a little sister?”
“Of course I did,” he answers, pulling the eggs out of the refrigerator so he can make some scrambled eggs. “When you have a younger sibling, you get to teach them all kinds of things.”
“Like what?”
“Well, you can teach her to play soccer and to draw those cool pictures of yours. She’ll need a lot of help at first, like learning to walk and talk, and you can help her with that. You can also tell her stories like I do to you.”
“I think she’ll like Captain Underpants.”
He snickers under his breath as he cracks an egg open on the pan. “I think she might.”
“Will she like TV?”
“Who doesn’t like TV?”
“Grandma sometimes.”
“Well your grandma is just a silly goose,” he laughs, moving his spatula around a bit while adding some pepper. “But yeah, bud, she’s going to like all of those things, and you can help your mum and I take care of her so that her favorite person in the world is her big brother Henry.”
He and Henry keep talking about all of the things that Henry can do with his sister once she’s born, even if a few of them are a little far-fetched. But it’s a nice way to keep Henry excited, to make him be happy again when he’s apparently been a little down about it. He’ll have to talk to Emma about this later, to let her know what’s going on, and maybe they’ll be able to figure out a better way to talk to him about everything than his on the fly conversation with Henry. He also needs to tell her that today is definitely not the day to tell Henry about Neal. They’ve been working on that ever since they found out Emma was pregnant, and it was finally going to happen this afternoon. They had this whole plan, something researched and practiced and thought through, but if Henry’s struggling with a little jealousy, now is not the time for him to find out that Killian isn’t actually his father.
It’s never going to be easy, especially for Emma and Henry, but they have to do it. Henry deserves to know about Neal. Neal’s memory deserves to be honored through his son. It’s a difficult balance for him to not step on toes, to make sure that he does what’s right for Henry. He’s not his biological father. He never will be. But that’s their life, and biology doesn’t mean a damn thing to him when he loves this kid as much as anything.
But Henry should also get to know about his biology and all of the sacrifices and love that Neal made and gave for Henry and for their country in general.
He should know that his dad is a hero.
Just not today.
“Alright,” he sighs, handing Henry a bowl of mixed berries while he holds the eggs and his tea, “let’s go sit with Mum and make her feel better.”
Henry nods his head before running up the stairs, nearly dropping his bowl, but he catches himself and busts through their bedroom door, leaving the door wide open as Killian follows in behind him.
“Hey, kid,” Emma greets, sitting up a little bit and flipping the channel to something else, “what are you doing up?”
“Daddy and I made breakfast, but it’s not for you.”
“Really now? Why not?”
“You’re not hungry.” He climbs up onto the mattress and crawls over to Emma, sitting himself right in her side was she wraps her arm around his shoulder. It’s one of his favorite sights in the world, and it gets so much better by the curve of Emma’s stomach under her tank top. “So this is all for me and Daddy.”
“What did we just say about sharing?” He laughs, settling down on the bed as well.
“Oh yeah.” Henry looks from him to looking at Emma who’s got a soft smile on her face as one hand rests on her belly and the other hand messes with Henry’s hair. “My sister and I are going to be best friends like Daddy and Liam, and I’m going to teach her how to play soccer.”
“You are? Do you think she’ll be able to kick goals like you?”
“Maybe not as good as me.”
“She’ll need lots of practice,” Emma laughs. “Soon she’s going to be able to kick my belly, so I think she’s already trying to catch up to you.”
“I have to go practice,” Henry gasps, moving to get out of the bed only for Emma to yank him back down and pull him further into his side.
“Not quite yet, kid. I want you to cuddle with me because I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” Henry says as he squirms, finally settling into Emma’s side and resting his head against her shoulder. He’s just about to pick up his tea and try to find them something else to watch when Henry looks at him with this big cheesy grin on his face as he loudly whispers, “she does want to cuddle with me.”
“I told you so,” he promises as he reaches over to grab Henry’s hand.
-/-
-/-
“I think you might be a bit biased,” she gushes, the sound of Ada faintly filtering through in the background.
“Well, I am rather in love with you.”
“You sentimental sap,” Emma laughs. “I love you too. Let me know when you guys are on the way home, okay?”
“I will.”
When the call ends, he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down more. He needs to get a grip, to ground himself. Emma grounds him, her voice, her face. She steadies him when he’s the furthest thing from steady.
She’s…everything.
He’s overreacting. He has to be. Neal is allowed to live his own life. They’re encouraging him to live his own life, and that’s the thought process he maintains as he sits down in the lobby, completely forgetting about the fact that he needs to go get gas or respond to the rest of his emails. Instead of doing anything productive he sits in silence and watches as people move in and out of the building, the gentle closing of the glass doors followed by the click of heels on the tile, the sound only dying out when they get into the elevator.
That sound is what he focuses on, counting the steps it takes for different people to walk the same distance, and when he looks down at his phone and sees that it’s nearly six, he stands from his chair and makes his way back to the elevator bay, loading onto the cart with a woman and her children who are going to the same floor that he is. Henry is already waiting for him when he gets there, and the smile on his face calms him the slightest bit. He’s happy. That’s good. That means the session went well.
“Hey,” he waves, placing his hand on Henry’s back and guiding him out of the office. “Did you have a nice time? Anything you want to talk about with me?”
“Nope. I already told Dr. Hopper about how we can’t go to Disney World.”
“When your sister is older, kid,” he starts. “When your sister is older.”
Neal is waiting for them in the lobby when they get to the lobby again, his foot tapping against the floor, and even though he’s told himself to drop it, to drop all of the wild thoughts that are running through his mind, he can’t. Neal’s come back just in time for him to not know that he left.
Damn it.
If he had stayed in the lobby he could have seen him coming back.
What would he have said? Where the hell did you go? Why aren’t you in therapy? Is everything okay? Are you hiding something? What’s happening?
(He’s lost his mind and needs to get a grip.)
He could say all of those things. He could. he knows the words, knows how to speak, but none of them fall off of his tongue. He doesn’t want to be accusatory when there’s most likely nothing going on, and he’s going to continue operating that way until he knows for sure. There’s a tentative tightrope that they’re all walking on, and he’s not going to be the one to push them off of it because he’s lost his mind.
So he doesn’t say anything when they get in the car or when they stop and let Henry get a smoothie. He doesn’t say anything when they get home and help Henry do his homework, the two of them trying to explain fractions to him. He doesn’t say anything when they eat dinner, and he doesn’t say anything afterwards when they’re all watching TV while he does eventually finish up working on his emails. And he doesn’t say anything when Henry and Ada are put down to bed.
And he especially doesn’t say anything when he, Emma, and Neal sit down to talk about whether or not Neal is going to take the job in DC.
He is. He wants to do it. He’s determined to do it, to make a difference in the world now that he knows what it’s like to have a second chance at life. And when Emma very tentatively asks him what he wants to do about Henry, Neal tells them that while it’s not ideal, he’ll be happy to come home for every holiday that he can and every weekend that he can and that they don’t have to send Henry to DC by himself. He tells them that he doesn’t want Henry’s life to be disrupted any more than it’s already been. He tells them every single thing that a loving father who both wants to do good for his kid and good for himself would say.
And Killian is positive that he means it. Emma is even more so. She’s so good at reading others, her little superpower developed over years of careful use, and he’s got to trust that she’s able to use it with Neal. He knows that sometimes she can be wrong, but he’d bet that she’s right nearly every time.
He’d trust her over everything.
So while he’s calmed a bit over possibly losing Henry, over Henry being hurt at never seeing his dad (something he’s still worried about if he’s honest with himself), he can’t turn his mind off. He can’t make the thoughts stop, the theories cease from forming, the worries festering. And when they’re in bed and Emma starts trailing her lips up the cords of his neck, instead of melting against her touch, he pulls back, turning his body away from her.
“What’s wrong?” she asks quietly, her voice barely a whisper above the hum of the ceiling fan.
“Nothing, sweetheart,” he lies, twisting a bit so that he can see her face, see the worry in her eyes.
“Are you mad at me?”
How can he ever be mad at Emma when he’s mad at himself for thinking that Neal, this man they all love, isn’t telling the full truth? How could he ever be mad at Emma when he’s so mad at himself for nearly every thought he’s had today? How could he…how could he think something so absurd that would hurt everyone he knew if he ever said the words out loud?
How can he be thinking any of this?
“No,” he promises, reaching over to her and resting his thumb in the indent of her chin, making sure that she can see the seriousness in his gaze, “how could I ever be mad at you?”
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Editor's note: while I've certainly been away from Can't You Read for quite a while, anyone who follows my work at ninaillingworth.com or my Patreon blog already knows that I've been writing (and podcasting) again. You can check out some of my latest essays here, here and here; to listen to the podcast I co-host with Nick Galea (No Fugazi) just click here.
Today however I'm back on my bookworm bullsh*t with another curiously dated review of left wing literature from my extensive library of pinko pontification. In today's review, we're going to be taking a look at “The Chapo Guide to Revolution: a Manifesto Against Logic, Facts and Reason” written by five members of the popular left wing podcast “Chapo Trap House” - specifically, Felix Beiderman, Matt Christman, Brendan James, Will Menaker and Virgil Texas.
Baby Steps up the Ramparts
It is I will theorize, utterly impossible to write a review about the Chapo Trap House book without engaging in the extremely online, three-sided culture war that has sprung up around both “the Chapos” themselves and the enormously popular podcast they host. In light of the fact that seemingly everyone on the internet who detests the show regard the Chapos as slovenly crackpot losers born on third base and podcasting from mom's basement, it really is alarming how much digital ink has been spilled about the various types of “threat” to all that is good and holy this simple irony-infused podcast supposedly represents. While I intend to largely sidestep that discussion by focusing entirely on the book and not the podcast (which I don't listen to regularly, to be honest with you), I accept that virtually nobody reading this is going to be happy unless I do something to address the elephant in the room, so here goes:
Neera Tanden and her winged neoliberal monkeys can eat sh*t, but extremely online leftists have a point that the Chapos themselves occasionally skirt the line between mockingly ironic reactionary thought and just plain old reactionary thought; although this is not particularly alarming to me because they're Americans and America itself is a breeding ground for reactionary ideas – decolonizing your mind is a process and I'm pretty sure it's one I myself am also engaging in still every single day of my life at this point. Importantly, in my opinion this failing does not make them cryptofascists so much as the product of American affluence; I'm having a hard time understanding how teaching Marx and Zinn to Twitter reply guys serves the fascist agenda in any meaningful way.
While I obviously can't pretend to know another person's heart, in my opinion the Chapo boys are definitely leftists but they're obviously not labor class and yes it's a little hard to explain away the group's loose affiliation with the (objectively strasserist) Red Scare podcast through co-host Amber A'Lee Frost - but I'm not going to waste a couple thousand words trying to untangle Brooklyn independent media drama from half a country away and besides, Amber didn’t write this book. Despite these critiques however, I think it's important to note that under no circumstances am I prepared to accept the argument that with fascists to the right of me, and lanyards, um also to the right, the real problem here is... Chapo Trap House.
Ok, with that out of the way let's dive right in and talk about the question I think most folks who've written about The Chapo Guide to Revolution have largely failed to grasp – namely, what kind of book is it precisely? Combining elements of comedy, playful online trolling, historical analysis, political theory and good old-fashioned cross platform promotional marketing, the book has often lead critics to compare it to catch-all comedic efforts like Joe Stewart's “America” or even humorous men’s lifestyle advice texts like “Max Headroom's Guide to Life.” This is I think an essential misreading of the fundamentally earnest and direct tone the book actually takes in its efforts to reach a fledgling audience growing more receptive to left wing ideas. The Chapo Guide to Revolution is, as the cover says, a manifesto; but rather than serving as the mission statement for a particular formed political ideology, the Chapos have written an extremely effective, entry-level argument for why labor-class millennials should be leftists – and, of course, why they should listen to Chapo Trap House; this is still a cross-promotional work after all.
Naturally as befits a book about a comedy podcast, albeit a very political one, the Chapo Guide to Revolution is an extremely funny book that does a remarkable job translating the type of caustic online humor previously only found in left wing Twitter circles, onto the written page. While its certainly true that this quirky style of comedy can be a little difficult to grasp for the uninitiated, and typically a cross-promotional work of this type will get bogged down in self-referential humor and inside jokes, the book mostly avoids this trap by sticking with the basics and assuming that the reader has literally never heard an episode of Chapo Trap House, which in turn makes the humor fairly universal and extremely accessible – at least for anyone under the age of fifty. This endeavor is greatly aided by the dark and dystopian, yet hilariously eviscerating art of Eli Valley; a man who himself has since become one of the leading left wing critics of establishment power online through his extremely provocative sketches and ink work.
The truth however is that if the Chapo Guide to Revolution was merely just a funny book, I wouldn't be reviewing it here today. No, the reason this book is worth writing about at all lies in the fact that underneath all the jokes, taunts and “half-baked Marxism” lies an objectively brilliant work of historical analysis, cultural critique and left wing political theory – albeit an unfocused theory that borrows heavily from half a dozen functionally incompatible left wing thinkers and literary giants, but a fundamentally serious work of political philosophy nonetheless.
Yes, that's correct; I said brilliant. Where think-tank minions and neoliberal swine in the corporate media see a petulant pinko tantrum, and online leftist academics see privileged dudebros appropriating Marx (poorly), I see a brilliant and yet stealthy synthesis of political theories, historical analysis and organizational ideas originally presented by writers like Howard Zinn, Noam Chomsky and Thomas Frank. Drawing on historical theories from Marx, Gramsci and Rocker, the Chapos have cobbled together a rudimentary political philosophy that represents a crude and yet promising welding of anarchist concepts about labor, Marxist concepts about economics and democratic socialist concepts about politics, collected together under the generic banner of “socialism.”
At this point some of you are undoubtedly snickering, but please bear with me for a moment here because what the Chapos (or their ghostwriter) have done in this book is truly a marvelous thing to behold precisely because you can't see it unless you're paying close attention. By positioning The Chapo Guide to Revolution as both a comedic work and an introductory level text, the authors have created a sort of unique crash course in left wing history, geopolitics, philosophy and political theory for a newly awakened generation of Americans who find themselves increasingly politicized whether they like it or not.
Underneath the acerbic millennial humor, “extremely online” diction and unrelenting waves of sarcasm, The Chapo Guide to Revolution is also a surprisingly accurate “CliffsNotes” style textbook presentation of multiple broad-based social science subjects – here are just a few examples:
In “Chapter One: World” the book presents a rudimentary and yet deliciously insightful history of post-World War II American empire that draws on authors like Howard Zinn and Noam Chomsky, with a touch of contemporary writers like Greg Grandin and Naomi Klein. In particular the attention devoted to condensing the target audience's formative experiences with empire like the War on Terror, the invasion of Iraq and the war in Afghanistan, into a short and coherent narrative that can be easily shared with other novice political observers makes this book an invaluable resource for budding millennial leftists Additionally, while it certainly might have been an accident, the Chapos' choice to wrap this “Pig Empire geopolitics for newbs” lesson in a protracted joke about America as an extremely ruthless corporate startup at least touches on ideas presented by writers like Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz, Sheldon Wollin (or Chris Hedges repeating Sheldon Wolin), Joel Bakan, Rosa Luxemburg and others.
In Chapters Two and Three, entitled “Libs” and “Cons” respectively, the authors conduct a remarkably thorough political science lesson on the two major mainstream political “ideologies” in American culture, including both a rough outline of their history and their modern calcification inside the Democratic and Republican parties. Of course both of these sections rely heavily on the personal experiences of the authors growing up in a politicized America, but these discussions also dip into the works of Thomas Frank and Cory Robin to explore and critique the liberal and conservative political mindset respectively; in particular the Chapos summary of Robin's work on the conservative worship of hierarchies is an inspired distillation. More importantly however, the Chapos also expose the way in which these two ideologies represent a false dichotomy within the greater confines of a larger capitalist socioeconomic order; which is of course a (still absolutely correct) idea straight out of the works of Karl Marx.
In Chapter Six, appropriately entitled “work” the authors engaged in a disarmingly earnest discussion about wage slavery, the false promises of the protestant work ethic and the history of terrible jobs available to the labor class under various iterations of the capitalist project. This is followed by a humorous, but dystopian review of what future jobs might look like if the neoliberal socioeconomic order continues on as it has so far, and an extremely brief but sincerely argued pitch for completely transforming the role of work in society through some from of technologically assisted anarcho-communism. This last idea is admittedly a little half-baked but you have to admire their balls when the Chapo boys flatly call for a three hour workday; a position that will undoubtedly be popular with the labor class who're currently engaged in all those sh*tty jobs the book describes earlier in the chapter. Once again this synthesis of left wing ideas about work does represent a new and unique formulation, but despite the humorous and original content you can also clearly see the influence of anarchist writers like Kropotkin, Rocker and Goldman in this chapter, as well as contemporary authors like David Graeber and Mark Blyth.
Unfortunately, if there is a downside to writing a brilliantly subversive comedy book that functions as a “my little lefty politics primer” for politically awakening millennials, it's that you simply don't have the space for an intellectually rigorous examination of all the ideas you're sharing – there is after all a big difference between reading the Cliff Notes version of Zinn, Chomsky or Marx, and reading the original theories in their full form. Furthermore, the individual life experiences, idiosyncrasies and humor styles of the authors do at times bleed into the text in a way that I personally suspect was detrimental to the overall analysis. Here's a short list of “sour notes” I found in this otherwise remarkable book:
From what I have listened to of the Chapo Trap House podcast, it has always been my impression that the Chapos were particularly effective critics of American corporate media, so I was a little disappointed that the chapter on media in The Chapo Guide to Revolution was a fairly tepid and narrow discussion about (admittedly vapid) bloggers turned celebrated pundits. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure power dunking on the likes of Matty Yglesias, Meagan McArdell and Andrew Sullivan was viscerally satisfying for the book's target audience, but there's really not much of a broader critique of the media's ideological role in American capitalism and culture here like one would find in Herman & Chomsky's “Manufacturing Consent”, Matt Taibbi's “Hate Inc” or Michael Parenti's “Inventing Reality.” This absence I fear has the tragic side effect of reinforcing the idea the American corporate media sucks because egg-shaped moron bougie pundits are bad at their job and not because of the inherent failings of the for-profit media model and the institution's true role as an ideological shepherd keeping the masses aligned with the goals of elite capital and the ruling classes – almost exclusively against the bests interests of the labor class.
The introduction is written in what I can only assume is a sarcastic imitation of right-leaning self improvement books with a touch of Tyler Durden's Fight Club ethos thrown in; this might have been a better choice in a completely different book but it's largely out of place with the rest of this book. At this point I should also say that the best part about the Kidzone intermission is that it was only two pages long. Needless to say, neither one of these sections did anything for me whatsoever.
While it's entirely possible that at forty-three years of age, I'm simply too old to really get the “millenialness” of the chapter on Culture, the simple truth is that I found most of it to be a fairly useless examination of pop culture influences the Chapos hold in reasonably high esteem. As someone who isn't particularly engaged in watching lengthy television series or regularly playing video games, I really couldn't dig into most of the material presented and the less said about the art jokes and the bizarre absurdist discussion of elevator brands, the better. There is however one rather notable exception here in the brief essay on The Sorkin Mindset, which is an objectively brilliant evisceration of the liberal obsession with the West Wing and the tragic effect that obsession has had on Democratic Party politics – this really could have gone in the chapter on “Libs” because it's that valuable of a tool for understanding and critiquing the modern liberal lanyard worldview. Finally I guess I should note that while the Chapo boys' insightful critique of the vapid “prestige TV” phenomenon is both interesting and correct, it really only “matters” if you're a consumer of these types of series – and I'm not.
While I certainly understand the authors' decision to use their notes section to preemptively debunk bullsh*t complaints about the more outrageous accusations they level against the American establishment, I would have liked to see a “recommended reading” section. It is very clear that the Chapos have a reasonably strong background in imperial history, political science and labor theory and I feel like pointing readers towards writers who expand on the theories they summarize in The Chapo Guide to Revolution might have been a better use of space than printing links to old internet articles bad faith actors will never type into a search engine anyway.
Although it might seem like there was more about the book I didn't like, than I did, this is a little misleading – the first three chapters of The Chapo Guide to Revolution are pure fire and comprise over half of the volume. If you throw in the brilliant chapter about work and labor theory, the overall package is far more substance than style, despite the fact that it remains humorous and a little bit edgy throughout the book. While it's certainly fair to say that an introductory primer on why you should be a leftist for newly-politicized millennials isn't a must-read for everyone, the simple truth is that the vast majority of online leftists I know could learn a thing or two from this rudimentary synthesis of various left wing ideas into the seeds of a working, modern political ideology compatible with a uniquely Americanized, millennial left.
While no three hundred page comedy book written by five podcasters from Brooklyn is going to teach you everything there is to know about socialism and left wing ideology, there's something to be said for offering an accessible, entry-level alternative tailor-made for a target demographic already being heavily recruited by the fascists. As a starting point for exploring left wing political thought, you could do a lot worse than The Chapo Guide to Revolution and for a generation of kids who've mostly been encouraged to be passive accomplices to their own subjugation while blaming their misery on anyone even more powerless than they are, there is perhaps nothing more valuable than a condensed narrative that explores how to even think about another way to live.
Remarkably, this book finds a way to deliver on that monumental task while simultaneously failing to grasp one single relevant thing about the cherished American novel Moby Dick. Despite this infuriating literary myopia and insolence, this still might literally be the best book ever written for young American leftists who simply aren't going to spend ten years reading academic literature written by dead white guys from Germany and Russia.
- nina illingworth
Independent writer, critic and analyst with a left focus.
Please help me fight corporate censorship by sharing my articles with your friends online!
You can find my work at ninaillingworth.com, Can’t You Read, Media Madness and my Patreon Blog
Updates available on Twitter, Mastodon and Facebook.
Podcast at “No Fugazi” on Soundcloud.
Chat with fellow readers online at Anarcho Nina Writes on Discord!
#chapo trap house#book review#The Chapo Guide to Revolution#left wing politics#geopolitics#humor#leftism#introduction to leftism#Noam Chomsky#Howard Zinn#Thomas Frank#Cory Robin#culture war#politics#news#media#bloggers#savage burns
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SWAMP THING #37-39
JUNE - AUGUST 1985
BY ALAN MOORE, RICK VEITCH, JOHN TOTLEBEN, STAN WOCH, STEVE BISSETTE AND TATJANA WOOD
SYNOPSIS (FROM DC DATABASE)
John Constantine is an occult investigator from England. He learns that something large is set to occur in the world of the supernatural and sets about learning all he can about it. But his search proves frustrating as he moves among his contacts. No one has a great deal of information for him, but to say that "He's coming back". One source thinks that he is a living black hole. Another believes that it is the old one, Cthulhu. An old nun even believes it to be Satan. The only thing his contacts appear to agree on is that the entity's arrival should take place in about twelve months.
Meanwhile, Abby has been slowly helping to nurse the Swamp Thing back to health. A mere bud of an entity, she has been treating the diminutive plant with water and pesticides. It is an excruciatingly slow process and over the course of days, He regains only half of his overall strength at this point. Day by day he's growing more parts of himself.
John Constantine is in the apartment of Emma (New Earth) who he departs with after waking up to go find Swamp Thing.
He eventually finds Abby and the Swamp Thing. He chides the Swamp Thing for his ignorance and informs him that he is the last remaining plant elemental. He has the ability to extend his essence through any vegetative matter – with the ability to instantly teleport nearly any place he chooses to on Earth. Desperate to know more, the Swamp Thing pleads with Constantine to stay and tell him what he knows. Claiming that he has other places to be, John leaves them, but before he does, he admits that he plans to be in Rosewood, just outside Chicago, in a week's time, and that he would explain more if they were to meet there.
Meanwhile, Emma instinctively draws a terrible picture of a disfigured man. The being, known as an Invunche, comes to life and the terror-stricken artist pitches herself through her studio window to her death. There's also a montage of a few other evil acts from the other contacts that Constantine encountered.
Back in Houma, Swamp Thing seems to have completely regrown, and is pondering. Abby half jokening brings up the prospect of a honeymoon for them, since their "communion" in the issue Rites of Spring. He is vaguely recalling the name "Rosewood," and he is too wrapped-up in that train of thought to pay any mind to Abby's "honeymoon" proposal.
In Rosewood, Illinois, a group of boys swim in a pond, despite their parents' warnings. Suddenly, the boys realize that the pond is infested with leeches, and they all rush out except Nicky, who has grown unnaturally pale. Just below the surface, vampiric creatures have drained him of all of his blood. The boys are too afraid to go back into the water for him, and they run away. The vampires return to their homes, deep under the water in old Rosewood, the sunken town.
Elsewhere, Abby Holland and the Swamp Thing reluctantly part ways, as he decides to take Constantine's bait, and go to the town of Rosewood, Illinois. Upon Constantine's hinting, he attempts to transport himself there by regrowing himself through the Earth, to the new location. As he concentrates on getting there, he recalls that he had been there once before, and that the town had been corrupted so deeply by a dark presence that the Swamp Thing had cleansed the town by exploding the dam. He mentally locates a small seed in Rosewood, and uses it to begin regrowing himself there. He immediately thinks of Abby.
Abby, meanwhile is talking with one of her teacher co-workers. She's lost in thought thinking of Swamp Thing and her friend, Deanna, chastises her for not paying attention to her. Abby apologies and tell Deanna that she was thinking about someone, and Deanna shoots back "...You're going to have to face facts...your husband's a vegetable". She of course is speaking of her literal husband who is in a coma still, but also unknowingly referring to Swamp Thing.
Constantine is in Chicago, at a bar, and he's just learned that the girl he was with previously in the last issue, tossed herself from her studio apartment. It's reported as suicide, but as shown in the prior issue, she was chased out by a demon.
Eventually, the boys decide not to go back for Nicky, or tell anyone what they saw. All of them leave except for Howard, who returns to the water alone determined to try to rescue his friend. At the same time, the vampires prepare the creature they call the Mother for a mating ritual. This massive creature once known as Charlene – a supermarket worker in Rosewood who once worried about her pimples and marriage prospects – now has an integral part to play in the vampires' conquest on land.
Swamp Thing regrows a new body in Rosewood successfully. He notes that after his 'death' by Nukeface which took him weeks to respawn himself, now took him a matter of hours and with no "hang over". When he is complete he is met there by Constantine, who warns that some of the vampires that were drowned out two years before had survived, and formed an underwater community. When the flood of Rosewood took place, a few where inside an airtight refrigerator unit in a supermarket. They were already bitten, but were hiding out from others. The gate was opened, and the flood washed away everything else, but they survived. Here, they found refuge from the harmful sunlight as well as from humans who might kill them. Constantine further explains that the virus that causes vampirism is anaerobic; oxygen can be a harmful substance to them. He bargains that he will reveal Swamp Thing's nature to him if he will deal with the vampires in the water. Annoyed, Swamp Thing begins walking into the water.
As Howard returns to the pond, Nicky appears to be alive, and demands that they go swimming again. It becomes clear that Nicky has become a vampire himself, and Howard is swarmed by Nicky's new companions. The Mother gives birth to many, many eggs, which soon begin to hatch. Both she and her mate descend into the dark waters and – their bodies torn apart after breeding – begin to decompose and die as the oxygenated water flows through their bodies.
After the boys Nicky and Howard don't come home overnight, their parents interrogate their friend Bill for information. Eventually, all of the parents decide to go out to Rosewood and find them.
Swamp Thing encounters the vampires in the sunken town of Rosewood, and when they discover that he has no blood, they begin to herd him toward the site of the “nativity,” the old stadium, which is full of eggs. Swamp Thing watches in horror as the eggs hatch, and the newborn creatures devour each other until only one remains – a giant fish-like vampire which attacks and destroys his body.
Meanwhile, the parents discover Nicky and Howard at the water's edge. Nicky, now a vampire, lures his own mother to them, and then drains her of her blood. Soon after, his father is devoured by the fish-creature, along with Bill's father. The remaining parents grab Howard and drive away in horror.
Swamp thing allows his body to die once more, and then rebirths, this time ever quicker. He then stretches his consciousness out across The Green. He gathers his energies and becomes one with the land, adjusting the terrain so that the water within the lake begins flowing again – right into the river that birthed it. The vampires residing in the lake cannot survive running water, and they die as their flesh is torn off their skeletons. This is a rather significant leap from the powers we've seen him display previously. He is learning more and more to wield the power that he has available to him.
Later, Swamp Thing encounters John Constantine in the ruins of the now drained town of Rosewood. Astonishingly, the Swamp thing is able to perform a complete body regeneration in only fifty-one seconds, suggesting that he has already learned much about himself and his abilities due to his association with John Constantine. John expresses his disappointment that the outcome of their endeavor has caused word to spread supporting the existence of vampires. This plays right into the hands of those responsible; it helps create the "right sort of atmosphere" to allow their plan to come into fruition. After he offers this cryptic warning – which is consistent with the theory Emma shared with him shortly before she died – he asks that they meet again in Kennescook, Maine in two weeks. They then part ways.
REVIEW
First official appearance of John Constantine. He is supposed to look just like Sting in 1985, let’s compare...
Yeah, I guess he looks like him.
Anyway, this story is really important because it’s the moment Swamp Thing learns how to “regrown” anywhere around the planet. We are also starting to understand what Moore was hinting back when Abel was explaining why the world needed an avatar of the Green right now.
This story also acknowledges the Crisis. Unusual for most books during this period of Crisis on Infinite Earths (most tie-ins seem to be in 1986, including official Swamp Thing tie-ins).
Moore has a way with words that works perfectly in a comic-book. With a lot of ironies, and twists. And the images complement the words very well. This is what comic-books should be. An engaging medium that forces you to process words and images at the same time, at your own speed, both adding something to the final product that on their own wouldn’t be good enough. Moore goes beyond justifying why these characters are in these stories. He is pretty much justifying these stories happening in comic-books.
Of course there are other writers and creative teams that managed to do the exact same thing, but here, considering other books coming out at the time, it’s astonishing.
And boy, this is real horror.
I give this story a score of 10
#steve bissette#john totleben#john constantine#sting#horror#swamp thing#dc comics#comics#review#1985#modern age#crisis on infinite earths
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Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3
Words: 3,964
Logan cracks his knuckles, his elbows propped on the arms of a chair near the middle of the presentation room. Across the table from him, Joy doodles absently in the margins of her notebook. Logan is pretty sure that if Cassidy weren’t there to subtly turn the page for her, the flowers and floating eyes would crawl off the pages and etch themselves into the surface of the table. Director Gazebo paces at the head of the room, smacking a remote against his palm and muttering under his breath. It’s been something like five minutes since he last successfully switched slides, and all delusions of focus and interest have completely melted away. Even Miss Katie-Lee, who was helping hand out papers and fill in pieces of information for the director, is playing something on her phone with vague disinterest. Logan wonders whether she might just fall asleep right where she stands.
Logan, on the other hand, absolutely cannot force himself to look disinterested in anything the director does, ever. Not with that meeting from a couple weeks ago still weighing on his mind. Instead, he does his best to look like he’s taking detailed notes in his pocket notebook, glancing around the room as if deep in thought. He takes careful stock every few seconds of the impossibly high number of important people in here. The absolutely quintessential ‘who’s who’ of this branch—Joy and Miss Katie-Lee, of course, but also Mx. Oatmeal, Cassidy and her independent focus advisor, the directors of the individual satellite branches floating nearby, those inexplicable people in nice suits that follow Director Gazebo everywhere, even the notoriously good-looking folks that are always sweeping in and out of Miss Katie-Lee’s office. Oh, and who could forget Roman?
Logan could.
Logan would love to do that, in fact.
He’s taken multiple steps to prove to the director just how much he wants this, despite how wrong it feels to be slacking off to improve—talking about non-work things with Cassidy and Alex, getting to know the fifth floor interns (even though they aren’t technically on the fifth floor anymore), helping those same interns with their work and genuinely enjoying it rather than it being revision out of obligation, even trying to be more open with Virgil about what’s going on inside his head. He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of that last one yet, but it’s not like the director ever sees him do it—or not do it, as the case usually tends to be. He tries, though. They both do.
The biggest risk—talking to Roman—is one he really isn’t looking forward to. He hasn’t even tried yet, actually. Probably explains why Roman is in the far back corner of the room, whispering with Alex.
Logan isn’t doing very well at pretending to be taking notes, in case that wasn’t obvious.
Finally, the remote in the director’s hand buzzes to life, shuffling the presentation to the last slide. Miss Katie-Lee moves next to him and peers over his shoulder, pointing at one of the buttons and nodding. A sigh of relief (or maybe it’s annoyance—Logan isn’t great at gauging that sort of thing) ripples through the room when the slideshow cycles back to the top, displaying a picture of a rocket preparing to launch.
The director gives Miss Katie-Lee a smile and nod before turning to address the room. “What craft was this?”
Logan doesn’t bother raising his hand, merely calling out the name in unison with the rest of the room. “Vanguard TV3.”
“And on what historic date did this craft fail two seconds after launch?”
“December sixth, nineteen fifty-seven.” It’s more of an automatic response on Logan’s part than a concentrated effort to access the trivia from its overflowing file tucked away in a secure corner of his mind. The director nods his approval and moves on to the next slide, and Logan is pretty sure the better part of his room-sweeping gaze centers on him. He sits up straighter.
“Good start, folks. Now, back to basics—roughly how long would it take for a spacecraft to reach the moon?” Wow, really back to basics. He wasn’t kidding.
“Three days.” Even Logan has to admit, it does sound just the slightest bit creepy, everyone answering in monotonous unison like this.
The director clicks over to the next slide, which proudly declares the words ‘speed round’ in times new roman. The font yanks Logan’s thoughts toward Roman without his consent, and he again thinks about how unjustly cold he’s been to the guy lately. Hardly a word between them, aside from the usual obligatory greetings. Maybe that ought to be his next risk, resolving that whole situation. Certainly one of the more unnerving ideas he’s entertained.
“Alright, everyone, speed round time. How many miles to the moon?”
“240,000.”
“In kilometers?”
The briefest of pauses. “386,400.”
“Largest crew aboard a spacecraft to date?”
“Eight.”
“Why do we want to minimize travel time for human astronauts?”
“Space has harmful radiation.” Okay, so that one wasn’t quite so perfectly in unison, and various other answers tried to break through, but the general idea does manage to echo around the room.
“Of the nearly two hundred planet-orbiting moons in our solar system, in which place is our moon with regards to size?”
“Fifth largest.”
“Latin word for its highlands?”
“Maria.”
“Meaning?”
“Seas.”
“How many nations have landed on the moon?”
“Three.” The word five also bounces around, but Logan is in the former party.
“Okay, who did it first?”
“The United States.” This, too, has a second answer making a valiant effort—Neil Armstrong, obviously. Again, Logan is in the former group.
“When?”
This one, interestingly enough, prompts two very distinct answers. One sizeable group, to which Logan is party, gives the predictable answer of July twentieth, nineteen sixty-nine, but one (much smaller) group says something incredibly different.
“Wow, I didn’t realize this very important meeting was just gonna be a history lesson.”
Not a valid nor correct answer, in case that wasn’t clear.
Logan, along with pretty much every other superior in the room, swivels in his seat to stare at Roman, who still leans against the wall at the far back of the room. Beside him, Alex looks like they’re doing everything they can to feign not having heard him.
Roman shrugs and raises his eyebrows, tilting his head toward the director. “It’s a valid question. Nobody in this room’s an idiot, we all passed our college courses, gen eds and otherwise, we all took the entrance exams, we’ve all done the work to get here. Not to step out of line or anything, but this is all grade school stuff. Seems kinda dumb to be quizzing us on stuff anyone with a working internet connection could figure out.”
Logan debates whether this would be a good time to work on one of those risks he’s been dealing with by striding to the back of the room and smacking Roman across the face. The director stiffens, but Logan can’t tell whether it’s agitation or impressed satisfaction.
“Does anyone else agree with Roman’s perspective?”
There’s a few quiet mumbles and the odd cough or sniffle, but no one speaks up. Logan flinches when the director’s eyes land on him, but again, there’s something behind those eyes he can’t trace. When the director doesn’t look away, the idea of screaming crosses Logan’s mind. Risk. Risk. You are not special simply for doing your job. You need to go above and beyond if you want to achieve the dream you claim you have, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary.
Logan clears his throat and raises his hand, and honest to god, the room falls silent. Even Joy’s scribbling pen halts. The director nods at him to speak, at the same moment that Logan finds his heart standing at the edge of a bottomless pit. It jumps over.
“He makes a good point.” The director lifts his chin, but says nothing. “We already know all of this information, given how easily we can answer it on a dime, and you’ve gathered up most of the higher profile people in this branch, not to mention the ones around it. It seems counterintuitive to waste their time with the basics when they could be working toward something more concrete, rather than an eighth grade science test review.” Logan literally bites his tongue when he closes his mouth, belatedly realizing he just told the literal head of his career that his meeting is a waste of Logan’s time. Too big of a risk, perhaps, but there’s certainly no taking it back now. He also belatedly realizes his arm is still in the air, so he yanks it down with his other hand.
There’s a beat of silence, where not even Joy dares look at Logan. Logan swallows and turns his eyes toward the ground, feeling Roman’s gaze burning daggers into his back. Does this count toward resolving the little spat he never bothered explaining to Roman? Hell, Roman might not even know Logan was mad—for all he’s been told, Logan just decided out of nowhere to start talking to the interns. Logan should’ve just kept with the mediocrity, should’ve stayed within arm’s reach of his safety net, should’ve learned to grit his teeth and bear it while Roman prattled on, completely oblivious to how much better he was than Logan.
“Roman and Logan,” the director finally says. “You two stay. Everyone else, you’re excused.”
The remaining people cannot possibly get out of the room fast enough. It’s concentrated chaos as they scramble to gather their respective belongings and rush the door, a bunch of space enthusiasts who would probably rather be on literal Neptune right now than in this room. Come to think of it, Neptune doesn’t sound too bad to Logan, either. He sinks back into his chair and wills himself to be smaller, wills Roman to ignore him and just stay—
Roman takes the seat directly beside Logan. “Thanks for the assist,” he says under his breath, elbowing Logan gently. Logan smiles weakly at his own fists, clenched tightly in his lap, and wonders if this is the last time these hands will be employed by NASA. Wondering if this is finally it, if the director has had enough of Logan’s pathetic attempts to take risks, has finally decided to do away with Logan entirely, to let him fade into obscurity as some guy who coded a coffee delivery app with a gimmicky name.
Director Gazebo stares long and hard at the both of them, and probably has been for a while now—not that Logan would know the difference, having only just looked up from his hands. There’s something behind the mask of calm in the director’s face, just like there always is, and just like always, it’s something Logan can’t quite comprehend, something he isn’t sure he wants to comprehend. When he opens his mouth, Logan’s heart finally finds itself at the bottom of that bottomless pit.
“Are either of you aware of how long it would take mankind to reach Neptune?”
An unexpected starting point, to be sure, but at least it’s something Logan is prepared for. “It took Voyager 2 about twelve years in the eighties.”
“Voyager 2 was unmanned,” Roman adds. “None of that extra weight for people or provisions, so that probably maybe definitely influenced that time.”
“Why?” Logan asks. It’s always been one of his favorite questions, to tell the truth. He wonders whether the director feels the same. Then he wonders whether the director realizes he means ‘why ask about Neptune,’ not ‘why would weight influence travel time.’ Then he wonders whether the director knows he wonders this.
“As only Voyager 2 has managed to make it that far—and beyond, in fact—there is still a good deal of things we’ve yet to learn from Neptune, like why it has such high winds, or why its magnetic field is offset, not to mention that there’s been another Great Dark Spot since the one in eighty-nine.” Okay, so at least it was clear what Logan was asking.
“I’m still not totally clear on why this matters,” Roman admits. Logan sighs quietly, relieved that someone in this room had the nerve to voice the general fears floating lazily through the air. “I mean, it’s got nothing to do with the moon, which is supposedly why you called the meeting, right?”
“It’s got everything to do with the moon,” the director corrects. He steps away from the projection screen and begins pacing the room, waving his hands about like frantic hummingbirds to emphasize his points—provided he actually makes any. “The moon is the closest celestial body to our planet, so everything with a greater distance than that can be expanded upon based on its relative distance and size compared to the moon. If we learned to walk with the moon, we can run with Mars, and we could fly with Neptune.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Logan says, feeling like it’s been a little too long since he’s spoken up. Regardless, his words seem to roll off the director’s hunched shoulders as he continues pacing, unperturbed.
“Twelve years is a long time, not to mention the additional weight for the food and crew, and the emotional and mental tolls on the passengers and their families, as it would be a minimum twenty-five year round trip—that’s a quarter of what a layman considers his life span. But if we could cut that down, shave off a few years from either end, move from here to there as if we were taking but a single step…” The director trails off with his hands frozen in front of his face, fingers not quite touching, so stiff they almost tremble. “Imagine how much we could gain from that. Just—just imagine it.”
“Do you mean in terms of Einstein’s and Rosen’s theory of general relativity?” Logan’s voice is laced with disbelief. Einstein-Rosen bridges, wormholes, whatever you want to call them, it’s all theoretical, and all just the slightest bit terrifying. Two mouths at either end of an imaginary throat, from point A to point B in moments, microscopic and unstable. Just imagine it? Sure, just imagine the likelihood of the wormhole destabilising under the effect of exotic matters and spitting out the passengers to who knows where.
Logan, if you couldn’t tell, is not particularly fond of the idea of wormholes, much less black holes. His concerns are usually (to his relief) unfounded, since whoever is crazy enough to look for wormholes hasn’t been successful in their endeavours. Not yet.
“But that’s only assuming you actually can fold the space,” Roman protests, yanking Logan out of his own mind. Apparently they didn’t care to wait for Logan to process the absurdity of it all before continuing the conversation.
“But who says we can’t? ” Director Gazebo shoots back.
“Who said anything about we?” Roman’s voice is incredulous and maybe, just maybe, a little bit excited. Good excited or bad excited, though, Logan has no idea.
“Well, me, just now, for one.” The director starts pacing again, ticking off numbers on his fingers as he goes. “Katie-Lee also vouched for the idea, as well as some of the directors at the floater branches—most of them report to Kennedy, anyway, so I’m sitting pretty high and dry here, and they all went for the idea. Logan, any valuable input here?”
Logan blinks, not prepared to be included. Not yet. “I, um, no?” Then he wonders whether the director heard ‘I, um, no,’ or ‘I, um, know.’
“Well, you can hardly fault me for asking. I mean, after that presentation you gave, not to mention the increasing quality of your work lately, I assumed you’d be desperate to make your case for this mission.”
“What mission?”
Roman shoots Logan a look, and Logan wonders just how long he was tuned out of the conversation. Too long, apparently.
“Why, Mission Neptune, of course.” At that, Logan is viscerally reminded of the conductor from that time Virgil forced him to watch The Polar Express. The director, at least, doesn’t seem put off in the slightest by Logan’s mental absence. He whips out a pen and scrawls something on his forearm, mumbling under his breath, “We really need to come up with a better name for that.”
“I—you’re planning a mission to Neptune?” It’s not even worth it for Logan to try to keep the shock out of his voice.
Roman, miracle of miracles, recovers much quicker than Logan. Probably because he’s been paying attention. “Okay, cool, but why did you still say we? Why did you only keep me and Logan behind?”
“Logan and me,” Logan murmurs. At least if his basic conversational skills continue to fail him, he’ll always have ironclad grammar to fall back on. On which to fall back, whatever.
“You want to go into space, do you not?”
“Absolutely.” In sharp contrast with Logan’s immediacy and certainty is Roman’s loud silence. Logan gives him a quizzical look.
“I’m not saying I don’t,” Roman finally huffs, “but I’m not saying I do, either. There’s way too many things that could go wrong for this to be a spur of the moment hell yes type response, y’know?”
Logan tries very hard (by which he means a normal amount) not to look smug as the director stares at Roman in shock. So much for a guy who’s great because he broadens his horizons. As soon as the prideful thought crosses Logan’s mind, he shakes his head to get rid of it—tearing down his friend won’t do anything for his own career, much less his own humanity. Another, much scarier thought crosses Logan’s mind next: He just internally referred to Roman as his friend.
Logan really ought to start paying better attention when conversations are happening around him between very smart people who don’t think to wait for him to catch up.
“Just keep an eye on your inboxes, alright?” The director stops pacing at the door and tugs it open, gesturing for the two to take their leave.
“Give us a minute,” Roman says, remaining firmly in his seat. The director purses his lips and wrinkles his nose, but he does go, leaving the room blissfully empty in the absence of his commanding presence.
Roman turns to Logan and cocks his head to the side. “Alright, my dude, I’ve known you for basically a lifetime now.”
“Five years, max.”
“Same difference. Anyway, I’ve known you a while, yeah? So I know what your face looks like when you’re zoning out, ’cause you’ve got way too much going on up in that head of yours. How much do I need to fill you in on, so you aren’t totally out of your depth when Gazebo brings it up again?”
“A basic rundown would be stellar. I heard that he’s aiming for Neptune, and he’s trying to employ some Wrinkle in Time mechanics to do it. We haven’t even spotted a wormhole yet, Roman. Those things are so small, too, what is he thinking?”
“Probably that he should’ve had Katie-Lee give that promotion to someone who knows how to listen.” Roman laughs as he ducks to avoid Logan swatting at his head. “Hey, hey, this is neutral territory! Anyway, he said he was stuck on the moon stuff with his presentation ’cause he doesn’t want to go talking to the whole building and company and all about it, but he thinks he found a way to straight up manufacture a wormhole, and he wants to test that with an outwardly routine trip to the moon. Manufacture his demon wormhole or whatever, and if it works, great, and if not, well, it’s just the moon, so we won’t be too far, anyway. Doesn’t really add up that he’d call it Mission Neptune if he’s trying to hide it, but whatever.”
“And he told us this why?”
“Because I’m such a motor mouth that most people have learned to just tune me out by now, or assume I’m spouting total nonsense. You, on the other hand, he knows you’ve got your whole deal with that lifelong dream of getting off the planet or whatever, so obviously you wouldn’t go spreading the details, not at the risk of someone else taking your spot on the ship.”
“He told you all that?”
“Context clues. I’m very smart.”
Logan blows a puff of air through his nose and stares at his hands again, picturing them at the helm of a literal console in a literal rocketship on its way to literal Neptune. “Be pretty hard to cover up supplies for a mission to Neptune when you want it to look like a routine trip to the moon.”
“Why else would he hint at sending follow-up emails? Not to mention, if the wormhole situation shortens the trip, we wouldn’t need much more than a normal moon mission, anyway.” Roman scoots his chair closer and pushes his face right up into Logan’s. “You’re really off your game today, y’know that? Is it ’cause you suddenly decided to start talking to me again?”
“Something like that.” Logan checks his watch, weighing the merits of continuing to talk here versus returning to their desks. If nothing else, the director hasn’t returned to yell at them yet, so that’s something. Logan inhales a couple seconds longer than he needs to, blows it all out in one big breath, and explains to Roman the situation regarding his new risk-taking self. He even adds how, all along, Roman has been the true superior, much as it shreds Logan’s heart to say it. At least now Roman has proof that he’s as good as he thinks he is. What use is pride if left uncorroborated, right?
“Okay, well that’s dumb, so we’re not gonna talk about that nonsense garbage ever again,” Roman says, shaking his head. “I mean, really? Me better than you? Obviously I’m just socializing, and that definitely shows in the few papers where I’ve actually tried. He probably just wanted to push you over the edge so you would be more involved and engaged, more likely to help with his whole Neptune shebang.”
“That’s a good mission name,” Logan mumbles. He expertly ignores everything else Roman said. “Neptune Shebang.”
“No, it really isn’t. Do you even want to do it?”
“I mean, obviously I do, it’s all I’ve ever wanted, ever , but there’s still…” Logan lets his voice trail off, picturing Virgil’s face. Picturing Virgil sat on the couch in front of the television, watching Logan blast off the planet in a storm of fire and gasoline, leaving Virgil over two billion miles behind him, in the plain old Earth dust. “I don’t know. I used to know, but I think what I knew changed somewhere along the way.”
“Makes sense.” Roman pushes his hands against his knees and bounces to his feet, then crooks his elbow to the side. Logan accepts the gesture, rising with Roman’s assistance and following him to the door. “I mean, it’s not like you have to know if you’re going right this second. You don’t even know if you’ll get chosen for it. Maybe they switch around the requirements or knock down the capacity or something, and they just bump you out of the running because you’re needed on Earth or they’re afraid you have the measles or something. Hell, they could deny the mission request altogether. Whatever happens, you definitely don’t have to make any major decisions about it just yet.”
Logan nods to himself as the door clicks shut behind them. Eventually, he very well have to make that choice. But not yet.
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