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serenadeonacanoe · 3 years

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Honestly, I'd piss him off on purpose. (Namjoon x OFC)

Pairing: Namjoon x Original Female Character

Genre/Warnings: Smut, Angst, Fluff, too tired to beta

Tags: Artist!Namjoon, Yoongi and Tae are the best flatmates, Enemies to Lovers I guess... more like brats to making out in the storage unit, OFC is an idiot.

Summary:

"Wow. Is that that grumpy artist behind you? Jesus. He really looks like a bit of a dick. And you are right. He really is hot..." Oh no. Speakerphone. Namjoon was standing behind me and was staring at me. Then at my phone. He let out a little laugh, then raised his hand to wave at Tae and Yoongi outside who were now also staring at him as if frozen, before turning around in unison. As if that would help. As if he couldn't see them. Or better even... couldn't hear them.

[...]

Mister Darcy has nothing on Kim Namjoon - that new and upcoming artist you probably already heard of (You haven't? How dare you? At least have the decency to pretend you have!). He is cold, serious, and rather good at making other people believe he is a prick. Especially Elizabeth Bennet - uh... Charlotte - is about to lose it because of him. Maybe in a good way. Man, I'd literally piss him off on purpose.

More chapters on AO3

CHAPTER 1

Even the sound of my own nails rhythmically tapping on the top of the counter was annoying me. To be fair, it didn't need much today to blow my fuze that had never been particularly long in the first place. But after a week consisting of being belittled by old white men and endless hours of unpaid overtime I about had it. Welcome to the art world. You know well before you enter that the hours are horrible and the job market is more than frustrating, but you love art and you have good organisational skills, you are resilient, charming when it counts and tend to romanticize things even when you know you shouldn't. It's too late to turn around now.

"That is why I don't use an agenda or notebook. If something is important enough for me to attend I simply won't forget. I know you youngsters are all about the bullet journaling and expressing yourself by mapping out your life but it really is just another way to procrastinate instead of getting to actual work." For a second I considered throwing my damn notebook in the buyer's face, but that probably wouldn't have helped my CV and the new job I would have to look for starting tomorrow. At least I should have screamed at him a little. Mainly, that I didn't care, that I was on my period and my shitty shower in the shitty flat i shared had broken and no dry shampoo in the world had fixed my hair this morning and that god damn it, how the hell was I supposed to remember every phone number, every call my boss had to take, every art handling transport I had organized if I couldn't write it down somewhere. Instead, I smiled. Died a little on the inside and complimented him on the gift of his exceptional memory and asked whether he would like another cup of coffee.

"What a dick." Samantha murmured, more to herself than me, after the guy had finally left, which made me snort under my breath. She usually didn't say much but when she did it was usually pure gold. In the end, it didn't matter that he was. Didn't matter that everyone at the gallery thought the art he had bought from us over the last couple of months had neither been smart nor impressive purchases. Mainly expensive. And flashy.

"Doesn't matter now." I said in a sigh after a quick glance at the clock. It was Friday night and we were about to close. Since it was my birthday on Monday I had taken two days off, about the longest break I had had this year and I was looking forward to being the lazy slob for a few days I was maybe always meant to be. In silence we answered a few last emails, tidied up the desks and counters so that potential buyers that would come in over the weekend wouldn't have to suspect anyone was actually working here. - A white desk. A huge Imac on it. That was all they needed to see, folders and pens and apparently especially agendas to be hidden away in drawers.

At five to eight I threw on my coat and Samantha just gave me a tired smile. Probably happy for me, just exhausted. "Have fun then? Don't get too wasted?" "Oh..." I said with a huge smug grin on my lips. "You have no idea... gonna take a bottle of Moët with me from the bar and drink it in my bathtub after eating a huge pepperoni pizza by myself and dancing to only the finest of 90s Euro Trash." I couldn't help it, apparently, I felt it necessary to give Sam a little demonstration, waving my arms up and down while swaying my hips in a way that I'd probably would not have if it hadn't been for a bit with an audience of a single person. Or maybe two?

A quiet scoff behind me and I quickly turned around, slowly lowering my arms, Sam biting her lower lip at the sight of me standing there like an idiot in front of HIM of all people.

Men didn't have to be old to annoy me. Or white. Yes, those were the ones that pissed me off most usually, but no one had managed to do so as much as Kim Namjoon recently. And now he was standing there, looking me up and down and stopping at my hair. The crazy too-much-dry-shampoo-because-the-shower-broke-hair. "Nice." He just commented and then looked over at Sam. "I'd like to take a last look before Sunday's opening if that is okay?" I stood there, my shoulders dropping, completely ignored.

"Uhm, actually, my babysitter has to leave in about an hour and I will have to be home before that." Samantha replied and I was impressed by how calm she stayed. "Of course." Namjoon said and gave her a slight smile. "Anyone else still around? Chris maybe?" Of course Chris hadn't been in today. It was Friday and unless important guests had announced themselves the owner of the gallery wasn't around on Fridays... "I am afraid not. But maybe Charlotte has a few minutes?" Well. Thanks. Thanks a lot. I felt a little betrayed. "Wouldn't want to keep anyone from their important Moët-Pizza-Dance Party plans." Namjoon replied before I could say a word. His voice once more dropping to a hushed, deep disapproval and his hands buried in the pockets of his rather expensive looking coat. Silence for a few moments and then he just walked off towards the room his exhibition had been set up all week. Showing without a further word that I would have to stay anyways if he wanted it that way.

"Well thank you for pushing me under the bus like that. Really appreciate it." "I am so sorry. But I was serious, I can't lose this babysitter. She got Jamie to eat vegetables. VEGETABLES!" Samantha suddenly seemed in a rush, grabbing her jacket and purse and showering me in promises she would make it up to me. Even though we both knew that wouldn't happen and wasn't necessary. Suddenly having to stay longer was normal. I just hated that it had to be today. And because of him.

I heard the door close behind Sam and I stood there for a second before putting my bag down again. Usually, I would have followed the artist, asking if I could somehow help, but nahhh... my ego was bruised up enough now, especially remembering the little dance. I closed my eyes. Fucking hated the guy. Always had. Well, not quite. I had thought he was cool for about five minutes when he had come in the first time. We had heard about him for quite a few months before, I think I had even seen pictures of him at some point, but those were nothing compared to him in real life. He came in all cheekbones and sharp chin and an all grey outfit, quick pace, observant gaze. Incredibly hot. He had also completely ignored me.

That's how it had started - a bruised ego. He couldn't know that it was my weak spot. Having studied art and its management and now feeling like a better secretary at times, when my colleagues and I were doing all the behind the scenes work while Chris worked very little hours and ended up with all the money and recognition. I was aware this wasn't the only field of work where this was the case, but it still frustrated me... I had imagined my life in the last years of my 20s to be a bit more glamorous than living in a tiny apartment on the outskirts of the city... spending my Friday night waiting for some rude artist dude to leave so I could lock up.

But what I perhaps hated most about him... was that I admired him. - Purely for his art. Really. Even the fact that he kept acting as if I wasn't around every time he came in didn't mean I couldn't admit that. At least to myself. The stories behind his huge colleagues were clever and thought through, but even without context, the pure aesthetics were mesmerizing. It was the kind of art that touched something deep inside of you and standing in front of it I always had a hundred questions. Whenever he brought in a new piece I was the first one to sneak a peek in the back rooms before it was hung.

"I don't get why you have such a problem with him. He is just... quiet. I think he might even be shy... stop being so sensitive and just ask him out already." I had almost strangled Sam for that comment a couple of weeks back. Stop being so sensitive. What did that even mean? Comments like that made me want to cry and scream at the same time, which probably would have been perceived as even more sensitive, but when had insensitivity become something to strive for? I had only kept quiet because I liked Sam and I knew what she had tried to say. At least I thought so. That I might have given less of a shit if I hadn't been rather attracted to Namjoon. Even though I had never mentioned it, she just knew. She knew if I didn't care about something I didn't waste my time on it. But if something made me angry or upset there was usually more to it. I hated that she could read me that easily. But he was still a dick and I still wanted to go home.

He took his sweet time. After an hour I walked up to him, a little speech prepared in my head about how he could come back first thing tomorrow. But when he turned around he just raised a hand between us to keep me from interrupting and turned away again. I hadn't seen that he was on the phone. "No, it's nothing, just one of the gallery employees." I heard him say and okay... if I wasn't about to explode before I was now. I stood there for a minute, fuming, and then simply walked back to the office area, my hand shaking when I started turning off the gallery lights one by one. It wasn't as satisfying as I had hoped but still felt good. Two minutes later the only lights still on were the one above my head and the one in front of the door. I would at least give him a clear direction where to head, he seemed to need it.

When Namjoon appeared out of one of the dark corners he looked even more annoyed than usual. Looking my direction through squinting eyes and his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek. "Seriously?" he yelled my way and almost walked into one of the little flyer shelves. Wasn't the first time I had seen that happen to him though so maybe that had nothing to do with the light.

I felt oddly triumphant. By the time I had put on my coat and turned off the remaining lights, ready to finally lock up, Namjoon had almost found his way, standing in the open door, still on his phone. A little groan from my side when he didn't even notice that I was standing behind me went by unnoticed. Or simply ignored. But instead of the appropriate clearing of the throat or the maybe less polite squeezing past him, I just put my hands on his back and gently pushed him forward a bit, until his feet hit the pavement and he turned around. Dropping his hand with the phone in it, for a second he looked like he wanted to push back. Or trample me.

"Okay, what the hell is your problem, Charlotte?" His voice was hoarse. His eyes dark. God, he was hot. I hated him so much. "You." I simply replied and stared at him for a second, then turned around and locked the two locks on the door before stepping over to the alarm system. I couldn't help feeling smug because apparently, he knew my name. I imagined him staring at the back of my head because he was flustered, but couldn't be sure. All I knew was that when I turned around again a minute later he was still standing there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his lips pressed together forming a straight line and watching me.

"Do you always act like that at work around people who could get you into trouble?" He was right, he could get me into trouble. But I was too fired up now, my heart racing. "Is that a threat?" "An observation." "Only around the ones I don't like." "Cool." "Great." "Enjoy the dance party. Sounds shit."

And with those words he had turned around, coat flying open in the wind, unfortunately making him look really cool as he walked away and I ABSOLUTELY HATED HIM. I kept my mouth shut and just walked off in the other direction, realizing minutes later that my car was parked the other way, but I kept walking for a while before I finally turned around. It took a while to calm down and only cuddling up to my cat on the couch to trash tv finally did the job. But by then I had realized something I wasn't sure I liked too much. Yeah, I thought he was a prick. And yeah I should have just played it cool. Would have been much smarted in many regards. But I also had somewhat enjoyed myself in the most fucked up way.

Seeing that stern look, that intense posture as he was towering over me... man, I'd literally piss him off on purpose.

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#namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #artist!namjoon

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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Thinking back to the earlier volumes, isn't it weird that Ozpin either 1) didn't notice Jaune faked his transcripts (imagine if he was a Salem agent) or 2) decided to just trust this kid with fake transcripts when he is so paranoid that not even his inner circle has his complete trust?

I've always worked under the assumption that he had to have known. Even just ignoring the unlikely event that Jaune managed to secure transcripts that were that persuasive and Ozpin never followed up with/realized that Jaune didn't attend a previous school as he claimed (the huntsmen world seems to be a small one, increasing the likelihood of Ozpin hearing about potential new students, and Jaune couldn't have passed the test Blake, Ren, and Nora did for those students with unconventional educations prior to Beacon), he also just acts like he knows and is keeping it quiet. Ozpin is not at all surprised by Jaune's lack of knowledge regarding landing strategies, or his genuine fear about the initiation. Some like Ruby may be nervous about teams, but no one else is scared because to a Beacon level huntsmen there's nothing to be scared of - this stuff is easy-peasy. A guy asks for a parachute to safely land? That would have immediately tipped Ozpin off if he didn't already know. Plus, the person in these scenes who does pick up on these discrepancies, Glynda, is the one Ozpin ignores. "Oh, you think Mr. Arc isn't ready for Beacon? Haha, no reason to address that little observation..."

He had to have known, so the real question is why he'd allow this. You're right that it was a security risk, but it appears far riskier in a post-Fall story. Yes, of course Ozpin always knew about the threat Salem posed even if the audience did not, but the Fall wasn't just a shock to us and the other characters. I think people forget that it was absolutely a shock to Ozpin too. As far as he was aware, things were going swimmingly. It's that wonderful time of peace! Yeah, he starts hearing reports of enemy movements around the same time that Jaune was allowed in (meaning that any worry wouldn't have started until he'd already taken a risk on Jaune), but no one could have predicted that within a few months the entire school would be overrun with grimm. Meanwhile, telling people about Salem has been a known risk for at least several lifetimes. Letting Jaune into the school without credentials is only perceived as such a big risk after we've watched Cinder pull that exact stunt: sneaking into Beacon as a student and helping to destroy it from within. But, given the knowledge everyone had in Volumes 1-3, it doesn't surprise me that Ozpin would see one action as a STAGGERINGLY bigger risk than the other. He doesn't tell his inner circle about Salem because every time he tells people about Salem they drop the fight, betray him to her, or fall into such despair that they're functionally no longer allies - as the group beautifully demonstrated when the secrets came to light. Jaune is just... taking a chance on a kid with potential. One is a proven risk within a war that impacts all of Remnant; the other is only at that same level of risk if Ozpin were truly paranoid and spiraling when it came to imagining the worst possible scenario for every situation. What if this bumbling kid is secretly an intelligent spy sent to undermine my school from within, despite every possible proof to the contrary?

But it's details like this that make me roll my eyes so hard at the "Ozpin doesn't trust anyone" rhetoric of both the show and the fandom. Not trusting everyone with everything - because different people are more likely to be trustworthy or not; different pieces of information have the ability to do more damage than others - is not the same thing as not trusting, period. Ozpin, like Ironwood, has never been paranoid. Everything he fears is true, proven again and again across multiple lifetimes. It's not paranoia when people are literally betraying you left and right. Yet despite this, Ozpin extends a shocking amount of trust. It's as you say, he does let this unknown kid try his hand at being a huntsmen. He lets a former White Fang member into Jaune's class, allowing her to hide her status as a faunus the whole while, outright telling her that she can keep her secrets until she's ready to share them. He previously allowed two bandits into his school - who later revealed they'd come with the explicit purpose of learning how to murder huntsmen!! - and despite being betrayed by one he still keeps her brother as his second in command. He trusted his inner circle with everything but the secret that has screwed him over time and time again. He trusted a bunch of nobody students when they randomly showed up at his safehouse, demanding to be a part of this battle. He trusted them again despite the horrific way they put his trauma on full display. And then hit him. Screamed at him. Ignored him for months on end. He trusts them so much that when four of them came back with Emerald he didn't even question it. This 14yo boy I'm inhabiting wants to risk everything by "trusting love" in the woman who, just a few hours ago, was trying to help Cinder murder our Maiden? Lol yeah sure, why not.

Ozpin extends an extraordinary amount of trust given his circumstances. That's canon to my mind. What's ridiculous is that the comparatively few times he's held back have been blown into this inaccurate image of him being paranoid, or so manipulative that he refuses to allow anyone else agency through information. But Ozpin trusting others 99% of the time is the part of the story that has always made sense. Trusting others with caution during such a dangerous war is not - and should not - be criticized for this extent, especially when the other option presented is pure foolishness. Which, frankly, is where I think Oscar is at, surviving his blind faith in someone like Hazel purely because the plot bends to accommodate that. It also remains a strange theme in the face of Ruby's current characterization. Ozpin, according to the show, is flawed because he didn't trust love... yet this is the same volume when Ruby tells all of Remnant that Ironwood can't be trusted. No explanation, no attempt to reach out, just a black and white dismissal that he is an enemy now, full stop. And we can't even contextualize that with, "Well, Ironwood is too far gone to ever trust again. There are some cases where love just isn't enough" when we redeemed both Emerald and Hazel within episodes of each other. The PTSD riddled former-ally doing horrific things in the name of saving at least some of his kingdom is too far gone, but the guy who murdered the majority of Mistral's huntsmen, works directly for Salem, and has spent his two major appearances trying to kill/torture a kid is not? Yeeeaahh. That's really absurd to my mind. At the end of the day, RWBY's themes of trust are just fundamentally flawed. There is no solid foundation to work from and no continuity across the series, let alone across different characters. Ozpin trusted Jaune, but is said to be too untrusting because the show is basing "trust" on whichever characters it likes most in a given moment. It is, again, why we get a "Ruby will save the day because she's so trusting. More trusting than Ozpin ever was" while she is, in that exact moment, keeping these secrets from Ironwood. Or themes of Ruby uniting the world... while she explicitly says, "But not that guy." Any compelling story about trust we might have gotten died the day the group stole everything from Ozpin, punished him for things outside of his control, cut him out of their lives until the plot forced them to work together again, and the story never once went, "Hmm. Maybe our supposedly trusting, forgiving heroes shouldn't have done all that."

#rwby #mymetas

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pepperpills · 3 years

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The Harvest - RE8 fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Notes: It is a headcanon of Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader. I will be uploading chapters' parts everyday and a new chapter will be out every tuesday. English is not my mother tongue, so sorry if there are any grammar mistakes. Please, feel free to enjoy hehe

NSFW content.

Part I – Destiny (1)

It had been a week since the encounter with the creature in the woods surrounding Karl Heisenberg’s lot. It wasn’t the weirdest event you have seen though, of course; you grew up in one of the cabins close to the Village, you, and your people, were way familiar to the rusty metal sounds, the night fogs and the guttural growls living in the forest around the houses. Because of that, one day, when they grew nearer, your people knew the time had come and you too would be absorbed by the Village, being lead – not to say forced – to worship Mother Miranda and her children.

At first, it was odd, the mood was mournful as if your own family had lost the brightness of joy in their irises. Everything there felt uncanny as there was a sweet and mistrusting mist in the air.

You have always known about Miranda and the four lords, but had never laid your own eyes on them. Until your 20s, they have been nothing but whispers in the distance, folk stories to scare the youngsters, so they wouldn’t go too deep in between the trees and their twisted thin branches.

As the months and then the years passed by, your people started making that place feel like home. Luiza, Urias and their own have been very kind and supportive to all of you, they’ve shown you their believes, their rituals and their daily life; in return, the cabin folk shared their knowledge on herbs, flowers and wild animals, which meant hunting instead of raising them. It worked out fine, anyway, you knew you couldn’t stay in the cabins forever, there would be a time when the Village would grow and it did.

To this extent, you felt comfortable, you actually started sharing a feeling of belongness, especially when it came to rituals and festivals. It was astonishing how the Village would gather, sing, dance, bake and eat on special dates – mostly agricultural calendar ones – and helping organizing it, putting up the decorations, the horns distributed in clothes-line, the red fabrics waving as flags on the ceilings, all of these things were very reassuring.

Years passed by and transformed you into a woman, you had your periods every month, the etiquette practices and the daily choirs such as baking and feeding the animals (now you had pigs and chicken to look after). This, however, bothered you, not the baking though, that made you happy, but you would much more appreciate to help your father and brother with the machinery and hunt with the men, which you did, only hidden, for sport maybe, until you improved your stealth and archery abilities so it became a part of you that you liked much more than singing by the lake while doing laundry with the wives, even though that too had its appeal – music always got the best of you, particularly when it came along with dancing.

About the hunt, you would sell it to Duke, the impartial merchant that comes every week. He is the best way to maintain a low-profile about your illegalities, once he also deals with prohibited materials.

Thinking of it, you believe it was fine, definitely bucolic, but you never expected more. And for your mitigation, you had never yet seen all of the lords face-to-face. Miranda came by at least once a month, but mostly spent her precious time with the Village leader. She usually went back to her lot afterwards. The others were… Well, different.

Lady Beneviento was an in-doors person, the only one who had constant contact with her was her groundskeeper who lived closer to her house. Lady Dimitrescu was only seen in her castles’ windows looking way distant and melancholic to anyone that far from her stand. Her daughters too never left the upright protective stone walls, no one knew why, neither bothered to find out. Sometimes girls from the Village would be sent to the castle in order to serve them as handmaiden, some of them came back on special dates, but never spent the night in the Village.

Lord Moreau was the only one who visited more frequently, usually fixing demands for his experiments. He never stayed too long, he probably sensed that the people had less interest on him than they had in the other lords, which kind of made you pity Lord Moreau; however, you never had the courage to speak to him anyway and it didn’t feel very possible to be friends with the lords.

The last one, Lord Heisenberg, you had only heard in the distance when exploring the Altar surroundings, hidden from the others once it wasn’t allowed to be there without a good motive. The villagers told you, sitting around the fire in windy twilights, that he used to wander around more decades ago. Back then most of your friends were kids and nowadays don’t remember him very well, just his temper as he tends to easily lose patience.

They don’t know what made him stay in his factory for so long, but through the time he has been recluse, some said the metal noises have risen as if he has been working to exhaustion on something. When they told you these stories, you hoped never to find out and feared The Harvest.

That was it for your historic with the lords, at least until three months ago when you turned twenty years old and The Harvest took place again. The 20s was a unique age for the villagers, it was when they would know for sure if they had been chosen by Mother Miranda for some position in her family’s choirs. If you were free, as you’d like to say, you should start thinking about your role in the Village, finding a partner and leaving your parents’ place, if not… You would serve, not sure exactly how.

For your absolute pleasure, your 20th birthday was the most beautiful ceremony you had ever attended while living in the Village. It made it easier. It wasn’t made only for you, but for all of the young people who were turning that age in that year, as it was traditional to have The Harvest.

The small town was all dressed in light colours, paper lamps gave the paths a magical blue aura, goat wood sculptures painted white were disposed here and there blessing the birthday boys and girls. Women wore lace Prussian blue dresses below the knees and men were in grey linen tunics. People commemorated in the area around The Maiden of War with gasps and smiles.

You were dazzling. Tradition demanded that the 20s wore white, almost transparent, clothes. It was supposed to show you emerging as a pure being into something else, finally you would be considered a part of the mundane world after two decades of only experimenting it.

The families were responsible for their children’s garment, so each one looked different and unique. In your case, your mother, Ana, made a ravishing job, one that you could only have dreamt of.

Ana sewed you a white mesh ruffle midi dress, almost off shoulder if it wasn’t for the thin straps that held it there. The down skirt’s fabric was tulle and in the breast area you had a lace to tighten it, the ruffle there also worked on hiding your boobs, so you wouldn’t feel completely naked, only your nipples would show due to Fall’s weather.

After celebrating throughout the afternoon with wine, fresh pies, music and the villager’s affection for you and all the 20s being demonstrated, the night fell upon the Village and the oil lamps were lite, they started dancing in your vision like phantasmagorical illusions, inviting you to follow the way they headed. You didn’t fully understand back then, but it probably was Beneviento’s work.

Your heart throbbed immediately, the euphoria peaking your skin, making you feel electric. Maybe you were drugged, maybe a bit drunk, that didn’t matter, once what mattered was that you were absolutely surrendered by the moment. It felt almost like gluttony, the atmosphere made you want more of whatever there was to so deeply desire.

Attending the call, one by one, the 20s started walking towards the ceremony site were their parents, Mother Miranda and the four lords should be waiting for them. That year there were twelve of them, one more than last year, equally divided between men and women.

Even though it was prohibited for any villager, besides Luiza and Urias, to go past the area of the Altar, you knew where you were heading, you have explored every inch of the Village, quietly, never daring to talk about it with someone. On The Harvest, though, you were being guided. A magnificent deer appeared in front of you, it moved slowly, unafraid of your presence, he glanced at you and walked towards the site. You couldn’t help, but following it, somehow you were sure it would lead you to a pleasant event.

Past the gate and there they were, the four lords all together for the first time in your live. Strangely, you felt seduced more than scared, maybe it was the deer spells, maybe something else made you feel welcomed. The night was your wonderwall and nothing bad could happen to you.

#resident evil #re8 #karl heisenberg #re village #karl heisenberg x reader #resident evil 8 village #heisenberg #heisendaddy #heisenberg resident evil #resident evil viii #resident evil 8 fanfic #original post #resident evil village #re8 karl heisenberg #resident evil heisenberg #fanfic #re fanfic #the harvest

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gizkasparadise · 4 years

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cdrama rec/review: go ahead

KDRAMA AND CDRAMA MASTER LIST OF REVIEWS

Series: go ahead Episodes: 40 Genres: family, healing/melodrama, slice of life, romance Spoilers in the Rec: for the first 20% ish/set-up If You Like, You’ll Like: reply 1988, le coup de foudre, find yourself (same production company/main male actor), rain or shine/just between lovers, found family stories, meet again stories

Rank: 10/10** (see Drawbacks section)

PREMISE

widower hai chao and his 6 year old daughter jian jian live happily above his noodle restaurant despite the recent, tragic death of his wife. one day, dysfunction junction a married couple (he ping, a police officer, and chen ting, a real piece of work) move into the same building with their 7 year old son, ling xiao. immediately, jian jian attaches herself to ling xiao, who is unexpectedly grim for a small child.

because ling xiao’s family is less-than-healthily grieving the loss of their youngest child, ling xiao’s sister who died in a terrible accident. The Apartment of Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms eventually implodes, ending with chen ting abandoning her husband and son. he ping, suddenly a single father, and hai chao come to a friendly partnership that is clearly alluding to gay marriage where they co-raise both of their kids--hai chao as the primary caregiver, and he ping supporting them financially through his job as a policeman.

meanwhile, the neighborhood busybody is dead-set on getting hia chao remarried. eventually she introduces him to a divorced single mother, he mei, and her son zi qiu, who is ling xiao’s age. they sort of start to date, but it culminates in he mei skipping town and leaving zi qiu behind. hai chao, man with a heart of gold, informally adopts him and zi qiu becomes jianjian’s foster brother.

from there, the trio grow up happily and become inseparable. but once zi qiu and ling xiao graduate high school, the bullshit parade their respective childhood skeletons reappear in their lives. circumstances lead to the boys moving overseas, leaving jianjian and their fathers behind.

they reunite after 9 years, when the boys return to a home where they hope to pick things back up from where they left off. things are more complicated than that, as jianjian finds herself in a new life and surrounded by new people.

MAIN CHARACTERS

li jian jian

hai chao’s daughter and the only girl in the family. she attended the required short-hair-low-grades training program required of all cdrama youth female leads. super positive and outgoing, as well as the youngest of the three pseudo-siblings, jian jian grows up spoiled and over protected by her father and brothers, and as a result is completely devastated once her family falls apart. it’s so sad.

after the time skip, she’s an on-the-verge successful artist who makes woodcarvings, and exudes big art bro energy. inhales sugar like it’s nobody’s business. she inherited her father’s disease called caring too much, and it’s incurable!!

ling xiao

the eldest brother and resident fun police. ling xiao comes from a seriously toxic home that finally seems to improve once his mother leaves. but then she comes back. fucking great. introverted to the point of being withdrawn to anyone but his chosen family, ling xiao’s had to carry a lot of emotional weight that takes a larger and larger toll on him as the series progresses. please get this boy some therapy.

becomes a dentist because jian jian needs one. wears a lot of monochromatic outfits with low necklines because heavy angst but make it fashion. has been in love with jian jian since high school and is still carrying that torch 9 years later.

he zi qiu

the middle child who grows up in hai chao and jian jian’s home, and is her foster brother in all but paperwork. hotheaded, zi qiu and jian jian basically share two brain cells that ling xiao routinely takes from them for safekeeping. he spoils jian jian, sneaking her snacks and junk food and wants to become a pastry chef so he can open a sweet shop for her!!

my favorite character. just wants to be wanted 8( him and hai chao’s relationship is my favorite dynamic in the series. will sob while driving a pink moped. is too proud to beg

li hai chao (left) and ling he ping (right)

the greatest (hai chao) and okayest (he ping) dads in the world! noodle dad/hai chao has never done anything wrong in his life, ever, and we know this and we love him. he ping isn’t a bad person, but demonstrates pretty classic absentee parenting/isn’t as emotionally present in his son’s life as hai chao. hai chao is the heart of the family, and would do anything for his kids 8(

SOME SUPPORT CHARACTERS

tang can (left) and qiu ming yue (right)

jian jian’s #GirlGang and roommates. they, like literally everyone in this drama, have some severe mom issue hang-ups. tang can (left) is a former child actress who is struggling with her lack of success as an adult and gives well-meaning but absolutely terrible advice on the regular.

ming yue (right) is jian jian’s best friend since childhood and as an adult is trying to break free from her mother’s controlling nature--she’s also had a thing for ling xiao for the last 9 years. raises fish for symbolism purposes.

chen ting

ling xiao’s mom and certified garbage human. unable to cope with the death of her daughter that was her fault lbr, she abandons her family and disappears for ten years. she forces her way back into ling xiao’s life when he turns 18, where it’s revealed that she’s remarried and ling xiao has a younger half-sister chengzi (”little orange”). shit goes down, and soon ling xiao is forced to move back to singapore to serve as primary caregiver to both his mother who abandoned him and the half sister he barely knows.

emotionally abusive and basically hits every single square on the toxic parent bingo card. i just. i just hate her. even typing this out is making me mad.

he mei

zi qiu’s mother. after a few dates with hai chao, she ends up ditching her kid and disappearing for unknown reasons. is a slightly better parent than chen ting but that’s like saying some poison kills you slower. the show tries to bring us around on her but it didnt work for me.

SOME OTHERS

zhuang bei, zi qiu’s best friend growing up who i would like a lot less if he wasn’t played by the same actor who played my beloved dachuan

zheng shuran, jian jian’s first boyfriend and fellow artist who’s got a weird thing for women’s waists and pretentious artists’ statements

du juan, jian jian’s friend who co-owns their woodworking studio. has absolute trash taste in men

chengzi, ling xiao’s half-sister who can be a brat but dear god does she need to be protected/saved

**DRAWBACKS

so this is a weird one for me. what i didn’t like i really didn’t like, but what i loved i really loved. ultimately, the factors/uniqueness of this show and the loveability of the main characters outweighed the negatives and it’s one of my favorite dramas.

THAT SAID. i got some #thoughts on this one.

first, there are literally no positive mother figures in this show. not a damn one. they are all negligent or controlling at best or down right abusive at worst. no woman over 30 is portrayed positively and that’s a big No from me.

the last 10 eps have some pacing issues and focus on the wrong people. spending the remaining episodes focused on one of the most universally hated characters vs. the main family was a bad move

the show tried to redeem or make us sympathize with characters that were, to me, completely irredeemable. one case is worse than the other, but both of them were terrible people that deserved to be cut out of the main family’s lives.

REASONS TO WATCH

the main family. the characters are so wonderful and nuanced, and their dynamics with one another were amazing. you’ll fall in love with hai chao aka noodle dad and the trio. they go through so many trials but they still stick together and it’s ultimately a healing drama and i loved it very much.

the central romance was less in focus, but the pining is enough to make jane austen emerge from the grave. i loved the leads together, and while LOL ling xiao’s attachment to jian jian was not always healthy, they supported each other and it made me smile. i love me a tortured pining dude.

#Acting. everyone played their parts to perfection. the child actors in particular were so well-cast (esp baby zi qiu)

the soundtrack lmao. you watch the opening credits and know you’ll need to buckle up

idk it’s a very unique show, and i haven’t seen one like it. reply 1988 comes close, but it doesn’t tackle the same issues and it was all just very real and earnest.

Final Thoughts.

GOODNIGHT, GOOODBYYYYYE MY CHILDREEEEEEEN

#go ahead #song weilong #zhang xincheng #tan songyun #cdrama #gizka does kdrama

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uwumessenger · 4 years

Note

I saw you watched Haikyuu and played Obey Me. I was wondering what the demon brothers think of an MC that plays volleyball? You can pick what position they play. Keep up the great work💕💖

ooo interesting ! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

i may have been just a tad bit extra with these but i also ended up keeping these more general so MC’s position on the team is whatever u as the reader want it to be~

Lucifer

confused as to why you like it but is willing to learn more about it bc ~must satisfy human to also satisfy diavolo~

he helps you start a volleyball team at RAD bc they dont have one yet

it’s co-ed for now, but later down the road there’s enough members, organization, and structure for it to be separated into boys and girls teams

he’s sure to hold a straight face when you talk to him about volleyball or when he watches you play but is fanboying big time on the inside hehe

doesn’t understand the game but makes an effort to understand it, though he acts like he knows a lot about it when hes around you

secretly goes into the human world to watch the olympic volleyball team

ends up becoming the manager for the team

kinda aggressive, the coach has to make him step outside sometimes

when you return to the human world he is sure to keep the RAD team intact

also is sure to attend all of your games no matter what

at first he is super chill but eventually turns into a very loud and passionate fan of your team LOL

Mammon

he doesnt make an effort to understand the game on his own time. learns how it works by watching you and your games (ngl that’s how i learned too)

also picks up insight on volleyball whenever he listens to you talk about it

acts bored during those conversations but his brain is taking lots of mental notes bc it’s something you really like

ends up never fully understanding how it works but knows enough about volleyball to gAMBLE

definitely forces levi to make bets with him, but he always supports your team when doing so

will try to give you tips and find ways to cheat for you to win or do better

and he knows that you wont actually do what he says but finds it funny when you do something ridiculous during practice out of the blue

when you go back to the human world he still bothers you with out-of-this-world pointers

if he cant make it to one of your games (usually bc he has no way to get to the human world) he will record his reactions and commentary then send it to you

totally didnt steal that idea from levi

Levi

he has probably watched the demon-anime-equivalent of haikyuu!!

understands the game very well bc of that

but since the game is super over-exaggerated in the anime hes lowkey disappointed when he watches a real game (is even more disappointed when he watches humans play bc they’re not as powerful as demons)

so he likes to try out the moves he sees in the anime with you and mammon when you’re practicing on your own time

when it’s a game day he’s dressed head to toe in your team’s merch, ready to cheer you on!

of course, at first he doesn’t wanna go bc ew crowds ew major social setting ew oTHER BEINGS

cheers very passionately and puts other cheer squads to shame with his energy

livestreams EVERYTHING and by everything i mean only your plays and lowkey irritates the others bc he constantly interviews them

when you go back to the human world he always records his reactions and commentary, sometimes with mammon or asmo, and SPAMS you with them

but he gets to go to your games most of the time and never forgets his fans and glow sticks!!

Satan

immediately studies the game and its culture

he asks you questions and is openly curious about it around you

you demonstrate how the different positions work but go in depth on your position specifically

when he watches you his eyes are literally sparkling lol

he thinks it’s super cool that he’s learning about a real human sport from you

eventually becomes a manager for the team like lucifer, and takes lots of notes about what he observes, and his input becomes valuable and crucial to the team

rare moment when they get along but definitely fight for the bench when it comes to really big games

also likes practicing with you when you need independent practice before a big game or tournament bc of how serious and intense he can be

when watching your games in the human world he still takes notes and shares them with you as well as the RAD team

will bring numerous stress balls to squeeze to those games just in case so he doesnt um kill the ref or opposing team if they piss him off

Asmo

simply wants to know if people who play volleyball are as good looking as you ;)

he doesnt understand why you’re into something that makes you sweaty and gross while you could be doing something else

but also thinks you’re really hot when you’re playing heheh

doesn’t really make an effort to teach himself about how the game works but he knows to cheer by reading the expressions on your face

unlike most of the others he doesnt stick around when you’re practicing

throws a lot of pre-game parties but doesnt allow anyone who supports your opposing team to join

dresses up for games like levi, but is much more stylish with it

designed the RAD team uniforms and jackets/sweatshirts

after returning to the human world he secretly designs new swag for your team and is overjoyed when you guys use it !!

sometimes he watches your games with levi and sends you a cute selfie when you score a point

Beel

excited bc it’s a SPORT

can talk about it with you for h o u r s. he’s really curious about how you play!

lots of working out and practicing together, mainly focuses on helping with your stamina

really good at blocking tbh so if you’re into spiking like hinata he’s a great person to practice with

doesn’t show up to all of your practices bc he has his own team sport to focus on but will sneak a peek every now and then to see how you’re doing

since it’s not a sport that has weight/height classes he doesnt understand when you diet every now and then in addition to your training

but he always goes to the games to cheer you on with the others since you always pull up to his

when it comes time to go back to the human world he promises to attend as many of your games as he can

and he does!! if he cant go it’s for a legitimate reason

even while you’re apart he’s still very encouraging and admires your skill and perseverance

Belphie

wonders how you have the energy to play such an intense game, especially since there’s really no strict time limit like taekwondo

but he does make an effort to understand how the game works so he can keep up with you when you talk about your practices or games

watches the demon-anime-equivalent of haikyuu with levi to understand it more

goes to your practices every now and then and will fall asleep sometimes, unless it’s a super intense practice game, then he’ll watch

he thinks you’re really fun to watch in action, and attends all your games

makes sure you’re always well rested and that you don’t overwork yourself no matter what

even when you go back to the human world he checks in on you when he knows you have games or long practice days

also he has 10/10 fallen asleep while snuggling a volleyball and thinking of you. so YAYAYAY congrats, MC, he associates you w/ volleyballs and thinks they’re comforting until he watches a game and sees you get hit hARD in the face

#LOLOLOL I LOVE HAIKYUU!!#so i lowkey got carried away sorry if it's kinda long #and sorry for any typos omg #obey me!#obey me! lucifer #obey me! mammon #obey me! leviathan #obey me! satan #obey me! asmodeus #obey me! beelzebub #obey me! belphegor #swd om #obey me headcanons #obey me! headcanons #obey me imagines

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bestworstcase · 3 years

Text

farran rereads lost lagoon: chapters 5-6

- mixed feelings about eugene’s first impressions of cassandra here. on the one hand, she did make a snide remark about him being a thief, which must sting when he’s already making an active attempt at self-improvement and attending classes in criminal justice. this isn’t tts eugene - who spends 6-7 months loafing around the palace basking in luxury until cass drags him for being self-absorbed and lazy. this eugene has a work ethic and seems to feel some actual responsibility regarding his new role as rapunzel’s consort. it’s not fair for cass to make a snap judgment about him based on his past and decide to be rude to him because of it.

on the other hand… he and rapunzel did just barge into her space against her will and her subsequent prickliness was reasonable, which eugene doesn’t seem to have any awareness of. and taking into consideration the likelihood that this cass is supposed to be about 17 while eugene is an established adult, that isn’t a fun vibe.

- sort of amused by the role reversal of eugene, in the licensed fanfic cassunzel s1 au, is the one who introduces rapunzel to the library. i guess the key to unlocking rapunzel’s romance option is to not show her the books. but also, why is eugene the one showing her around lol

- did he steal from the coronan palace so much that he just knows where everything is

- the dialogue in this chapter is… hm

“You can take these books back to your room if you want,” Eugene said.

“I can?” I said, staring at the stocked shelves around me.

“I think I’ll open a window,” Eugene said. “It’s a little musty in here.”

like what’s going on here? is this a dialogue bug introduced by spot editing that didn’t get patched before publishing? does eugene have adhd? is this a romance novel™ thing to demonstrate that while eugene and rapunzel talk to each other plenty they’re not on the same wavelength to such an extent that raps asks a question and eugene responds with a complete non-sequitur, which will be contrasted with how completely rapunzel and cass ‘click’ together later? hello?

- one point in favor of the romance novel™ theory is that immediately after this eugene conks out instead of sharing in rapunzel’s discovery and exploration of the library and it is implied he is having a fun flynn rider dream ie he’s lost in his own fantasies and oblivious to rapunzel’s. symbolism!

- anyhoo, this is when the plot device of the ‘lost lagoon’ book of poems turns up. i will say that, having spent the better part of my teen years working in an actual library, it beggars belief to say that a book got shoved behind other books in a popular section (sports) by mistake and got left that way for so long that dust blooms out of it when it’s finally cracked open again; likewise, anyone who attempted to intentionally hide the book this way is an idiot. my dude, you are in a palace riddled with secret passageways. maybe hide the secret book there?

like it’s not even well-hidden. rapunzel pulls out one (1) book from the sports section and immediately spots it. which also just feels dumb. like… there’s a million other ways this book could have been hidden. inside another book would have been more believable. rapunzel rips a bone-dry book of census records off the top shelf because she’s insatiably curious about corona’s people and surprise! it’s got this slim little book of poetry crammed inside it. like ??? i know it’s juv fic but make an effort

- coronans canonically speak english according to this i’m die

- rapunzel hides the book from arianna just… because, and i can’t help but feel this is another case of anxiety written by someone who doesn’t quite get it. she’s ‘just not ready’ to share this book of poems that means absolutely nothing to her yet except that she thought it sounded pretty.

but like. this girl grew up with gothel, who made a habit of belittling her interests, thoughts, feelings, and desires. everything rapunzel had she had because gothel deigned to give it to her, and anything she valued could have been snatched away just as easily. in the film it’s made clear that rapunzel hides pascal’s entire existence from gothel, and while the reason for this isn’t spelled out, it’s clear to me that she was afraid gothel might hurt or get rid of pascal should she learn of his existence. so, like. this is all a recipe for rapunzel having this general anxiety about things being taken for her and with this fear being linked to mother figures it makes sense that arianna would tend to trigger it especially. there is a perfectly obvious, understandable reason for rapunzel to be terrified of sharing anything she found by herself and sees value in or is excited about with her new mom, even if she knows rationally that arianna would never take it from her.

as it is, it really comes across more as an arbitrary plot device to keep the lagoon a cassunzel-only thing.

- there’s a lot of odd characterization decisions in this book but i think rapunzel being resistant and reluctant with regards to the idea of having a human companion is probably the weirdest. ??

- arianna feels like she’s characterized the way a lot of fanworks characterize her, i.e. the authorial mouthpiece who (in the case of cassunzel fic specifically) overtly ships cassunzel and does things to facilitate that relationship. don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to see her doing stuff at all, but… i dunno, i find this brand of arianna doing things just a little wearying. let her just be her own character.

- implication is that arianna and the captain agreed that cass would be rapunzel’s lady-in-waiting, arianna okays this with rapunzel and then tells rapunzel to announce it to cassandra at this public holiday feast. with no prior warning. wow. i think the kindest possible reading here is that the captain has been telling arianna that cass would be delighted and honored to receive this position and arianna assumes he’ll give cass a heads-up as a courtesy beforehand, but that paints the captain in a pretty bad light on account of him lying and essentially manipulating the queen in order to force his teenage daughter to accept this huge responsibility that she vocally does not want. in any case, absolutely nobody involved in this shitshow gives a damn what cass wants.

- lagoon comes in hard with the saporian!cass symbolism l o l. rapunzel reads a saporian poem out loud, not knowing what it means but loving the sounds, while daydreaming about becoming friends with cass.

- arianna seems to genuinely believe cass will be thrilled to have the lady-in-waiting gig sprung on her, which seems to lend credence to the theory that cap has been talking it up as something cass wants. or the intention here is to paint arianna as an out of touch noblewoman, but i don’t think that’s what howland was going for. i don’t know, it’s an odd conversation.

- eugene calls cassandra “sport” lmfao

- lagoon cass has never read a book in her life, apparently

- i don’t want to keep harping on this too much but it keeps leaping off the page at me; cass’s behavior throughout this dinner scene really just bleeds teenagerhood. eugene and rapunzel both make actual stabs at conversation by asking her about things they know she’s interested in, and cass brushes them off/stonewalls them. in tts, on the other hand, cass is actually pretty open to deep conversations with both rapunzel and eugene—it’s just that they never. ask her about herself. eugene goes 6-7 months before he asks cassandra a personal question in cassandra vs eugene, which if i remember right is the only time he asks her a personal question. rapunzel gets very invested very fast in becoming friends with cassandra, but she does it by strong-arming cass into being her partner in a contest, and when cass decides to open up to her it isn’t in response to rapunzel asking her things. the dynamic is totally different.

- actually now that i think about it - lagoon cass feels a lot like the cranky new dreamer version of cass (you know, the flavor of new dream fans who resent cass for ‘being mean’ to eugene, ‘being controlling’ of rapunzel, and ‘stealing’ eugene’s narrative spotlight). this cass is rude, she does come off as a bit spoiled and very bratty, she is nasty to eugene for no good reason, and while i do sympathize with her on the grounds of her evidently being a child i don’t find her to be especially likable or compelling as a character. if cass acted like this in tts i think the cranky new dreamer contingent of the fandom would have a much stronger leg to stand in - especially if she was still supposed to be 22.

like… this:

“So,” Eugene said, distracting me. “What’s it like to be the daughter of the captain of the guard? You obviously have a thing for weapons.”

“So,” I said.

“Have you been training since you were a little kid?” Eugene pressed on. “Do you have friends in the castle?”

“No,” I said. “Who needs friends?”

“Jeez!” Eugene muttered while Rapunzel whispered with the queen. “I don’t need just any icebreaker here, I need a pickax.”

I rolled my eyes.

this is way more interest in cass as a person than eugene shows in tts… like ever. at this point, eugene has met cass ONCE for a few MINUTES and he already knows more about her than he does in cassandra vs eugene, after six or seven months of frequent contact. yet cass scoffs and gives him monosyllabic answers and radiates way more hostility for way less reason than she displays even in tangled before ever after. i think eugene is totally justified in going, yeesh, what’s this kid’s deal?

- rapunzel goes straight from “i’d like you to be my lady-in-waiting” to “you’re my new lady-in-waiting!” without waiting for cass to answer. and i mean, at this point it is a done deal, queen’s orders and all, so i can’t hold this against rapunzel at all. but man, the adults involved in this decision sure aren’t concerned at all about making sure rapunzel learns how boundaries and consent works.

How was I going to train? How was I going to live the life I was born to live?

Fury heated my blood as I stared down the moon.

heh.

i wonder how much howland knew regarding the planned villain arc, because on the one hand lines like this are drenched in foreshadowing, and she’s done a much better job establishing cassandra’s belief in destiny than tts did. but on the other, had she known about the gothel twist, she would surely have known that cassandra is several years older than rapunzel, and that doesn’t square with how cass… acts.

this is half-remembered hearsay so take it with a grain of salt, but i seem to recall something about cass, in her original conception, being younger than rapunzel (and also aware of her parentage, and secretly villainous all along). could howland have been working from information given to her during the transitional stage between that proto-cass and tts cass? that would explain a lot.

- the last paragraph of 6 is the most effective passage in the book thus far:

This was a decision that had bars around it. I couldn’t protest without falling out of favor with the king and queen, and then there would be no way I’d ever be allowed in the guard. I couldn’t argue my way out of this with my father. A royal assignment was the final word. My fate had been sealed. I fell to my knees and stifled a scream.

#lost lagoon reread #rta #cassunzel

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southeastasianists · 3 years

Link

Over the last 2 years, the ABC’s news website has featured at least six stories focussing on cruelty to animals in Indonesia. The stories are accompanied by graphic images and a warning: ‘This story contains graphic images that some readers may find distressing’. The ABC has not paid equivalent attention to violence against animals in any other foreign country during this period. Indonesia seems to be the site of choice from which the ABC sources images of cruelty to animals. Furthermore, the experts and commentators encountered in this coverage are almost invariably Australians or Europeans, which gives audiences the incorrect impression that it is only Australians or Europeans who are protecting animals from cruelty in Indonesia.

Australians continue to know little and think poorly about Indonesia. This is a little puzzling, for there are many reasons to think these problems might have disappeared. For example, Australians love Bali, and for decades Australian governments have been introducing programs to make it easier for young Australians to study Indonesian language and to visit the country.

We have had ample opportunity to broaden public knowledge of Indonesia beyond beaches, terror and natural disasters, and to recognise the amazing array of civilisations and cultures that combine together under the flag of the Republic of Indonesia. Yet the Lowy Institute, which regularly polls Australians to establish their attitudes towards countries in our region, concluded this year that “Australians continue to demonstrate a lack of knowledge about, and trust in, our largest neighbour, Indonesia”.

Media representations clearly have much to do with these public attitudes. The ongoing broadcast of negative images about the country has probably dissuaded all but the most curious from wanting to know the realities of Indonesia. Australian media do not malevolently or ignorantly circulate negative images; they have moved beyond the attitudes that in the past underpinned media misrepresentations about Asia. Rather, the construction of negative impressions happens almost invisibly as a by-product of well-meaning coverage of problems with which we are legitimately concerned. The ABC’s reportage of violence towards animals illustrates how this happens.

The ABC’s journalists do not search for or create this content. It comes from advocacy groups independent of the ABC, or is sourced from Jakarta’s English language news media. Occasionally ABC journalists write as guests of advocacy groups, which invite journalists to participate in their media strategies. So, when the ABC journalist Anne Barker was hosted by the World Wildlife Federation at a nature reserve in Indonesia’s Riau province, she joined Richmond footballers who had also been brought there for the promotion (Sumatran Tigers on the Brink of Extinction, 3/12/19).

The WWF, ABC and the footballers are doing valuable work in drawing attention to animal populations at risk. But must Indonesia continually be the location from which images of cruelty are sourced? By relying on Indonesia as the source above other countries, and by circulating the associated images so liberally, the ABC is unwittingly constructing and affirming an unfair and inaccurate image of the country.

Animals Australia In recent years, the ABC has frequently obtained Indonesia-related material from Animals Australia. This organisation provides the ABC with content sourced by its staff and investigators, and the ABC circulates it. The synergy between the two organisations is understandable. Animals Australia plays an important role in drawing attention to cases of cruelty to animals. The ABC recognises correctly that most Australians accept this issue as one that concerns the national interest.

In some stories, the relevance to Australian government policy is direct: Animals Australia has done valuable work in advocating compliance with the Exporter Supply Chain Assurance System (ESCAS), a code governing the conduct of animal export established by the Department of Agriculture, Water and the Environment.

Yet there are dimensions to this collaboration that we ought to question. For one thing, there are never any stories in which visual images are not central. These images encourage readers to click into the content, but they keep a triangle of re-occurring elements before the attention of ABC readers: graphic depictions of cruelty to animals, judgements such as “inhumane” that scream from the headlines and warnings, and thirdly, the fiction that Indonesia is the prime site for the occurrence of such cruelty.

One can understand why the Animals Australia website would make use of such shocking imagery. Animals Australia is an activist group advocating for its ideological position, and the group should not be expected to give much consideration to the geographical source of its images. The images enable it to convey its messages effectively, and are important for its fundraising efforts. The first image welcoming visitors to its website is an image of a lamb with pleading gaze. The ‘Donate Now’ button sits centimetres from the lamb’s eyes. The cute images sit beside horrifying images of violence towards animals – many of them recorded by the group’s activists during visits to Indonesia. The donate button sits close to these images also.

But must the ABC cooperate so actively in the circulation of images provided by Animals Australia? The ongoing coverage is creating an unfair and untrue impression of Indonesia for Australians. This impression could be righted with recognition of two other strands of the story.

The true story behind animal cruelty First, Indonesia is not as different from Australia as these images suggest. In fact, Indonesia has an enthusiastic and well-supported animal rights lobby.

Indonesian volunteers rally around the programs of Profauna, for example, a not-for-profit established in East Java in 1994 to protect animals from illegal trading and habitat destruction caused by logging. Animal welfare organisations and clubs gather increasing numbers of like-minded people to raise awareness and activism. Popular celebrities such as Davina Veronica and Nadya Hutagulung leverage their profiles in order to publicly advocate on behalf of animals, just as Brigitte Bardot and Leonardo DiCaprio do in Europe and the USA. Were Davina and Nadya made the subject and agents of ABC reporting, fairer and more representative images of a humane Indonesia would appear before Australian readers and viewers.

The second point is not about similarity, but difference. In understanding why standards of animal treatment in Indonesia often fall below those in Australia, it is helpful to understand how progressive causes of this kind catch on widely. They rely upon populations being drawn into shared conversations in which progressive positions are advocated and justified. This has not happened in Indonesia in the way it has here.

Indonesia has had to build its educational, economic and public health systems almost from scratch since it became independent in 1945, and has laboured to create for its population the prosperity taken for granted in Australia. Educational standards have not developed in accordance with the hopes of policy makers and citizens. Large segments of the Indonesian population lack access to basic information concerning health and sanitation, let alone emerging causes such as animal rights and environmental issues.

On the UNDP Human Development Index Australia is ranked sixth, while Indonesia is ranked 111th. Indonesian young people attend school for a mean of 8 years, while the mean for Australia is 12.7. These rankings reveal the difficulties the Indonesian government faces in empowering its population, and also explain the slower uptake of progressive causes.

Against this background, the ABC’s reliance upon Indonesia for images of cruelty is unfair to our northern neighbour. It is also unfair to Australians, for it compounds Australians’ ignorance of the history and contemporary conditions of life in the country. The coverage continues the unfairness post-colonial nations like Indonesia have had to encounter in building national systems from a position of massive disadvantage in comparison to prosperous settler nations like Australia. And it dissuades Australians from wanting to know more about Indonesia.

Changing the story Is anyone to blame here? Not really. Animals Australia is doing what its mission requires it to do – draw cruelty to animals to the attention of Australians and to raise money to enable it to do this. The ABC knows the material will find approval from Australian viewers. Furthermore, it helps the ABC play a valuable public role in calling industries to account for their treatment of animals.

Yet this situation ought to be changed out of fairness to our Indonesian neighbours and for the benefit of young Australians needing a better knowledge of their region. Such changes will not be difficult: images of animal cruelty sourced from Indonesia should be reduced in ABC news coverage and replaced by images from other locations. This will not hurt the pro-animals cause at all.

And second, the ABC should establish a new relationship with an Indonesian partner, enabling Australians to learn that this humane cause is shared – not opposed – by our close neighbours. Animal cruelty is not an Indonesian specialisation, but is present everywhere, and Australians will benefit from gaining awareness of the similarities and differences to be encountered in the true story of animal welfare in Indonesia.

Julian Millie ([email protected]) is Professor of Indonesian Studies in the Faculty of Arts at Monash University

#Southeast Asia #Indonesia #Animals #animal cruelty cw

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

Limitless- Chapter One

M/F Main Pairing: Y/N x Johnny Seo (M/F side pairing: Y/N x Jaehyun)

Genre: Fantasy AU, Harry Potter AU

Word Count: 7K

Warnings: Language

Summary: Y/N is a very skilled witch and, despite her fascination with the Dark Arts, reluctantly agrees to transfer schools from the notorious Durmstrang to Hogwarts for her younger step-brother’s first year. Upon her arrival, she is stunned when the sorting hat chooses Hufflepuff despite her family’s dark history. Undeterred, Y/N is determined to tolerate her fellow classmates and focus solely on her studies, her aspiration to one day become an Auror. Everything seems to be going according to plan until Y/N meets Johnny Seo, a crafty Slytherin boy who seems intent on capturing her icy heart.

Chapter One

“And now, Harry, let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure”- Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

There are very few things in this world that truly test my patience. For example, I hate the wealthy aristocrats who surround my father on a daily basis, whispering seductive promises of which they have no intention of keeping. Instead, they feigned interest in my father when, in actuality, it was his valuable alchemy skills they truly desired. In other words, I don't like it when those people pretend to be superior to another because of their status, taking advantage of their position to exercise greedy aspirations. Because it demonstrates just how manipulative they really are, lacking anything remotely genuine in their so-called “friendships” with my family. Ironically, those feelings have also impacted the relationship I share with my father, generating an unsteady hatred while he entertained their advances, even with a complete understanding of such fabricated facades.

Fortunately, in opposition to those things I despised, my step-brother wasn’t one of them. When my father decided to remarry, my initial resolution was to scorn whichever unlucky woman he was bringing into our lives, especially considering his previous toxic relationship with my real mother. Of course, I could’ve never predicted that my new step-mother would turn out to be so likable, introducing me to her quiet son, Jisung, who immediately clung to me like we had known each other for our entire lives.

Ultimately, I decided Park Jisung was a fair justification for the heavily-debated decision to exchange schools in the middle of my education. My father remained opposed since he wanted me to finish my schooling at Durmstrang, his alma-mater and a strict institution that produced some of the brightest minds in the wizarding community. It was also a school that touted its impressive Auror program, a field of interest that I wished to pursue upon graduation.

However, in light of my step-mother’s convincing argument, I decided that I would attend Hogwarts with Jisung. The argument in question, of course, heavily involves my personal history and it was simply unforgivable that Jisung might face any sort of prejudice for something beyond his control. Sadly, my younger step-brother was notoriously shy and withdrawn, and my step-mother was afraid he would be unable to protect himself. This I could not allow because, despite my initial reservations for my father’s remarriage, I had grown to care for Jisung and the thought of anyone speaking out of term enraged the fighting spirit laying dormant just beneath my veins.

“You’re very loyal, Y/N,” my step-mother said upon learning of my transfer. “Jisung is lucky to have you as a sister.”

“No, he isn’t,” I replied bitterly, especially since the blame for any misgivings rested solely on my conscience.

In any case, the exchange was finalized and I felt like a first-year myself as I walked next to my brother through Diagon Alley, searching for the supplies he required. Jisung was a brilliant child, despite his introverted nature, and he was positively squealing with excitement as we galvanized the quaint shops lining the busy streets with eager patrons. “I need an owl,” Jisung said, cheeks bright red in response to the unexpectedly frigid wind.

“You don’t want to get your wand first?”

“My wand!” Jisung repeated with a gasp. “We have to go to Ollivander’s.”

I rolled my eyes affectionately once Jisung secured a rather strong grip on my sleeve, pulling me along hastily despite his mother’s warning to keep ourselves from garnering too much attention. Of course, Jisung’s spirits were much too high to allow such a warning to dampen the rapid trot to his steps, practically skipping down the sidewalk with youthful glee.

Ollivander’s wasn’t as busy as I had initially anticipated for which I allowed a sigh of relief as my step-brother gaped at the impressive display of wands eagerly awaiting their new master. “Welcome,” a kind voice greeted our arrival. I could only assume he worked at the shop ever since it’s initial host fell victim to the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War.

“Hello,” I responded, aware that Jisung had taken to ducking behind the proximity of my robes as he peered anxiously at the shop owner. “My brother is starting his first year at Hogwarts.”

“How exciting,” the owner nodded, holding out his hand to beckon my younger brother forward. “Come here, young man.”

I gave Jisung a small push to usher him in the right direction, amused as he stumbled to the counter. “Hi,” he said in a tone bordering a whisper. Thankfully, the shop owner could hear him, offering a wide smile as he appraised my step-brother.

“What’s your name?”

“Park Jisung.”

“A familiar name,” the owner responded. “Your father worked for the ministry.”

“He did,” Jisung said, shuffling his hands together at the mention of his father.

The owner was sympathetic, clicking his tongue as he scoured the wall behind him, selecting a singular box from amongst the others. “I have something for you, Mr. Park.”

My step-brother immediately gasped, remembrances of his birth father forgotten in exchange for accepting the girthy wand from the show owner. Jisung held it firmly in one hand, eyes searching the length of the instrument through which most young wizards and witches learned to control their magic. “Try it out,” I suggested from behind him, watching carefully as Jisung waved the wand in his hand. Disappointingly, several of the boxes on the adjoining shelf were dismissed from their neat and organized stacks, falling into the floor like an avalanche in response to the wand’s opposition.

Jisung cleared his throat and returned the wand to the counter. “I’m not sure it likes me.”

The shop owner chuckled with gentle mirth, obviously having encountered several incidents with other young students. “It’s alright, Mr. Park, wands can be very temperamental when it comes to choosing the right master.” His gaze landed on me with a considerate glance. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“What sort of wand chose you?”

I swallowed hard as I pulled it from the inside of my coat. “The core is Dragon Heartstring.”

“Ah,” the shop owner acknowledged. “A very powerful core indeed. Definitely meant for someone with ambition.”

I dare not surmise the implications behind the grave look in his eyes as he turned back to the shelves, fingers tracing the numbers with precision. “Should I try something similar to Y/N’s?” Jisung asked.

“Not necessarily,” the shop owner explained, reaching for a box from the top shelf. “The wand often takes into account the personality of its chosen master. Dragon Heartstring is a core reserved for some of the most skilled witches and wizards I have ever known. Furthermore, given your...temperament....”

The box was placed in front of Jisung on the counter. “Perhaps we should try this?”

Jisung nodded, removing the lid before wrapping his slender fingers around the wand’s dark handle. He handled it with great care, waving it through the air with studious attention. I held my breath, digging my fingers into the fleece of my jacket as I observed the previously displaced wand boxes returning to their rightful places along the shelves.

“Brilliant!” the shop owner declared. “The wand has chosen you, my young friend. I hope you can perform great magic with its profound loyalty.”

Jisung smiled, turning around to beckon me forward enthusiastically. I couldn’t resist his call, moving to the counter while the shop owner processed Jisung’s new wand. “Unicorn hair,” he explained. “Mr. Ollivander himself said this core produced some of the most consistent magic he had ever seen. Additionally, it makes for a very faithful wand, extremely loyal to its chosen master.”

Jisung seemed proud of this revelation, taking the package from the shop owner while I procured the appropriate payment. “Thank you, sir,” I said, allowing Jisung to wave back at the shop owner before we returned to the streets.

“Well,” I sighed. “I suppose we should find your owl.”

Jisung nodded happily, swinging the parcel containing his new wand back and forth while he chattered excitedly about all of the interesting spells he had read about in his mother’s book. I nodded vacantly, hoping to appease his desire for conversation while navigating the complicated alleys to avoid as many people as possible. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the glares thrown in our direction meant that everyone was aware of which family we came from.

“What do you think?” I finally interrupted Jisung when we approached the owlery.

Jisung slammed his hands against the glass, startling one of the owls which turned its head to appraise the overzealous boy. “Jisung,” I scolded, but he was far too busy attempting communication with the snowy white bird watching him in turn.

“Isn’t he marvelous?” Jisung asked. “There’s so many inside! How can I pick just one?”

I opened my mouth to suggest that Jisung make a decision soon, but found myself thoroughly taken aback by the unexpected interruption of a distinctly proud passerby who apparently decided that his input should also matter. “The one in the window likes you,” the younger boy commented. “I just came from inside! Apparently, the store received a new shipment from the mountains. They got some really fast ones in the back!”

Jisung was just as startled as I was, glancing back at the newcomer with wide, uncertain eyes. “Chenle!”

“Jaehyun,” the boy pouted, crossing his arms at the appearance of his friend who was very clearly out of breath as if previously given chase to our disturbance.

“I’m sorry,” he said, clearing his throat as he fixed his younger friend with a stern glare. “What did I say about running off?”

Chenle didn’t seem concerned, shrugging vacantly in response. “I wanted to stay outside and look around.”

“He wasn’t a problem,” I interrupted, watching their exchange as I pulled Jisung closer to my side.

“Still, I should apologize since he surprised you...I’m Jaehyun by the way,” he offered with a smile. I reluctantly shook his hand, aware of his younger friend watching Jisung with unhindered curiosity.

“Y/N,” I offered in return. “This is my step-brother, Jisung.”

I reached behind me for the collar of Jisung’s sweater, pulling him into the narrow space between myself and Jaehyun in spite of his opposition. “Hello,” Jaehyun said, looking down at my brother. “You must be starting your first year.”

Jisung nodded while Jaehyun chuckled, acknowledging his friend with a fond expression. “This is my cousin, Chenle. He’s also starting his first year.”

“Really?” Jisung asked, glancing up at me as if looking for direction.

I grinned. “Jisung and I have been shopping all day for his supplies.”

“Chenle woke me up early,” Jaehyun chuckled. “He’s been too excited for me to handle. I can barely keep up with him.”

Chenle seemed to take offense to Jaehyun’s measure of him, huffing out a complaint. “You kept putting it off! We start school this weekend!”

Jaehyun rolled his eyes playfully, running a hand through his hair. “My aunt asked me to keep an eye on him when we return to the castle. Speaking of which...” Jaehyun trailed off as he squinted his eyes, confusion evident in their depths. “I feel like I would’ve noticed you before.”

“I transferred,” I replied vaguely, reaching out for Jisung’s hand. “I’m starting Hogwarts in my fifth year.”

“What a coincidence,” Jaehyun said. “It’s my fifth year as well.”

I realized at that moment that Jaehyun was completely genuine. Whether or not that implied favorable circumstances remained unclear because he must be completely ignorant of my situation, which was still an unexpected sigh of relief. Regardless, the sun was starting to set and Jisung still needed more supplies. “It was nice to meet you,” I said. “Jisung and I have more shopping to do.”

Jaehyun nodded, slightly disappointed as he took a step back. “Maybe we’ll see both of you at school?”

“That would be cool,” Jisung spoke up and I was proud of my step-brother’s confidence.

As we both turned away, Jisung tugged on my sleeve to encourage me to lean down to overhear his comment. “They were nice!” Jisung said, eyes wide with the weight of his enthusiasm.

I agreed quietly, glancing back at Jaehyun and Chenle before leading Jisung in the opposite direction.

By the time we were set to depart from Hogwarts, I had more or less forgotten about our encounter with Jaehyun and Chenle. After all, Jisung and I had bigger things to worry about, especially considering that we were both new to London’s complicated system of transportation.

“Platform 9 and 3/4,” I mumbled, searching the crowded station while trying to keep Jisung within sight. My poor step-brother was obviously nervous, head barely peeking over the trolley he pushed full of his belongings. I’m sure the sight of my step-brother with his snowy white owl perched on top of his suitcase made for an interesting display.

Unlike my previous returns to Durmstrang, Hogwarts was proving to be far more complicated. “There’s a lot of Muggles,” Jisung remarked.

“I know,” I agreed because the Muggles were making everything harder, especially when an attendant stopped to investigate the two siblings wandering aimlessly in search of their destination.

My step-mother had painted everything in such a grandiose fashion, and even I believed everything she was describing to me and Jisung on our final night at home. “The station is huge,” she said. “But it’s very beautiful, and you’ll probably meet a lot of other wizards who can help you.”

Her advice rang hollow now as I passed between platforms 9 and 10 with another tired sigh. “Maybe we should call your mother,” I said, glancing at my wristwatch to ensure we weren’t late.

“Y/N,” Jisung suddenly exclaimed, attracting the attention of a disdainful elderly couple. “Look! It’s Jaehyun and Chenle. We met them the other day shopping, remember?”

Of course, I remembered when I had to think about it with perfect clarity, but that didn’t mean I was quite as eager as Jisung when our new classmates spotted us from across the platform. I offered a half-hearted wave in response, forcing myself to straighten my posture when Jaehyun and Chenle stopped to extend a polite greeting. While my step-brother welcomed Chenle enthusiastically, I was far more cautious when Jaehyun extended pleasantries which I hesitantly returned. “Ah, it’s you,” I grumbled, aware that Jisung and Chenle had become complete professionals as they exchanged a silly handshake before giggling like schoolboys.

“I can show you,” Jaehyun whispered, pulling my attention away from my step-brother. “It can be tricky during your first time.”

I tried not to feel embarrassed when I realized Jaehyun must’ve noticed our predicament with the confusing platforms. But I wasn’t too prideful to deny his help, reaching for Jisung’s shoulder. “We’ve been trying for almost an hour.”

“That’s okay,” Jaehyun said reassuringly. “Watch me first, and I’ll wait for everyone on the other side.”

I stood aside to watch Jaehyun as he instructed. He offered Chenle a reassuring smile before jogging ahead, ignoring the surrounding attendants as he charged at the solid mass of wall defining platform 9. I wasn’t afraid for him since I knew well that Jaehyun was hardly the type to charge at things that weren’t obviously hexed by magic. Still, it was interesting to watch him disappear, leaving me alone with Chenle and Jisung. “Go ahead,” I encouraged Jaehyun’s cousin, sending him off before allowing myself and Jisung one last moment of peace. “Everything will be fine,” I reassured him. “Remember, I’m here to make sure that nothing bad happens.”

Jisung nodded, standing on the tips of his toes to allow enough leverage to minimize our height discrepancy. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said.

I nodded, stroking my fingers through his hair before pulling back. “You go through first and wait for me on the other side.”

“Okay,” Jisung said, taking a deep breath before rushing at the platform wall, appearing almost comical considering his appearance. I waited until Jisung was gone before finally adjusting my belongings and taking off in his footsteps, closing my eyes before hitting the wall. Except, there was no impact like the surrounding Muggles would think, and I opened my eyes again when I heard the sound of a train whistle.

The Hogwarts Express was waiting on the tracks, painted with a beautiful pattern of reds and golds. The enormous locomotive was rightfully imposing, looming over the mass of students hurrying to load their belongings. It was strangely exciting, and I surmised that the thought of a new adventure forced a surge of adrenaline through my body.

“Better hurry,” Jaehyun said, nodding in my direction to encourage me and Jisung to follow him. “You can sit with us.”

It seemed like an agreeable arrangement, and the four of us located an empty compartment further down the long expanse of the train. “Here we go,” Chenle said, lending a spare hand to help Jisung load his belongings onto the train.

“May I?” Jaehyun asked softly, waiting for my permission before grabbing my heaviest suitcase and lifting it onboard with relative ease. I surmised that he must be an athlete, perhaps even a Quidditch player since the sport was extremely popular at Hogwarts.

Eventually, I joined Jisung and Chenle in the compartment we claimed for ourselves, smirking when I realized that Jisung was sitting next to Chenle to admire his vast collection of chocolate frog cards. “He’s very proud of them,” Jaehyun explained as he occupied the final seat next to me.

“Jaehyun,” Chenle whined. “You’ll order us some more when the trolley comes, right?”

“Only if you’re willing to share,” Jaehyun said, nodding at Jisung who seemed surprised by Jaehyun’s gracious offer. He glanced at me for instruction and I merely offered him a curt nod.

“Of course!” Chenle agreed. “Jisung needs to start his own collection so we can trade.”

I could feel the train start to move beneath our feet and Jisung joined Chenle at the window to admire the moving scenery outside. “It’s a bit different from what you’re used to?”

I looked at Jaehyun, realizing his question was meant for me. “Oh, well I traveled much differently to attend my previous school.”

“Where did you go?”

“Durmstrang.”

“Oh!” Jaehyun acknowledged. “They have an excellent Quidditch team.”

“Viktor Krum,” I said, offering my faint knowledge of the sport, but it seemed to delight Jaehyun who was quite excited to talk about one of his favorite Seekers.

“That’s my position,” he finally said. “I was elected as Captain this year.”

“For your house?”

“Gryffindor,” he nodded. “We have a lot of good players.”

“Jaehyun’s modest,” Chenle suddenly inserted. “He’s a better seeker than Harry Potter himself!”

“Chenle,” Jaehyun chided his cousin softly before glancing at me sheepishly, but he quickly regained his bearings. “I think I heard the trolley outside.”

Chenle shot up immediately, reaching for Jisung’s hand to pull my curious step-brother out into the hallway. “I’m not that good,” Jaehyun continued with a faint blush.

I smiled at him. “Your cousin obviously looks up to you. His enthusiasm can’t be faulted.”

“He’s a little rambunctious,” Jaehyun admitted. “Hopefully, the school will help tame his excess energy.”

“It’s charming,” I said. “I wish Jisung was more like him.”

There was a few moments of silence between the two of us before Jaehyun spoke again, almost out of necessity to relieve the quiet overtaking out compartment.

“You’re both perfect,” Jaehyun said without thinking, only realizing his mistake a moment later when he quickly scrambled to rectify his wording. “Oh, but I only mean that you both have a lot of potential...well, I guess you’re obviously very smart coming from Durmstrang...”

“Don’t worry,” I interrupted, saving him from further embarrassment. “I understand what you mean.”

Jaehyun sighed in relief, looking at me with an impenetrable gaze. He opened his mouth to speak again when a sudden scuffle from outside interrupted our conversation. I frowned when the compartment door opened and I realized that Chenle and Jisung were standing in front of a taller student whose smug smile was nothing short of condescending. “I thought these might belong to you, Jung.”

Jaehyun was on his feet in an instant, reaching for Chenle and Jisung to push them safely in our compartment. “What do you think you’re doing, Seo?”

I bristled at the familiar name, connecting the origin to the same family whose descendants once served the Dark Lord himself. “I’m a Prefect this year, Jung,” he replied. “It’s my job to watch out for little troublemakers.”

“You’ll do best to stay away from my brother,” I said, sharpening my tone as much as possible. I had decided to join Jaehyun, crowding the doorway as I observed the student who dared to insinuate Jisung’s guilt. “I know very well about your family, so I suggest you keep away from mine.”

The student was visibly surprised, eyeing me up and down with blatant curiosity. “Who the fuck are you?”

“An enemy if you’re not careful,” I said.

“Johnny!” a new voice hissed, belonging to one of the other two students flanking the object of my glare. He leaned up to whisper something in Johnny’s ear and I absolutely despised the sardonic smile that brightened Johnny’s countenance.

“Interesting,” Johnny said, looking between me and Jaehyun before laughing. “I don’t have time for any friends of Gryffindor,” Johnny said, and I closed the door separating us with a warning look.

Chenle and Jisung were visibly frazzled when Jaehyun and I sat back down across from them. “Don’t worry, Sungie,” I said sweetly to my step-brother, reaching for one of the chocolate frog packs he had procured. “What card did you get?”

Jisung allowed a hesitant smile, tearing into the package at my request. “I got Dumbledore!”

“Really?” Chenle gasped, glancing over Jisung’s shoulder.

I leaned back in my seat to allow the two boys space for their game, meeting Jaehyun’s gaze steadily. “I suppose you aren’t friendly with him?”

“No, and it’s best to just ignore Johnny,” Jaehyun said with barely restrained hostility. “He has a big head because he was chosen to be a Slytherin Prefect this year. He’s also their new Quidditch captain, so we’ve always had a rivalry.”

“He’s in Slytherin?” I shivered. “I’m not surprised considering his name.”

“His friends are intolerable too,” Jaehyun said. “Yuta and Ten basically do whatever Johnny asks them.”

“The perfect lackeys,” I sighed. “I guess he had ulterior motives for messing with Chenle and Jisung.”

“He knows Chenle,” Jaehyun said. “It’s just his way of getting to me.”

“Don’t let him,” I insisted sternly. “He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.”

Jaehyun surprised me by laughing. “You know, you’ll probably be sorted into a new House like everyone else. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were a Gryffindor, a natural rival of Slytherin.”

I glanced out the window, unable to find the courage to reveal a heavy truth to Jaehyun, especially considering our tentative partnership. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“I’m going to change into my robes,” Jaehyun said. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” I said, turning my attention instead to Chenle and Jisung’s fierce debate over their precious cards, admiring the innocence in their youthful countenances.

In any case, Jaehyun was right about the necessity of sorting me into a House. Upon our arrival, the new students were immediately grouped away from those simply returning for a new academic year. Jaehyun reluctantly left the three of us behind, offering to watch out for me in the Great Hall.

I sent him away with a wave before leading Jisung and Chenle to the curious congregation of new students. However, considering my circumstances, I wasn’t surprised when an unfamiliar professor approached me from the front of the group. “Our new transfer?” the woman inquired. I nodded in response. “Miss. Y/L/N, my name is Professor Kim, and I must insist that you follow me. The sorting hat ceremony in the Great Hall is exclusively reserved for first years.”

I sighed because I was reluctant to part from Jisung. My step-brother had unconsciously gripped tighter to the bottom of my shirt, sharing my sentiments. “Don’t worry,” Chenle said, tossing an arm around my step-brother’s shoulders. “I’ll watch out for him.”

It was a nice gesture, and Jisung seemed to relax when he realized that he would conquer the unfamiliar with a potential friend. “Thank you,” I finally whispered.

In the meantime, Professor Kim bowed her head respectfully before guiding me away from my brother and his fellow first years. I kept glancing over my shoulder, continuing to watch him until it was impossible to do so any longer. Now, I was alone with Professor Kim and we walked across the grounds with practiced steps. “We’ll take a carriage,” she said.

“Okay,” I replied, studying the Hogwarts castle from across the lake. It was quite impressive, reminding me faintly of the castle at Durmstrang. Even from my considerable distance, the light of the candles and lanterns provided a spectacle of illumination courtesy of the magic we all practiced.

“This must be ours!” Professor Kim announced, climbing up the stairs into the random carriage nestled at the shore of the lake.

I paused in my footsteps, realizing with horror what was pulling the carriage that had been provided as transportation. There wasn’t a large population of Thestrals on Durmstrang’s grounds, so I never had to worry about encountering the beast before. But this one was clearly meant to guide our remaining trek to Hogwarts, and I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the Thestral. “Miss. Y/L/N,” Professor Kim said, finally grabbing my attention.

“Sorry,” I said, hesitantly shuffling up the stairs to join her.

“You can see them,” she stated plainly and I stiffened my shoulders, expecting her to ask the dreaded question which I hated more than anything. “I can see them too,” she said, offering me an empathetic smile.

My relief was audible, thin wisps against the cool air of the night.

“I won’t say that I’m familiar with the inner workings of Durmstrang,” Professor Zhang, one of the senior professors proclaimed. “However, at Hogwarts, we sort our new students into one of the four founding Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.”

I tensed at the mention of Slytherin, gazing at the sorting hat waiting on a stool in the corner. “I understand,” I said.

“Good,” Professor Zhang enthused. “Have a seat, Miss Y/L/N, and we can establish your House.”

I reluctantly obeyed, flinching when the hat was placed atop my head. The voice was loud, thoughtfully considerate as I waited in profound expectation. “Yes, yes, great power indeed,” it said. “There’s ambition, oh yes, lots of ambition. Fitting of a Slytherin? Like your mother.”

I gritted my teeth, shaking my head subtly. “I’m not like my mother.”

“Of course not,” the hat agreed. “Because I see something bright inside of you, quite different from when I was first acquainted with your mother. A capacity for profound loyalty!”

An image of my mother raced through my head, a vision of her brilliant green eyes watching me from her stand in the Wizengamot court awaiting the summons of the surrounding witches and wizards. A sea of purple robes and hostile glares that did not hesitate to include me as a recipient because I must be like my mother. Capable of great evil, to cast unforgivable curses and spells that would leave a path of death and destruction in my wake.

“Hufflepuff!” the sorting hat declared, jostling me from that horrible memory.

I was relieved, almost reverent when the sorting hat was taken from my head. Because this proved those judgments of me incorrect, a small child who was unlucky to have such a mother who set her up for failure from the beginning. But I was not to adhere to those expectations, and every decision I made has always been to spite my mother to the best of my ability.

“Very well,” Professor Zhang said. “Somebody fetch Mr. Qian from the Great Hall. I trust that he can integrate our newest student into her House.”

“In the meantime,” Professor Kim re-emerged, making her presence known amongst the other instructors. “We’ve considered your coursework from Durmstrang, Y/N. As such, we take into consideration the courses you requested, measuring them according to your chosen career path.”

She reached into her robes, retrieving a folded sheet of parchment with a tight seal. “Our Professors worked in concert with your former instructors at Durmstrang to arrange a schedule to suit your accommodations. As Head of Hufflepuff House, you can always approach me with questions should they arise after some consideration of your new situation.”

I accepted the extended parchment. “Thank you.”

“A very admirable choice,” she said. “I know the program at Durmstrang is quite strenuous, much like our own. However, your marks were very impressive in the required courses. Perhaps you’re destined yet for the path of an Auror.”

“I’ve never changed my mind,” I told her with determination.

Professor Kim smiled. “I think, Y/N, that I’m starting to understand the sorting hat’s decision.”

The discussion ended with her statement, summoning a strange sense of belonging that I had never experienced before. Nevertheless, I was grateful that she hadn’t inquired further into a potential explanation concerning the origins of my aspirations. Because the reason I was pursuing such a tricky career was a matter that went beyond simple ambition, as the sorting hat suggested, or a desire to encounter danger.

“Mr. Qian! Prompt as usual.”

“Of course, Professor Kim.”

I studied the unfamiliar face waiting expectantly in the doorway. Surprisingly, he had yet to glance in my direction. “Y/N, this is Kun,” Professor Kim finally introduced, sweeping an elegant hand. “He’s a Hufflepuff Prefect”

Kun smiled at me. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

I nodded in return, admiring the gentle color of Kun’s eyes. “Likewise.”

“The Sorting Ceremony is starting soon,” Professor Kim said. “We’ll have to bring down the sorting hat for the first years.”

“Mr. Qian can bring you to the Great Hall,” Professor Zhang said. “He’s one of our brightest students. I trust he can leave a good impression.”

Even so, Kun was mostly quiet during our walk together to the Great Hall. He stood tall, nothing short of serious as he took his job as my escort with the utmost responsibility. The Prefect gave off the impression that he was very meticulous, and I easily surmised that he must be an older student, perhaps even in his final year.

Still, his quiet presence wasn’t enough to distract me from the fact that everyone chose to look in our direction when Kun brought me to the Great Hall. It was obvious that they were confused, wondering why Kun had disappeared only to return with a new student. Although, when they would inevitably learn my name, I was slightly afraid those innocent expressions of curiosity might turn into something much more hostile. “Relax,” Kun whispered to appease my anxiety. I sat down next to him on a long bench tucked against one of the four enormous tables, grateful that he didn’t seem burdened by my presence. “I’ll introduce you later,” Kun said.

I quietly agreed, flinching when the doors to the Great Hall reopened, inviting the first years to join the extravagant celebration. I searched the sea of excited faces, finally locating Jisung near the back of the crowd with Chenle faithfully by his side as promised. It was enough to relieve some of my tension, smiling when Jisung met my gaze, raising his hand in greeting. “Good luck,” I mouthed to my step-brother.

Jisung didn’t need luck, anyway, because he was a good kid with a kind heart and gentle soul. He would be sorted accordingly, but I still crossed my fingers that he would be able to join me at the Hufflepuff table. “Good evening, students,” a boisterous greeting rang through the quiet Hall. The voice belonged to an older gentleman, clearly designated as the Headmaster, who was appraising the squirming group of first years waiting to be sorted. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts.”

Applause greeted his words and I clapped along with everyone else. “I must extend a very special welcome to our new students. In just a short moment, you will be sorted into the House that will define your seven subsequent years attending classes at the very best magical institution in the world.”

I resisted a scoff at his words. Until I knew for myself whether or not his claim was true, my loyalty to Durmstrang was quite powerful. “Now, Professor Kai will lead the sorting ceremony.”

“Students,” a surprisingly youthful instructor began, unraveling the scroll in his hands. “When I call your name, you will come forward and I shall place the sorting hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses.”

The first student summoned had visibly blanched as he approached Professor Kai. Meanwhile, I tried to relax because I knew it would take a while to sort everyone before Jisung’s name was called. Instead, I studied the room around me, watching the other students cheer whenever someone was sorted into their House. Kun was especially loud, cheering with a high-pitched whistle which left me wondering if the Prefects were expected to be over-enthusiastic.

Yet, that sentiment didn’t exactly ring true when I found my gaze ensnared with Johnny Seo’s. He smirked in my direction, cool, dark eyes unabashedly taking me in with heavy doses. It was disconcerting, the intensity I detected in the depths of those eyes.

I pulled my gaze away, glancing over my shoulder when another student was sorted into Gryffindor. I quickly located Jaehyun who was warmly greeting his newest classmate. After a moment or two, he seemed to realize that I was looking at him, sending me a comforting smile that eased my nerves when Jisung’s name was abruptly announced.

I waited in expectation as Jisung approached Professor Kai. The sorting hat was placed on his head and only a brief moment passed before the voice loudly declared: “Gryffindor!”

Disappointment sat heavily on my chest as I watched my step-brother take trepid steps in the direction of the Gryffindor table. His eyes met mine worriedly from the distance separating us, but I only offered him a reassuring smile that seemed to placate him.

After the sorting concluded, the Headmaster reapproached the stand overlooking the crowded tables. “Let the feast begin.”

I wasn’t surprised by the display of magic that summoned immense quantities of food across the wide expanse of the table. It was very similar to Durmstrang. However, the table manners of the students who reached into the food with greedy fingers made me wince before I came to the realization that Hogwarts was much less strict than my former institution.

“Y/N,” Kun said from my side. I glanced up at him but realized he was looking across the table at two younger students. “I promised introductions.”

“Sure,” I nodded, examining the interesting characters studying me with equal interest.

“This is Lucas,” Kun said, nodding to the bigger boy who wore a boxy grin. “And Jaemin.”

I appraised the sight of Jaemin’s bright pink hair before meeting his knowing gaze. “I’m Y/N.”

“Fascinating,” Jaemin said, leaning in closer. “Where did you transfer from?”

“Durmstrang,” I said, an answer that obviously impressed both Jaemin and Lucas as they gasped in synchronization.

“What’s it like there?”

“Uh, well, we don’t exactly do this,” I said, gesturing between the tables. “There’s no sorting. We all exist under the same coat of arms, so we wear identical uniforms.”

“No Houses!” Lucas gasped. “How do you keep track of everyone?”

“What about competitions?”

I blinked at both boys while Kun chuckled. “Do you really want to overwhelm her with questions?”

“What’s the problem?” Jaemin asked. “Consider this a warm welcome, Y/N.”

It felt more like a cold interrogation, but I didn’t voice my opinions aloud. “It’s okay,” I said, choosing the amicable approach since I was expected to assimilate myself. “We don’t require Houses because our population is much smaller. Competitions are still viable, we have clubs that compete, especially when it comes to Quidditch.”

“Do you play?” Jaemin asked. “I’m trying out this year. I think I’d make a good Keeper.”

“No,” I replied. “One of my friends at Durmstrang played. He was a fairly good Seeker.”

“The best position,” Lucas said, glancing down the table at a girl with fiery red hair. “My friend is our Seeker.”

“Our House will be the best this year,” Jaemin assured me. “The House cup is as good as ours.”

“You won’t be saying that when I knock you flat on your ass, Jaemin,” a snide voice bluntly informed my new classmate.

Jaemin turned around, snapping his head to snarl in return. “We’ll see about that, Jeno. Don’t forget that you ended up in the infirmary after the semi-finals. Sure would hate to put you back there!”

“Jaemin,” Kun growled from next to me. “What happened to civil conversation?”

He was obviously talking about me, but I was much too entertained by the exchange to acknowledge Kun’s reprimand. Perhaps there was hope for these Hufflepuffs after all.

After dinner, Kun met with the other Hufflepuff Prefects and decided to escort a majority of the older students to our dormitory. “Keep up,” he told us brusquely, and I ignored his command the minute I spotted Jisung standing with Chenle outside the Great Hall.

“I’ll distract him,” Jaemin whispered, noticing my wandering gaze.

“Thank you,” I said, unhesitating as I broke away from my new classmates to approach Jisung.

“Y/N!” he grinned happily.

“You did so well,” I told him, nodding in Chenle’s direction. “I knew there was some bravery in you somewhere.”

“Yeah, but we aren’t in the same house,” Jisung said, downtrodden by the idea of our separation.

“You’ll be fine with Chenle,” I reassured my brother. “During the day, we can see each other for dinner and between classes, okay?”

Jisung sniffled but managed a nod. “Okay.”

I looked over my shoulder, finding my classmates at a complete standstill as Kun argued animatedly with Jaemin. “I have to go with my House, but I’ll find you in the morning.”

Jisung nodded and I could feel his gaze on me even after I returned, meeting Jaemin’s eyes from the front of the group. “Fine!” Jaemin sighed in exasperation. “It was only an idea.”

“A terrible one,” Kun scolded, rubbing his hands together as he apologized to our classmates. He scanned our group, locating me with a pleased smile. “Everyone!” Kun announced, ushering me closer. I reluctantly abided by his command, aware of the attention I was receiving from the others. “This is Y/N, she’s a new transfer from Durmstrang.”

Jaemin nudged me from the side, offering me a cheesy wink which I chose to ignore. The younger gave off the impression that he was overly flirtatious. “Anyway, remember to follow me closely,” Kun continued. “You know the drill.”

“Yes, sir!” Jaemin saluted with obvious sarcasm which Kun rightfully chose to ignore.

The hallways were busy, and it was almost impossible to pass between the other students without brushing arms or exchanging some sort of contact which I certainly despised. Hopefully, the Hufflepuff dormitory wasn’t an insurmountable distance from where we had left the Great Hall. In any case, I was trying to memorize the path so that I could hopefully make my way back here in the morning to find Jisung.

“Hey, Qian!”

Kun paused, shoulders stiffening as he turned to the right. I followed his gaze, frowning when I recognized Jaehyun’s enemy from the train. Johnny marched over to our group with his head held high, leading a group of younger Slytherin students behind him. “Johnny,” Kun sighed. “I can’t say that I’m glad to see you.”

“Lighten up,” Johnny smirked, tossing an easy arm around Kun’s shoulders. However, my House Prefect grimaced at the unnecessary contact but maintained a level-headed demeanor with admirable patience. “We’re both Prefects now.”

“I heard,” Kun said. “How they decided to extend the honor to you is a mystery.”

“I’m a good student,” Johnny pouted, even as his eyes remained alight with underlying mischievousness. “I heard you got a new transfer. We met on the train very briefly.”

He was looking at me now, and I met his gaze with narrowed eyes. “Y/N,” Kun said, hesitant as he stepped away from Johnny’s grip.

“Y/N,” Johnny repeated, eyeing me from head to toe. “Your family is quite famous in Slytherin.”

There were whispers behind me, but I ignored them in exchange for glaring at the boy who dared to bring up my family history. “I’m nothing like them,” I said with an icy tone to convey my seriousness.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re a perfect angel,” Johnny purred, taking a step in my direction which I immediately decided was threatening. I reached into my robes, feeling for my wand. “There’s no need for that,” Johnny said in a low tone meant for my ears only. “Just saying, you might need some allies in this school and there aren’t many people who will overlook your history. Trust me, I’m very much aware.”

He offered me a meaningful look. “Thank you for your advice,” I said. “But I’m under the impression that my loyalties will be with my chosen House.”

“How unfortunate for your little friend,” Johnny said, and I held my breath as he finally allowed some distance. It was simply unfair how easily he managed to get under my skin with just a passing comment. His smirk was arrogant, adjusting the collar of his robes before returning to his students.

“Come on, everyone,” Kun said, clearly determined to escape Johnny’s path as quickly as possible.

Still, I lingered behind, waiting until Johnny Seo was out of sight before following the rest of my new classmates with hurried steps.

#nct #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct harry potter au #nct johnny #johnny seo #johnny seo x reader #nct au #nct jaehyun #jaehyun fanfic

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lisarichardsonbylines · 3 years

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How to Tell Your Husband You’re a Witch

Witches we need you. Now more than ever. In the time of COVID-19 we can find respite in place-based reverence, plant magic and the divine feminine. So writes Lisa Richardson, who came to witchiness with nothing but white hetero straight-lacedness and a crush on a yoga teacher.

Lisa Richardson | Longreads | April 2020 | 15 minutes (4,084 words)

On a Friday afternoon, pre-COVID-19, my husband dropped some ice-cubes into glasses, ready to make us screwdrivers and cheers to surviving another week of working/parenting/wondering where the hell the years were going, only, the vodka bottle was empty.

“Oh yeah,” I said, my eyes sliding sideways, trying to not cause a fuss, “I used it for medicine.” The previous week, the kitchen counter had been cluttered with a giant mason jar full of oily plant matter. “Balm of Gilead!” I explained, brightly, as he wiped away the breakfast crumbs around it.

“But what is it?”

“Cottonwood tips in oil.”

His eyes had flicked, then, over to the brand-new bottle of extra virgin olive oil that was now nearly empty, as I enumerated the medicinal benefits of this old herbal remedy (and all this from a tree in our backyard!). Twenty-four years together means I could hear the abacus in his brain clicking, as he wordlessly calculated the cost per milliliter of a gallon jar of plant matter masticating in top-shelf olive oil, against the cost per unit of a bottle of generic aspirin tables, overlaid with the probability of me losing interest in this project.

First the olive oil. Now the vodka for dozens of little jars of tinctures — garden herbs and weeds soaking in now-undrinkable booze. My midlife quest to attune more deeply to the rhythms of the natural world was starting to incur unexpected, but real, costs.

He was quiet, as he opened the fridge and pulled out a beer instead.

* * *

In my defense, I could have pointed my finger at Natalie Rousseau, a yoga teacher living in my 5,000 person village, who I’d first encountered leading a solstice yoga class billed as a way to survive the madness of the holidays (in slightly more gracious language). Thanks to her offerings of insight I did survive the commercial horror of the “festive” season, and a few months later, as the new moon entered Aries (whatever that actually means), I plonked down $200 to subscribe to her online 13 Moons course — my foray into “slowing down and being more present,” as I pitched it to my husband when he inquired about the strange entry on the credit card statement.

But I did not deflect the simmering tension between us by naming Natalie as the instigator of these “kitchen witch” experiments. Even though I am not a member of any kind of coven or cult, (I don’t think book club counts), I know deep in my bones to never throw another woman onto the fire for helping you. That has been done too many times.

But there it is. The word. Witch. The wound.

* * *

Every day, after COVID-19 entered our world, Natalie Rousseau has responded with an offering, a teaching — a meditation, an ancient mantra of protection, a yoga practice for managing anxiety, a how-to video on harvesting poplar medicine. It’s as if she’s been resourcing herself for this moment to develop the richest arsenal imaginable, to navigate, not the public health crisis, but the billion personal crises each of us is forced to confront as life as we know it slams into pandemic mode. It’s not what I thought a witch would do, if I ever thought about them at all.

Natalie doesn’t look like a witch either — not in the way I conceived it for last year’s Halloween costume, with my long black skirt, dollar-store pointy hat, and heavy black eyeliner, walking alongside my 6-year-old vampire-werewolf. Natalie is petite, just a few inches over five feet, her long blond hair still evoking the decade she spent living in a west coast surf town, her chest and lean muscled arms bright with full sleeve flowery tattoos and Mary Oliver quotes. She moves like a dancer, demonstrating yoga poses as if she’s transcending gravity. As a teacher, she speaks exactly, even in Sanskrit, and guides movement precisely, padding gently and soundlessly through the room, making an adjustment here, offering an instruction there.

So, I was surprised when she used the word “witch” to launch her new online offering, The Witches Wheel. The lure was irresistible. Natalie was claiming the word “witch” without flinching, without anger, without provocation, not as a way to reclaim feminine power and stick it to the men, warranted as that may be: It was essentially an invitation to observe the cycle of the seasons.

A threshold beckoned.

* * *

Natalie, a recent empty-nester, lives with her husband Paul and two dogs in a modest townhome, with a creek and a dozen rogue gardens installed by various residents running behind it. The garage is full of motorbikes. The porch is swept clean on the day I visit, six months into the 13 Moons program, wanting to talk with her about this radical word and why, in a world still unsure what to do with powerful women, she’s not afraid that she’s exposing herself to pitchforks and fires, haters, and trolls.

Even though I am not a member of any kind of coven or cult, (I don’t think book club counts), I know deep in my bones to never throw another woman onto the fire for helping you. That has been done too many times.

A tea blend of her own mixing — vanilla chaga chai — is brewing on the stove in an open saucepan. She tends to it, as I settle in, sneaking glimpses around the room, looking for evidence of witchcraft — pentagrams, cloaks, bottled frogs. Nothing. The space is uncluttered, a throw-rug on the armchair, a couple of stark white deer skulls are mounted, European-style, on a wall against a reclaimed barn board — definitely more Soho chic than occult-goth. Her husband returns from town, where he has picked up fresh croissants for us. He’s tall and strong, with a tightly cropped red beard — he looks like a guy you’d run into at the gym, at the surf break, at the hardware store.

“So, what’s it like living with a witch?” I ask him as Natalie attends to our tea, a light-hearted question sprouting out of the great compost of fears I am thinking. Is it impossibly hard to be with a woman who comfortably claims her own power, magic, cycles, voice? What kind of a man can love and honor a witch? And lurking deep beneath it all: Will my husband be one of them?

Paul rolls his eyes, overly-dramatically, pointing up to the light fixture in the kitchen — light bulbs housed in mason jars of all sizes, evoking summer cabins and fireflies and Kinfolk magazine dinner party lanterns. “I made this for her because everything ends up in jars. Have you seen inside these cupboards?” He walks around the house, in faux-exasperation, opening doors to reveal neat stacks of jars, full of dried petals, leaves, syrups, tonics, salves, salts. “And there’s more upstairs!” If it hadn’t been for the dinner party they’d hosted the previous night, most of their apartment’s horizontal surfaces would be covered in jars, he tells me, and the front porch would have housed a dead raven and a dead Cooper’s hawk.

“She’s always sending me out in search of dead things,” he jokes. He picks up roadkill in case she can salvage feathers or skulls.

“When he first met me, I was already a skull collector, and now he goes and finds them for me and brings them back,” says Natalie. “He’s gotten really good at living with witchy stuff.”

The two of them are remarkably self-sufficient — an animal lover (“he loves animals more than people”), Paul realized veganism left him tired and undernourished, so took up hunting to procure his own meat humanely; one of the deer skulls mounted on the wall was harvested this fall, its meat now fills their freezer. They grow a garden, wildcraft, eat well. There is an ease between them — a tidal push and pull as they navigate their modest shared space and the morning routine, without evidence of fake niceness, of power trips or struggles.

Witchcraft, in Natalie Rousseau’s mind, is too non-dogmatic and non-hierarchical to submit to a single all-encompassing definition. “As a practice, it’s so highly individual,” she says, “but across the board, it is very place-based, land-based and body-based. For me, it’s about cultivating a relationship with your own body, your own mind, your emotions, and subtle sensing faculties. It’s learning how to trust your intuition. It’s about reclaiming your own instincts, but also being able to feel: this is what stress feels like in my body, this is what relaxation feels like, this is what it feels like to say yes to something out of a sense of obligation or pressure, this is what it feels like to have a boundary. This is what it feels like when I’m safe. These cues come to us from our bodies. It has to be, for it to work well, otherwise, you’re always reaching outside yourself for another authority.”

This is what she wants to help women, particularly, to reclaim: their sense that they are the first authority on themselves, that they can trust their bodies’ wisdom.

“The biggest thing I want to share with people,” says Natalie of her teaching and online courses, “is how to trust themselves. Everyone can very easily make the medicines that their household would need for common household complaints — colds and flus and chest colds and menstrual cramps — so many basic things that anyone can make very simply, quite affordably. I’m not anti-pharmaceutical. There are many medications people have to take daily to live. And if I have a serious infection, I’m going to take antibiotics; if I am seriously ill, I am going to go to the doctor; if I have any kind of trauma, I’m going to be so grateful for that form of medicine. But I believe the role kitchen medicine has is in the maintenance and prevention of illness.”

One of her biggest laments, though, as she makes videos and handouts and shares them with her online community, is that even people who have paid to do her course don’t feel that they have the time to take it into their kitchens. “Making a tincture is literally pouring vodka over plant materials and leaving it on your counter for four weeks!” she says. But it is easier for most people to just buy one online and have it delivered to their doorstep. “I am saddened by how easily women give their power over. This is the biggest thing I’ve noticed as a teacher in the past couple of years — how quickly women will say, ‘but how do you do this? I don’t know how to do this! I’m afraid to try this because I might not be good at it, I might be doing it wrong. I’m an imposter.’ I really struggle with this. Where is it coming from?”

But she knows. We have relinquished our power, over a thousand years or more, of wounding, of witch-burnings, of patriarchy either convincing us we have none or forcibly stripping it away, (hello Harvey Weinstein), until all we feel empowered to do, now, in 2020, is consume. And we’ve been doing that with all our might.

We override the listening, we ignore the nudges, we push through, like good soldiers. “Most people are running so hard,” observes Natalie. “Our culture is so focussed on productivity. We are so overly heroic — it’s all or nothing. I can’t do something unless I’m an expert. I don’t want to try. But this is a craft. It’s a path of education.”

Natalie’s invitation is gentle, and she’s crafted her online course to serve that: Start with one plant and learn its taste, its smell. Spend five minutes a day on meditation or in conscious ritual and begin to notice what’s going on in your nervous system, in your mind, in your body.

“When he first met me, I was already a skull collector, and now he goes and finds them for me and brings them back,” says Natalie. “He’s gotten really good at living with witchy stuff.”

Don’t get so distracted by the word witch, that you fail to notice that it is connected to craft. Witchcraft, for Natalie, is a path of learning “how to trust and problem solve, from within, knowing that we are in a system of power that, for better, for worse, will strip us of any ability to trust ourselves and to always feel empty so we have to keep buying more stuff.”

When she says this, a deep thrill of recognition hums in me, accompanied by a shiver of fear. Those are revolutionary things to say out loud, to cast into the open air. I recognize it viscerally as the kind of talk that gets people in trouble.

* * *

Last summer, before I met Natalie, I had stepped from my backyard patio stones onto freshly cut grass and spied the sinuous form of a wandering garter snake. I leaned in quickly, excitedly, about to call my 6-year-old over to glimpse the garden visitor before it shimmied away. But it was eerily still. Ugly slash wounds marked its body. It was dead. Innocent victim to the ride-on lawnmower. Obliterated by our oblivion.

“Oh no,” I muttered. “I’m so sorry!”

I had already begun to wake up to the natural world, it’s rhythms, it’s offerings of medicine, it’s otherness, but it had come with a shadow side, a growing despair at what we were doing to the world. Even without a malicious intention, I was causing death and destruction — just mowing the lawn, drinking my coffee, wiping my ass: My actions, all our human activity, had compounding impacts that were destroying the snakes, the ocean, the atmosphere, the forests, the icecaps — beyond repair.

I wanted my garden to be a habitat. I wanted the bees to waggle-dance directions to my sunflowers to their hive-mates, I wanted the wandering garter snakes to nest in their hibernacula through the winter and bask in the long grass in the summer, I wanted to lie on my back and watch butterflies dance through the flowers and the hummingbirds zoom in and out, I wanted to inhabit innocence again.

I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. My penitence froze me in place, scared to make a move for fear of ruining something else. Then, regret overriding my squeamishness, I fetched the flat-bladed shovel and edged it under the dead snake. I carried her body over to the vegetable patch, and in a space between the beds, where the mower never goes, I laid her down. I picked marigolds and calendula from around the garden, where they’d been planted to keep the snails away, and lay the bright orange blossoms in a circle around her.

Grandmother snake, I whispered, hoping that some force that exists beyond the definitively dead snake at my feet, might spread the word among the entire species, “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean it. I will try to be more careful.”

It was a made-up ritual, the kind that a kid might perform deep in her dream world at the bottom of the garden, and it made my 44 year-old-self feel a little bit better. At least I’d made a gesture of repair, had expressed my desire to return into balance with the living world around me. If it had any effect, I’d never know. I went back inside, said nothing.

A few days later, out in the garden, my husband tripped over the skeleton of a decomposing snake, ringed by wilted flowers, half consumed by ants.

“That was spooky,” he confronted me. “What’s going on? Are you some kind of witch?”

* * *

Natalie has always been comfortable with the word. Now she’s having fun inviting people to consider the archetype, circle it, unpack it, stumble upon some kind of recognition: Wait a second! Maybe I am a witch!

“It’s cool how people in the western world can take a description that has been used mostly as a slur, and turn it around to use as something empowering,” she says.

For thousands of years, witch was a term used to incite violence against women. By the most conservative estimates, half a million people, mostly women, were executed in the European witch craze between 1300 and 1650. Accusations of witchcraft were used against women, says Rousseau, “in ways that were extremely dangerous and terrifying. It was really about getting power from them, and getting land back. So, to use a word like that in an empowered way, even today, you have to know you’re safe to do it. And it’s important to realize that in many places in the world, it’s still not safe for women to say that. But if we can, in safe places, take that word and turn it around, that, to me, is extremely powerful.”

I wanted the bees to waggle-dance directions to my sunflowers to their hive-mates, I wanted the wandering garter snakes to nest in their hibernacula through the winter and bask in the long grass in the summer, I wanted to lie on my back and watch butterflies dance through the flowers and the hummingbirds zoom in and out, I wanted to inhabit innocence again.

Natalie herself embodies empowerment. Not in the traditional way I have come to recognize power — as someone standing over, dominating someone else, her source of power comes from within.

She doesn’t need to take any from her partner.

“Do you find this relationship at all emasculating?” I joke to Natalie’s husband.

“I don’t. Not at all. No,” he replies.

“We’ve always given each other space to be ourselves.”

But that’s not always a guarantee of safety.

If it is dangerous to be an empowered woman in the world, then it’s dangerous, too, for the men who love them.

Lyla June Johnston is an author and activist of Diné and European heritage. Her inquiry into her disowned European heritage led to a realization: The millions of women burned alive, drowned alive, dismembered alive, beaten, raped and otherwise tortured as so-called, “witches,” were not witches at all. They were the medicine people of old Europe. Her lens, as a contemporary indigenous woman, and as a survivor of sexual violence, helped her identify that those were the women who understood the herbal medicines, the ones who prayed with stones, the ones who passed on sacred chants. And the all-out warfare of the witch burnings didn’t just harm the women. It had a profound effect on the men who loved them, their husbands, sons, brothers. She recognizes the echo of this in the story of her own time, of her own people. “Nothing makes a man go mad like watching the women of his family get burned alive. If the men respond to this hatred with hatred, the hatred is passed on. And who can blame them? While peace and love are the correct response to hatred, it is not an easy response by any means.”

How many men have kept their women down, tried to keep them at home, have become the handcuffs that the women fought against because they were answering to their own unarticulated primal instinct to keep them safe?

Natalie Rousseau speculates, “I am sure historically you had lots of husbands telling their wives to tone it down, not because they didn’t respect their power, but because they were genuinely afraid. I’d apply that to any women described as uppity — getting involved politically, or getting involved in local stuff that’s happening, fighting for the environment: Stop getting noticed so much. This could be dangerous.”

Some dangers are too great to be able to protect each other from. And so we turn the fight on each other — little domestic power-trips that distract us from the fact that we’ve relinquished all our power any way to the Great Machine.

* * *

My tentative inquiries into witchcraft, becoming fluent in my own moods and emotions, and paying attention to the seasons, barely prepared me for the abrupt slow-the-fuck-down order that came when COVID-19 landed in British Columbia, in my village, as school broke for spring break. The emergency handbrake was pulled. Everything came to a squealing stop — all my plans, canceled; all the stores, closing; the whole damn world, under house arrest and in a panic. The whiplash from the stunning speed of that shift has left my whole being hypersensitive to any sudden movement, to being jerked around. But the first things I have staked my trust in, in that space of uncertainty, were Natalie’s teachings: First, trust your body. Pause. Listen.

In self-imposed isolation with my husband and just-turned-7-year-old, I dance with anxiety and curiosity and disconnection and too-much-information. The well-trodden pathways we have all been racing along, flexing our power and exercising our entitlements as consumers, are suddenly bordered up with emergency tape. This invitation that Natalie has been dripping out, month after month, takes root. There is far more potency available to us, than shopping, driving, holidaying, consuming, endlessly moving around the planet.

There is potency in all the feelings that have been showing up at my door. Oh, good morning frustration. Ah grief, yes, I suppose you’d like a cup of tea. Hello there, existential terror, I wondered when you’d pop by. There is potency in sitting with my back against a huge cedar tree and listening, in slowing down so much that I can give my 7-year-old my full attention. There is potency even in my words, when I soothe him down from a tantrum by saying, “you know, this is a really hard time for everyone in the whole world right now because no one knows what’s going to happen and no one can play with their friends. I’m really proud of you.” And I can feel his body relax into this space of being acknowledged in his struggles and his efforts.

I don’t know if there are any medicinal properties in the tincture of St John’s Wort and valerian that I drop into water and hand my husband, to gentle his nervous system. Or in the jar of immune-boosting oxymel, that I brewed up with grated ginger and turmeric and orange peel, and shake every day. But even if it’s a placebo, there’s a relief for me in feeling I can do something, can offer my people some kind of healing intention in a little glass, that I can acknowledge that this is hard for my husband too, and that acknowledgment isn’t a concession that takes away from my own sense of struggle.

For decades, we’ve bought into the illusion that our power is as consumers. Now that stores are closing and the shelves are emptying and we have to stay home and not immediately indulge every whim that arises, we all feel powerless. But that was never our truest source of power. There’s another source that we can all plug back into, our deep relationship and interbeing with the life force. Maybe, this is our threshold moment. Maybe, this is a chance to craft a few little spells, to speak the words of the world we long to inhabit — a place where the currency of kindness and wonder flow, where humans return to a deep memory of belonging among the plants and creatures, and to brew up a cup of tea, light a candle, and dream it into existence. Maybe it’s an invitation to say, “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to, I will try and be more careful,” and to build a little altar, even if you feel kind of cray cray doing it. Let your nervous system settle as you invent some small ritual, (just ask your inner 5-year-old for guidance, she probably remembers exactly what to do), and make a gesture of repair.

“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have on my Apocalypse team,” I tell my husband, the night the global virus countertops 400,000. He’s been chopping wood, auditing the pantry, getting our kid across the finish line of the LEGO project that has absorbed him for four days. My husband was a farm kid. He’s always been practical, my polar opposite. Even when we have battled each other, (am I giving up too much of my power to him? If I acknowledge his pain and his needs, will that cancel mine out?) I’ve always known he would do anything to keep me safe. “Not that I can request an upgrade now,” I joke. “But I bet you’re glad to be stuck with me. One always wants a daydreamer at your side in a pinch.”

“Oh yeah,” he spoofs me: “’ The stock market is collapsing, let me just go check my Tarot cards.’”

We laugh. And hold each other. We can’t buy our way out of this. None of us. Our entire species, our global community, is being vividly reminded that we are all in this together, inextricably connected, epidemiologically entwined, in our vulnerability and our sweet potential. We didn’t need Amazon and airlines and online shopping to know what the witches have been telling us all this time. All the power we need is right here — between us, around us, within us. We just have to remember it.

* * *

Lisa Richarson

is a senior contributor to Coast Mountain Culture magazine and a columnist for Pique newsmagazine and edits the hyperlocal websites,

TheWellnessAlmanac.com

and

TracedElements.com.

She’s deep into a decade-long mission to slow the fuck down, but still optimize life for happiness and productivity. Born and raised in Australia, she has lived as a guest on the unceded territory of the Líl̓wat Nation since a ski vacation went rogue 20-odd years ago.

Editor: Carolyn Wells

Posted by

Lisa Richardson

April 8, 2020

https://longreads.com/2020/04/08/how-to-tell-your-husband-youre-a-witch/

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iol247 · 3 years

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Opinionista • Ismail Lagardien • 15 March 2021

Fifteen years along the road to nowhere, and the worst is yet to come

We are at a point, now, where instead of pointing to the perversity of misguided distribution, corruption, theft, maladministration, tenderpreneurs, and State Capture, discussions are deflected – and the spectrum of opinion has been narrowed.

In 2015, Justice Malala published his book We Have Now Begun Our Descent. Without having read the book I sat down to consider South Africa’s future, and concluded that there was little to no hope for the country. I was in Bonn, Germany, at the time, after four or more years in the secretariat of the National Planning Commission. Although the Covid-19 pandemic has had a dreadful impact on South Africa’s political economy and society – as it has on almost every country in the world – the country’s problems took a turn for the worse at Nasrec at the end of 2017, and Malala’s “descent” gained momentum.

I want to break with orthodoxy, and say that it is the politics, not “the economy,” as the old canard goes. Homo economicus might believe that the economy is everything, and everything is the economy, but “the economy” is those millions of transactions that humans make every minute of every day, and the personal and public political decisions that enable or disable those people (from making those transactions).

A collapse that preceded democracy

Before I continue, I want to share a passage I wrote between 1991 and 1993, when I was the southern African correspondent for the New Straits Times of Malaysia. I don’t have the exact date of publication, because the person who decided to make a “portfolio” of my work neatly trimmed my reports and columns but failed to include the date. I was going to save it for my memoir, but here it is – written at a time when the apartheid government was losing its grip on power and state institutions in the early 1990s:

“It is as if a villainous character had every day, over the years, gone to the Union Buildings, the seat of government in the capital, Pretoria, and methodologically and systematically undone every single screw, bolt, nut and nail of government. Every day, now, for months on end, a section of government in South Africa is coming apart. It is difficult, now, after a spate of scandalous exposes in recent months to say exactly when the disintegration first started, or when the first door, window or desk in the Union Buildings collapsed. What has become evident, however, is that the state is collapsing bit by bit, in slow motion, while its powers of rehabilitation [are] dissipating with its political might.”

It has been reported, over and again, that the democratic government inherited a state that was on its knees. As the Afrikaner historian Herman Giliomee wrote, a decade ago, March 1985 marked, “the day apartheid started dying”.

Wrote Giliomee: “Pik Botha recalls: ‘I will never forget the night of July 31 when [Minister of Finance] Barend du Plessis phoned me… [He said]: ‘Pik, I must tell you that the country is facing inevitable bankruptcy … The process has started.’”

We had growth, and increased social spending, but the thieves saw opportunities

The first democratic government of South Africa, led by Nelson Mandela, was fully aware of the terrible state of the economy. They managed, within a decade or more, to provide utilities and access to public goods and services (including social grants) to millions of people across the country (all necessary for a stable, progressive social democracy), while managing the country’s finances, avoiding profligacy – and through it all, produced growth and a Budget surplus.

This demonstrated that you can reduce poverty, provide social services, deliver public goods and services, as well as manage the country’s finances. The problem that emerged, after the first 12-15 years was not lack of growth, or a contraction of the economy, it was about distribution – much of the growth did, indeed go to social spending, but a lot more began to go into the wrong pockets. Corruption, maladministration, cronyism, nepotism and prebendalism took root – what good was the ANC-led state, if it did not line the pockets of its leaders, and members who were deployed to state agencies, and boards across the country?

Fast-forward to a few years later, and we are at a point, now, where instead of pointing to the perversity of misguided distribution, corruption, theft, maladministration, tenderpreneurs, and State Capture, discussions are deflected – and the spectrum of opinion has been narrowed. Somewhat simultaneously rose the politics of identity (the ugly version), and instead of policies focusing on social problems, they focused on contortions of language, the politics of revenge, populism, scapegoating, and the speeches and statements of leaders were increasingly laced with words like “bloodshed,” and all the while xenophobia, aimed mainly at Africans and Asians, has spread.

A careful read of Carl Niehaus’s eight-page submission on likely policies of the ruling alliance, suggests we are expected to choose between Radical Economic Transformation by policy (ANC), or Radical Economic Transformation by force (EFF). At what point do the ANC’s radical forces join the EFF? Impossible, but not improbable.

Are we there yet?

Let’s take stock, briefly, of where we are. We know that “the economy” is in the pits. But what makes an economy stable, expansive, progressive and able to secure social justice? Don’t ask an economist. To them it’s all cost-benefits, assumptions, laws and models which they mistake for truth. And anyway, people who are so sure of their own predictive powers belong on the beachfront with fortune tellers. What makes an economy work is everything else: the people, the institutions, the policies, ethics, food, water, shelter, clothing and, well, energy. If we start just with energy, consider the fact that we may have load shedding for at least the next five years.

This week, Eskom’s Chief Executive Officer, André de Ruyter, confirmed that “there will be a shortfall in supply of electricity of approximately 4,000 megawatts over the next five years as announced by President Cyril Ramaphosa. We welcome further interventions announced by the president, which will include a further request for proposals for a further 2,600 megawatts from wind and solar energy.”

Using non-economic rationalist orthodoxy, us ordinary citizens know, intuitively, that you cannot run a shop, a workshop or any heavy industry without a stable source of electricity. We also know that you cannot get to work without commuter trains running. We also know that we place our lives in danger with every taxi ride. While us mere mortals don’t travel abroad much, if at all, we know that planes belong in the air; that the public broadcaster is meant to serve as, well, a public broadcaster; the police are meant to serve and protect; our military personnel should be able to march in straight lines, and its hardware has to be up to date (you can’t have stockpiles of ammunition that is outdated); along with the police and military, the state security system ought to make us sleep better at night, and criminals need to be prosecuted – even if they are among the highest office-bearers in the ruling alliance.

A woman walking to work is not safe. A family sitting at home watching TV is not safe. A farmer working his or her fields is not safe. The driver stopping at a red light is not safe. Do we really expect someone to invest in an existing or new industry or fund innovation if a faction of the ruling party calls for “the mass nationalisation of industries including mines, insurance companies, steel and chemical companies”? The future of work is changing, but our major union leaders, supported by barbarous professors, want our workers to stay in the bondage of assembly lines – instead of retraining them for new, more innovative means of production.

All of these represent the life world of everyday people in South Africa. Every time anyone buys a loaf of bread or a bag of oranges they comprise “the economy”. Speaking of oranges, you can return the land to “its rightful owners” and (with the help of the former white owner) farm citrus products, but if individual oranges have a fungal disease you may not be able to export your produce. That’s not a racist conspiracy. (I use this one example because I have some insights into a related domestic issues case, and about the way the World Trade Organisation works.)

This can go on and on if we can’t guarantee: the safety of investments; a reliable stream of energy; community and personal safety; trains that run; a reliable justice system – with judges who are unimpeachable; a postal service that is functional; public servants who do the jobs they’re paid to do; teachers who teach; nurses who are paid well, and don’t sign in for one another when they want to escape parts of night duty; and if we don’t play our part, as active citizens.

The government can build schools, but parents must make sure their children attend school, and show an interest in the child’s education. The government can provide trash cans, but people must use them. Visit downtown Johannesburg and you may get a sense of how filth has built up – it’s not quite at the levels of Naples, but give it time. While we hold the state and political parties to a high standard, we need to, also, report on citizens who refuse to pay or steal electricity and water, then cry foul if they are brought to book. That, is largely, the result of ANC promises. With another election in a couple of years, do we really think the ANC, or any political party is going to tell people to pay their electricity bills or get cut off? And so, it’s not “the economy” it’s everything we do, and say, every day, that makes the economy work.

We may have started our descent, as Malala, wrote almost six years ago; my loss of hope has deepened – helped along by #statecapture revelations. But let me turn to the observations I made in the early 1990s, with regards to the National Party:

“What has become evident, however, is that the state is collapsing bit by bit, in slow motion, while its powers of rehabilitation [are] dissipating with its political might.”

https://www.dailymaverick.co.za/opinionista/2021-03-15-fifteen-years-along-the-road-to-nowhere-and-the-worst-is-yet-to-come/

Submitted by TT

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recentanimenews · 3 years

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Horimiya – 06 – It’s Getting Hot in Here

It’s still rather cold in these parts, so it’s refreshing for this week’s Horimiya to take place in the middle of summer. But even if it didn’t, it still radiates warmth and good vibes from every angle. Hori’s dad sees Miyamura in his school look for the first time and momentarily wonders who the hell he is.

Once he realizes it’s Miyamura, he insists they take a bath together to wash off the day’s heat. Coincidentally, Hori is watching a TV show wherein a lecher is about to assault a young woman, only for that woman to reveal she’s a skilled MMA fighter and kicks his ass.

In addition to being an amusing prism to Miyamura and Kyosuke’s dynamic, it also foreshadows a number of wonderful subversions of typical high school rom-com clichés, which like the warm and cozy aura of its main couple has fast become Horimiya specialty.

After dinner and past 8:30, Miyamura assumes he’s “worn out his welcome”, but that’s not for him to decide. Hori’s suggests he spend the night, though it’s Hori’s dad he’ll be sleeping beside. Kyousuke doesn’t interrogate him that night, only asking what Miyamura likes about his daughter. His response: she doesn’t judge people by appearances.

While this is primarily the story of Hori and Miyamura’s understated yet potently blossoming love, it’s also the story of Miyamura being accepted for who he is by his new friends at school, as well as flat-out becoming a member of Hori’s family.

It’s in this scenario he gets to see something no one else could: Hori wearing her middle school gym uniform as pajamas (when she stomps on her father to open the blinds that morning). It’s also so goddamn lovely when Hori’s mom corrects him when he’s headed out the door. He’s family, not a guest, so he should say ittekimasu, not ojamashimashita. My heart just about burst right there, but Horimiya was just getting started!

Unfortunately, most of the kids at Miyamura’s school either don’t know what a sweet guy he is and are all too willing to judge him by his “emo” appearance. When a couple guys spot him leaving the same house with Hori, it sets off a torrent of rumors at school that they’re dating.

I like how we get a little shot of Tooru and Yuki legitimately upset by this development, with Yuki actually weeping at the prospect of things turning sour just when Miyamura and Hori got their act together. I like more how despite the unsolicited attention and rumor-mongering, Hori takes everything in perfect stride. By now she’s quite comfortable confirming that Miyamura is her boyfriend, and doesn’t need to explain that relationship to anyone.

Miyamura, however, doesn’t fare as well. A common refrain in the halls is “wait…that Miyamura?”, as Hori is both hugely popular and has rejected a number of more “conventional” suitors. So Miyamura apparently decides that if the school wants a prettier cover, they’ll get it: he arrives the next day having cut his hair short, revealing his piercings and eyelashes.

It’s an interesting and complex choice by Miyamura that instantly changes the conversation, as he becomes an immediate sensation with the ladies. Rather than do it because he’s worried about adversely affecting Hori’s reputation (though that could be part of it) it feels more like an act of empowerment. It indicates that Miyamura is well aware he’s got the goods, he’s just never flaunted them at school.

Rather than passively keeping his chin up or not listening to the murmurings, Miyamura took an active step in the realignment of the conversation around him and Hori. With his new ‘do and the striking beauty it reveals, “wait…that Miyamura?” turns to “oh, that Miyamura!”.

As one would expect, Hori isn’t used to Miyamura getting the added attention and adoration, and her reaction is to create a cold enough atmosphere around her that it shoos away the newcomers. When a girl snaps candid pics of Miyamura with their phone (without asking him, WTF!), Hori gets right in his face with a DSLR!

Despite the increased liveliness at school, what I love more than anything about both the news of Horimiya dating and Miyamura’s new look is that it doesn’t really affect their core relationship. Hori doesn’t seem hurt that Miyamura cut his hair without consulting her, and seems content with his prefab excuse that it’s summer and long hair is hot.

Hori may grow possessive at school—Miyamura is her bf; so she has every right to be!—but not so much so that she makes a federal case out of his makeover. Hori has Miyamura, and vice versa, and it’s no longer important that no one knows he’s a hottie or that they’re dating.

Since they’re the usual Horimiya, Miyamura comes home with Hori as usual, and has the unlikely but hilarious distinction of having a third distinctive look in three straight encounters with Hori’s dad. Before long, they’re answering an invite from Shindo to come to his place and help him eat bizarrely flavored hard candy.

It’s here where Miyamura again demonstrates his whimsical timing with romantic gestures, as he asks Hori how her candy tastes, then leans in and steals it from out of her mouth. She sheepishly says “he stole my candy” the way Jujutsu Kaisen’s Kasumi sheepishly says Maki stole her sword, but what he really stole was their first kiss….just like that! For the record, that candy tasted like clay, which should make the kiss that much harder to forget!

Horimiya lets that kiss simmer on the back burner a bit as we return to school, where the novelty of Miyamura’s new look has thankfully worn off…with one exception: a diminutive girl with similarly black hair and similarly blue eyes seems to be watching, following, straight-up stalking Miyamura.

When Hori and Yuki encounter her in the hall, she asks if Hori and Miyamura are dating, Hori says yes, what of it?!, and the girl beats a hasty retreat, seemingly intimidated. Miyamura’s sudden popularity bounce perfectly sets up this latest high school rom-com cliché, the new love rival, second-year Sawada Honoka.

Before long, Sawada is striding up to Miyamura and flat-out telling him to break up with Hori already, in earshot of others. But in another excellent subversion, it’s not Miyamura Sawada likes…it’s Hori. Thanks to the rumors, she’s learned Miyamura stole a march on her. But she declares she liked Hori first, and won’t accept Miyamura dating her.

This turns into a physical tug-of-war between Sawada and Miyamura, with a flustered Hori as the rope. Tooru can only watch with other classmates in amusement at the spectacle before them, and even texts Yuki to hurry over to watch. Miyamura, clearly no longer hiding who he is at school, finally forcefully grabs Hori into his arms and declares “she’s mine!”, echoing her own words when Remi prodded her about him.

After school, Sawada seemingly follows Miyamura home, only for them to realize that not only are they both heading home in the same direction, they are goddamn next-door neighbors! This is the kind of twist a show that’s built up as much goodwill and credibility as Horimiya can get away with all day long, in my book.

It also marks a further expansion of Miyamura’s relationships, as it’s clear these two aren’t going to just ignore each other from here on out. Sawada forgot her key, so he does what any decent person would do and invites her over to sample some cake from his family’s bakery. Their ensuing conversation starts with, but is not dominated by, Hori, as Sawada learns Hori rarely visits Miyamura’s place since he always goes to her place.

Sawada also assumed that Miyamura had a little brother or sister, since he’s clearly good at taking care of people. Miyamura laughs at that comment, which reminds Sawada of the older brother she says she “had”—past tense—before laughing it off herself. She’s saved by the bell when her folks come home, so she heads out, but Miyamura says she’s always welcome to stop by for some cake.

Miyamura isn’t fooled by Sawada’s last-second fakeout. Sure enough, he learns from his mom that the Sawadas lost their eldest son some time last year, who attended a different school from Izumi but was “such a nice boy”.

At first I wondered why the character designer took such pains to make Sawada so closely resemble Miyamura—was she his long-lost little sister? When we learned she liked Hori, I abandoned that theory as a bridge too far for this show, but it isn’t lost on me how quickly and easily Miyamura is portrayed as a potential surrogate big bro.

Sure enough, the next day Sawada is hounded by three boys, and she retreats to Miyamura, digging her head in his back. It only takes a momentary glare from Miyamura to disperse the lads, but it can’t be understated how glad Sawada must’ve been to have him in that moment. Naturally, when Hori shows up they’re back to competing over who likes Hori more.

Finally, in another wonderful use of what Hori’s watching on TV as a reflection of what goes on in the Hori household, she is forcing both Miyamura and, more pointedly, her dad, to watch a horror movie in which a daughter kills her father. It underscores both Hori’s taste in cinema and the tactics she’ll use to try to get her dad to leave the room, which he eventually does.

Almost the moment her dad’s gone, Hori brushes her knees together and tries her hand at Miyamura’s patented casual romantic utterances, stating “you never make any moves on me, huh.” When Miyaura responds by asking “do you want me to?” she turns red with embarrassment, causing him to chuckle over how cute she looks. Then he asks what kind of moves she wants him to make, then leans in to kiss her.

Kyousuke barges back in asking for change to buy his smokes, and the two lovebirds immediately separate, invoking her dad’s cheeky suspicion, and causing Hori to attempt to reenact the dad-murdering scene from the movie. While I’d hoped they could have shared their first kiss in which both of them were aware a kiss was going to happen here and now, at least they didn’t chicken out; they were simply interrupted. They’ll soon learn to seek places with a bit more privacy!

By: sesameacrylic

#Anime #News #RABUJOI – An Anime Blog

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ringa-starr · 3 years

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More Precious Than Any Pearl (Pt 1/3)

This was requested a long while ago by my friend @brookemccarter. I’ll admit I am the world’s WORST and SLOWEST when it comes to writing but I try my best. I don’t want to write so much that I burn myself out on it like I did on another site many, many years ago. So I apologize (and I will again and again) to anyone who requests something from me whether it be months or even a year or so ago.

It’s because of this that I am splitting her request up into three parts.

I appreciate you all for reading and if you would like to be added to my taglist, please feel free to message me!

Enjoy everyone and I’ll be back with part 2 sometime!

-Love Deidra

Trigger(s): None that I can think of Words: 1.7k

1987, Preston Home, San Dimas, California

The grandfather clock in Bill S. Preston Esq.’s living room chimed loudly throughout the whole house announcing that the time had just struck 6:00 p.m. Upstairs, Bill’s father Mr. Preston was on the phone with one of his business associates, hurrying around the entire upper floor of the family’s split level home, trying to get the last of everything ready in time for a very important business meeting that he and his wife, his much younger wife in fact, Missy were to be attending at 8 o’clock that evening. Missy was sitting in front of her vanity mirror in their shared bedroom, checking herself over for what seemed like the tenth time in the last hour, making sure her long blonde hair was styled perfectly in a simple French braid easing its way down her back with a few cute little braids in the front, small, fake plum roses decorating the French braid nicely. The young woman smiled at herself in the mirror before applying one last bit of natural, pale pink lipstick. Mr. Preston hurriedly hung up his phone, still pacing between the bedroom and the hallway.

“Okay, okay”, the older man mumbled in a panic as he tried to collect his thoughts, looking down at himself before starting to fix his plum purple tie. He started going over the list of preparations in his head. “We’re reserved, my speech is memorized, I’ve got my notes just in case...” He cut himself off. There was one last thing he was forgetting; he was sure of it! But he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, and it was about to drive him crazy!

As if on a perfect cue, the opening notes to ‘Thriller’ by Michael Jackson filled the entire lower floor of the house with sound.

That’s it! Mr. Preston thought to himself.

Bill and Ted!

Bill’s father hurried to the hallway banister, gripping it in his hands as he looked down at his 15-year-old son and his best friend Ted “Theodore” Logan playing air guitars to the music, going into full Thriller dance mode when Michael started singing.

“Bill!” Mr. Preston called from his spot on the second floor. He got no response.

“Bill!” the older man tried again and still nothing.

‘I don’t have time for this!’ Mr. Preston thought as he hurried down the stairs. He reached behind the large stereo and unplugged it, the living room going completely silent. As soon as the music was off, Bill and Ted stopped and looked at Bill’s father, a look of mixed confusion and surprise on their faces.

“Now that I have your attention”, Mr. Preston told Bill, “Your mother and I are going to a dinner party my boss is throwing and we expect you to keep this place intact while we’re gone.”

Bill gave his father a smile, Ted giving the older man his infamous goofy grin as well. “Not a problem, most excellent parental figure”, Bill tried to assure his father. “My most trusted collogue Ted and I will be more than happy to make sure this place is in its most excellent condition for your return.” In response, Ted nodded his head happily.

All Mr. Preston could do was sigh, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger but before he could say anything, the three heard Missy’s sweet as honey voice at the top of the stairs.

“Are you ready, Honey?” she asked, causing Mr. Preston, Bill and Ted to look in her direction. Ted’s mouth dropped open.

“Whoa!” he gasped softly so only Bill could hear as Missy slowly walked down the staircase with a beautiful smile on her face. “Your mom looks totally hot dude!”

“Shut up, Ted!” Bill hissed back with a silent sigh of annoyance.

Knowing it would be a long drive there, Mr. Preston smiled as he helped Missy with her jacket before sliding into his own, turning his attention back to Bill and Ted.

“Remember Bill”, Mr. Preston told his son in a warning tone as he opened the front door, letting Missy walk out first, “if we come back and find that something’s happened, it’s going to be a real thriller night for you.”

Ted softly chuckled at his best friend’s father’s corny pun as Bill nodded. “Yes, Sir”, Bill replied before his father walked out, shutting and locking the door behind him.

As soon as his parents’ car couldn’t be heard anymore, Bill sighed and rolled his eyes as he and Ted walked back to the stereo. “Your dad can be really corny sometimes, Bill”, Ted commented as he turned the volume on the stereo down. Bill reached behind the stereo and plugged it back in, Michael Jackson’s singing filling the living room again only at a slightly softer volume this time. “I know”, Bill agreed with a smile, “but what can ya do?” He shrugged and smiled wider as he turned the volume dial up again, allowing him and Ted to get back to their most excellent Friday night!

Things were going well for most of the song until Ted started doing a solo version of the Thriller routine during the long instrumental portion that took place right before Vincent Prince’s ‘rap’. Ted started the famous dance routine right from the beginning, imagining himself in Michael Jackson’s shoes during the zombie dance sequence of the song’s music video. He even pictured himself wearing the superstar’s acclaimed red faux leather jacket with matching pants dancing around a large circle of the undead. Ted was so in the moment; he didn’t realize anything was even around him.

At that moment, he had his back to Bill, jumping back around so he was facing his best friend. Ted was still lost in his fantasy as he threw his left arm over his head, grabbing and punching the air several times.

In the midst of the music, Bill stopped short, hearing something shatter to the floor. When the blonde quickly turned around, his mouth dropped open, panic running through his entire body. There, on the hardwood floor in front of the grand fireplace, lay Missy’s most prized procession: a Victorian necklace which was now shattered into a thousand pieces, the only thing still being completely intact was the purple amethyst stone that once lay right in the center of the vintage piece of jewelry.

All Bill could do was stare back and forth between the necklace and Ted, not knowing how his best friend could still be dancing at a time like this! “Oh, no!” Bill moaned as he sank to his knees, shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!” The dark-haired teen now had his legs bent, taking the 10 steps the music video demonstrated before turning his body around as fast as lightning.

“Cause this is Thriller!” Ted belted out, catching a quick glance at the floor. “Thriller ni-“It was in that moment he stopped short, seeing that Bill was no longer dancing but instead was on his knees in front of him, picking up and staring at the tiny pieces of something that had fallen to the floor and broke.

“Dude!” Ted gasped. “What happened?” Bill looked up at Ted before slowly making his way back to his feet, still in a slight panic. The blonde teen ran a hand through his hair before explaining the situation. “You accidently broke Missy’s favorite necklace”, Bill explained. Ted smiled his famous lovable grin and gave a slight shrug. He didn’t understand why Bill looked so upset over something so simple. “That’s ok, dude”, he replied. “I still have some birthday money saved up! We can just go to the jewelry store and buy her a new one before she comes home! No one will ever know!”

Bill shook his head as he began pacing around the living room, the whole house having gone silent by now. “You don’t understand, Ted”, Bill told his friend seriously, panic coming over him in little waves more and more with each passing moment. “Missy told me that that necklace goes all the way back to the 1800’s. There’s no way we can get a new one!” With that, Bill slumped down on the couch, putting his head in his hands.

“Bogus!” Ted cried, still taking in the information as he looked down at the shattered pieces of the necklace. Suddenly, Ted spotted something that triggered something in him. Bending down on one knee, Ted slowly and carefully picked up the purple jewel, trying to remember where he had seen it before as he held it in the very fingertips of his thumb and pointer finger. After staring at it for almost a full five minutes, Ted’s eyes grew wide with an idea, a large smile crossing his face as he stood up straight with the stone still clutched in his palm.

“Bill!” Ted exclaimed excitedly. “Why don’t we just go back to the 1800s and find this necklace and bring it back here?” Bill quickly jumped to his feet, now just as excited as his best friend was. “Excellent idea, Ted my friend!” Bill replied, but his smile slightly disappeared until he was frowning again. “But we don’t know which year it comes from”, he added, a touch of disappointment in his voice and with a glance at the old grandfather clock, his feeling of hopelessness only grew. “Besides, there’s no way we can make it back before my dad and Missy get home.”

Ted furrowed his brow, rubbing his free hand along his chin, deep in thought as he paced his best friend’s living room floor, coming to a sudden halt several minutes later with a snap of his fingers. His eyes wide, Ted turned back to Bill again with a happy and yet confused look on his face. “What was that thing that Mr. Ryan was talking about the other day?” Ted asked as he practically bounced on the soles of his shoes as he racked his brain trying to remember it. He started snapping his fingers again in the hope that it would help. “Uhhh….uhhhhh….”

Bill’s eyes grew wide as well. “The British Raj!” he shouted out causing Ted to stop bouncing around. “Yeah!” the brunette exclaimed.

“Excellent! The teens yelled in unison before playing air guitar. “C’mon!” Bill practically grabbed Ted by the arm and started dragging him. “We’ve got no time to lose!”

Taglist:

@shhh-no-ones-home @celestiaelisia @derangedcupcake @lindszeppelin @ohportgas @brookemccarter

#bill and ted's excellent adventure #my writing #ted x oc #bill and ted

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jessicaroffe · 4 years

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You know when you have an idea of nothing and you share it with your friend and she tells you that the idea is very interesting? my friend and I had an idea of what a crossover between Sherlolly and Good Omens would be like. We are still working on the chapters but I brought you something to get an idea of what it would be.

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Between Heaven and Hell

He placed the book in its respective space on the library shelf, sighed in satisfaction as he admired the shelf and saw it well organized, he was proud of his work and one of his greatest treasures; he heard the bell at the entrance of the establishment ring, walked to the free space he had at the entrance of the library seeing Miguel and Gabriel standing like real dizzy cockroaches, Aziraphale felt sorry for his brothers when they walked on Earth, as they did not know about human customs they knew how to behave and when they "tried" to deceive mortals it was very weird.

Gabriel spoke up -We came to deliver a .....

-Fanfic! -Michael added.

-Exactly, fanfic.

Everyone present at the place looked at the two as if they had mental problems, Aziraphale looked around in embarrassment.

-P-please come with me. - went to a reserved area of the place, when Aziraphale confirmed that there would be no one around Gabriel started.

–We received reliable information that the incarnation of Eve and Adam are here in the city.

Such information surprised the angel, Eve and Adam were their first mission on Earth after they left and never heard from him again, the news was really unexpected.

-That ... it's ... it's good ... isn't it?

-Go if they come to the light side. -Miguel replied with pride talking about heaven.

-It was just that? -Aziraphale asked hopefully.

–Aziraphale, you as a good child of God must know that just as the actions of Adam and Eve had an effect in the past, they can have an effect again now, perhaps more drastically than before, there is a prophecy that says that if Eve is not influenced by correctly, chaos on Earth can occur and only the love of your life, Adam, can save you. –Gabriel added.

At that moment Aziraphale was already wondering why Gabriel and Miguel were telling him that, he was going to have to do something, he sure would.

-You have been here on Earth for a long time and have always been efficient in your work, we will give you the mission of making the two stay together, so that chaos does not occur, we had to take such measures, because the opposite side decided to act and interfere with the natural line of events and sent a demon to do the job. –Miguel explained.

-So I will be a cupid?

–What is a cupid? -Gabriel asked.

-Nothing, forget it.

–Anyway. -Gabriel snapped his fingers and a folder appeared in his hand. -We found out the whereabouts of the two and they are here in London, another reason why it was you, their names are Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes, all the details of them will be here.

Gabriel handed the folder to Aziraphale, before leaving the folder in full possession of the angel he warned him.

-We trust you Aziraphale. -The angel swallowed, a little terrified by the subtended threat, he knew that this mission was not just any one, peace on Earth depended on him which worried him, because if the punishments failed, they would be severe.

Gabriel and Miguel left the room and the first one shouted.

–Thanks for my fanfics!

Aziraphale leaned against a table he had there to process the information, what did he get into? He soon remembered that he would be fighting with a demon who would be there to disrupt his plans, he took a deep breath.

-I just hope that the demon is not Crowley.

_______________________

Molly promised herself that she would get back on top with her passion for Sherlock, she would move on and meet other people, she was never a woman to have many dates, she also didn't want to appeal to modern relationship apps, so she thought an agency that held meetings in the dark, made the registration by email, made its due demands regarding the person who would have the meeting, the man could be a little older, nothing more than five years older than her, who had a good musical taste, a good conversation, and was red, yes, red! Molly had even thought that the best way to forget someone who doesn't return their affection for her would be to cut off any resemblance to the next one, no dark brown hair then.

On the day of the meeting he left the office at Bart's and went straight home, he wanted to have at least a few extra hours to get ready calmly, this was his first date after he broke up with Tom, which in the case had been two years since do not go out with someone, I was not nervous, it was something different, perhaps an anxiety, I hoped that those who knew today could give you a thread of hope.

She chose a red skirt and a white blouse with cherries as prints, as it was summer in London, she didn’t need a coat or something, she did light makeup and styled her hair with a braid on the side of her head and her inseparable ponytail, picked up her bag and headed for the meeting place. On the way he wondered if it was the right thing to do, had he not given up on Sherlock more easily? He had already demonstrated a few times that he cared about his feelings, but she couldn't wait for miracles to come from him, there were times when she asked God to send her concrete signs that what she felt for him will one day be reciprocated “maybe not this time. life. ”, the chestnut thought a little discouraged.

Upon arriving at the restaurant where the meeting would take place, he introduced himself and asked the attendant if the person who booked the table with her had already arrived, as the establishment was a partner of the agency, all the attendants were already used to the routine of the place, he led to the round wooden table with a U-shaped sofa where an apparently tall red-haired man with dark glasses (who covered the entire side view not showing any crack in his eyes) then he saw Molly's presence and soon stood up .

"Hello!" Said Crowley excitedly. "You owe me company tonight," he finished by kissing Molly's hands.

- Hello, - he said a little embarrassed. - I'm Molly Hopper and you are?

- Anthony J. Crowley, at your service.

While talking Molly found Crowley very interesting, enigmatic with those sunglasses (which she really didn't know why he was wearing this time of night, would remind me to ask him later), funny, talking about things as interesting as if had lived thousands of years.

- So Molly, what do you do with your life?

- I'm a pathologist at St Bartholomew's Hospital.

- Wow. It must be a difficult job.- he said smiling.

- Until not, the dead are not the problem, the living that appear there wanting information or sometimes clues. Molly said and took a sip of the wine in her glass.

- And this guy would be a coworker or ex boyfriend ?!

Molly laughed at Crowley's questioning and shook her head.

- No, no, let's say he's more like a co-worker than anything else.

Well, if I can say something, he's an idiot. He doesn't really know what he's missing. ”Crowley smiled seductively and Molly bit her bottom lip and let a red appear on her face.“ I don't know about you, but here's boredom, come on.

Crowley got up leaving the money on the table, Moly was confused by his sudden action, but decided to follow him.

-Where are we going? Hooper questioned.

-You must spend a lot of time inside a morgue that doesn't do any good to anyone, let's have fun, do you dance?

"I'm not much of a thing," Molly said sincerely and found it too crazy for a first date in the dark.

- No problem. I'll teach you. Come on.- the redhead held out his hand to Molly who accepted.

Outside Crowley, he made his way to his car. Molly was feeling like a real adventure, a mixture of fear and excitement was running through her blood, she barely knew the guy next to her and they were already going to a nightclub, what if he were to traffic her? Or drug her and leave her on the street? "Stop paranoia Molly" Molly scolded herself in thought.

- So, how do we go to this nightclub you talked about?

- Let's go in my car. - The taller looked at Molly, at that moment curiosity hit her, she imagined what such a car would be like an ordinary car like all the others, but when Crowley approached a Bentley Molly she couldn't help but show surprise! - Then? What did you think? - is leaned against the car.

- He's very, very different.

- Is this different good or bad?

- It's a very good different. I never rode such a model.

- Feel free, miss. Crowley opened the door and pointed into the car like a real gentleman.

-Thanks.

As soon as he closed the passenger door he went around and got into the driver's side.

“So where's this club at?” Asked Molly.

- Stay in Soho, I discovered this place a few years ago.

- Hmm looks cool.

Upon arriving at the nightclub that was packed with songs from the 70s and 80s and with all the themed decor of those decades, with lights, a dance floor and everything else that was entitled to a themed nightclub.

Crowley took Molly's hand and led it to the center of the floor where he was playing “Night Fever” by

Bee Gees and making a few steps the redhead approached as if calling to join him in the roar of the music.

- Wow, I ... I like to take a few steps but I'm not much of a thing.- Molly said sincerely and found it very crazy for a first date in the dark.

- No problems! I teach you! Come on.- the redhead held out his hand for Molly to rise from the table.

Crowley insisted on paying the dinner bill and then headed out of the restaurant.

- So, how do we go to this nightclub you talked about?

- Let's go in my car. - The taller looked at Molly, at that moment she did not know what to expect, imagined that it would be an ordinary car like all the others, but when Crowley approached an old car model Molly can't help but show surprise! - Then?! What did you think? - is leaned against the car.

- Wow! He's very, very different.

- Is this different good or bad?

- It's a very good different. I never rode such a model.

- Feel free, miss. Crowley opened the door and pointed into the car like a real gentleman.

-Thanks.

As soon as he closed the passenger door he went around and got into the driver's side.

“So where's this club at?” Asked Molly.

- Stay in Soho, I discovered this place a few years ago.

- Hmm looks cool.

Upon arriving at the nightclub that was packed with songs from the 70s and 80s and with all the thematic decoration of those decades, with lights, a dance floor and everything else that was entitled to a themed nightclub.

Crowley took Molly's hand and led it to the center of the floor where he was playing “Night Fever” by

Bee Gees and making a few steps the redhead approached as if calling to join him in the roar of the music.

It was not possible to notice that they were being watched by a certain consultant detective who was sitting on the other side of the establishment.

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

The question now is this ... Does this fic have a future? I'm dying to know your opinion.

#Sherlock #sherlolly #molly hooper #good omens #fanfic

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snezfics-n-shit · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 26: Faint

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Characters: Godot, Phoenix Wright, Maya Fey, Franziska von Karma

Notes: Post-SoJ, Godot has recently been released from prison. Phoenix and Maya take him out for burgers and ketchup catching up. Human socialization? For Godot? He’ll take it. Too bad there’s someone who wants to ruin his fun.

“Don’t you think your first restaurant visit after prison should be something, I don’t know, nicer?” Phoenix stared at the Burger Barn menu. Was this really Godot’s idea? The coffee served there wasn’t even that good. “Miles offered us a reservation at a five star place downtown.” At least at somewhere more high end, the brand new suit Phoenix bought specifically for this event would have been appropriate. He still wore it, but it was definitely out of place.

“Are you saying this place isn’t nice, Nick?” Maya gaped in feigned hurt. “How could you!?”

“Yeah, how could you, Nick?” Hearing Godot call him ‘Nick’ made Phoenix uneasy. Maybe ‘Trite’ had a nice ring to it after all. “This isn’t for me, anyway. It’s for the Master.” Godot shot an affectionate smile at Maya. “Mia’s so proud of you. I promised we’d take you here once they released me.”

“Yeah, she didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but I got her to tell me!” Maya laughed. “Sorry Pearly couldn’t make it, by the way. She and Trucy are comparing admissions essays tonight.”

“Who?” Godot stared at the two. “I know Pearl, but who’s the other one?”

“Oh, Trucy? My daughter.” Phoenix presented Trucy’s senior photo he kept in his wallet. “She’s around Pearl’s age, actually.”

“What the hell!?” Godot raising his voice caught the attention of the other patrons in line. “Then why didn’t you drag her around and put her in harm’s way at Hazakura Temple?”

“She’s adopted.” Maya corrected him. “I made the same mistake, honestly.”

Did Phoenix even look old enough to have a biological daughter Trucy’s age? Who would be Trucy’s mother if she was his? He certainly wasn’t surrounded by women during the year Trucy was born.

“I think I’m going to pick out a place for us to sit.” Phoenix excused himself. “I don’t want anything, so you two can order without me.” Now that he had essentially been spoiled with home cooking, Phoenix had little interest in fast food. That, and he wanted Maya to understand how it felt to deal with a notorious fry thief.

He found a clean table next to the booths. There were four chairs, so he could use the extra one to hold coats unless someone from another table asked to use it. He couldn’t help but notice a familiar shade of blue in the corner of his eye and tried to pretend he wasn’t there.

“I know you can see me.” A woman in the booth next to him spoke. “How foolish to think you can call ducking your head ‘hiding.’”

“Oh, uh,” Phoenix laughed nervously, fully acknowledging the woman, “hi, Franziska.”

“You look frightened.” Franziska observed, not at all realizing that maybe, just maybe, it could be the whip sitting beside her. “You shouldn’t be,” she glared at Godot standing in line, “but he should.”

“Who? Godot?”

“He shouldn’t be here.” She stuck up her nose.

“Is he not actually released from prison?” Phoenix blinked a few times. “Did we accidentally help him escape?”

“No, he’s been released. He should be at home.”

“So, he’s on house arrest now?”

“No, he-” Franziska stopped herself and looked away as soon as Godot and Maya approached the table with their food; to put it more accurately, Maya’s food and Godot’s coffee cup.

Wait, was that some kind of string dangling around from the cup?

“Hi, Franziska!” Maya greeted her, completely blowing any attempt of cover. “Since when did you eat at Burger Barn?” She wasted no time after setting down the tray to start digging in.

“I don’t.” Franziska answered flatly. The bacon cheeseburger with the works, apple pie, and strawberry shake on her tray said otherwise. “I, um,” her ears looked red, “was told to order something if I wanted to sit here.”

“How’s Adrian doing?” Maya tilted her head before grabbing a handful of fries. “And why are you here ‘just to sit here?’”

“She is well, thank you.” Franziska took a sip of her shake. “She’s overseeing some renovations to our home right now. As for why I’m here, I have been tasked with monitoring Godot’s wellbeing until we’ve found someone suitable for helping him adjust to life out of prison.”

“You missed me that much, Princess?” Godot smirked. “After your chat with that author, you just had to see me again.” He took a brief sip from his cup, his hand obstructing Phoenix’s view of whatever was attached to the string.

“You really went through with that book deal?” Maya hummed. “Is that why you moved back here from Europe?”

“I did go through with it, yes. I left Godot’s apartment to discuss some things with that fool in the beret, but I told him I would only be out for a few hours.” Franziska took another, bigger sip of her shake. “I was on my way back to his apartment when I was informed he left home without my knowledge.” Franziska frowned at Godot, who was already confused why Phoenix was staring at him for so long. “Don’t even try to change the subject again, either. You know very well why you shouldn’t be here.”

“Doesn’t mean I care.” Godot shrugged and then directed his attention to Phoenix. “And what’s with you? I know you’ve seen a tea bag before.” His body swayed slightly in a way that didn’t look at all voluntary.

A tea bag? Wait.

“You should care.” Franziska stood up, preparing for what she saw coming a mile away. “You were explicitly instructed to stay home and monitor your temperature on an hourly basis.”

“We both know that’s overdoing it.” Godot leaned on the chair next to him.

“You were also told that if your fever went up, you would need to go to the hospital.”

“Are you sick, Godot?” Maya gently tapped Godot’s shoulder, causing him to lose some balance. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Yeah, but it’s not a big deal.” As if only to prove him wrong, a sensation crept up in Godot’s chest, prompting a barking cough that he had worked so hard to suppress; he had done such a good job doing so, too. “I was going to go home right after this.”

“Don’t listen to him.” Franziska commanded. She took a quick bite of her burger before she grabbed hold of Godot from under his arms. “He pulled this with Adrian when she checked in on him earlier. I refuse to allow a fool like him manipulate anyone with such lies, especially not my wife. I also will not stand for whatever foolish escape tactics he roped you two into employing.”

Phoenix reached for Maya’s fries while everyone was so caught up in the distraction, only to find she had managed to wolf down both her burger and all her fries while he wasn’t paying attention. With an inaudible sigh, he put on his coat, considering the group was likely going home soon.

“Actually, um,” Maya fidgeted with one of her hair beads, “we just picked him up like normal. We never would have guessed he wasn’t supposed to leave home.”

“Figures.” Franziska pursed her lips. “I’m going to hazard a guess that he’s been regularly dismissing himself to ‘watch videos of seals’ as well?”

“Hey! How did you know?” Maya looked surprised as if by the third time Godot was ‘sent a funny seal video,’ it wasn’t at all weird. “He said it was a habit he developed in prison.”

“So he was going to the bathroom just to cough?” Phoenix asked. “That’s actually better than what I was thinking.”

“You are disgusting! How foolish do you need to be to-” She suddenly felt Godot become much heavier in her arms. As she expected, his fever caused him to collapse. “Wright,” She hoisted an unconscious Godot over Phoenix’s shoulder, “you are to carry him to the limousine.”

“Why me?” Phoenix grunted as he carried Godot; just staying in place like this was doing a number on his back. Not only was Godot heavy, but there was no doubt his fever was high. Phoenix felt sweaty on every part of him that Godot touched.

“Because I said so, that’s why.” Franziska gave such a strong argument, no wonder she was considered a prodigy prosecutor early in her career. She must have attended the same law school as Phoenix’s mother. She huffed as she hurriedly put away the rest of her meal in the to-go bag, grumbling something when she heard Phoenix and Maya share a chuckle over her ‘required purchase’ story being a flat out lie. She pulled out her phone and tapped on a few touchscreen buttons. “Our ride will arrive shortly. We’re taking him to the hospital, so don’t expect a ride home so soon.”

“Wow, we’re going to the hospital in a limo!” Maya said as if this were some kind of amusement park attraction. “That’s so cool!”

“Maybe we, uh,” Phoenix adjusted Godot’s position over his shoulder, “should refrain from calling a trip to the hospital ‘cool.’”

“For one thing, at least, I agree with your foolish boss.” Franziska collected her things as she led the two conscious parties to the exit, paying no mind to the crowd of patrons who stared in fascination with the spectacle. “You do still assist him, yes?”

“Well, not really since I became the Master of Kurain, but it would be really fun to assist him again.”

“I see.” Franziska hailed the limousine that approached the parking lot. “If you should ever consider assisting me on an international case, Adrian and I would be more than happy to bring you along.”

Phoenix wasn’t allowed to open the door, as demonstrated by the driver stopping him before he could even try. When the driver at last allowed the group in the vehicle, Phoenix and Maya found themselves amazed by the spacious interior. It would be an understatement to say the back was just the right size for Godot to lie back in.

“I’ll consider your offer, but something’s been bothering me” Maya held her hand to her face.

“What? Besides Godot’s cough?” Phoenix didn’t bother pushing Godot off his shoulder as he felt the edge of Godot’s visor pressing against him. “Or how sweaty I’m going to be if he keeps radiating this much heat?”

“I just think Godot could have used a good whipping!” Maya declared, surprising Phoenix and making Franziska laugh until she snorted. “I mean it! That would have told him he should go home!”

“He could have, yes.” Franziska patted the feverish ex-convict on the back. “The whip is retired, though. I just take it around as a habit.”

“No way!” Maya’s volume was toeing the line of potentially waking Godot. “Maybe you’re sick, too.” She jokingly felt Franziska’s forehead. “You feel fine, but something’s up.”

“It just does not fit in where I want my life to be right now.” Franziska spoke matter-of-factly. “Am I not allowed to improve myself?”

“I never thought of it that way.” Something about what Franziska said felt familiar to Maya, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Didn’t stop you from threatening me with it whenever I got out of bed.” Just as the conversation reached its softest point, it was too late to prevent Godot from regaining consciousness. “For a more pressing matter, why aren’t we at Burger Barn?”

“You collapsed!” Franziska raised her voice. If Godot was awake, why bother toning herself down? “We’re taking you to the hospital. You’ll likely need another breathing treatment and you are not making any excuses this time.”

“Do you think I can use the whip if he tries anything?” Maya grinned. “Why let it gather dust?”

“I’d like to see you try.” Godot laughed, but soon enough there was that cough again. “This cough makes me miss being unconscious.”

“I don’t blame you.” Phoenix looked out the window, watching the scenery move along and keeping an eye out for landmarks that could tell him how close they were to the hospital. “That cough is pretty bad. Never heard one quite like it.”

“You know what?” Godot leaned back into the position he was in before he came to. “I’m going to wait and see if I can pass out again.”

“Then Nick can carry you again!” Maya clapped her hands together.

Phoenix had one thing to say to that.

“Objection!”

#whumptober #whumptober 2020 #sickfic whumptober alt #snez attorney

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