#I will ask for extension upon extension instead of giving up an assignment as failed

[asinglesock]

the mood for this semester is actively doing my worst!!! I have to show up and make an effort to actively do my worst, so it's better than being apathetic. you could also call it doing my best when my best is not very good.

[girl-in-the-tower]

WHY I LOVE THE SCARABIA CM AND YOU SHOULD TOO

Listen, I don’t even know why you’d actually need to look for a reason to love and cherish this beautiful piece of animation, but to each their own. Regardless, you’re in the right place, because I’m about to gush and cry over this CM just to convince you to show it the same level of love that I feel for it. It’ll be difficult, but don’t worry, I’ll be there with you the entire time. So, let’s start with the beginning. 

What makes this CM different from the others? Well, let’s look at the most obvious aspect: it’s narrated by two people, instead of just the Overblot victim like in the case of the Heartslaybyul, Savanaclaw and Octavinelle. There we had only Riddle, Leona and Azul speak because, obviously, as the Prefects and shadows of the villains they would be the most important characters. You could call that antagonist privileges if you want, but there’s a reason a show with a big cast doesn’t go in depth with every single one of their characters. Not only would it be infeasible, but also useless. Narratives need a point of focus, otherwise they end up disjointed and incomprehensible. 

So why didn’t this CM just have Jamil narrate? He’s the antagonist of chapter 4, after all. Shouldn’t he get his own moment in the spotlight, separate from Kalim? Well, yes and no. For you see, the thing about Scarabia is that unlike other dorms the relationship between the Prefect and vice dorm leader is much more complicated. By which I mean that no other vice dorm leader is an indentured servant to the family of their dorm’s Prefect. Trey is Riddle’s childhood friend, Ruggie sticks with Leona because it gives him a better chance for survival, the Leech twins stay with Azul out of curiosity, Rook admires Vil, Ortho is Idia’s little brother (?) and Lilia has served as Malleus’ parental figure.

(Also, yes, I’m counting Ruggie and Ortho as vice dorm leaders since that’s basically their role anyways.)

None of them are bound to their Prefect. Trey has a life outside of Riddle, Ruggie will drop Leona like a sack of potatoes if the latter gets too much to deal with, the Leech twins EXPLICITLY say that they will turn on Azul if they get bored, Rook actually points out Vil’s flaws to his face, Ortho doesn’t let his brother get away with everything and Lilia’s position is more of a trusted family friend, than an actual guard/babysitter. The point I’m trying to make is that all these people have choices when it comes to their relationships with their respective Prefects. They stay by their side out of their own will and not because someone is forcing them to be there. 

The same doesn’t apply to Jamil. He can’t just decide to leave Kalim’s side one day, because he was getting sick of looking after him. And that’s because he didn’t have a choice in being by his side in the first place. That decision was made for him by his parents. Because that’s how indentured servitude works: when you’re in the service of a lord, especially if you’re a poor peasant, your period of time decided upon entering the contract tends to extend to future generations as well since you’re not given any money to save. Most peasants that found themselves in such positions often would marry and start a family while still in the service of their lord and should they die, their family, unable to provide for themselves because their whole life was spent doing unpaid labour, will also enter the same contract. This process would go on until either slavery, which this most certainly is, was banned or the lord decided to set you free. The former was much preferable to the latter, because in a feudal system to be set free by your lord often marked you as an undesirable servant. You would be hard pressed to find a lord that would ‘hire’ you after finding out your former ‘employee’ decided to ‘fire’ you. So it would be very rare for indentured servants to actually manage to free themselves from that position. 

This is precisely where Jamil’s frustration arises from as well. As a capable individual, he’s acutely aware of the limitations his status imposes on him. He’s a servant of the Asim family from birth, much like his parents and grandparents were before him. This is not something he chose for himself, but rather something that was imposed upon him. Herein lies the central issue that defines Jamil’s character: lack of choice. Much more than any character, Jamil’s life is governed by the limitations that arise due to his social position. We see that ever since his childhood he was forced to always take into consideration Kalim’s abilities and model his performance as not to eclipse him in any way. If Kalim placed second place in a dancing competition, Jamil must not be among the top three. If Kalim’s grades slipped, his own grades must as well. If Kalim lost two times in a row at mancala, Jamil must make sure he loses the next three games. Yet, paradoxically enough he mustn’t fall behind too much either, for that would make him a useless servant. And as I pointed out before, inept servants are not considered desirable by those in power. 

It is in essence a balancing act that Jamil must make sure he adheres to strictly, as not to bring shame to the Asim family to whom he is, in theory, loyal. In relation to Kalim, Jamil must make sure he performs poorly, but in relation to others he must make sure he performs well. It’s that precise position between exceptional and ordinary that he must achieve, and according to Azul, Jamil is excelling at that.

Azul: You usually never make yourself stand out—A wallflower, so to speak.

You make sure not to stand out academically, too. Whether it’s with class standing, or with practical training. But, at the same time…

You never get failing scores. (4-37)

Yet the question we must ask is why? Why must Jamil follow these demands? 

Well, for one it’s the issue of the indentured servant that we have discussed before. Jamil is bound to the Asims and going against them will bring repercussions not only on himself, but on his family as well. In the modern age in which Twisted Wonderland seems to be set in, this would not be much of an issue, we would guess. However, while that might be true, we must consider it not only from a logical perspective, but a psychological one as well. The human brain is fascinating in the sense in which it is able to transform information into patterns. And nowhere is this most apparent than in the impregnation of cultural norms into the mind. We tend to think of some things as innately ‘normal’ and ‘ordinary’ and everything that goes against those beliefs as ‘perverse’ and ‘immoral’. For example, up until a few decades ago, the idea of women as second-class citizens was seen as a perfectly reasonable notion. Those that did not agree with it were considered troublemakers and agitators, and if there’s anything the human individual loves more conformity, it’s ensuring that it’s enacted upon the population at large. The nail that sticks out gets the hammer, as the saying goes. 

But what does this have to do with Jamil? Well, the fact is that his role, as Kalim’s servant, comes with certain social expectations. 

Jamil: Kalim’s parents were always better than my parents. That’s why… Kalim should be better than me, too. That’s why, I could never surpass Kalim when it comes to studying, exercise, and even playing— (4-36)

The role of a servant is that of support. The Master leads while they provide the conditions and the means to do that. That is precisely the position that the Viper family is supposed to take in relation to the Asim family. For a servant to surpass his master, it leads to a deeply problematic realization: that one’s status is divorced from one’s capacity. Medieval rule was often characterized by monarchs assigning themselves as God’s anointed on Earth. Their right to the throne was not ensured by their capacity or disposition or ideals, but simply by their nature. They were meant to rule, because of the social class and family they were born into. Nothing less, nothing more. It was instinctively understood that there was a great differentiation between them and the common people and that was translated in their position as those to be considered ‘elevated’. They did not mingle with the common folk, because that was beneath them. 

And unfortunately, that is a cultural inheritance that is not easily done away with. For though we might claim we left behind the days of feudalism and vassals, there is still a great divide between social classes. It merely took a different form. Lords of the castle turned into politicians, celebrities and glamorous multimillionaires. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, as Shakespeare would put it. Call it what you will, but the end result is that social divide still exists. And we can see that is the case in Twisted Wonderland as well.

Though the game tends to gloss over it in certain aspects, by having Leona’s reception by the main student body be as that of a lazy Prefect, and Malleus’s position is often eclipsed by his elusive attitude, it is constantly made clear that Kalim is someone with an important social background. We might have to be reminded that Leona is the second prince of the Afterglow Savannah, or that Malleus is the next king of the Valley of Thorns, but we aren’t offered the same discretion with Kalim’s character. He is almost always introduced as Kalim, the heir of a multimillionaire family. It is thus impossible to separate him from this title, and by extension, Jamil as well. Whether he likes it or not, as the servant of the Asims, Jamil is tethered to Kalim by being a part of his social image. No true Master can exist without servants, and no servants can be had without a Master. The two are reliant on each other, much like Kalim and Jamil are reliant on the other to define their position in life. 

Kalim is the son of a wealthy family because he has Jamil to prove his special status. Jamil is a servant of the Asim family because he has someone to serve. But whether he wants to be part of this system and have his identity be defined by this connection is out of his hands. And that’s the truly unbearable notion that Jamil has to deal with in his chapter: no matter what he does he is never in control of his own life. It’s always something that is decided for him.

This, in itself, is not coincidental I would say. You see, besides being interesting social commentary, it is also an unexpected look into the underlying themes of Disney’s Aladdin. If we were asked to describe what the movie is about, I think it’s safe to say most of us would cite “poor street-rat learns a valuable lesson about not pretending to be someone else and marries the princess” as the answer. And we would not be wrong. It’s obvious that “Be Yourself” is one of the most important lessons Disney wanted to teach to young children and this in itself is not a bad thing. But while these might be understood as genuine life advice at a young age, as adults we often tend to look more closely into the themes and motifs of the movies that shaped our childhoods. And thus I would argue that Aladdin is more than just a story about interclass romance, but rather a look into how the social class system functions as a whole. Aladdin, the main hero, is a street urchin with no money to his name. Jasmine, the heroine, is the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the land. Their romance and subsequent marriage is interpreted as a victory over a flawed and classist system, because they managed to surpass the limitations imposed upon them by society and ‘be themselves’. And though this is a heartwarming message to see performed on screen, it’s important to remember that there are more than just the protagonists in the story. Alongside them we have three more characters we must pay close attention to: the Sultan, Jafar and the Genie. 

To do a short summary:

The Sultan: Jasmine’s father and the most powerful man in the country, but rather bumbling and childishly naive. As is typical with Disney parents who are still alive by the start of the movie, he is a figure that possesses authority merely in name. Though kind and generally well disposed, he lacks any real power when it comes to the plot of the movie being tricked by both Jafar and Aladdin, as Prince Ali, and ultimately having to rely on the latter to be saved from the former. The Sultan is the quintessential look at a spoiled monarch whose rule is being facilitated by someone more competent than him, and this informs most of his character as a result. He himself might be a doting and benevolent figure, yet his reign is a prosperous one by accident not by his own making.

The Genie: The spirit who resides in the lamp that Aladdin finds in the Cave of Wonders and who becomes his ally in his quest to marry Jasmine. Perhaps one of the most memorable characters in the movie, thanks to the late William Robbins’ performance, Genie's entire quest in the movie is to achieve freedom by helping out his Master. The parallels between him and the indentured servant position are made abundantly clear by the fact that he is bound to Aladdin until the latter agrees to set him free. Genie’s role in the story is one that is important, but his position is one that mirrors Jafar: they are in the service of someone who is less than them, whether it be competence or magical ability. However, while Jafar detests his position and the Sultan, Genie becomes a father figure to the protagonist. The fact that the two exchange places (Jafar is turned into a Genie and imprisoned, Genie being set free and retaining all his powers) stems directly from how they relate to their social class. Jafar is self-serving and ambitious and Genie is altruistic and self-sacrificial. Genie thinks of the happiness of his Master, though he is still displeased by the concept itself, and for that he is rewarded, proving that putting the well-being of others above your interests is the way to happiness after all. That is, if you’re a Disney hero.

Jafar: The Grand Vizier and the second most powerful man in the land, but is a scheming backstabber that plans to take the throne for himself. As one of the most easily recognizable Disney villains, Jafar makes a strong impression through not only his design, but through his philosophy as well. He’s in spite of his high rank, still pretty much a servant, having to ensure that the rule of the Sultan is enacted accordingly. Yet, as an antagonist he makes certain that whatever he does is in his own interest as well. To say that he is ambitious would be an understatement, but what is it that he wants exactly? There is no clear answer, but the closest we can get to is that Jafar wants power. 

But wait, you might say. Didn’t Aladdin also want that? Why is only Jafar the villain, if they were both after the same thing?

That is a good question! And the answer to it is yes and no. Though indeed, both Jafar and Aladdin wanted power it was for different purposes. Aladdin wanted it for the sake of overcoming his social limitations and thus becoming a worthy candidate for Jasmine, while Jafar wanted power for power’s sake. The lesson that Aladdin learns is that he shouldn’t have attempted to do that, because it would have never worked out in the way he intended it to. Though Jasmine can bring herself down to his level, he cannot bring himself up to hers since it would disrupt the social system. One cannot rise up to a higher social standing through power alone, they need recognition as well. Which is why marrying Jasmine becomes an important plot point. Jafar, who achieved power through his scheming, still lacks the recognition, which can only be granted through marriage to a royal or someone of higher social standing. He fails to achieve it, because his rise in social ranks did not have a ‘noble’ purpose like Aladdin’s but it merely satisfied his own agenda and needs.

Jafar’s status as a villain is thus due to the fact that in Western media ‘Ambition Is Evil’ is one of the most prevalent tropes. Think of the Becky Sharps, the Slytherins, the Lucifers, the Littlefingers that populate our literature, their evil nature is more often than not tied to their necessity to rise above others. 

To reign is worth ambition though in hell; 

Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven. (Paradise Lost)

Power corrupts, and ambition corrupts absolutely. Disney characters thus often learn that it is better not to be swayed by power from their role in society for the sake of power, or they will pay the heavy price for doing so. That is why Jafar fails and Genie succeeds, because they related differently to their role in their Master’s lives. 

And that is a theme that Twisted Wonderland also touches upon in Jamil’s story. Twisted from Jafar itself it was inevitable that his story would deal with such a topic. However, what deeply impressed me was how self-aware the narrative had been in regards to it. 

Ruggie: I feel bad for you. By helping out Kalim you have burned your hands considerably. (R Card School Uniform)

Jamil: I want to avoid standing out. I can’t be satisfied with this. I cannot be too good, nor fall behind, and neither should I get satisfactory grades or fail. This is the best shortcut to success. (SR Card Lab Coat)

Jamil: I am a sworn servant to the house of Asim and thus have a duty to protect the master. (SR Card Ceremony Robes)

Azul: You are always welcome in Octavinelle should you find yourself freed from Kalim. (5-10)

The matter of Jamil’s role as Kalim’s caretaker is one that has been brought up at several points throughout the game. This is usually done with the express purpose of reinforcing his status as his servant, but also to affirm that it is indeed this very position that is preventing him from achieving his full potential. 

Azul: If you look at your grades, there are no visible gaps in your classroom lectures, practical skills and physical training. Even I have a weak point when it comes to flying… For you to not even have such an instability is frankly amazing. It is like you can tailor yourself to suit your needs. (SR Card Lab Coat)

Just as Azul remarks Jamil holds himself back on account of his need to perfectly perform a certain persona: the reliable valet. It is a character we often see in media disguised as the Hypercompetent Sidekick or Servile Snarker, who is by his very nature much more accomplished than the master, but must out of financial necessity submit himself to someone else. Or in Jamil’s case, out of filial obligation. And this is where the comparison with Jafar becomes important because while Jamil does embody Jafar’s ambition, it is not treated in the same manner as in the movie. Jamil’s motives for betraying Kamil are similar to the villain: he wants to impose himself upon others and overcome his social position. Having been raised in servitude since young he has been forced to ‘tailor himself’ to the demands and expectations placed upon him. However, because this position has been imposed upon him and it wasn’t of his own volition, Jamil comes to resemble the genie much more than he does Jafar. Which is completely intentional, I believe. But we’ll get to that soon enough. 

Taking this into consideration it is interesting to note how the resolution of Jamil’s arc differs from Jafar’s in terms of narrative. The end of Aladdin has us witness the defeat of Jafar at the hands of Aladdin, his imprisonment in the lamp and the release of the genie from his bonds of servitude. It is, of course, a typical Disney happy ending: the villain was defeated by his own hubris, while the heroes prevailed through self-sacrifice and cleverness. The main character has learned the necessary moral lesson (cynically phrased as: do not aspire to overcome your social class through hard work, but wait for recognition from your superiors) and all the characters that aided them during their journey get rewarded as well. It’s the culmination of the Disney formula that selflessness and altruism are the values that separate the heroes from villains, and by extension good from evil. Evil only seeks its own interests, while good works in the interests of others. So what about Jamil?

The end of the Scarabia arc is quite ‘Disney’ to a certain degree: the villain has been exposed, the heroes send to the other end of the ‘world’, they get their second wind, defeat him and live happily ever after. Well, not really. You see, what happens before the heroes go to defeat the antagonist is that Kalim breaks down crying due to Jamil’s betrayal and Azul remarks the following thing:

Azul: Kalim’s gentle disposition towards others is completely different from Jamil and I… No… Taking into account everything, he probably built a grudge over the years. You have been causing trouble for Jamil since you were little, after all. However, you are not in the wrong. You were born a cut above the others. You were loved by everyone around you and we were raised under such a good environment.

You were simply unaware of the greed you’ve been showing. (4-34)   

Jamil’s actions aren’t excused, because they are indeed those of a villain: plotting, backstabbing and double-crossing the heroes for his own gains. Yet, they are not simply attributed to his ‘evil’ nature, but rather explained by the environment in which he was raised and the morals that were instilled in him. Jamil is not evil, but rather merely desperate enough to resort to evil means. And that is a profusely important distinction. Though we might commit malicious acts that does not mean that we are malicious by nature, much as committing benevolent acts does not make one irreproachable. And Twisted Wonderland understands this notion: not in the sense that Jamil was right in what he did, but rather than we can understand why he felt like he was pushed to such extremes. 

Jamil’s story is one of the more complex ones, in my opinion. It speaks about an issue much deeper and much more insidious than any that have been explored so far in the game. The result is that unlike the other three previous Overblot victims, Jamil has no clear-cut solution to his problem. Even after the incident he is still in the service of the Asim family. Even if Kalim asserts that they are equals at school, he still will remain a servant everywhere else. No matter what he does he is bound to the Asim’s and more specifically to Kalim. 

I feel like this would be the note on which I should safely conclude this very long introduction, as we move further and into the real meat of this post: the analysis itself. Thus, without further ado, let’s see why this CM is such a treat from a symbolical and storytelling perspective.

The opening of Aladdin (1992) is perhaps one of my favorites due to the fact that it seeks out to reference its source material: One Thousand and One Nights. By that I mean that it utilizes a technique known as the ‘frame story’: a story which contains within it another story. In the novel the framing device is Scheherezade, the vizier’s daughter who upon learning that she will marry Sultan Shahryar and be promptly killed at dawn, devised a plan to subvert her fate. She would each night begin a tale that would leave the Sultan so enchanted that he postponed her beheading until the next day so she might finish her tale. However, upon finishing the previous story Scheherezade would continue with another one and so on and so on until she eventually managed to avoid death for one thousand and one nights. Hence the name of the collection. 

Aladdin uses a similar device in the character of the Merchant who appears at the start of the movie and introduces us, the viewers, to the world of Agrabah which is a place “where they cut off your ear if they don’t like your face” according to the original lyrics of the song. But it also includes a shot at the end of the movie which has the Genie lift up the ‘wallpaper’ and speak directly to the audience. These scenes, though easy to disregard, do reinforce the fact that the movie we’re about to see is not taking place as it happens, but rather a second-hand account of it. Much like Scheherezade attempts to avoid her decapitation, so does the Merchant at the start of the movie attempt to convince us to give the story a try, become immersed and then abruptly reminded of the fictionality of what we have just witnessed. And I don’t mean in the sense that it is a movie, but rather in the sense that even within the logic of the movie, this whole set of events has a certain fictionality to it. The fact that initial plans had the Genie and the Merchant be the same character only strengthens this notion. 

But the Scarabia CM doesn’t start with the Merchant now, does it? No, it does not. But rather it starts with the very first image of the movie itself: purple smoke against a red flaming background. Except that there is no red flaming background this time, but a calming blue shot of the dunes with what appears to be the Scarabia dorm building in the background, or even Agrabah itself. There is no smoke either but sparkling dust that emanates from a lamp half-buried into the sand. The images are clearly meant to evoke the general aesthetic of Aladdin (1992), but they can also be interpreted symbolically. 

The imagery of smoke is often one of ascension, of leaving the earthly shackles and rising higher towards the spiritual world. But it is also a rather solemn symbol as well, given that it can also be associated with the burning of corpses. Its presence in the movie is explained by the fact that this is after all a story about liberation: most obviously the Genie’s, but also the other characters. Everybody wants to be free in some form or another. The colour symbolism is also interesting to remark upon as according to Richard Vander Wende, the production designer of the original film, certain colours have different meanings within the movie. Red symbolizes heat and evil, while blue is a calm colour associated with water. The red background thus carries negative connotations, but it is eclipsed by the presence of the smoke in the foreground, that is a combination of red and blue. If we were to interpret this visual choice we could claim that the movie is trying to let us know that the story we are about to watch is one in which morally-grey protagonists overcome the forces of evil. For, even though Aladdin is our main character, he is not a pure hero by Disney standards as he is after all a thief and the lesson he has to learn is that he should not attempt to scam his way into a better social position. 

But the Scarabia CM uses a blue background instead, so this is certainly not the same message it might try to send. Rather, due to the positioning of Scarabia/Agrabah in the background, I believe that it is indeed a story about rising above, but not above the forces of evil as much as above social norms accepted as standards. The Scarabia storyline is very much centered around the notion of social positions and how they function within a system of indentured servitude, as is obvious through the way in which Jamil attempts to overcome the position of servant through schemes and planning. We most certainly encounter the thread of evil within his character, but though his methods are unsavory, his end is, I would say, understandable: freedom. 

Jamil: For me, and my family... I'll do anything for our sake!!! (4-31)

Jamil: I’m done playing servant!! I WILL BE FREE—!! (4-32)

The choice of a blue background might thus allude not necessarily to goodness as in the moral concept itself, but rather to the comfort of social norms. There is a certain stability to be had in a system that declares that all those born into wealthy families shall remain wealthy, and all those born into servant families should remain servants. To quote Aladdin: “It’s barbaric, but hey, it’s home.” (Arabian Nights) In such a system that relies on absolute conventions regarding social classes, someone like Jamil is a threat, because he questions and subverts the limitations imposed upon him. He is smarter and more capable than Kalim, yes, but because he must ensure that he does not draw negative attention upon himself, he is forced to adhere to a lifestyle that is not representative to whom he truly is. The similar shape of Scarabia and Agrabah only serves to highlight that regardless of his environment, as long as he remains a servant through his bond to the Asims, he shall never be able to change his destiny.

The lamp is the most important object in Aladdin (1992) as it is the MacGuffin that is coveted by Jafar and the prison of the all powerful entity that is Genie. The lamp in the movie has thus two connotations: power and imprisonment. The juxtaposition between the two creates an interesting image of how power changes according to one’s position in society. Though Genie’s powers are indeed great it seems that he is incapable of wishing himself free, which is I think a good analogy to the position of indentured servitude in which only a lord’s permission would be capable of restoring an individual’s freedom, even though they would be in theory capable of physically leaving their place of servitude. Their choice not to is not only a reflection of the possible corporal punishment they would endure if captured, but also due to the social contract that forced them to remain in that position. As servants they would remain branded forever as second-class citizens at best or dangerous felons at worst. Not a fate one would ever wish upon themselves in those days. 

It is clear that besides Jafar, Jamil also bears quite a lot of similarities to Genie.

It’s like being the genie of the lamp, calling me anytime and anywhere. (Jamil Chat 1)

As I mentioned above, Disney draws an interesting parallel between Jafar and Genie when it comes to relating towards their ‘superiors’: Jafar despises the Sultan and wishes to disposes of him, while Genie forms a parental bond with Aladdin and even reluctantly agrees to remaining bound to the lamp if it means his ward’s happiness. The fact that they exchange positions at the end (Jafar being imprisoned in the lamp, Genie being freed) is the result of the moral choices they make. Genie’s altruism is what allows him to be freed, while Jafar’s ambition is what traps him as thus is the rule of Western philosophy: the needs of the others are superior to our own. 

But ignoring Jamil’s OB for now, we realize that he does not truly commit to either one of those positions. He is resentful of his enslavement at the hands of the Asims, but I believe he does not genuinely wish harm upon Kalim himself, but rather towards the system as a whole, which is represented by him. This is an idea we’ll return to eventually, but it is important to mention it in advance, because it paints a better picture of what Jamil’s true intentions were during his attempt to take over Scarabia. It was not power for power’s sake as in the case of Jafar, but rather him trying to assert control over an aspect of his life, which in this case would be his position within the dorm. Jamil isn’t truly interested in the position of Prefect as is, but in what it symbolizes: freedom. As Aladdin shows power is not synonymous to freedom, but rather something adjacent to it. Even a most powerful creature like Genie is bound to the whims and wishes of a mere mortal, much like Jamil is bound to those of Kalim. To overthrow him as Prefect would mean to assert himself as independent of social bonds by having no one be superior to him anymore. Yet, because he does it through immoral means he fails and thus keeps in line with the moral of the movie: you cannot advance socially without the approval of your superiors.

The moon is one of the most referenced symbols in literature due to the fact that it innately appeals to writers and poets alike. It is fundamentally female in nature, due to its connection to the Roman Diana and the Greek Artemis, and associated as a result either with the concept lunacy, to which it lent its name, as well as with witchcraft, solitude, power and change. The moon’s circular shape as observed from Earth is also associated with the notion of eternity and cyclicity, which is perhaps the symbol that is of most interest to us when it comes to Western interpretation, as in Japanese culture the moon can represent a person’s core, unaffected by others. It is more succinctly put a representation of the Self, that which is considered quintessential to one’s identity. And it is this imagery which the CM tends to gravitate towards I would argue.

The moon is a particularly prominent symbol in Aladdin (1992) as it symbolizes the notion of change and new beginnings. Aladdin and Jasmine’s flight during the song sequence “A Whole New World” uses the moon as a backdrop and confers upon it a romantic aura of serenity and calmness, which is referenced towards the end of the movie wherein they fly towards it upon their success at convincing Jasmine’s father to allow their marriage. The moon in this regard is symbolic of unity and fortune, synonymous with true love’s conquest over everything else. But there is also a comedic twist to it as seen in the very last scene of the movie wherein Genie’s face is projected upon it. It is thus primarily a positive symbol associated with goodness.

The CM however is closer in meaning to the notion of the moon as the human core observed in solitude. Unlike the moon in Aladdin, whose shadows are barely perceptible and thus looks more natural, the moon here is overtly engulfed by darkness, with the sole space of light providing a sharp contrast in tone. It is not a symbol of unity, but rather of division creating barriers and boundaries between the characters who are positioned at opposite ends of the circle. Kalim, as a superior in terms of social and financial power, is situated upon the side that shines brighter to symbolize his role as the face of the dorm. He is the Prefect, the one that represents his dorm and the ideals that it is founded upon. Yet, upon further inspection we notice that the word ‘Scarabia’ appears on Jamil’s side, which is not only the dark part, but also takes more space. It is an unequal division but so is much of their life: Jamil remains in Kalim’s shadow, though it is only due to the former’s help that the latter manages to shine as a Prefect. This is confirmed by the positioning of their dorm’s name on Jamil’s side, as he is in fact the one that more overtly exhibits the ideals of careful planning that the Sorcerer of the Hot Lands is known for.  

Kalim’s face change is interesting if we consider the notion of the moon representing the human core on which one’s identity is formed, because it confirms that he is indeed as cheerful as he appears to be. His cheerful disposition though likened to the image of the sun, lacks the usual masculine and aggressive features associated with it in Western culture, as he tends towards more feminine ideals of pacifism and serenity, which are associated with the moon. Moreover, as it has been pointed out to me, if one is to consider the Japanese cultural context we would be able to observe that the feminine characteristics of the sun are in perfect accordance with the female interpretation of the star in the form of Amaterasu. His body language is relaxed and openly friendly and there’s nothing about him that truly stands out in terms of contradictions. 

Jamil on the other hand presents an entirely different picture. His stance is guarded, that much is certain, and his expression is to be considered at best wooden. Unlike Kalim’s dynamic movement, he remains static and unchanging, sporting merely a look of resigned indulgence towards Kalim, and it seems to a certain extent as if he asserts control over his own reaction towards it. In other words, it is not in the slightest bit natural. Moreover, what does attract our attention is not his expression as in the case of Kalim, but rather the shine of the metal of his choker. 

Unlike Kalim which is bathed in light in warmth, Jamil is surrounded by dark and shadows, with the sole point of light being the metal around his neck. This is different from Kalim whose accessories do not stand out in the same vein. The reason is that on a fundamental level they represent entirely different notions. In Kalim’s case it is a representation of his wealth and power, with the lack of focus on them hinting perhaps to the fact that he is at ease with his position as the heir of a multimillionaire family. It does not stand out because that is his right by birth and thus just a natural part of himself. Jamil’s core, on the other hand, reveals that his identity is very much forged by the Viper’s bond to the Asims. 

Jamil: I’ve been looking after Kalim ever since we were kids. That’s the Viper family’s duty. (Jamil R School Uniform Lines)

In Kalim’s case the accessories are just that: accessories. But in Jamil’s case they are a mark of servitude. They stand out among the darkness because this is how he perceives his own persona: dominated by the image of the loyal servant who is socially inferior to his master. Even the metal itself seems to have a silver tint, rather than gold, symbolizing that even though he and Kalim should be equal (both sporting gold chokers) reality is very much different, since he is forced to be subservient even though it goes against his instincts.

It is interesting to note that in Aladdin (1992) the notion of space and how it relates to characters plays a significant part. Agrabah, the setting of the movie, is a place of social division in which those of lower status live in poverty, financial distress and crowded spaces, whereas those of a higher status enjoy the luxury and the vast space provided by the palace. Compare the streets of Agrabah during “One Jump Ahead” which are constantly filled with people, objects and animals and project an image of recurring chaos, to the quiet serenity of the palace where the Sultan and Jasmine live. The contrast is staggering. But more than that it is indicative how much social class can make a difference. 

It is also interesting to note that with the exception of the Sultan, all characters have at some point transversed these two spaces: Jafar and Aladdin move between the city, the palace and the desert, Jasmine sneaks into the city in order to experience real life and the Genie has access to a fourth space in the form of the lamp. However, the Sultan always remains within the palace walls. The reason for that is rather obvious: it is the seat of power and to leave it would be to admit to inferiority in regards to his position. Unlike the other characters that long for something more, the Sultan is content in his role as representative of financial and social power. He does not need to switch locations, because his static nature is what allows the other characters to progress in their journey. 

The CM builts on this premise as well, by showing us the very different worldviews that Kalim and Jamil experience. Fulfilling the role of Sultan, Kalim is surrounded by luxury and comfort, as he rests in his room at the dorm. The colours are warm and calming, as the light very gently illuminates the room in order to cause an impression of coziness, which fits perfectly with his own character. Kalim’s personality is at its core a ‘refreshing’ one, orientated towards creating harmony and a content attitude. All his life was spent among servants that catered to his every whim and desire, so his sense of independence was greatly stifled. If we may put in blunt terms, he’s sleeping through life, relying entirely on his social position due not necessarily to laziness, but rather naivety. Because he never had to leave the palace walls, he never had to develop any sense of autonomy and thus has managed to remain faithful to his social role. He does not experience a sensation of contradiction between who he is and who he is regarded as because he lives in accordance to the characteristics deemed appropriate for him as a member of the elite.

The same cannot be said for Jamil. Juxtaposed with Kalim’s scene we see Jamil walking through the desert as the harsh light shines upon him. There is no comfort to be found in this particular shot. Whereas Kalim is sleeping peacefully and at ease, unaware of the difficulties of life, Jamil is wide awake. Unlike the former, the latter’s life is dictated by restrictions and hardships, all which he has to endure without showing displeasure as befitting his social role. He does not have the privilege of laying around not only due to the demands that are made of him, but also due to his innate desire for change. The desert can thus very easily symbolize the unfairness which he has to endure as a servant, but it can also symbolize his ambition and the effort he is willing to spend on making sure he can change his social status. Unlike Kalim, who rests in the palace, Jamil seeks to escape its confines even if it means enduring hardship. For you see, though the palace is indeed a place of stability, it is also a prison.

The similarities between Agrabah’s palace and the Scarabia dorm building are most certainly intentional. They’re places of unimaginable wealth that function as status symbols for the people that control them. Agrabah is, as we mentioned before, heavily divided, but it is paradoxically the slums that offer more freedom than the palace itself. Looking back at the movie we notice that the biggest symbol we can associate with Jasmine is the bird in the cage yearning to be free. The notion, moreover, is also supported by imagery such as setting the birds free after a talk with her father and, as it had also been pointed out by other critics, that the canopy of her bed is designed to resemble a birdcage. As a princess Jasmine is bound by social roles and conventions to adhere to the expectations placed upon her, and her journey in the movie is to assert herself as an autonomous person before her father by insisting that she be allowed to make her own choices. The problem however lies with the word ‘allow’ itself which once again contradicts her ideals. The notion of allowing someone to do what they want situates the power in the hands of the person who is recognized as the social superior. In the case of Jasmine, it is her father, the Sultan. In the case of Jamil, it is the Asims. 

The Scarabia dorm as a symbol of the prison is an obvious one due to the fact that it served as such for Grim and Yuu during episode 4. But that is what we might refer to as physical confinement, which at its core is not compatible with the message of the CM and even of the movie. Because the CM does not focus on Grim and Yuu, but on Jamil and Kalim, so this is not a case of a physical prison, but rather a mental one I would argue.

In several respects, the prison must be an exhaustive disciplinary apparatus: it must assume responsibility for all aspects of the everyday individual, his physical training, his aptitude to work, his conduct, his moral attitude, his state of mind; the prison, much more a than the school, the or the army, which always involved workshop certain specialization, is 'omni-disciplinary'. Moreover, the prison has neither exterior nor gap; it cannot be interrupted, except when its task is totally completed; its action on the individual must be uninterrupted: an unceasing discipline. Lastly, it gives almost total power over the prisoners; it has its internal mechanisms of repression and punishment: a despotic discipline. It carries to their greatest intensity all the procedures to be found in the other disciplinary mechanisms. (Foucault 235-236)

Foucault’s Discipline and Punishment: The Birth of the Prison is an interesting look into the social and theoretical mechanisms employed by prisons in order to ‘reform’ convicts. The end goal of these institutions is to reintegrate the individual into society and to achieve such a thing it is not necessary just to punish and torment them, but to discipline them. By this Foucault understood as allowing one’s life to be entirely dictated by “a disciplinary apparatus” decided by those within power. It’s main aim was to restructure one into a “docile body” beneficial for the economical and political necessities of that specific age, which in many cases referred to the idea of one being content to pursue the interests of the state and those that governed it. 

I bring this up because I can see the same ideas reflected in Jamil’s character arc as well. Foucault mentions that the prison is a space in which discipline is uninterrupted and unceasing. In other words it is a space which constantly reinforces the ideals that are considered desirable, and we can see that Scarabia unintentionally functions the same way. It is a space in which Jamil is cast as inferior to Kalim once again, trapped into the position of Vice Prefect, despite the fact that he embodies the ideals of the dorm more than he does. Though this is a different place, his routine has remained unchanged: he must still cater to Kalim’s wishes and perform the role of the servant, despite the fact that in theory the two of them should be equal now.

Scarabia Student B: Our family standing and status shouldn’t matter inside the school! We’re all equal here, right? (4-18)

Under normal circumstances, Night Raven College is supposed to be a neutral space in terms of social standing. Leona and Malleus are recognized as princes, but are not given any particular attention in terms of political and social superiority, and rather scrutinized due to their peculiar attitudes and personalities. They are, in theory, equal to the other students at the academy and the same should apply to the relationship between Kalim and Jamil as well. But things are not so.

During episode 4 we find an interesting detail about Scarabia: it seems that the building had been renovated once Kalim was accepted into the dorm. This is not usually a detail that would require any particular attention, but it reveals something about the environment in which Jamil resides: it is representative of the Asims. The ostentatiousness and extravagance are the result of their direct influence and thus molded by their own desires. By remodeling the building they have reforged it into an image of their social position and installed a member of its own family as leader. Its neutrality has been compromised and so has Jamil’s attempted escape. Attending Night Raven College is not merely a case of attending one of the best magic schools in the world, but also one of asserting one’s independence. Jamil was given the chance to finally break free from the system that has had him ensnared for all his life, only to have his hopes be dashed by being reminded that in the end the influence of his masters is much greater than he could have anticipated. Thus, Scarabia was turned into a space of imprisonment which perfectly replicates the dynamics of the Asim household and thus denies Jamil any possible form of freedom. Much like Genie and Jafar at the end of the movie, he is unable to escape his prison without the approval of his superiors.

Jamil is aware, however, that he is not and will most likely not ever be able to receive such freedom from the Asims. And consciously he knows he cannot attempt to break free on his own either. 

Jamil: My family, the Viper Household, has been serving the Asim Family since olden times. A retainer drawing his sword against his master is unforgivable. Even more so, if Kalim’s father found out about it, my family will end up being punished. I’m sorry, but I cannot put my family in danger just because of a selfish request. (4-18)

Jamil’s sense of filial duty is one of the driving forces behind his character. It’s not only that he himself wants to be free, but wants his family to be released from their bonds as well. Because the system in which he has been raised permits a master to punish an entire family for the disobedience of one member it becomes understandable why Jamil is such a guarded person. It is not merely his own person that is at stake, but the lives of those he cares about also. It is a thought that has weighed heavily upon his head since young childhood most likely, once he became aware of how exactly the social system set in place works. To go against it would not be an act of brave rebellion, but that of sentencing others to punishment to fulfill his own ambitions. Which for a character twisted from Jafar seems contradictory. Yet we must remember that he has certain traits of Genie as well. Unlike him whose loyalty lies to his Master, Aladdin, Jamil’s loyalty lies to his family. He’s only willing to endure things as they are now due to the fact that rebelling would mean having them suffer the consequences. And Jamil is aware of that.

Yet, it is also necessary to ask the following question: Why does he end up rebelling in the end?

The most obvious answer: accumulated frustration. 

As I stated before, Jamil does not hate Kalim. However, it is also obvious that his Overblot had very much to do with the fact that he had become increasingly irked by the latter’s attitude to life. His critique of Kalim’s character, though harsh, was entirely accurate. Kalim is indeed spoiled and naive to an almost ridiculous degree, even though it is not entirely due to his own fault. Moreover, it is not necessarily these particular traits that Jamil takes issue with, but rather his predilection towards inaction. To briefly reference a previously discussed shot: though Kalim is content in his passivity, Jamil cannot abide by the current system. He desires change, but he knows he is in no position to enact it and is thus frustrated that the one who would be able to perform this task is oblivious to the struggles of those around him. Jamil does not hate Kalim as a person, but rather that which he represents: the power of the system itself. As the CM shows Kalim is able to move forwards, uncaring of limits and boundaries, but uninterested in change (initially) while Jamil, though he desires to advance, is stuck in one spot. 

The brief image of Kalim reflected in the surface of running water captures this concept perfectly. Jamil is not looking at Kalim as he is, but rather as perceives him to be: an unclear image. Water has the same reflective properties of mirrors, but due to their unstable state they cannot portray accurate images. Jamil attributes maliciousness to Kalim’s denseness as not only a means of explaining his actions, but as a way to excuse his own eventual betrayal of him. If Jamil considers Kalim as a representative of the system, he feels justified in his actions and thus more willing to go through with them, since he can project his frustrations upon a material, solid person rather than an abstract entity. Kalim is in a sense a scapegoat for Jamil’s anger.

The snake is laden with multiple meanings being both a manifestation of evil (Satan taking the form of a serpent to trick Eve into sinning) as well as a symbol of rebirth and transformation. In keeping with the colour motif of the movie the serpent staff that Jafar carries with him has eyes which glow red when he’s using it to hypnotize the Sultan to indicate his evil influence upon him. In the CM we have the image of a red snake coiling around Jamil’s feet which is the physical manifestation of all his feelings of dissatisfaction regarding his position as a servant finally bursting apart. But before he is overtaken by those negative feelings we notice interestingly enough that the snake takes the form of an ouroboros: a snake which eats its own tail. A symbol of eternity.

Jamil: I’ve been raised as a retainer to serve his family, so I really can’t understand. A master is a master and a servant will be a servant. Most probably for as long as we’re alive. (4-26)

When discussing Jamil’s character we must admit to a certain cyclicity. Not one he engages in, but rather one in which he is stuck. He is the son of a family that has served the Asims for generations, creating a chain of servants and masters that is currently supposed to be replicated by him and Kalim. His sense of autonomy is constantly denied due to the intervention of forces beyond his control. Moreover, in chapter 4 itself his plans get constantly ruined by either Grim or the Octavinelle Trio, creating a sense that the universe itself has aligned itself in opposition to him. 

But there is more to it still. Jamil is a highly ambitious person, who desires to establish himself through his talent and skill, thus giving him the perfect reason to despise a system that requires some individuals to be subservient to others for arbitrary reasons. However, by his own admission he cannot envision a life outside the system either. This is in essence the insidiousness of such phenomena: they entrap not only the person physically but psychologically as well. Once one’s identity is dependent upon a certain ideology and philosophy of life it is extremely difficult to extract themselves from that mindset. Much like Foucault said, once the mind is disciplined and the individual turns into a ‘docile body’ they become reliant on that particular system in order to form a coherent identity. 

Though Kalim can step outside the bounds and limits imposed upon him, by virtue of his social position, Jamil is only allowed to operate within those boundaries. It is precisely why he stops advancing further once he reaches the end of the round court. Though physically he should be able to overcome such obstacles, mentally he is unable to not. Not as long as he remains under the governance of the Asim family, at the very least. It is obvious however that he cannot simply rise against them, and this realization is what causes him to hit the limit in terms of patience. He finally realizes that he has been robbed of his independence even before he was born.

Jamil: But if I have, it’s better you don’t know what I really think of you. If everything goes to plan… I’ll finally be free. (Scarabia CM)

Sight is an important theme to Jamil’s character as he, much more than any other character perhaps, actively attempts to manipulate the perception of others about him. He is not what he appears as Azul remarks in many of their interactions, and that is because to Jamil allowing himself to be genuine would come with a price: revealing his true feelings regarding his social position. And that, as previously stated, is not something he can afford.

Eyes are often called the ‘windows of the soul’ in the sense that they reflect a person’s true intentions and thoughts. Moreover, the notion of sight is one that literary authors often like to explore in their works. Out of all the senses, sight seems to be considered the most unreliable, since it often fails to discern that which exists in obscurity. The notion is explored in Aladdin (1992) too to a certain degree. Everybody sees only what they desire to see, and because the images they form are so contradictory that it creates misunderstandings and unnecessary conflict. Jafar’s power of hypnotism is even more interesting in this context since by definition it allows him to influence a person’s perception of reality and thus a part of their identity and how they relate to their environment. 

The end of the CM hints towards this notion as well, as we see that the Overblot first manifests itself is his eyes, obscuring his sight from the reality around him. He’s chosen to throw himself into the negative emotions that have finally overtaken him, and as a result given him the power to recreate reality to his discretion. We see the parallel with Genie and Jafar in his Unique Magic as well, since though he possesses one of the most potent powers, he’s still considered an inferior. Jamil’s Overblot is thus one formed by the depressing realization that for as long as he exists within the system, he’ll be forced to endure the continuous cycle of subservience forced upon him since before his birth. His transformation moreover is the result of a desperate yearning for freedom which has driven him to extreme actions. The appearance of the red eyes behind him symbolize more than the eyes of the serpent staff. They are a stark reminder that he is consumed entirely by the realization of his own powerlessness and over-dependence upon the Asims, even if it’s against his desire. 

To note is also the fact that out of all the Overblot victims, Jamil’s expression is the only one that is peaceful. If we take a look at the Heartslaybyul, Savanaclaw and Octavinelle CMs all of the Prefects display either rage or shock during their transformations. It is clear that this process is a horrific one, which explains their reactions, yet strangely enough Jamil seems serene and accepting as if he has come to terms with this course of action. Unlike the Overblot victims before him, his transformation is liberating to a certain degree, because it allows him to finally achieve his goal: get rid of Kalim and instate himself as leader of the dorm. Not because he covets the position itself, but rather because through it he manages to finally become free and unburdened by his social position. In a way, the dark appeal of Overbloting is just that: unlimited power, and for a character like Jamil, who very much lacks this, it is especially hypnotic. 

Out of all the Overblots so far, I consider Jamil’s the most tragic because in the end there seems to be no obvious escape for him, perhaps except in the case of Kalim setting him free. But this is still an event that will happen in a few years at best. It does not answer his current need for autonomy. Yet, despite this we see in chapter 5 that there is indeed some improvement. Though he has refused Kalim’s offer of being friends, he nevertheless has begun acting more like his equal within school grounds and their relationship overall seems less hostile on his end. The fact that much of the action of chapter 5 takes place in Ramshackle Dorm is also an important thing to note as it manages to create a neutral space, untainted by the Asim’s interference. In Vil’s system of meritocracy Jamil is finally able to act as himself and stop performing a role for others, thus he is finally able to assert a degree of autonomy over his own person, which he was not capable of doing before.

Coming now to the ends of this post I think it goes without saying that in terms of narrative cinematography the Scarabia CM is currently unmatched. Though short it manages to give a perfect summary of the themes explored in episode 4, the relationship between Kalim and Jamil and a brief but insightful look into the latter’s psychology and reasons for Overbloting. 

So, there’s really nothing else to do but thank Yana for giving us such a wonderful CM for what I consider the best dorm and best boys in the whole game.  

Additional Links

Indentured Servitude: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qt--B1Y-u6Y

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ti7Kbd6gSIo

Twisted Wonderland, Episode 4: https://kanadesmusingsblog.wordpress.com/2020/06/01/masterpost-twisted-wonderland-episode-4-translations/

Jamil Chats, Personal Stories: https://twisted-wonderland.fandom.com/wiki/Jamil_Viper/Personal_Story

https://twisted-wonderland.fandom.com/wiki/Jamil_Viper/Chat

Scarabia CM: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EVSx_BvTlmQ

Aladdin (1992) commentary: https://filmschoolrejects.com/38-things-we-learned-from-the-aladdin-commentary-fd9f1d8573b3/

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The peeps over in the Twisted Writings discord know this has been brewing for a while, but I’ve finally managed to sit down, write and edit this monster. It bears witness to the fact that I adore Scarabia more it is healthy (lol). 

Also wanted to thank fellow Scarabia stan buddy @chillableu​ for proofreading and brainroting with me about these boys. You’ve been such a great help and I’m so thankful to you!  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

All the translation sources have been linked in the last section of the commentary.

[deadlyanddelicate]

hey this may be a stupid question, but it's already been a long time since ive read trk so i don't remember everything properly, so can you explain to me why exactly ganseys behavior in the book is seen as problematic??

hey! don’t worry, there are no stupid questions in my book. in fairness, it’s not about gansey’s behaviour in trk, it’s about his behaviour throughout the whole series. most of his problematic actions all come down to the same basic flaw: self-centeredness. for all that gansey is a generous and loving person, he can’t help but make everything about himself. he is driven by anxiety to define his place in the world beyond his privilege, yet he is blinded by that very same privilege - a bad combination, and one that leads him to show very little empathy for the people he loves.

like many teenagers, he’s looking for affirmation from his friends... but then resents them for not giving it, while failing to see that (most of) his friends are dealing with traumatic issues. when his friends reject his input - because it is not what they need or want at the moment - gansey always, always takes it personally. at no point does he try to ask himself, okay, if this isn’t what my friends need, then what do they need from me and how can i be a better friend? instead, he goes straight into self-pity mode, complaining that his friends reject his support and walk away from him. thing is... it’s not real support if it only makes him feel better and not them.

i don’t really have the time to write an extensive meta on all of the interactions where gansey’s lack of empathy comes into play, but here’s a list of just the most glaring ones in the series, in no particular order:

gansey consistently tries to pay for adam’s way and persuade him to move in with him, even though adam has told him multiple times that he is uncomfortable with it because independence is key to his sense of self as an abuse survivor. sometimes he does this even when he’s fully aware that it will start a fight. despite that, adam is usually the one apologizing, at least on page

notably in trb there’s a scene where gansey tries to get adam to move in with him, but when adam asks what’s going to happen if gansey leaves henrietta - is adam just supposed to drop out of aglionby and follow him? - gansey doesn’t reassure him that’s not gonna happen. he just says adam will have to start again at a new school. 

as i said above, this is not true support because it helps gansey feel better without inconveniencing him, but it is not what adam wants. if gansey wanted to support adam, he’d at least promise he would stay in henrietta for their final year of high school, instead of expecting adam to follow him around the world.

when adam rejects that offer and says he’ll stay in the trailer park, gansey takes it incredibly personally and his first response is to victim-blame adam for his abuse, saying things like: “you let your dad pound the shit out of you. you’re as bad as [your abusive mother]. you think you deserve it.” when adam still refuses to move in, and tells him, rightfully so, that gansey doesn’t know what it’s like for him, gansey follows that up with “don’t pretend you have anything to be proud of”. this is past mean and straight into cruel.

adam is the one who apologizes after this fight. let that sink in.

when thinking back on ronan’s suicide attempt, it is strongly implied in the text - and was made explicit in deleted scenes - that gansey appears to have taken ronan’s suicide attempt not just as a traumatic event, but as a slight against him, and is always vaguely guilt-trippy when it comes up (i.e. you promised me you wouldn’t get suicidal again)

gansey does illegal things on ronan’s behalf, multiple times, without ever wondering if this is what ronan wants, see: bribing school officials to keep ronan in school when ronan explicitly wants to drop out, because staying in school is what gansey thinks he should do. even if gansey’s heart was in the right place (i believe in staying in school), he is essentially involving ronan in illegal dealings against his will.

gansey is happy to share his search for glendower with the others, and delegate tasks to them (adam especially) as long as they do things his way. when adam acts against one of his decisions, gansey is absolutely unable to let that go. and while i understand that he is hurt by the breach of trust, because adam went behind his back, his language is telling: “i did tell him that we were to wait, right?”. you don’t “tell” your friends what they “are to do”. that’s not an equal relationship. 

this is also seen in the way gansey acts with ronan in more of a parental role, actively ordering him about. you know there is a problem when an outside character refers to ronan as “gansey’s dog” and neither gansey nor ronan disagree with this.

there’s the infamous hospital scene in trb, too, which has been excellently analysed in this meta post by @bleachersmp3 and @mericatblackwood, but i’ll say a few words about it anyway

in this scene, adam has just been beaten into losing his hearing. he has just come out of the hospital, bruised and traumatised, and has been told he will now have a permanent disability as a result of his abuse. he is now also homeless, because by pressing charges against his father to protect ronan, he has ensured his parents will kick him out for good. so he is forced to move into monmouth - something we have been told from the start of the book he absolutely did not want, because it was critical to his sense of self not to depend on gansey’s wealth. so, he’s bitter about it.

and okay, that’s not entirely fair, because it wasn’t gansey’s fault. but if your friend had just undergone such horrific trauma, surely you would be a little lenient, and understand they’re not being objective atm, right? well, not gansey. instead, gansey launches into a tirade at him: “what is your problem, adam? [...] is there something about my place that’s too repugnant for you? [...] I’m sick of tiptoeing around your principles!”

when adam snaps at him that he’s being condescending by using highbrow words (we can assume that this is a discussion they’ve had before, because adam tries to get gansey to use more everyday words multiple times in the book, especially when it’s clear that blue doesn’t understand something, so it’s something gansey already know adam finds condescending), gansey goes straight to victim-blaming again, this time with a classist twist thrown in: “i’m sorry your father never taught you the meaning of repugnant. he was too busy smashing your head against the wall of your trailer while you apologized for being alive.”

gansey does not apologize at any point after this fight. 

when adam sacrifices himself to cabeswater - which he does explicitly to stop whelk from murdering one of them and save gansey - gansey takes it as a slight against him, because it goes against what he told adam to do, and sadly asks adam “why? was i so awful?”, showing he has completely misunderstood adam’s reasons. adam tells him, and not for the last time: “it was never about you”.

it clearly doesn’t sink in bc they have the same discussion in the dream thieves, when gansey again asks him why did he go to cabeswater against his orders. he does this in an emotionally manipulative way, too - implying that ronan and blue both think badly of him while gansey has been defending him so adam owes him. adam again tries to tell him “it wasn’t about you”, which gansey refuses to believe, and reminds adam that the glendower search “belongs” to him. adam replies that if gansey wants adam’s help - which gansey relies upon frequently, as it seems like adam is assigned a very large share of research and coming up with ideas - he needs to treat him as an equal

after the fight, when adam has a mental breakdown due to the combination of stress, ptsd, and magically-induced hallucinations, and is found wandering along a highway, clearly dissociating and undergoing amnesia, gansey is still so bitter about their fight that he contemplates leaving him behind in dc, so that “adam will have to apologize for once” (for once???)

consider all this emphasis gansey puts on how much adam betrayed his trust; consider that gansey then spends nearly two books seeing blue behind adam’s back (starting in tdt, through bllb, and halfway through trk)

consider that despite the fact adam takes the reveal gracefully and thanks gansey for his honesty, when adam later in trk is honest with gansey about his feelings for ronan, gansey’s immediate reaction is to assume adam is using ronan as a sexuality experiment and warns him not to break ronan’s heart, because ronan is just so fragile and adam is just so cold

consider that the only basis gansey has for making this assumption is that “adam has hurt him (gansey) so many times before”, but never stops to think about his own responsibility in their disagreements, or whether he ever hurt adam 

as you can see, the vast majority of these are in the first two books, with the exception of the “shovel talk” in trk. i would like to say gansey grows over the series, but i think unfortunately it’s more to do with the fact that starting with bllb, the plot is split between gansey/blue and adam/ronan, so gansey just doesn’t get as many interactions with adam and ronan (he’s still bribing school officials on ronan’s behalf though, including selling monmouth which at the time is where ronan is also living). 

gansey isn’t a bad person, and doesn’t (always) mean badly. he does love his friends. unfortunately, his refusal to see things from anyone’s perspective but his own makes him a toxic friend on a great number of occasions.

[ootori-sibs]

Through the eyes of the patriarch

Part 2: The game

Tw: implied neglect

With Fiyumi living with her husband and Akito off at university, mealtimes at the mansion were quite quiet. Yoshio picked at his food as he watched his sons silently eat; Yuuichi was reading a newspaper, one about innovations in the medical industry, Kyoya, on the other hand, was focused entirely on his food, staring down at it with a faraway look in his mind, a pensive look that if the light had hit his glasses like it so often did, it might just look like a glare- was this what Souh had mentioned. Yoshio silently sighed, swallowing his pride, “Kyoya?” He couldn’t help but notice how Kyoya jolted, instantly sitting up and adjusting his glasses, he didn't mention it though, “is there something on your mind?”

Kyoya was clearly worried, Yoshio noticed, and even Yuuichi glanced up from his newspaper. “No father, I’m just not that hungry.”

Hm, that was a lie, clearly. Yoshio just nodded, he didn’t really want to press it, so he opted to change the subject, “so, how was school?” That was something Yuzuru had suggested he do, it felt very unnatural coming from him but he hoped Kyoya would appreciate it.

“I- pardon?” the boy looked so shocked and almost scared, “why? Is something wrong, father?” Kyoya was definitely scared and Yoshio understood why, even Yuuichi’s eyes had gone wide. Yoshio wasn’t usually the type to ask about things like that unless something was wrong- he did have his doubts about Souh’s suggestion.

“No, not at all,” he assured Kyoya, still unable to sound anything other than professional, “I'm just curious.”

“Oh,” Kyoya seemed a little disorientated now, frowning but looking quite surprised still, “well it’s good, we did a 1800s america theme in the club so we saved money reusing those little hair extensions, although mine was a little too long so I had to get a new one.”

“Oh yes, I believed you mentioned the whole dressing up thing,” Yoshio did not agree with the idea of dressing up to attract such people, he thought it sounded incredibly improper, "I assume you had, uh… fun?"

"Well I don't really find the cosplay part of it fun, I prefer to sit quietly with some tea and work on the finances or some homework," there he is, that's Yoshio's son for you, ever the studious one. "Unfortunately," oh, Kyoya wasn't done, "I couldn't get much done, as Tamaki had taken it upon himself to behave strangely today," the boy let out a laboured sigh, clearly tired of Souh's antics, Yoshio almost regretted the deal he'd made with Yuzuru before he even told Kyoya.

"Strangely? How so?"

He seemed a lot more relaxed now, Yoshio was surprised by how Kyoya seemed a bit more willing to talk then when they began, "I'm not sure what's gotten into him today, but he was even more clingy and he wouldn't even let me eat lunch by myself, he usually leaves me to do that."

"You eat lunch by yourself?" Yuuichi finally spoke up, placing his newspaper down. Yoshio was surprised to hear him chime in, Yuuichi usually didn't interrupt things, though he saw that his heir's eyes were filled with concern, "do you always eat alone? If you have friends shouldn't you be spending lunchtimes with them?"

Kyoya paused, glancing down, "I spend a lot of time with them, I simply enjoy a little bit of a quiet rest. It's easier to enjoy my meal in some peace and quiet."

"It's not crime," Yoshio confirmed, "I mean, if the Souh boy is as annoying as is to be assumed, I can't blame you for wishing for some peace." He watched Yuuichi nod, sitting back down, then saw Kyoya frown in the corner of his eyes, he seemingly got angry but bit it back, presumably fighting the urge to defend the Souh boy. Yoshio was beginning to believe Yuzuru was right in his assumption, but there was one detail he had realised. "Did he have an excuse for this new behaviour?"

"No father, I didn't ask him."

"Hm," at least Tamaki knew when to keep his trap shut, he must have gotten that from Anne-sophie. "Alright then, I checked your grades this morning and you're still doing perfect, I couldn't find fault if I tried." Yoshio saw how Kyoya looked mildly surprised, he'd gotten an A- on an assignment and usually he'd be tough on that front, or at least bring it up, but Yuzuru had suggested care and leniency, so Yoshio was going to let that one go; everyone struggles at one subject anyway.

After dinner, Yoshio was straight on the phone to Souh, Yuzuru picked up instantly, just like he knew he would. "Good evening Ootori, is everything alright?" He seemed to be in quite the chipper mood, he wouldn't be for long.

Walking through the halls with his phone in hand, Yoshio let his tone drop to a drawl- not quite a growl, "Yuzuru…" that idiot, Yoshio had half a mine to cut him down where he stood. Instead, he took a deep breath and continued towards his office.

"Oh! Oh ok, something's definitely wrong. What's got you in such a mood?"

"Did you tell your son?"

"Huh? Tell Tamaki… oh, about the arrangement? Of course I did, why?"

Ugh, what a moron. How this guy got to be the head of a company, Yoshio had no clue. "He's been acting differently towards Kyoya, who doesn't know yet. What kind of a moron do-!"

"Why didn't you tell him?"

What? Yuzuru's question cut through Yoshio's thoughts and left him hanging there, why hadn't he told Kyoya? He supposed he didn't want his son to worry about having to behave differently, or maybe it was because he technically wasn't supposed to know of Kyoya's persuasion? Yoshio wasn't sure.

"I don't know, Yuzuru. I believe I should wait a little first, but if you insist on telling your boy, I suppose I must tell mine, I just-"

"Oh! A game!"

"A game? What?" Yoshio was annoyed by Yuzuru interrupting him, to suggest a game? What kind of a childish bastard was this man?

"Tamaki can try and romance Kyoya without the arrangement hanging over their heads! Well Tamaki will know but he is absolutely ecstatic about marrying his best friend! So it will seem to Kyoya that it's perfectly natural!"

"Are you suggesting we encourage your heir toy with my son's emotions?" He was nothing if not a protective father, Yoshio was, and if this was truly what Yuzuru intended, then he could not and would not allow it

"No, no! Not what I meant! I mean, Kyoya is a hesitant kid when it comes to emotions, Tamaki can help ease him into the idea before we drop the bombshell. Making it a game is just a plus!" Yuzuru was, certainly a strange man, Yoshio had known him for quite a while but failed to understand a word that left the old codger's mouth.

"I…" he sighed, standing still for just a moment, "a week, I'll give him a week."

"Huh?"

"Your son has a week, I'm giving him the opportunity to win over Kyoya of his own accord before I tell him of the arrangement," he spoke clearly and concisely, leaving no room for doubt.

"Tamaki can do that easily!"

"The only rules are that it must stay innocent and that he is not allowed to tell Kyoya about the arrangement himself. Understood?" Yoshio ignored the previous comment from Yuzuru, disliking how the man had implied Kyoya to be 'easy' as it were.

"Understood," Yuzuru confirmed, sounding pleased still, "is that all you wanted to talk about?"

"Hm, I believe so. Unless you wish to bet on how easily my son will yield?"

Yuzuru just laughed at that, "you are a harp Yoshio! You should try cracking jokes more often, you're good at it!" He seemed rather cheerful, and Yoshio would almost think it contagious, "I'll have to pass on the waivers, I still need to convince my mother that this is good for business."

Oh that woman, there wasn't a woman more hated than Shizue in all of the upper crust. Yoshio scoffed at the mere thought of her, "good luck there Souh, if you need; I have plenty of dirt on her."

"I'll pass on blackmailing my mother for now as well, au revoir Yoshio."

With that, Souh ended the call, leaving Yoshio in silence. He sighed and continued on his way towards his office, he couldn’t believe he’d just agreed to something like that, he usually wouldn’t. He supposed this might be good, to indulge in revelry? Was that not what Yuzuru had encouraged? Yoshio began to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t rely on only one person for this kind of advice. He shook the thought from his mind and continued on to his office.

When he arrived at his office door, however, Yuuichi was standing there, waiting for him. "Father?" He glanced at Yoshio, standing up from where he'd been leaning against the wall, "can I ask you a question?"

"Hm," Yoshio frowned, unlocking the door to his office, "what is it?" He knew that tone in Yuuichi's voice, this question would not be about business. Walking into the office, Yoshio didn't glance back at his son as the young man spoke again.

"Why have you been behaving so gently towards Kyoya as of late?"

Hm, Yoshio paused, not glancing back. He knew he'd been a terrible father, but to hear that Yuuichi considered merely asking about Kyoya's day as being soft, he must have been worse than he thought. "Yuuichi, there's nothing wrong with inquiring about my son's day, it's not gentle to care about my son."

"You never did that before."

Yoshio froze.

His son, his darling, eldest boy, his heir, his pride and joy, he thought Yoshio didn't care… it was enough to break the old man’s heart. Yoshio closed his eyes, forcing years of emotional repression to do its job, he can’t cry, not in front of his heir. He straightened his back, letting out a small sigh, “Yuuichi, are you jealous of your brother?”

“Pardon?”

He turned to look at him, the sadness on Yuuichi’s face was clear under the attempt to stay stoic, Yoshio had never paid that much attention to his children's emotions but he knew that Yuuichi was hurting. "You're jealous I'm trying to show care towards Kyoya, aren't you? I understand, you're allowed to feel like that. I failed to be a father to you, I'm trying to actually behave like a father now." He sat down, "is there anything you think I should have done for you? I'm willing to give you what you deserve."

Yuuichi visibly paused, he clearly hadn't been expecting such honesty and openness from Yoshio. The man himself sat there silently, waiting for his son's response. The usually strong and resilient heir genuinely teared up at those words, "father…"

"I'm not going to be very good at it," Yoshio made sure to warn him, recognising his lack of emotional intelligence. Yuuichi didn't seem to care, wiping his eyes.

"Father… if you're really willing to care about us… then would you like to come and play golf with me next week?" Ah, Yuuichi, Yoshio really adored his kid, he nodded, a tired smile on his face.

"Of course I will, that sounds like a good day." He watched Yuuichi's expression, that smile was a rare one; the kind he made whenever Yoshio verbally expressed pride in him. Yoshio wondered if he'd get smiles like that one from all his children once he gets better at the whole parenting thing… he hoped so.

Pouring himself a glass of whiskey, he watched his son leave the room. He opened his laptop and got to work, just some basic, mindless admin work, he had a lot of people to do all the hard work for him. So all he really had to do was check everything he was sent and provide feedback when needed,

He sat down to get some work done, he didn’t really have that much to do as he had people to do most of the work for him, all Yoshio really had to do was answer a few emails and review information. It was easy work really, there was very little for him to do that day, so he decided to ‘lighten up a little’ as Yuzuru had put it, pouring himself some tea and putting a vinyl on the gramophone- he remembered learning how to dance to this song, he’d learnt in middle school, he was told his future wife needed him to be cultured. He’d always found that amusing, it was always other people telling him what she wanted, she never told him any of this herself. Yoshio wondered if that had been the same for Fiyumi's husband, he had made demands for her after all… that might have just been a parental thing.

Speaking of making demands of your child's betrothed; Yoshio had completely abandoned his work, instead he was typing up a list of demands Tamaki had to meet. He wasn't going to ask for the club to be disbanded, (he saw how well it had ended for Eclair) but he still wanted Tamaki to lower the amount of girls he was seeing just a little. He also asked that Tamaki work harder to please Shizue, Yoshio wanted his future son-in-law to have a guaranteed career and he would be willing to speak to Shizue herself if need be. There were certain subjects that Tamaki needed to work harder at, but mostly Yoshio just wanted to ensure that his son would be well loved by this boy- he didn't trust the Souh heir but he might if the child put in a little effort.

A few hours afterwards, once he'd finished his work and emailed the list of demands to the Souh boy, Yoshio began to head down towards his room. It had been a long day and he was tired, so he was planning to get some sleep earlier than usual- it was only midnight after all.

The corridors of the mansion were quiet at this time of night, and it sent shivers down Yoshio’s spine. He could swear he saw a shadow In the corner of his eyes, but continued on his way up the stairs to the third floor.

When he reached the landing, he saw a silhouette, stepping forward, he realised it was just Kyoya… why was Kyoya up so late? He appeared to be holding a cup of coffee, and Yoshio had half a mind to fire whatever maid gave it to him. Kyoya looked so tired, clutching the cup of coffee in one hand and a piece of paper in the other, he was staring out the window and he looked like he was questioning life. Yoshio couldn't blame him.

He slowly stepped forward, trying to get a better view of Kyoya's expression. "Kyoya? What are you doing awake?"

Kyoya glanced at him, looking surprised, "father? Oh, good morning…"

"It's not morning Kyoya…"

"Oh, I thought…"

Yoshio sighed, massaging his temples, "why are you out of bed?"

"I haven't gone to bed yet today actually…" Kyoya confessed, hanging his head in shame. Yoshio sighed, this evening had contained too much parenting for his liking.

Putting a hand on Kyoya's shoulder, Yoshio did his best to sound gentle, "is there something on your mind?" He was really uneasy with this, he hated showing emotions but Kyoya was clearly bothered by something.

Kyoya was hesitant, clearly not used to Yoshio giving him this kind of attention, "I…" he looked startled and confused, his little, half-asleep brain trying to figure out whether or not this was a trap. Yoshio supposed that was his fault for training his kids to never let their guard down. Kyoya did just that after a few seconds, sighing and glancing down at the paper in his hand, "father… do you want to read this?"

Yoshio nodded, taking the paper and looking at it. For all he read it, he couldn't understand what the fuck it was talking about, it was in Japanese, yes, but it was still complete poetic nonsense. He couldn't make heads nor tails of it, it was just a bunch of metaphors on metaphors and just, just so much prose. Yoshio was 60% sure this was supposed to be romantic but he was absolutely terrible at this sort of thing, what he was sure of, however, was that the Souh boy definitely wrote this, the sudden french phrases in the middle of Japanese sentences was rather telling.

He hands the paper back to Kyoya, "so Souh gave this to you? Did he say anything?"

"No, but he's been acting strange all day."

Nodding slowly, Yoshio glanced out the window, "do you like him, Kyoya?"

"What..?" The shake in Kyoya's voice broke Yoshio's heart, the fear in his tone a reminder of how distant Yoshio had been. "Well… I…" a defeated sigh left his youngest son's lips, and Kyoya hung his head, not meeting Yoshio's eyes, "yes."

"Alright then," Yoshio offered a smile, "tell him so. Those Souh's thrive on attention, give him what he craves." Kyoya looked up at him in surprise, but Yoshio simply shrugged, "as long as you don't put yourself beneath him then I don't see any issue. Now go to bed."

"I…" Kyoya was still so shocked, staring at him with his mouth agape for just a second before nodding, "yes father." He hurried off down the corridor towards his room.

"Goodnight Kyoya," Yoshio sighed, putting his hands in his pockets and shambling towards his own room. He wondered if it was the being gay or the liking Tamaki that Kyoya thought he wouldn't approve of, both of those thoughts made Yoshio uneasy. He'd scared his child into fearing his opinions that much, he's definitely been doing something wrong, he has to fix that.

[drxwsyni]

Tell Me What You’re Thinking (pt.1/2)

Yandere merman!Shinsou Hitoshi x gn!Reader

Summary: Studying abroad on a remote tropical island, a life threatening event prompts a certain merman to come to your rescue. Coincidence or not, the meeting results in his intentions being set in stone.

All characters are aged up (18+).

Warnings for this part: drowning, injury, swearing, suggestions of poor parenting

Words: 6.8k+

a/n: This fic is my entry for @bnhabookclub‘s Mermay event! It’s not my usual style but I tried my best―definitely need to practice different au’s. For context Shinsou can still use his quirk, he’s just also a merman at the same time. That and he’s a soft yandere for the most part. Hope you enjoy!

Prompts: 13. “It’s all right. Come here.” 7. “It’s really not that complicated (used in the second part).”

_____

The path of least resistance proved to be quite useful in the recent years.

It wouldn’t be your first option under ideal circumstances, but such a thing wasn’t currently present in your life anyways. Occasionally it would grace your day to day living, but for the most part passing occurrences tended to be on the less enjoyable side.

Whether you should be grateful or not was beyond you, but in this unchanging routine you managed to grow accustomed to things. It lead you into a complacency of sorts―not preferring it in any manner, but still having the understanding that sometimes it was easier to let the world dictate your actions for you.

And right now, this complacency had earned you the opportunity for travel.

Specifically, an offer to study abroad to work on a take home final for your university class. Four weeks on a remote tropical island with your fellow students and accompanying professors. Done with intentions to gather otherwise unobtainable first-hand experience and, more importantly, data that would significantly improve your final grade―only if you managed your time wisely.

The opportunity was impossible to pass up.

You weren’t the biggest fan of flying, or boating―really anything that had you leaving the comfort of land. But as usual these bothers weren’t considered when you were being so heavily advised to pack your things and take advantage of the ‘once in a lifetime opportunity.’

Sometimes you tried making an attempt to discern what warranted such treatment being placed upon you. Not once could you seem to recall any one event that may have ended with the conclusion that it was acceptable for you to be handled in such a manner. To have your limits disregarded so thoughtlessly.

Maybe it was because the limits in question were more so mental in nature. They weren’t outwardly observable, and so it made it acceptable.

Of course, you knew that wasn’t the truth.

But with this perhaps you could catch a break from the pressures of your loved ones. If you did well enough in your studies, they might just tone down their expectations enough to give you the room to decide something for yourself.

It was settled―you would once again take the plunge into semi-uncertainty. Mostly for the sake of others, and only marginally to satiate your need for freedom.

You’d been on the island for a little over a week, and in that time you’d managed to scope out the perfect spot for collecting the samples you needed for your paper.

It was secluded―a rocky area that was just slightly raised from the sea level that was home to multiple small ocean pools. They were filled with very particular types of marine life. Ones that you had chosen to focus on after hearing just where you’d be travelling to. In the ecosystem you found yourself in the possibilities for research were quite extensive. There may have been less taxing options, ones that didn’t lead you to the ends of the island all by yourself. But those wouldn’t earn you the validation you desired.

So instead you came to terms with your situation as usual and gathered up your equipment for the journey. Almost every day just an hour after dinner you would head to the rocky expanse of the seemingly endless beach. The weather was comfortable, a light breeze to stave off the heat with the sun not close enough to the horizon for it to be getting too dark, but low enough to begin emitting the intricate display of warm coloured clouds drifting slowly above.

In the moments where you simply sat and took in your surroundings, the thought came to mind that perhaps you would be able to focus on something that wasn’t directly related to the pressure you were under to succeed. If these were the conditions, the clarity that came along with relaxation might be possible.

For now however, you needed to be focused on what you truly came here for.

It was roughly quarter after six in the evening. You had set your backpack down on a rock that was raised above the pools of water and used the rest of the free surface as a makeshift table. On it you placed a clean sample jar with the lid popped off in wait for the contents that you were currently fishing around for.

If there was one thing being pressured into studying was good for, it was having the image of what you were looking for committed to memory.

It was nothing special, just a remnant of the marine life that took up residence in the little pools you were currently crouched in front of. You carefully extracted the sample out of the water, placing it in the little container.

Part of you should be proud of what you were doing. University classes weren’t always the easiest. Your course was just as difficult as any other―disregarding the fact that you probably wouldn’t have gone into it if it weren’t for the ‘advice’ of your family. The research you were currently conducting was more than satisfactory.

Yet, as you looked at the now filled sample container, part of you couldn’t help but want to accomplish more. You didn’t need to―your pace so far was good for what you were trying to get done in the time you were given on the island. But it was second nature to want to perform above satisfactory expectations.

You knew that the area you were in was home to a certain species of coral that would greatly improve the chances of you earning a better GPA. Based on where you were, it would take a small swim just off the shoreline to reach its natural habitat.

Doing a cost-benefit analysis, you decided that it was worth the brief struggle. It was likely that the coral wouldn’t be too far underwater, meaning you wouldn’t require any special diving equipment. You were already wearing a bathing suit, and before leaving had packed a belt bag that could be worn underwater should you need to bring any sample collection gear with you while swimming.

Technically, you should be asking for help when it came to something like this. There was a certain danger to it―being in the ocean by yourself. If you knew any better then maybe you would’ve asked for assistance. However, it simply wasn’t in your nature to do so.

There was always a resistance in your mind when you wanted to work with others. An anxiety of sorts. Time and time again had you tried to overcome it, and each instance had you failing. Now was no different.

Your bag was strapped securely to your body, pulled tight so it didn’t shift around too much in the water. Without the ability to force yourself to go back to the cabins and request a second set of hands, there was quite literally nothing holding you back.

The ocean water was startlingly icy as you let it submerge your lower limbs. The feeling wasn’t pleasant, but it was temporary. You’d be quick―collect the sample and then gratefully retreat to the warmth of dry clothes and eventually the soft bed in your assigned room back inland.

Gradually, the frigid liquid crept up your body as you waded forward. Shivering slightly at the sensation, you willed your mind to ignore the uncomfortableness. And thankfully enough, after spending a few minutes with the water at neck-level, you became more accustomed to the sensation.

The easy part was over.

Pushing off from the sandy ocean floor underneath, you swam away from the coast. It was only roughly ten or fifteen feet away, but already you were having problems seeing the earth below. The sight was unsettling, to say the least.

What it did mean however was that you should be in the perfect spot where the coral you were hunting for could be found. It wasn’t rare or anything―you should be able to see it no problem. But you had to go underwater first before that was possible.

For a moment you hesitated. You weren’t exactly afraid of the ocean, but the concept of such a vast unexplored space wasn’t exactly comforting. Sure, you weren’t in any sort of area that was frighteningly undiscovered, but the thought that such a thing did exist didn’t help in calming your nerves.

But you digress―the take home final was more important than any passing worries over your predicament.

The feeling of being so completely engulfed in the water sent a shock through your system. So much so that you had to resurface for a few seconds to get your bearings. Once you’d settled down once again, you plunged yourself underneath the water. Only after a second or two of swimming further below the surface and you had come face to face with your target. You went back up for a breath and to extract a sample bottle from your bag. 

It was then you took notice of the particularly strong winds that had picked up since you entered the ocean.

They wouldn’t have been a problem if it weren’t for the waves it was forming under its influence. Small at first, but in the distance you could see them forming as well. Meaning that by the time they reached your position they would be bigger―much bigger.

But they were still far away. You had time.

With a little more haste you maneuvered yourself under the water until you were able to grasp the cluster of raised rock littered with marine plant life to steady yourself. Holding your breath, you tried working the coral off its hinges with a gloved hand.

It would seem coral was much stronger than you once thought.

The sturdy and jagged material was proving difficult to remove from the rocks it stuck to, and you were running out of air. The concept of having to make more than one trip under the surface wasn’t ideal, but your lung capacity wouldn’t support otherwise.

With rushed movements you emerged from the water, sucking in deep breaths of relieving oxygen.

But that was short lived.

It would seem the waves were moving faster than initially perceived. Now they were forceful enough that one sent you plummeting back under the salt water.

You couldn’t make heads or tails of which direction you were facing. The current of the waves was jostling your body in every way imaginable. Limbs flailing, you tried desperately to steady yourself. Yet you were no match for the strength of the ocean, and there was nothing in reach to hold on to.

For a moment of brief reprieve you were pulled back above the violent waves. Lungs already slightly filled with water, you sputtered into a coughing fit. Your eyes were frantic as they searched the shoreline, but there was nobody to help you.

If only you weren’t cowardly enough to have gone back and requested assistance in your now failed expedition.

Another wave collided harshly against your body, this time with much more power. It caught you off guard and in the middle of gasping for air. The final half of your breath was cut short, oxygen replaced with the frigid ocean water.

It burned. Your lungs couldn’t handle the intrusion, reflexively demanding another response of inhalation. If it weren’t for the already present liquid, tears would’ve been seen running heavily down your cheeks.

You couldn’t breath.

The current made you sway violently, pushing you deeper into the depths. Finally you collided with something, but the relief was short lived.

Sure, you were able to steady yourself, but now there was a more pressing issue.

A loose strap that was meant to tighten your belt bag had been caught on the jagged edges of the rock. Somehow tangled or wedged between the surface―it held you down under the crashing waves above.

The effects of the storm was causing your limbs to scrape painfully against the rock and coral with each sway of the current. Your lungs were filled, heart pounding against your ribcage.

Was this how you died?

Your mind was racing with a slew of thoughts all pertaining to potential escape plans.

But there were none. You couldn’t free yourself, and even if you did the storm would only pull you back under.

You choked aggressively on the water, body unnaturally convulsing. Black spots were forming in your vision as you registered that there was nothing stopping you from losing consciousness.

In a last ditch effort you tried pulling at the buckle that was holding the bag to your chest. Your luck only got worse―it was somehow stuck and would not unlatch.

Your last moments of struggling were futile. No matter what you did, or how hard you fought, you were going to drown.

As your mind slowly drifted into unconsciousness, your eyes just barely registered the thrashing waters around you. And yet, just before you succumbed to the darkness, you could’ve sworn something in the water caught the light, almost reflecting it. Whatever it was, it seemed to be quite large.

But that’s all you could comprehend―body going limp, along with your ability to stay awake any longer.

_____

The feeling of a hard surface underneath you was the first thing your brain identified. After your eyes opened, it was the sensation of some form of fleece blanketing your body.

You could still smell the ocean―hear it too. A sharp pain shot through your neck and spine as you forced yourself into a sitting position.

A cave.

There were no exits, at least not ones you could get to on foot. But you could swim.

To your right was a pool of water, and just vaguely you could see light shining through an underwater tunnel. Even then it was just barely there, meaning it had been quite some time since you blacked out, the sun likely setting for the night.

Oh right...you drowned.

The memories came flooding back. You ripped off the blanket, revealing an almost even more shocking sight. Your limbs, mainly your legs and a few patches on your arms, had been wrapped and padded with...seaweed?

That was most definitely not on your body before. Arriving fully to attention, a wave of panic came over you.

How did you get here? Why was there seaweed coating parts of your body? And most importantly―how on earth were you not dead?

Experimentally, you reached for a piece of plant life that was stuck to your skin. It was clear someone placed it there, and likely placed you in the cave, but who?

Peeling off the slimy layer revealed some equally alarming information. It wasn’t obvious when it was hidden, but now you could see the rough scrapes and cuts that littered your legs. The wounds didn’t hurt, but they didn’t feel comfortable either. There was some form of slimy substance coating it, which thoroughly grossed you out. In fact, the whole thing grossed you out.

Your body practically acted on its own, fueled by the feeling of disgust and unsettling anxiety. One after the other you ripped the seaweed from your limbs, exposing more gashes and marred flesh under each application.

You had no clue how you ended up in the cave, and if that wasn’t enough to disturb you, someone had put their hands all over your body to encase you in the questionable greenery while you were out.

One thing was for sure―you needed to get the fuck out of here.

Looking around, you figured it was worth giving the cave a once over in case there were any escapes that didn’t involve you blindly swimming through an airless underwater tunnel. And as you scanned the room you found there were still no alternatives. What you did pick up on though was the almost lived in aspect of the cave.

Somehow the stone walls were receded in parts above the water. They were like makeshift shelves, and in the crevices held an array of miscellaneous items. One spot seemed to be designated for various jars and tubs. Some were filled with unrecognizable substances, while others had equally foreign objects floating in semi clear liquid.

Eyes shifting to another display, you landed on a collection of trinkets. Mostly in the form of jewelry―a few rings, necklaces, even what looked to be a fairly expensive watch.

Someone was living here. It was good news. It meant that you should be able to swim out to safety in one breath.

You’d spent enough time taking in your surroundings. It was time to leave and hopefully never have to experience something like this again.

Yet, as you tried standing up, the pain of your injuries seem to catch up with you. To be fair you weren’t expecting it, so you didn’t feel entirely ashamed for falling right back onto the cold and slightly sandy rock. It was almost laughable―how you were foolish enough to land yourself in this predicament.

And in that distracted mindspace you managed to calm your nerves slightly, but it also drew your attention away from the pool of water that you should be plunging into for escape. You didn’t want to wait to find out who brought you here, but it was too late for that now.

Just as you mustered up the strength to pull yourself to the water’s edge, your eyes landed on something moving beneath the rippling surface. Something big.

And it was getting closer.

Frantically, you scrambled back a few feet from whatever was in the body of ocean water. Not a moment later and the thing had made its way to the surface.

It emerged―a man.

No.

There was a tail.

There was...a tail?

“Are you alright?”

And the creature spoke.

Peculiar was an understatement. The top half―its human half―looked normal. The man had deep indigo coloured hair, face sporting some impressive eye-bags. His voice sounded human enough―on the lower side but nonetheless indisputably ordinary.

However from what you could see from your position, the lower part of his body was entirely inhuman. Straight out of a mythology book―he had a long, scaly looking fish tail that was coloured the same as his hair―except it was shimmery, maybe even iridescent.

What on earth were you supposed to say in a situation like this?

He must’ve caught on to your speechlessness, judging the unmoving expression of shock on your face. “I found you trapped underneath the current. Your bag was tangled in some coral so I had to cut you out of it.”

Looking down, you saw that he was correct―your belt bag was missing.

Apparently he wasn’t done with his speech, “I brought you back here to take care of your injuries but―why did you remove the bandages?” You watched as his confused eyes scanned your form, taking in the exposed cuts and bruises that painted your delicate skin.

You said the first thing that came to mind. “Where am I?”

Without missing a beat, he responded. “My home. Why did you remove the bandages?”

...Is that really what he’s worried about right now?

Forming words proved to be a difficult task when you were suffering from a shock to your once perceived reality. Surely you were dreaming. There was no way a fish...man, was talking to you right now. Right?

“I just―I didn’t know what it was. So I...took it off?” You were hoping that you’d wake up any moment now. But as time drew on that wish seemed to grow less likely to come true.

Reality didn’t matter―you needed to know. “Are you like a...mermaid, or something?”

Eyebrows slightly furrowed in what looked to be annoyance, the man responded. “Merman, actually.”

It was like this was just another regular occurrence for the merman. He acted completely unfazed by you discovering his existence, whether he felt different about it mentally or not.

“Okay, so why didn’t you just bring me back to the shore?” You prided yourself in not stuttering over your words despite your brain doing mental gymnastics trying to comprehend the situation.

He shifted in the water a bit, resting his hands on the stone where the water and dry earth met. “You were bleeding too much. If I brought you back to the beach you may have died from it. And even if you didn’t the storm was too rough―you would’ve been swept back out into the ocean.”

The events were discussed so matter-of-factly that it disregarded just how much danger you were in. It baffled you how he managed to stop the bleeding. Actually, you weren’t even sure where the bleeding would’ve been coming from. Looking over your wounds, none of them seemed to go deep enough to require such attention. If anything, they looked quite healthy―healed even.

Now that you didn’t need to be so wrapped up in the concern over your physical state, the gravity of the situation came falling down upon you. This complete stranger of a creature had dragged you to who knows where, and as far as you could tell getting out might just be impossible.

The colour effectively drained from your face.

It just so happened that the merman would continue to be perceptive to your reactions. “I was just waiting for you to wake up so I could bring you back. You’re safe here, I promise.”

His words brought untold relief to your anxieties, yet you still needed a little more reassurance. “That’s good. So you’re not gonna, like―”

“What, eat you?” He gave a half-hearted chuckle at the thought, “I’m not a monster. And even if I did want to don’t you think I would've done it already?”

It wasn’t what you were going to ask, but realistically your intentions on the subject didn’t matter all that much in the moment.

The indigo haired man sighed, likely expecting a response. “Look, I just wanted to help you. That’s it.”

Help you. That wasn’t something you were normally accustomed to.

You had problems asking for assistance on your own, and even if you wanted to there was never really many who would be willing to indulge you.

The sentiment he offered was nice. Even nicer was that it wasn’t just an offer―he already had helped you. He’d saved your life. It was more than anyone else had done for you throughout your many years of living.

It was nice, to say the least.

But you still needed to get back to the beach. “So, are you gonna help me get out of here now? Cause I don’t exactly know where that exit leads to…”

He smiled slightly, the most positive emotion you’d seen him express since emerging from the depths. “Of course, I did say I would after all.”

Your eyes followed his hand as it outstretched towards you. The first reaction you had was to automatically take it, but you stopped halfway through the motion when you registered his physique.

He had claws.

They weren’t long, but they were for sure sharp looking. You hesitated in your advance.

“It’s all right. Come here.” He gestured to you to approach, but still you wavered. “I won’t hurt you, little human.”

Not that you weren’t still wary of the dangerous looking appendages, but you didn’t exactly have a choice. He was your ticket out of the cave after all.

Without a word you took his hand. He gently guided you to the edge of the water, supporting your weight as you clambered into the ocean pool.

There were still small waves entering from the mouth of the cave, a weak current lightly hitting your body. It was enough to wash away whatever substance the merman had applied to your injuries. Now that they were clean, you could see just how much they’d healed in the short amount of time.

You could think about how that was even possible when you were back on land.

When the man spoke again it startled you slightly, him being so close. “The tunnel is long. I’m afraid that even if I swim fast you’ll still run out of air before we break the surface.”

The statement made you panic a little, eyes going wide.

He continued before you could give your take. “I’ll have to give you some air halfway through, just let me know when you need a breath and everything should be okay.” The merman pulled you into his chest as he spoke, one arm wrapped around your waist while the other gripped your upper arm.

“Wait―how are you even gonna do that?” As far as you could tell he wasn’t carrying an oxygen tank or anything of the sort.

Looking down at you with a slight smirk on his face, he responded. “You trust me, right? I’m not going to let you drown, don’t worry.”

That didn’t really answer your question, but he wasn’t done. “And I’m your only way out of here so does it really matter? That is unless you want to stay here with me forever.”

Frankly, you had no clue what he meant by ‘giving you air,’ but he was right―how he kept you alive wasn’t all that important in the grand scheme of things. Before you could make a point to push your concerns he pulled the two of you underwater. You thanked the heavens you were able to fill your lungs with air the second before you were submerged, inwardly cursing the man for not giving you a heads up.

Your body was flushed to his, and as he swam you could appreciate the robustness of his frame. It was impressive, and if it weren’t for the stress of the situation you may have liked to take more time to admire it.

It was hard to keep your eyes open as the water rushed past you. That was indication enough of just how fast you were going, and you realized just how screwed you would’ve been if you had tried to make your way out of the cave by yourself. If you didn’t drown before, making that attempt would surely do the trick.

The two of you were roughly twenty seconds into the swim when you felt the burning in your lungs start to become unbearable. Without knowing what his methods of relief were, you held out as long as possible without asking for help. Yet it was only a few more seconds and your body was practically screaming at you to breath.

He didn’t tell you how to get his attention, so you opted to rapping on his chest with one hand. Thankfully, he stopped his journey towards the exit immediately after you began thrashing in his arms. Still slightly drifting forward in the water as a result of his momentum, he brought your body to be eye level with his. Not a moment too soon and he was pressing his lips firmly against yours, hands gripping the sides of your face to still you. And then you realized―this was how he was going to supply you oxygen.

Your lips parted and a relieving wave of air was forced into your lungs. He pulled away a moment later and you pursed your lips once again to contain the air. You hoped he didn’t see the faint blush on your cheeks as he pulled you back into his chest and continued swimming.

Another twenty seconds and you felt him angle upwards, and much to your relief you felt the water break around you.

Sound finally returned to your ears, having been previously replaced with the muffledness of rushing water. You blinked a few times to clear your eyes, readjusting to your surroundings. The sun was setting now, having lowered much closer to the horizon and casting a whole new set of colours upon the clouds.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His teasing attitude wasn’t entirely appreciated, but it did help to alleviate the stress of the situation somewhat.

“I guess, not...thanks.” You gave him a small smile to show that you were grateful, given that your own tone was still a little shaky from the strange events that were taking place.

The merman allowed you some space now that he didn’t have to drag your body through the water alongside his. “The beach isn’t too far from here.”

From where you treaded you could see the shore clearly in the distance. You followed him as he began heading in that direction, presumably going at a slower pace seeing as you didn’t exactly have the same swimming capabilities as he did.

While staying above the waterline, the man continued the conversation. “So, I believe that it wouldn’t be too much to ask you to keep quiet about my existence. Not that anyone would believe you anyways, but still―in exchange for saving your life I think it's fair.”

Somehow it took him saying it to remember that you’d forgot to thank him for doing so. Sure, you thanked him for bringing you out of the cave, but that was a requirement if he wanted to free up his home once again. It was a little embarrassing, but you gave yourself some slack as nothing right now was anywhere near a sense of normalcy. “Ah―yeah, I think I can do that.”

He smiled at your sheepish reply, giving you the idea that he picked up on your abashed emotions.

The rest of the journey to the shore was done in silence. He would never go too far ahead of you, and for a moment you wondered why he didn’t just pull you the rest of the way there as well. It would’ve saved more time, but you weren’t exactly in the position to be judging him on his actions given all he’d done for you.

Eventually you reached the mainland, much to your gratification. He helped you up onto the rocks that were jutting out of the waterline―the area that kept the ocean pools you were studying. In fact, he had brought you right up to where your bag was still laid.

Still feeling a little ashamed for how much of a burden you’d been, you gave him one last condolence. “Thanks again. I don’t know how you found me but I’m glad you did. The last thing my parents need is to hear their daughter drowned trying to work on her final.” Awkwardly, you rubbed the back of your neck. It felt like you were oversharing, and at this point you should probably just shut up and head back to the cabins. Yet strangely enough the phenomenon of your realization that such a creature did exist was still very much enticing. You didn’t want to stop talking to him.

He stayed at the edge of the rocks, “It’s no problem. You should go back to wherever you’re staying on the island to rest. It’s getting late anyways.”

His concern was appreciated, but still―a small part of you was sad you would have to part ways with this otherworldly being.

“Ah―right. Um, I was just―”

“I’m Hitoshi, by the way. I’ll be here if you ever need me. Take care, (y/n).”

With that he was pushing off the rocks, and before you could get another word out―if that was even possible―he was already underwater. You saw as the slowly dimming sunlight reflected off his indigo tail, and in a matter of seconds he was so far submerged that his body entirely disappeared.

Well, that wasn’t how you expected your afternoon to go.

You had to take a few minutes to collect your thoughts, mostly consisting of you questioning everything you thought you once knew.

Briefly, you wondered just what people would say if you told them what happened to you. That you got stuck on coral, drowned, and then were rescued by a merman.

They wouldn’t believe you.

Maybe the drowning part, but the rest...not so much.

But even if they did believe you, there was no way you would break your promise to the man. He helped you―saved you. Nobody had ever shown you so much kindness, and it wouldn’t be right to just disregard that for the sake of attention.

Having had your full on adventures for the night, you quickly gathered your previously abandoned belongings. With a bag once again stuffed full of research equipment, you made your way back to the cabins.

And naturally, no matter how much you tried that night, sleep was immensely difficult to achieve. How could it not be―there was now a plethora of things to think about and you couldn’t tell a single soul. Frustrating was an understatement, but it was also kind of nice. The act of compassion the merman―no―Hitoshi, gave you was causing a certain feeling of warmth. It felt comforting.

You recalled his last words, saying he’d be there for you if you needed it. It was likely just a quick send off so he could get out of your way and return home. Yet the sentiment was still appreciated.

Eventually you managed to fall asleep, this time not doing so under the influence of painfully salty ocean water.

_____

Waking up wasn’t the most pleasant―there was a hoarse burning sensation in your lungs. Not that it wasn’t present the day before, but now it would seem that the effects of them being filled with a liquid that they should most definitely not be filled with was taking a toll. Whether it was swelling or simply the after affects of salt remaining in them didn’t really matter.

You popped some pain reliever into your mouth, wincing at the feeling as it slid down your throat.

Regardless of yesterday’s events you still had a schedule to follow. However doing so proved to be a challenge. At each task you were met with you found your thoughts drifting back to the strange encounter. At breakfast, sitting down at a worktable, lunch, editing a portion of your report―everything had you returning to contemplation over Hitoshi at least once.

It was safe to say that you didn’t get as much work done as normal.

The anticipation for the end of the day was unbearable. You had to return to the ocean pools to collect samples you weren’t able to gather yesterday.

Mostly, you had now developed a slight fear of the ocean. How the waves turned so violent while you were swimming was beyond you, but it only proved how unpredictable nature could be.

And you still wanted that piece of coral.

Your sense of self-preservation wasn’t the best. It had never been, really. After time and time again of putting your own needs second it was only natural at this point. Maybe not today, but you were going to try and return to the ocean no matter how much the prospect intimidated you.

Like you’d done for the past week, you assembled the necessary gear for your work and stepped out into the heat. To get to the area you simply had to walk along the beach. It was probably the best part of your day―with nothing to do while you walked you needed only to think.

And right now you were thinking about Hitoshi.

He was handsome―no denying that. Clearly he had a good heart, why else would he save your life after you’d so foolishly gone and put yourself in a situation that could’ve been easily avoided. He wasn’t the most expressive, but you could still tell that he meant well.

Or at least you hoped.

Either way you wouldn’t be forgetting about him anytime soon.

Finally you had arrived at the ocean pools, thankful to be able to rest your feet after the long walk. Looking out onto the ocean caused an involuntary shiver. The weather was warm, but the water that once threatened to kill you wasn’t.

There was no time to stew on harmful thoughts though―you were behind schedule. Disregarding the lingering worry that had settled into your heart, you pulled the bag off your shoulders and began removing its contents.

Almost methodically, you laid out your equipment on the flat expanse of the dry rock. It was important to be neat in your area of study, now being no exception. You were distracted with the meticulous arrangement of research gear, eyes and mind trained on setting it up to perfection.

“How’s the work coming?”

You nearly jumped two feet into the air.

In fact, you knocked over a petri dish as your body jolted from sudden noise behind you, it sounding off with a light splash as it landed in a nearby pool. Your head whipped around in the direction of the voice.

If your mind didn’t register the owner of it by sound, it would visually.

And there Hitoshi was, in his still unbelievable merman glory. He was propped up on his elbows, casually resting against the rock.

You breathed a sigh of relief, having come down from a brief adrenaline induced high. “Jesus―you can’t just sneak up on people like that. And it's going fine, I guess.” You bent over to pick up the piece of equipment, now having to disinfect it for later use. His sudden presence still had you a bit tense, and you warily eyed his form.

“Are you afraid of me?”

The question caught you off guard―clearly you looked a lot more nervous than you thought.

Of course you weren’t afraid of him. Maybe you felt a little awkward, given the vast difference between you two, but certainly not afraid.

“No, you just startled me a little. And the ocean’s still got me kinda freaked out, so…” You waved lazily with one hand in the general direction of the body of water as you spoke, returning to the task at hand.

You heard the water around him splash slightly, “Well, you can relax. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Actually…” Looking in his direction, you saw him reach below the surface of the water. “...I’ve got something for you. Here.”

In his right hand Hitoshi produced one of your plastic sample bottles. Inside of it was the frustrating piece of coral you were trying to pry off the rock before meeting your demise yesterday.

Your eyes blew wide at the sight―of course he could’ve gotten it so easily. He’s a goddamn fish after all. But there was one thing that didn’t quite add up in your head. “How did you know that’s what I was looking for?”

He looked at the jar before returning his unperturbed gaze back to you. “I, uh…” Just barely, you could pick up on an almost abashed look across his face. “I was sort of...watching you. That sounds creepy, I know. It was when you went in the water―not a lot of people come to this part of the island so I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors.”

Now it made sense. “Oh, well if that’s the case then I guess I was lucky. You might not have found me if I got stuck on the more populated area of the beach.” It was practically a blessing that you came across the area―you might have been dead if not.

Standing up from your position, you walked over to the break in rock and ocean where the merman was stationed. You sat down next to him, “Thanks for this, Hitoshi.” You took the bottle from his extended hand. “I really need it if I want to do good on my final. And I probably would’ve tried going back out there sooner or later for it.” You laughed a bit at your own statement, knowing how bad of an idea it was, but still finding the humour in your lack of survival instinct.

He didn’t seem as amused, “You’re telling me you would’ve risked your life just for a piece of coral?”

At that you smiled, “It’s not just a piece of coral. I mean―it’s not rare or anything, but it’s relevant to what I’m studying. So yes, chances are I would’ve.”

Hitoshi shook his head, lips slightly upturned at your behaviour now as well. “It’s a good thing I’m here then. Can’t say I’d be so inclined to let you out of my home if I found you half-dead again. For your own sake, of course.”

You rolled your eyes. But really, you were grateful for him. “Seriously, this means a lot.” Forming your next words was difficult, given that you didn’t want to sound too much like a loser, but they needed to be genuine. “I don’t get a lot of help when it comes to stuff like this. I’m not the best at asking for it either. It’s just―you’ve done so much for me...I don’t even know where to begin when it comes to repaying you.”

There was a moment of silence, and your heart sunk a little thinking that you’d said too much.

“Why don’t you start with telling me about yourself.”

That only confused you more.

“You want to know more about me?”

The toothy grin he gave as he laughed a bit at your response wasn’t expected, but it did help ease the tensions. “Yes, little human. I don’t get to talk to many of my own kind, let alone yours. And as you said, you need to repay me so technically you don’t have a choice.”

His condescending pet name didn’t go unnoticed, but you’d let it slide―he had done more than enough to earn the right to a little teasing.

You have a half-hearted shrug. “Okay then, what is it you want to know fish boy?”

Now things could finally start getting interesting.

[cupofteaguk]

a begin again drabble  ↪ or, when a new professor shows up at hogwarts 

There are many upsides and downsides to dating Jung Hoseok. 

On one hand, he’s genuinely one of the nicest people you’ve had the pleasure of encountering. Being able to date him is just an extension of getting to see what kind of person Hoseok really is. Aside from his kind and understanding nature—underneath all those layers just lay the simple quality and fact that he really is nice and sweet and you adore those aspects of him. 

On the other head, he’s genuinely one of the nicest people you’ve had the pleasure of encounter. He’s too nice, too understanding, too sweet and that type of personality constantly threatens to get on your nerves on more than one occasion. Most of the time, it’s little things that can result in exasperated, but otherwise fake, arguments about what to eat for dinner, whether to risk a trip to Hogsmeade during peak grading season would be worth the trouble, if you wanted to sleep over in his quarters for the evening or not… 

Those little playful banters are nothing major or serious. They are parts of the relationship you share with Hoseok that makes it so fun, so unexpected, and everything you could have wanted plus a little bit more. It makes you truly realize how well you get along with Hoseok; how perhaps the formation of a romantic connection between the two of you is meant to be and that all those years of being away from each other despite believing neither of you knew each other that well was just a missed opportunity. 

But sometimes Hoseok’s kindness really does make you want to strangle yourself. Or him. Or the very new, very attractive female professor who keeps giving him curious side glances and smiles that linger for a second too long—just like right now. And it’s hard not to feel the slightest bit unhinged when Hoseok doesn’t do anything to distance himself from her touches and her giggles. 

Maybe you’re just jealous. Jealous over your boyfriend’s relentless good cheer, something that has not faded away or wavered in the slightest even when the pair of you went to school together. Maybe you’re jealous over the fact that Hoseok gets along so well with this new professor in particular—almost the same way that you and Hoseok got along when you first started working at Hogwarts. 

The sudden worry that you could be replaceable in Jung Hoseok’s life, the thought that perhaps he would only keep you around until some other prettier, equally doe-eyed individual walked into his life fills your head with immediate doubt. Given that you and Hoseok have only been… somewhat of an item for a few months, it doesn’t fill you with too much confidence in the level of commitment both of you have for the relationship. There’s only so much your nerves will let you talk about before the fear of Hoseok’s expectations not matching with yours keeps you at bay. 

It keeps you gritting your teeth together as you hunch over your desk in the empty classroom, attempting to grade the Transfiguration essays your first years have written. However, it’s hard to remain entirely focused on alphabet knowledge when Professor Hoseok and Professor Irene are standing outside the door frame of your class, talking and gushing to one another about god knows what. Normally, you don’t have a problem with Hoseok conversing with coworkers (as with him to you), but something about Hoseok and Irene talking threatens to make your heart drop to your chest and burn up all in a combination that can only be compared to some terrible anxiety. 

You’re not too sure—maybe it’s the way Irene laughs a little too loudly and reaches over to oh-so-casually grace her hand down his arm and how Hoseok does absolutely nothing to stop her actions. Even though you don’t know the content of the situation or what they’re even talking about in the first place, that doesn’t stop you from allowing a bitter tang to enter your head, your stomach, your heart. The way Hoseok is smiling down at Irene reminds you a little too much about how Hoseok smiles at you and it brings a fireload of questions down upon you. 

You force yourself to remain focused on the task at hand, leaning down in order to keep the pair at your door frame out of your line of sight. It’s still hard to stay preoccupied when the giggling feels as if it’s right next to your face. 

You’re about two seconds away from straightening up and hiding away in your own personal office space to get away—not just from the distracting chatter but also from the burning sensation threatening to cloud your better judgement. However, before you can start to make the transition, the footsteps entering distracts you as you look up just in time to see Hoseok making his way towards you. 

“Hey you,” He greets, flashing you his typical warm smile that never fails to make butterflies erupt in your stomach but the thought of him smiling at Irene in the same way leaves a more pressing worry that makes it difficult to return his hello. 

“Hey,” You manage instead, playing a weak smile in the hopes that Hoseok will simply read it as stress. 

It seems to work, because he furrows his eyebrows sympathetically and leans on the desk in the space next to where you’re seated. “Grading kicking your ass right now?” 

You hum. “There’s only so many similar versions of the same topic that I can take before my immediate reaction to reading this is to just cross everything out with a giant red marker.” You sigh. Actually voicing the process of your assignments makes you realize that you are stressed out for a number of different reasons and that perhaps Hoseok’s relationship with Irene is the result of the stress. But still, you cannot stop yourself from feeling this way. “But I have to get it done,” You continue to remark, attempting to keep your voice light. “I feel like I’ve been holding back on this for way too long so I have to get them done.” 

“Hm,” Hoseok remarks quietly, gaze watching your figure for a moment, as if trying to dephiever the source of your slightly dismissive attitude. Maybe the way you refuse to meet his gaze can be slightly misleading, especially since you’re usually an attentive person during conversations, but the fact that you’ve procrastinated on grading a large collection of assignment probably helps ease the suspicion as he writes off your behavior to stress. “So I guess grabbing a quick lunch in the Great Hall is out of the question?” 

“You want to grab lunch?” You ask quietly, pressing your lips together as you sneak a quick glance at the man hovering over your shoulder. “I’m pretty swamped right now—why don’t you ask Professor Irene to go eat with you?” The last part is more of a mumble and is more or less a slip on your behalf and that realization makes your eyes momentarily widen out of fear that Hoseok will get defensive in regards to what that means. 

Instead, Hoseok gives you a confused look. “Why would I ask Irene out to lunch? We were just talking a second ago and I’d rather spend my time with you.” 

“W-Well,” You start, shrugging in an attempt to feign casualness. “I mean, I’m pretty busy and you guys seem to be getting along really well so it makes sense that the two of you would hang out. It’s not like either of us have many options for friends anyways.” 

Your words seem to rid themselves of its dismissive nature because Hoseok actually ponders this thought. “That makes sense,” He reasons with a smile—the type of gesture that reassures you on not alarming Hoseok about the depth of your emotions, but also leaving you to wonder just how much of your sanity will be sacrificed from trying to convince Hoseok about your current state of mind. 

As it turns out, it takes your sanity and a little bit more to get through the next few days of the week. Your busy schedule of grading, teaching, lesson planning, and tutoring keeps you away from Hoseok for long periods of time and he seems to use that as a main justification for spending more time with Irene. You catch them in the hallway as you’re trying to dash to the library or to your first class after catching a quick bite in the Great Hall—talking about god-knows-what but always laughing and always lingering closely together that makes the nerves of jealousy and curiosity spike at your heart. 

You don’t want to be the controlling girlfriend, the one who tells Hoseok he cannot spend time with certain people even though you’re also the one biting off more than you can chew. You had been the one to say it was okay for Hoseok to hang around other people simply because there were moments where you couldn’t fill that void in his life. But still, seeing him hang around Irene and Irene only brings about far too many questions that should be healthy for a girlfriend to face alone. 

Yet the fear of speaking your mind, the fear of Hoseok’s kindness serving as an inability to see where your negative emotions come from, keeps you from speaking but also forces you to stop lingering too closely over the problem. As a result, you unconsciously create distance between you and those problems by burying yourself in your assignments and neglecting your relationship out of fear of saying the wrong thing. 

At first, you’re too distracted with grading midterms and answering inquiries from students that it isn’t hard for you to get lost and caught up in the current event of your day-by-day. However, the more time you spend investing in your work, the more time you see Hoseok and Irene in one another’s company, which leads to more conflicted emotions as you attempt to settle your jealousy despite every bone in your body convincing you that Hoseok enjoyed being with Irene more than he enjoyed being with you, which then leads you to bury yourself further and further into your assignments. And the cycle goes on, over and over again. 

You’ve never been too good at dealing with specific problems head-on, so your body’s first instinct is to suppress the issue, meaning that you avoid aforementioned issue—meaning that you also avoid him. 

“Y/N, I know you’re busy but do you want to grab a quick bite for dinner?” 

“Uh—sorry, can’t. I promised a bunch of my fifth years I’d go over their Transfiguration notes before O.W.L’s come up.” 

“Y/N, can I walk you to your first class?” 

“Aw, that’s really sweet Hoseok but I have to run to the Great Hall super quick just to grab a bagel or something, I’m really hungry.” 

“Y/N, do you have time for a little date down at the Three Broomsticks?” 

“S-Sorry, a lot of students have told me they’re coming down to my office hours to practice the spells we learned in class…” 

Sure, maybe a majority of the excuses you throw in Hoseok’s general direction are entirely truthful, but sometimes you actually go looking for those reasons not to spend too much time with Hoseok. You know it’s a cowardly thing to participate in, but your feelings feel so overpowering and scary that you aren’t entirely sure what would happen or what you would say if they got out of hand. So you resort to saying nothing and hoping that Hoseok would never catch on. 

The hope had been stupid and foolish to begin with, and you realize that as soon as you walk out of Great Hall with the remnants of morning toast around your mouth only to find Hoseok waiting for you just outside. He looks disappointed and you can feel that disappointment leaking off his skin like steam and the sight of him after avoiding him for so many weeks aches at your heart. But it also forces images of his time spent with Irene fill your head and it’s just an endless cycle. 

“P-Professor Hoseok,” You stammer, unsure why you had to attach formality to his name. After all, it’s not like the whole school doesn’t know that the pair of you are dating—word spreads quickly after people found out he fingered you in his office, but you don’t like to talk about that anymore. 

“You’re avoiding me,” Hoseok states, crossing his arms over his chest, going straight to the point and you don’t blame him. 

“I’m not,” You retort, but there is a waver in your voice and Hoseok didn’t even need to be your boyfriend to know how badly you lie through your teeth. “I really have been busy Hobi.” 

You hope the use of the pet name would help ease the potential argument, but he doesn’t let up. “Okay, but you’ve always been the type of person to take aside a few hours to hang out. I get that you’re busy but you won’t even look at me anymore. What’s up with that? Are you… done with me or something?” 

“What? No, no, of course not Hoseok,” You say, letting your own guard down long enough to take a step closer to him. “I didn’t know that’s how you felt—I didn’t even think you would have been missing me…” 

The last part of the sentence is an afterthought but Hoseok sees right through it. “Of course I would be missing you, what are you talking about?” 

You press your lips together, willing yourself not to say too much but you have a feeling that simply opening your mouth has already unlocked more can of worms than you ever intended. You avert your gaze. “I… I don’t know—you’ve been spending so much time with Professor Irene and you seem to really, really enjoy her company and vice versa…” 

“Wait, wait…” Hoseok interrupts, eyebrows furrowing together. “Y/N, do you think I’m cheating on you or something?” 

“No!” You interject, waving your hands briefly in front of your face. “No, I don’t think that at all…” You can feel the nervousness etching itself across your face, the adrenaline of nerves and fight or flight streaming through your blood and you wonder how convincing the statement must sound and look to Hoseok. “I mean, I wouldn’t blame you or anything—she’s pretty and smart and funny…” You trail off. The look of absolute disbelief upon Hoseok’s face has told you that you have said too much. “Uh, I have to get going,” You say, blindly taking a look at your wristwatch. You can’t even tell the time with how quickly you glance at it, but you need an excuse to leave the conversation before you could say something you don’t want to hear—or even worse, Hoseok could say something you don’t want to hear. “I have to get ready for my class.” 

You turn on your heel and pace as quickly as you can without making it seem like you were trying to escape, but Hoseok calls your name and you know you aren’t as good at hiding your emotions as you thought. But it doesn’t matter, because you are running as quickly as you can to your class. Some students are already piled inside when you get there and hello’s are exchanged as you settle down at the front of the room and begin setting up the equipment for today’s lecture. It’s Draconifor spells with your third years—typically a more difficult spell to learn just because of the overall complexities that come with trying to transform objects into real things; you already have your work cut out for you. 

The class starts off smoothly and you think that you can get through the lecture without worrying about Hoseok or Irene or wondering what Hoseok is thinking about—until the door to your class slams open and reveals the man himself standing in your doorframe. Over the course of your relationship, you’ve become accustomed to Hoseok dropping by your classroom during lectures to visit but this is not like his usual visits because he’s wide-eyed with a glint you’ve never seen before. 

“Hoseok,” You greet, a touch of hesitancy in your voice and for good reason, given that you had just more or less accused him of cheating on you and so you aren’t entirely sure about what he plans to say. You swallow, wondering if your students can notice the spiking tension in the room. They’re probably use to his presence after having to endure it for so many months. “C-Can I help you with something—?” 

“You think I’m cheating on you?” He interrupts loudly, forcing the room into the kind of silence that makes you want to strangle yourself. You clench your teeth together, face burning with the color of humiliation as you stare ahead at Hoseok. You can’t even picture the expressions upon the faces of your students. 

“H-Hoseok, this really isn’t a good time…” 

“I can’t believe it!” Hoseok carries on, talking as if he had not heard you or had not seen the fact that you are previously occupied at the moment. “I can’t believe you would think that I’m cheating on you. With Professor Irene too!” 

“Hoseok!” You retort, cheeks hurting so much that you think you might just die of embarrassment right then and there. The entirety of your face feels so hot that it becomes hard to see clearly but you still manage to make your way down the aisle towards him, attempting to push him without actually having to use physical force. “We can’t do this right now—!” 

“No.” Hoseok shrugs away from your touch. “We’re gonna do this right now. We’re gonna talk about this right now because I can’t believe you’d think I’d actually cheat on you!” 

“I never said that!” You protest, momentarily forgetting your current setting long enough to fight back and expose your own personal emotions. The room around you suddenly feels empty. “I said I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a crush on her! You’ve been spending so much time with her anyways!” 

“Because you said you were busy!” Hoseok points out. “And how could I have a crush on Irene? I have you.” 

You press your lips together, having not expected the conversation to go in that direction. “W-Well, I just thought—!” You stammer. “How could you not like Irene? She’s pretty and smart and funny and she’s just so much more put together…” 

Hoseok takes in a breath. “Do you think I care about any of that? I mean, those things are fine—but it’s not you. And that makes all the difference because I’m too in love with you to ever, ever look at someone else.” 

You freeze for a moment, completely taken aback by his statement, said without an ounce of hesitation or thought—like it’s the only thing he knows better than he knows himself and you are utterly surprised. 

Because this is the first time Hoseok has admitted that he loves you. 

You are surprised, and it shows in your face. It shows in your widening eyes and parting lips, stolen breathes. Even though you know what he had said, you still find yourself asking: “W-What did you say?” 

And Hoseok seems to make this realization as well—the realization that he’s defining his feelings for you with those three dreaded words that could change everything and he freezes. “I, uh… I said…” 

“You really love me?” You finish, unable to help yourself and unable to help the way the teasing smile inches itself across your lips. 

Hoseok ponders for a second before his eyes meet yours and he takes a step closer. “Of course I am,” He answers. “I’d be stupid not to be in love with you.” 

The teasing smile turns into a shy grin; you angle yourself a little to study Hoseok through your lashes. “That’s nice, because I’m in love with you too.” 

The corner of Hoseok’s lips quirk up, the beautiful beginnings of a laugh pass between his lips as he steps forward to take you in his arms before—! 

“Aw, Professor Hoseok and Professor Y/N are in love!” A shout rings through the third year students in your classroom, causing both of you to jump out of the little world only you belonged to and making you realize that you have just confessed in front of your students. 

Given what happened the first time you and Hoseok hit a milestone in your relationship, this shouldn’t surprise you—and you can’t even begin to imagine what will happen once your sixth years find out. 

[eds-zebra-warrior]

2021 Ehlers Danlos Society Awareness Month (Day 3 Prompt: Symptoms)

Unbeknownst to most people in the community and even many in the medical community as most medical personnel never learned about EDS in school or if they have were only taught the very most basic information about it but Ehlers Danlos Syndrome is a systemic condition and predisposes those with it to over 250 other conditions so it's not unusual for someone with EDS to have 20, 30 or even more other conditions caused by it which are called comorbid conditions or comorbidities.

EDS is a genetic condition that affects the structure of connective tissue. There are multiple types of connective tissue but there are also multiple types of EDS so one or more types of connective tissue can be impacted. Connective tissue also makes up at least part of every part of the body so when your connective tissue is faulty and prone to damage that also means so is everywhere connective tissue is located including but not limited to the skin, cartilage, the brain, heart, lungs, GI system, liver, kidneys, bladder, Mesentery system which is the stringy organ that is around your abdominal organs that eases then and holds them in place, lymph nodes, lymph ducts, nerves, blood vessels, blood cells, nerves, bones, bone marrow, joints, tendons, ligaments, muscle sheathing, eyes, ears, nails, hair follicles, spinal cord, sweat glands, respiratory system etc. You name it, it contains connective tissue so anything can go wrong with any part of the body leaving many patients diagnosed with conditions such as conversion disorder, meaning that all of your symptoms are in your head and you're fine for years and more often, decades because we usually get diagnosed with a lot of these comorbidities before we finally find that one doctor who can put the pieces together and say, this isn't in your head, you have Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and those other conditions are very real because EDS is what caused all of them.

Now that we have discussed comorbidities I have dealt with countless symptoms over my life. As a kid it started with chronic pain, migraine headaches, and issues resulting from a compromised immune system because I caught everything going around and usually more than once. I don't remember a holiday as a kid where I wasn't sick or hurt. I was extremely clumsy, unable to run correctly until high-school with the very extensive help of my gym teacher. I was always falling, rolling my ankle, and just in general looking awkward with my body movements. I had multiple gym teachers who would agree that there was something physically wrong with me long before I could get any doctors to listen to my mom or as an adult, myself. I had to take special reading and writing classes because even to this day I cannot hold a pencil well or write with control because my fingers are too hypermobile to control a pencil so my writing is often illegible. I had a very severe failure to thrive, also called juvenile dwarfism, not even growing an inch between the ages of 2 and 12. My parents were told when I was 2 years old that I would be 6’4’’because I was so tall as at one and two years old that people would criticize my mom for carrying me out in public thinking I was 4 or 5 years old when I was only a year or two years old. I was 3’2” from the age of 2 to the age of 12 and of course when I was 12 I was extremely short and was bullied for my size as well as my weight which increased due to inflammation from undiagnosed celiac disease. There were multiple incidences with medical personnel and social workers as a kid because I always had such severe bruising all over my body and they believed I was abused. I didn't lose my teeth, losing only one on my own and at the age of 8 my dentist began pulling out my teeth which left me with dental crowding and requiring braces which were removed prematurely. I dealt with Learning disabilities and have been in glasses since age 4. I would pass out all the time as a kid, starting at 8 years old.

Bullying was a huge issue for me as a kid because I was socially awkward showing signs of OCD as well as being more mature than my peers due to my medical experiences and history with my siblings that forced me to grow up more quickly. That combined with issues such as my clumsiness and height made me the perfect target for bullying. I got what I believe was my first Traumatic Brain Injury when I was 9 years old while hanging upside down on the monkey bars. My bully had another student who had Down Syndrome, climb to the top of the monkey bars and lift my legs so I fell off onto my head.

My second was in the 6th grade. The same bully would bully other kids to help her bully a bigger target of hers which was me. One day I was at my locker between classes. Our lockers were assigned in alphabetical order by last name, of course my bully's last name came right before mine so her locker was directly to the left of mine. My mom tried to get it changed but the school refused. She shoved me down between classes while I was exchanging my books and the two kids with the locker to the right of mine she had help her roll me onto my stomach on the ground, one sat on my butt and held my feet down, the other sat on my back and held my arms down under her feet. my bully yanked my head up so my forehead was on the floor of my locker and I was trying to get out so she had the girl on my back use one of her hands to hold my head down. My bully then kicked my locker door shut on my head over and over again and I went unconscious. There were two teachers in the hall at the time but they just waked into the classroom when it started. I woke up and the hall was empty. I went to the office and told them I needed them to call my mom, I needed to go home and explained what happened. They called my mom and instead of telling her the truth they told her she needed to pick me up because I was acting strange. She came and got me and found out what happened getting me treatment.

She then took me to the school a few days later since the doctor didn't want me to return for so long (I apologize I don't remember a lot from the two weeks following this so I'm going off what I was told so the exact time I was out of school, I believe was around two weeks but I'm not sure. Anyhow at the school, we met with the principal and office staff who denied any teachers were in the hall or that any of this happened. My mom demanded to see the recordings on the cameras as a hall came in at a T right behind my locker so that camera faced my locker as well as one at each end of the hall my locker was in. They tried to tell her all three cameras were broken. My mom wasn't buying it so they tried then saying the recordings were gone. they went round and round and the school flat out refused to show her the video. My mom demanded that the girl who did this be punished because she has been asking for the school to help me since I was in the first grade and this girl started bullying me but they always fail to do anything.

They tried to then give me an in school suspension which my mom refused to let them do. They still went behind her back when I returned and made me take peanut butter sandwiches to the kids in detention during my lunch as punishment because they were mad my mom came in to question the incident. They refused to punish my bully in any way and when my mom demanded to know why, they said her mom and grandmother graduated from the school so she has a lot of history with the school which years later we found out after me and 9 other kids that I know of and who knows how many others, ended up being pulled out of the same school because of her bullying that having history at the school actually turned out to mean, she was black and they would not punish her because of her color. At the end of the school year my mom pulled me out of the school not sure what to do since back then they didn't have any kind of free online schooling so pretty much everything costed money which is when my grandma stepped up and told my mom she would help because there was no way I would be going back to deal with more bullying.

I had a ton of intestinal issues having to start colonics at around 10 years old and get my first colonoscopy around the same time. As a teen I really went down hill, struggling to eat because I had very severe nausea and cramping pain upon eating which made many of my friends believe I was anorexic but I went years without being diagnosed with gastroparesis. I started having thyroid issues and finally diagnosed with food allergies at age 14, Chest pain, palpitations, arrhythmias and trouble breathing around age 15 and seizures and cardiac arrest events at age 17.

At age 19, right before starting college I lost the ability to walk with no reason why and was sent to physical therapy to learn to walk again. The hospital visits continued in college from the seizures, emergencies from my thyroid levels going sky high or bottoming out, I started having issues with low sugar, rectal bleeding and more GI and Muscular Skeletal issues that again came to the attention of a physical education professor I had in college. The cardiac arrests continued to happen and I got an emergency pacemaker put in at age 23. Also lost the ability to walk a second time and re learned during this time.

After graduating and starting working I really went down hill. My nerve pain got so bad I could hardly tolerate it and had a lot of issues with muscle spasticity. Passing out and dizzy spells got worse, seizure meds aren't working muscle weakness got again worse in my legs and I started literally wondering if I was dying, I had such severe fatigue that I slept every moment I wasn't working, bleed very badly during my period or with just mild trauma worrying my dentist so badly that he sent a letter to my doctor suggesting a possible bleeding disorder. I was going into shakes from low sugar and low sodium frequently but at the time had no idea why I would start shaking multiple times a day. Myoclonic epilepsy started and has progressively gotten worse, Dystonia started up, I started getting intestinal obstructions more often and more gastroparesis symptoms with the nausea and vomiting, sometimes cyclic vomiting. I developed a limp and went onto forearm crutches which eventually progressed to paralysis.

I have always had issues with dislocations of joints and spinal manifestations like scoliosis, Craniocervical and Atlantoaxial instability. I’m prone to non cancerous masses that could be cancerous one day including masses in my breasts, heals and between the vertebrates in my spine. My memory has deteriorated and I now have issues which I call temporary blindness when I turn my head a certain way which pinches my already compressed brainstem kinking it off so my vision is interrupted. With Systemic Mastocitosis I deal with allergic reaction type symptoms such as anaphylaxis, overproduction of mucus, coughing, hives, swelling, rashes, itching, hot flashes, flushing and more. I overheat and have hyperhidrosis. I have muscle spasms from the paralysis, dry mouth from the meds, in addition to the heart arrhythmias and trouble controlling my body temperature from the damage to my autonomic nervous system failure I have swelling of my abdomen, extreme thirst, bladder retention, abdominal cramping and more.

There are endless symptoms associated with EDS and it’s comorbidities which has a huge impact on your social life. You can't do the things you used to do and may come up with new hobbies and later deal with the grief associated with losing the ability to do those hobbies, in turn having to find new hobbies. You lose all or almost all of your friends because they don't like what you have become, the things you used to be able to do with them and no longer can, they don't understand if you need to cancel plans, when you lose the ability to drive they drop you cold because they don't want to pick you up many of us deal with the realization of how badly we wanted friends growing up due to our social awkwardness that resulted from our illness, time spent in the hospital, maturing more quickly, as well as the result of decades of medical abuse and neglect which in most of us has resulted in complex PTSD.

Almost all EDS patients are either on the Autism Spectrum, diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder which some associate with social awkwardness and also the intense need for us to please people meaning many EDS patients were known as extremely hard and dedicated workers when working or in school as well as very dedicated to friends and families. We basically give our friends the clothes off of our backs meaning that most of us unknowingly befriend people who use us and are in take take take relationships where we give everything we have into a friendship or relationship while the other person gives little back resulting in most of us losing all or almost every friend we had when we get sick and no longer have anything to give. When we are no longer able to do for others those people quickly jump ship leaving us with no friends. Most of us have this very similar personality type due to our history of growing up quickly along with the shared comorbidity of Autism, OCD, and Complex PTSD.

There are countless symptoms associated with EDS and they are different for each individual. Even in my case alone these are only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to symptoms I have experienced alone so EDS isn't an easy condition to live with physically or emotionally and the diagnosis can be quite the pill to swallow with little understanding from friends, sometimes family or even the medical community.

[honmakurara]

Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru: extensive manga review

Tormented and explicit, sharp and sophisticated: what Mizushiro Setona's masterpiece really is.

Warning: minor spoilers ahead. "I want to read something erotic and violent": this is what Mizushiro Setona's editor asked her, echoing the request of their chief editor when assigning to the mangaka a story for the supplement of the Josei magazine Judy, meant to be read by an adult female target: "I don't expect you to write a nice story. You have other skills you can count on. You can narrate about gay people, for instance, or about sadomasochism."

Starting from the first casual incursion of Mizushiro-sensei into the world of Boys' Love, between the years 2004 and 2006 Kyūso wa Cheese no Yume o Miru (窮鼠はチーズの夢を見 - The cornered mouse dreams of cheese) was born and defined; it is one of the most beautiful and intense stories ever written about such a genre and beyond, which did even receive excellent notes from the well acclaimed Takemiya Keiko-sensei of the renowned Group 24. Starting with these premises, one can already understand how Mizushiro-sensei, who was not a master of Boys' Love back then, has nonetheless been able to offer an excellent tale that transcends the borders of genres and ranges over way beyond what it had been asked her: the story had been initially conceived as a few chapters later compiled in one tankobon, but it eventually came back on the pages of Judy with a new series of chapters. These ones have also been later published, three years later, in a sequel tankobon titled Sōjo no Koi wa Nido Haneru (俎上の鯉は二度跳ねる - The carp on the chopping block jumps twice). After the renewed interest offered to Otomo and to the cunning Imagase's story, that the live action movie announcement awakened, the new manga chapter Hummingbird Rhapsody has been added to the whole franchise, which is included in the recently revised Japanese edition of the manga.

"Imagase... I'm scared of you...!"

"And I'm... scared of you, too."   There's however not only violence and eroticism in this intricate story, and such a definition would actually mean to simplify way too much what it portrays, not to mention it would not fit exactly what the author was actually able to convey into it; other than the most obvious themes and elements, many others way more implicit and elaborate ones can be found there. We can even have a hint of that by peeking at the cover illustration of the volume, where a languid surface does not betray the contradiction of the soul. We can see an elegant portrait of the two main characters, who both hide all but dignified emotions inside them; a very accurate mirror of such a picture, which graphically reminds us of the previous editions of the manga, is the mind of the thirty years old Otomo Kyoichi after his encounter with Imagase. Otomo is a married adult man, leading an apparently impeccable life: he has good looks, polite manners and a nice job. He is gentle and esteemed by his colleagues and is able to make the many women crossing his path sigh from expectation. He cannot resist women either, that is why his life is an endless sequence of cheating on his wife. He reckons they are of no importance, at least until his wife hires the private eye Imagase Wataru to investigate upon his possible infidelities. Imagase is no new man in Otomos' life, being a kohai within the tennis club at university: he proposes to Otomo to be silent with his wife, in exchange for the heated make-out session that he never dared asking before, despite his being a unprejudiced homosexual guy having a crush on Otomo since forever. After the end of Otomo's wedding, though, the intimate encounters between the two men do not stop at all; they are pushed towards a fierce depth instead, symbols of a spiral of lust and psychological turmoil from which Otomo cannot willingly go back any more. "I am no good one."

"I know this. Bad natured men like you are the worst. Do you think that everyone is looking for that perfect person? You can't fall in love with anyone but that one person?"

"Someday, you'll find true love, too. The time will come when you can't help the feelings that well up inside you and you'll be carried away."

The themes and the premises are taken from various undoubtedly not new Boys' Love clichés; Mizushiro-sensei makes skillfully use of them to plumb the human soul as she does in many other works of her, making the story evolve quickly into something way different and way wider than what the numerous and explicit sex scenes might make us think at first. It takes a doting and obsessive homosexual guy into the life of some apparently happy man like Otomo in order to make the latter understand that his marriage is merely an empty shell, built with no true nor deep feelings to live an ordinary life. The encounter with Imagase, though, forces Otomo to think back deeply about his own actions and the meaning to give to his own life, until he gets to understand that despite his true gentleness, he has never cared for other people's feelings at all.

The relationship with Imagase makes his worst side come to the surface: jealous impulses, selfishness and possessiveness, unsuspected masochistic and yet dominating preferences, obscure compulsions and a never missing inclination towards all sorts of temptations. Otomo is no role model nor someone to praise and yet, he's neither a man whose submissive personality can be easily blamed. Such a personality is a spectrum of a lid hiding a lot of things, a reflection of our own fearful and insecure behaviour, our own incapability of getting to call ourselves into question until the moments, those surprising and unexpected moments, that are to change life for real. That these two lovers embody a strong universal value is further suggested by the choice of the Japanese kanjis with which their names are written: Mizushiro-sensei identifies Otomo Kyoichi (大伴恭一) with the definition of 'partner' itself, a potential alter ego of each of us; she entrusts Imagase Wataru (今ヶ瀬渉, from the kanjis of 'quickness', 'crossing', 'involvement' and 'human relations') with the importance of getting to catch the 'carpe diem', the fleeting moment. Should we were to play with the language a little bit, we would find out that the union of the two main characters would lead us to the meaning of a 'relationship with a partner', the play of the cat with its little mouse happening here and now, the moment that we are to live in every single instant.

"You're kidding?! I cannot believe it… You can't decide?! Between a woman... or a man?!” - Natsuki -

"Maybe Imagase is right... maybe I still have to know what true love it. Next month, I’ll turn 30."

Otomo meets a long series of women, each of whom is identified by a definite face and a marked, strong personality. Each of them leaves a vivid notch into Otomo's life; and yet, no one of these figures is able to open a gash into his soul. The true Otomo is unfathomable to anyone, himself included, just like he himself can finally understand after the new encounter with Imagase breaks the quiet surface of his existence. The desirable man that Otomo is in his colleagues' eyes, through Imagase's cynical and revealing gaze he proves to be none other than a failed seducer, a man devoid of lash and decisiveness, a figure suddenly insecure even about what the true and intense physical pleasure is and how to gain it. It is Imagase who makes the miracle, intercepting his senpai's emotional black hole, and the latter finally manages to find out where the borders of his own self lay and how to humbly face his own limitations and inner being. This does not happen thanks to a man, nor thanks to a good guy, but rather because of a tempting snake who exploits Otomo's weaknesses with a cheeky and direct attitude towards him; by acting like so, Imagase takes a vengeance towards his own young self, first of all, the one who had been unable to face with sincerity the object of his adoration, back then. "No matter how sweet he might be, he is war away, like the moon."

His impetuous whims and his sensual attentions take the lid off Otomo's soul in the deep and they produce the most unexpected of effects, by reversing the parts of this play: Otomo, the one who never even thought he would were to find himself one day on the verge of turning 30 years old by asking himself about the true nature of love, becomes fond of the weird daily life established with Imagase, and he adapts himself to such cohabitation with surprising rapidity. He becomes more and more aware of a homosexual relationship in which he, however not knowing how to move, goes on with the cautiousness, the tenderness and the care he had never reserved to any other person before, in his whole life. He even gets to question himself what it is that truly determines the happiness of a couple, both in the short and medium-long term. As for Imagase, he teaches his senpai how to increase the physical pleasure in a more and more intense way, making him find out what offering someone unconditional love means. Someone who is clearly an imperfect one in all his weaknesses, but at the same time someone who is loved for the one he is, and not just because he embodies the ideal of an unattainable perfect man.

As the relationship with Otomo evolves, though, it is Imagase slowly losing the control he had on the whole situation, as he lavishes his spasmodic need for affection -also made up of a sometimes exasperating and childish attitude-  on a story born out of a youthful crush later evolved in true and heartbreaking love, against every possible prevision.  

"I'm just eating away your current existence. I can't make you happy."

"I'll decide whether or not I'm happy. We're both so selfish."

That is why within the play of the cunning black cat with his naive mouse, it is no obvious at all who the real prey or the predator are; quite on the contrary, the roles are repeatedly overturned, both on a psychological and on a sexual level, in a turn-up which is mostly unprecedented as for what Boys' Love works are concerned: as the pages become more daring, there's a parallel growth of the sexual purse power that each of these main characters can use towards one another. A strong and undermining power. Playing tag, letting go, keeping on running after each other once again: all of those are demonstration of a love both childish and adult-like in its elements, a overwhelming love taken to the limit of the obsession, a deep affection that while looking straight into reality, forces both men to ask themselves how much they are willing to leave back of their own selfishness in exchange for an improper relationship, and yet a fulfilling and indispensable one. That is why it is equally truly fitting, the choice of borrowing the name of animals for the titles of the chapters, and these very same animals appears as 'guest-stars' inside the story itself: from a frame hanging at a restaurant to a lighter herald of jealousies, there is no similarity more proper than fish, cats, snakes, owls and butterflies to suggest us behaviours that are to recall the most primeval and animal-like instincts of the human beings. Weaving traps and spider webs: those mean, sleazy and petty acts that people also do when they're in love. "The obstacle is you. And so am I." The frame of this symbolism closes with a gaze looking up at the cover illustration, where the portraits of animals silently stand out in the background behind the main characters. At the same time, such a gaze looks suggestively up at the moon: the Romeo and Juliet described by Shakespeare invoked the moon for an eternal oath, while the Japanese writer Natsume Soseki in his famous 'Tsuki ga kirei, desu ne?' (the moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?) metaphorically used the moon for a declaration of love. Mizushiro-sensei entrusts the white satellite with Otomo and Imagase's most unspeakable thoughts, for which the moon so becomes a silent leitmotif, as if it was a sensual tokonoma opening inside the story for all those people who can see beyond it: a sort of a story in the story, like a delicate, deep, subtle and intimate alcove. It goes beyond saying that every single dialogue of Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru manga is either enigmatic and cheeky and equally provoking and misleading: what we do reckon we understand about Otomo and Imagase, through their own words, gets later regularly denied by other facts. With thick lines and dialogues that are to tell us the very contrary of what they actually intend to convey, we cannot help but rely then on the inner voices of the many Otomos in his mind, in order to understand the nude truth: the white Otomo, the black and the grey one can maybe remind us of the concept behind the Pixar movie Inside Out, but Kyuso's one is by far forerunner of the latter. Mizushiro-sensei will make excellent use of such theme again by exploring it fully, and not without a subtle humour, in her following Nōnai Poison Berry manga; at the same time, the intricate juxtaposition of human beings and animals comes back to life in the well appreciated Shoujo manga Afterschool Nightmare, while the ultimate aim to attribute to ourselves and to love becomes the core of the romantic comedy Shitsuren Chocolatier, winner of the 36th Kodansha Manga Award - Shojo/Josei and also nominated for the Tezuka Award in 2014. Other than a fully substantial work per se, Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru can be also seen as a sort of effective experimental testing ground for the mangaka herself and her various best works.

"You think that's acceptable?!"

"Acceptable to whom?"

"To society!"

"You're overly self-conscious, as usual... society doesn't care about your sex life."

Mizushiro-sensei's style distinguishes itself for a modern and state-of-the-art graphic, an elegant and refined one, and Kyuso makes no exception: the peculiar design, so clean without any trace of deburring, gets softened as time and years passing by, as we can see by comparing the drawings made for the first chapters of the story with those from the Melancholy Butterfly onwards, and until the recent Hummingbird Rhapsody. Here the lines are so delicate and thin that they almost suggest us they could literally flake off under the piercing gaze of the reader. By leafing through the tankobon, all we can see are tidy pages, sometimes with no balloons at all, thus resulting in a huge expressive performance. The design is sharp and essential as for what details are concerned, but it is no minimalistic one; it is accurate in the depiction of bodies in every detail and characterized by a certain subtle sensuality, this latter marking not only the most rated scenes but also able to permeate the whole work instead. As used as she is in narrating with extraordinary ability about twisted and askew themes and exploring the human psyche with related sexual and gender identity issues, Mizushiro Setona offers us pages with highly aesthetic value, thrilling and bold ones, not without a sort of a certain aesthete voyeurism when depicting lovemaking scenes, however never vulgar at all. They manage to effectively evoke with a surprising visual impact, instead, the devastating passions from which both the characters and the readers end up being shaken and overwhelmed from. The violence this manga is impregnated with is mostly about its psychological insight, rather than the physical one, sex being however undoubtedly an inescapable element of the complicated events binding Otomo to Imagase: it is a key of the story but no ultimate reason of it. That is why we cannot help but follow, almost in a state of trance, how this couple is eventually able to get to intimately know each other by starting from a kiss born out of a blackmail, and thenquickly slackening every inhibition under the sheets through reversal of positions, seme/uke roles and sadomasochistic implications.

"Do you love me? Or after you got a taste of being loved so passionately are you pretending to be my lover as compensation for my feelings?"

How such a sentimental-psychological tangle can be outlined into a story constantly in balance between drama and comedy, keeping a perfect balance between each of its many faces always, without ever falling nor losing a thing, the reader can find it one page after another, surprising himself together with Otomo and Imagase in a thick and tormented love story, terribly authentic as much as its complicated and complex characters are. The pressing storyboard does now allow any rest nor break nor peace: accusations and skirmishes rebound from one man to the other in a never-ending evolution and involution of the personalities of the characters, that is until the unsettling ending; when the time of the games finishes and infantilism stops, another moment inevitably comes. The moment when the face of the adult we want to show to other people outside, goes finally and fully matching the inner essence of us as human beings. That very moment when one can take responsibility towards its own self.

"Poking holes in happiness makes you unhappy.

Nobody understands what I'm going through.

No one knows about the happiness I got to feel despite navigating into an ocean of doubts."

Otomo' sexism, while appreciating what Imagase offers him despite never intimately accepting it’s a man providing him with such a pleasure, vanishes in the very moment he gives his lover a vintage Château Pétrus bottle: it is one of the finest French wines in the whole world, thus suggesting his precious man the implicit idea of being an equally unique and irreplaceable one. Carrying on with a relationship where people can look at each other's eye and discuss, offering our whole self not in order to give back something we received but rather to go beyond our own self, it is then something quite different from seeking the pleasure of a night without any involvement: it is not the same indecisive man he was before, the one for whom appearances in society stops being an excuse, the man suddenly questioning himself how it might be wooing a man rather than a woman, or whether the relationship between two homosexual guys might even be more complete and deep than the one a heterosexual man might start with someone belonging to a ‘different’ universe from his own one.

What is love, then, if not the innate strength that allows us to see beyond our stiff self-esteem and pride, in order to overcome our limitations and arrive and reach the most intimate recesses of the one soul we naturally tend? And it is not only the Boys' Love theme per se to be central in this story, quite rather something that transcends every gender limitation to virtually embrace every kind of love, regardless of any possible colour or legitimacy. And that is because a different way of loving is no inadequate love nor a "less" love. However merely brushing LGBTQ+ themes, however never aspiring to become a gender manifesto, the Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru manga is able to outline some of these aspects with great perspicacity; there's then the excellent portrait offered to the weaknesses of the human being, slave of a need for affection as much hidden as obscure and here translated into the relentlessness of a physical and lacerating love. It does confirm to us how much the social and psychological themes are here treated with crude realism and keen sensibility. In a perfect synthesis of the Yin and Yang elements, Otomo and Imagase's greedy, mean and liar characters are flecked in a sometimes merciless way, not to mention the moment they mean to hurt other people but end up cleaving their own self instead first: it is a couple of uncomfortable characters the one we have here, someone with whom it is definitely not a pleasure to identify ourselves with, someone we wish never to meet, if any. Someone that nonetheless chooses never to give up when in front of human frailty, and that is why these characters end up being unusually authentic, charming and unforgettable ones. " I was hoping, someday, that by sharing my way of loving with you, you would have done the same to me one day." - Imagase -

 "Ugh... I don't lose my temper like this with women." - Otomo -

The new revised All in One Edition reunites the two original volumes into one, which comes with a few color pages in the introduction and the brand new extra Hummingbird Rhapsody chapter. As for what the censorship is concerned, the original pages have actually been partially edited in a very few graphic details: it has been Mizushiro-sensei herself to provide them at the request of the Japanese publisher for the revised edition, which is meant to remove every explicit content starting from 28th January 2020. That happens in order to make the manga available also to a younger target, as the live action movie received a R15+ rating. Censorship involves however only the depiction of male genitals in a few specific, small and delimited portions of the pages, mainly in the first chapters of the story, and does not apply anywhere else. Female nipples and breasts, naked bodies and rated love making are left totally untouched, and so are the original dialogues, the true quintessence of this manga. Even the revised edition presents the harsh and explicit tones of the original pages and there is none of the messages conveyed by the manga that has been damaged or watered down by the re-print. "Love is divine punishment."

Carrying a perfect balance between seduction and feelings, the Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru manga is a challenging, demanding and intense reading. It is a mature story filled with issues, a complex and provoking one; it is compulsory to get near this story with the utmost attention, receiving though a crescendo of emotions that the reader will feel entangled with until the very last page. The Italian poet Giacomo Leopardi would have probably defined it a "matto e disperatissimo" love, a 'mad and utterly desperate' one. Like a river in flood sweeping everything away, the need for getting to know how to slacken control of ourselves and how to gain it back: educating the passion in a relationship is complicated to the point of seeming almost unmanageable.

Love in daily life is quite a different issue from the feelings of a romance novel, an engagement that forces people to swallow bitter bites sometimes, an endless tension towards the other and towards ourselves. In this story that happens to painfully disturbs the deepest part of the heart, we do not know who is the one leading the game; both characters here overthrow the typical Boys' Love canons, an audacious, cocky and authentic couple ready to question itself always.

A story that cannot be missed for all the lovers of the Boys' Love genre, Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru is also quite appropriate for all those one searching for an atypical love story, a strong and nonetheless sensual one, sublimated by a masterful introspection and a very welcome hint of subtle and stinging humour. It is a work dealing with many interesting and complicated issues, though never boasting about none of its many qualities.

A story that knows no limitation and no borders. One of those volumes to keep on the shelf of our own personal bookcase with the utmost care, to take up every now and then in our hands and find new shades of meaning after every new re-reading.

**

Originally written and posted in Italian @ Animeclick

[helbramstrauma-main]

Thorn

Masterlist

Albert DaSilva X Reader

A Modern AU: A seemingly perfect life with one thread loose. What happens when you pull it?

Word count: 2089

My world isn't too bad, I follow the rules and good things come from it. That being said, I don't live in the most interesting world. I go to school, get good grades, have a close group of friends. Although I live a boring life, it doesn't mean I don't have hobbies, every day after school I go to the band room. Every day for two hours I play the flute, afterward, I go home for dinner. Soon after that though, I give flute lessons. Don't get me wrong I love playing the flute, but it has become my whole identity. Sometimes I just want to rebel against my family. It isn't that they treat me wrong, but being around them is like being wrapped in bubble wrap. 

Of course millions of people wish they were in my place, not having any real trouble. Of course, I do have a thorn in my side, but it isn't genocide or even abusive. My life is easy, excluding Albert DaSilva, he just seems to wreak my life. However, he seems to be the only exciting thing about it.

History in the basement seems to be the hardest part of my day.  The temperature is unpredictable, but today it seems to be a sauna. Unfortunately, my top is strapless so I have to keep my flannel on. Not to mention that the permanent thorn in my side just happens to be behind me. If Albert wasn't the only interesting part of my life I would never entertain his notes. Alas, he is though, so I always give in. Each of his notes says some silly pick up line, he is shameless. Almost as shameless for when he says, "you know after 15 minutes we can leave if he doesn't show up". That's another painful thing about this class, the teacher is always late, without a doubt. I am brought back into reality when I hear the boom of Mr. Richardson's voice. That's another thing, he talks way too loud.

"Partner time" an audible sigh leaves every person's mouth. Another thing about History is how he chooses groups. Like in elementary school everyone has their name on a popsicle stick and we choose our fates. The sticks are never nice, I usually get stuck with someone who lets me do all the work. Doing work for two people in half the time. It is almost like the list for everything bad in History is never-ending, Richardson's deadlines are never proportionate. Since today is Friday it will probably be due on Monday "since we have the whole weekend to work on it". Goodbye weekend plans. The project guidelines are being passed out and before I even look at it, I can tell it is one of his rambling masterpieces. Every assignment, without a doubt, he writes four paragraphs to say a simple thing, but he always contradicts himself making his class impossible. It is my only B, straight A's then this blemish.

My inner monologue is cut short by the familiar sound of popsicle sticks hitting a plastic cup. Another simultaneous groan fills the room as people start picking names. That is one plus side to this, you get to look at people as their eyes light up or their soul leaves their body after reading their partner's name. He stands in front of me mixing up the sticks, only one thought crosses my head. Not DaSilva, not DaSilva, not DaSilva. I squeeze my eyes shut in anticipation and I let out a breath I've been holding in. Upon opening my eyes I can feel my soul leave my body, Albert DaSilva.

"Don't just stare at it, it isn't going to change?" Richardson says wanting me to announce my partner to the class.

I swallow the saliva that has accumulated in my mouth before saying, "DaSilva". An audible sigh of relief washes over the class. Albert is known for getting on Mr. Richardson's nerves in class and his grade reflects it, and just because it is a group project does not change Mr. Richardson's harsh grades for him. However I don't know why I am not upset, normally the thought of working with Albert is enough to nauseate me, but in practice, it seems to excite me. Why?

After an extensive explanation of the project that somehow doesn't define the project at all, Richardson ends his lecture early to let us make plans with our partners. I spin around in my chair to face the thorn in my side, to see him looking all too pleased. "What are you doing after school, cupcake," He says with a mischievous grin. Why can no one smile normally? Also cupcake? I am not a cupcake! Just ignore him and get this over with.

"To be honest I am surprised you are even planning on doing this project," I say, fully expecting to do all of the work.

He leans farther back on his chair still making eye contact with me, "if you are going to fail the project because of me, it would be impolite not to help" his hand goes over his chest to show mock sincerity. However, as his hand leaves the table he falls backward from his chair. The noise is loud enough to make me jump and I watched it happen. Mr. Richardson yells at him for falling out of his chair. Great, that is another five points off our project.

"I think we can work on the project separately, and just do half the work. I can do the chart, reading, and essay. You can do the PowerPoint and the poster" I say, desperate to not hang out with him.

"But what are you doing after school" Albert persists.

"Band practice, and then I am going home," I say hoping that he just lets it go.

This time leaning on his desk, he sets his head in his hands and looks at me. I can see every detail on his face, I can see faint lines connecting his freckles together. It looks like he tried to wash them off but the faint lines are still there. My eyes wander around his face until they land on his hazel eyes. He isn't saying anything but his eyes are begging. I am not giving in, my parents would never let me go to a guy's house that they never met before. That being said I don't have to tell them, but they will worry about me. I continue to argue with myself, but then I look into Albert's eyes again. I am making a mistake, I am making a mistake, my attempts to reason with myself are useless.

"But practice ends at five, you can pick me up by the pool doors" I commit. No going back now. My mom will be waiting for me on the other side of the school, I cannot let her see me get into his car.

DaSilva's eyes light up even more at me giving in, and he is now grinning ear to ear.

The rest of the school day goes by quickly, but all I can think of is, how I am lying to my parents. I am finally going to be free, I am going to live a little. Of course, my idea of living a little is lying to my parents to do homework, but it is living a little not living a lot. After we are dismissed from band, I practically grab my belongings and sprint to the other wing of the school. Usually, I would stay back to help the teacher clean up, but I cannot risk seeing my mom. Once I make it to the pool doors I see Albert leaning against his car. He spots me and smiles, motioning for me to join him outside. The air conditioner is blasting cold air, instinctively making me wrap my flannel around myself tighter. My phone rings and I see that it is my mom calling. Just let it ring, don't answer it.

"Why aren't you answering your phone?" Albert asks looking down at it.

"I don't recognize the number" I lie.

He just kind of gives me a look before saying, "it says mom at the top, and it has a photo of you two together on the screen". Right, instead of answering Albert or the phone, I simply decline the call and turn off my phone. This earns another strange look from Albert. "You could have just said you guys don't get along".

"No, I'm trying to rebel, live a little. I'm never allowed to go anywhere and I'm 17, I deserve some freedom" I say, being way too honest to the thorn in my side. I may call him a thorn but it dawns on me that all he does is mildly annoy me, but calling him a thorn sounds cool.

"You do know your great rebellion is doing homework, right" Albert is now chuckling, "kind of pathetic".

"What if I did this," I say quickly taking off my flannel slightly to reveal a shoulder. Never in a million years did I expect to be laughing with Albert DaSilva in his car rebelling, but here I am. The rest of the car ride, however, was silent and not the good kind either. We resort to listening to the radio instead. With my phone turned off I don't have anything to do, so I go back to studying Albert.

His ginger hair peaks out of his backward baseball cap and his hands are calloused. His lips are chapped and he has licked them 7 times before we reach his house. Pulling into his garage Albert turns off the music. Shuffling around to collect his things from the back. I simply grab my purse and binders and climb out of the vehicle. Shortly after he leads me into his basement. It isn't finished but behind the stairs, there are a couple of bean bag chairs and coffee table.

"My brothers shouldn't bother us down here," he says sitting in one of the two bean bags. I mimic his action and take out my laptop and History project. The thought of it makes me yawn, but then again I hear Albert's stomach grumble. "Why don't we order some pizza?" Albert phrases as a question but immediately start dialing a number, let me know that we are ordering pizza. "It will be here in thirty minutes"

The time before the pizza arrives, I am able to get through about half of the question of the reading, and Albert is still researching for the PowerPoint. However, after the pizza arrives all productivity comes to a halt. Ignoring the boring assignment, we focus on each other. I can feel Albert's eyes studying me while we talk. To be honest, I would usually be offended, but I am loving the attention. Even though Albert is possibly the most interesting person I know my body is just telling me to sleep.

"Before we get back to work, how about a siesta," I say looking at the boy I used to refer to as a thorn but now is tolerable. Albert is attractive, I have known this for a while, but it is easy to ignore when he is bothering you, but now I see the personality that matches the outside. This shouldn't be allowed, no one should be able to be this level of attractive and have this personality, it is unfair to every other person on earth.

"I don't see the harm in a nap," Albert says kicking his feet onto the bean bag I was sitting on. I take this as a cue to rest my torso on his bean bag. At some point, I rest my head on his chest, and I must admit he makes a good pillow too. I can hear his heartbeat against my head and it soothes me. I can feel myself dozing off when I feel Albert's fingers running through my hair. There is no other way to describe this situation other than, it just feels right.

"You know you're cute, cupcake," Albert says, half asleep.

"You're are not so bad yourself DaSilva," I say equally as exhausted. We fall into another silence but this time, it is the good kind. We fall asleep just like that, with my head on his chest studying his heart's rhythm and his hand tangled in my hair. Needless to say, neither of us set alarms, so neither of us woke up until mourning.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

an exercise in teamwork 

[freddy freeman x reader]

author’s note: painted my nails a cute spring shade and i am v happy  

word count: 2,882

Ever since you and Freddy had agreed to split the price of the new video game coming out at the end of the month, you have seen its name popping up everywhere—a commercial on television, plastered upon billboards you spot in passing down the freeway, the front page article with the biggest coverage on gaming news sites. This release was going to be huge. Of course the two of you had to get your hands on what many are beginning to argue may be game of the year.

People talk about it at school, in the hallways between periods. In the chaos of those five minutes, you catch snippets of conversations, finding out who’s already pre-ordered, who is going to, who’s going to be there for midnight release, and so on and so forth. At this point, from how much you’ve heard, half the student body must be buying this game.

Freddy laughs when you say that. He says you’re exaggerating and you don’t correct him because maybe you are, maybe you haven’t actually heard as many people talking about it as you think you have. And he tells you about a phenomenon called the Baader-Meinhof effect: It’s a frequency illusion. When you become aware of something, you start to notice it all over the place.

Huh, so that’s what that is! You’ve always wondered, and Freddy’s finally given it a name. You consider it for a moment, all the other times in your life you’ve experienced it, and you turn to him and say Wow, you’re so smart and he playfully tells you to shut up because he thinks you’re teasing and he’s embarrassed but you’re not teasing. He’s smart and he knows a lot of things and that’s only one reason you’re glad he is your best friend. You learn a little bit more from him each day.

Neither of you looks forward to the school lunches. Well, no one does. They certainly leave a lot to be desired but you eat it because you know you’ll regret it when you get hungry in a couple of hours and you’re still stuck in class. Today, however, Freddy is unable to get himself to follow your lead. He steps out of line to search for a table, and once you take the chair next to him and ask if he’s just going to buy chips from the vending machine, he shakes his head. He’d been running late this morning and failed to grab his wallet on his way out the door.

“But I’ll live,” he promises you, grinning lopsidedly.

You smile back but it’s not a satisfactory assurance. You’re about to offer to lend him a dollar, but you remember you’d spent it this morning when you bought a can of soda at the convenience store around the corner. So you begin scanning the other students in the cafeteria, and Freddy’s brows furrow and he asks what you’re doing, but you don’t answer.

“Be back in a sec,” you declare suddenly, standing up and rounding the table. Freddy watches, still thoroughly confused, as you walk across the room.

Delilah is at a corner table with who you assume to be her partner for the project in history, for they sit side-by-side with the rubric and a piece of paper scrawled in what you assume to be their ideas for how to tackle the assignment. She spots you before you speak up to announce your presence, and you smile widely when she does.

Freddy can’t read your lips from this far away, but he can see your smile clearly. It remains on your face for the duration of your conversation with Delilah, who reaches into her backpack. Her body blocks whatever she digs through it for, but then she’s produced a dollar bill that she holds out to you. If it were even possible, your grin widens even more, and with the dollar now in your grasp, you return to the table.

“Now you can get your chips.” You sound quite smug as you hand it off to him, plopping down in the hard chair (these cafeteria seats suck).

“What’d you say to her?” Freddy inquires, taking the dollar.

“That I’d pay her back tomorrow.” You shrug. “She trusts me.”

Freddy chuckles and shakes his head at your antics, but this is nothing new. In the time he’s known you he has found out just how easily you can get your way with that smile. You’ve gotten deadline extensions, an extra chocolate chip cookie from the lunch lady (it’s the only cafeteria food that’s actually good), and by now, he swears you could ask someone to do a backflip and they’d do it. It’s almost like your own superpower.

As he feeds the dollar into the vending machine and presses the buttons for the chips he wants, he’s thanking you silently in the back of his head (and Delilah too, to some extent). Once he has his snack, he turns back around, and you still wear the ghost of a grin as you watch him, like you heard him anyway.

One week before the game is set to be released, an announcement goes out that there will be a collectible handed out on a first-come, first-serve basis. Upon discovering this last piece of information, you and Freddy deflate. The line will be long at midnight, and the likelihood of their being anymore remaining figurines by three o’clock in the afternoon that Friday are incredibly low. Standing in line with everyone else, waiting for 12 AM to hit, is out of the question. You wouldn’t be allowed to go so late, and on a school night to boot.

“Hey, Anthony is working that night, isn’t he?”

Freddy nods and glances over at you where you sit on his bed, homework spread out on the sheets. “Yeah, he should be. Why?”

“I’m sure I could convince him to keep one for us.”

While Freddy is aware of the power of persuasion your grins hold, this is a case where he is very skeptical that it would be effective. Anthony hardly seems like a person who could be swayed. “A pretty smile can’t get you everything.” And though he is the one saying it, a part of him almost doesn’t believe that statement. Perhaps he’s wrong about Anthony (it’d be nice if he was and Anthony was indeed willing to hold onto an extra figurine).

But this remark is no blow to your confidence. Instead, you flash that aforementioned pretty smile in his direction. “We’ll see about that, Freeman.” Then you proceed to dive into your first assignment of the evening, flipping through a hard cover textbook with glossy pages and that took up almost half the space in your backpack.

Freddy laughs and, at least for now, concedes, murmuring Okay, [Name] and returning his attention to the computer.

On Thursday, you go straight to the game store after class. The bell atop the door jingles quietly and Anthony twists around. He lifts a hand to give a wave when he notices both of you walking farther in, towards where he is by the register.

“Oh, hey, guys,” he greets.

There are multiple boxes stacked on the table behind the register which no doubt hold multiple copies of the new game. Freddy’s almost inclined to ask for a peek, for the anticipation is nearly unbearable this close to release. He thinks if sees the cover art in person, even for just a second, he’d last until tomorrow. But he doesn't get the chance to bring this up, for you start speaking, and it reminds him to stay on track.

“Hey, Anthony,” you respond brightly, walking up to the counter and resting your arms on it. “So listen… you’re handing out those figurines tonight right?”

Anthony nods. “Yeah…” His eyes narrow and his brows furrow, signs that the cogs in his head are starting to spin, trying to figure out what you’re going to say next. You’re already continuing before he’s able to do so.

“Well we can’t pick up the game until tomorrow, and I was wondering if you could maybe hold onto one for us?”

At hearing this, Anthony sighs and shakes his head. “You know I can’t do that. It’s first-come, first-serve.”

“Pretty please?” You lay it on thick, smiling your familiar smile and you give the Cheshire cat a run for its money. Freddy’s gaze briefly slides from Anthony to you and if he had anything to say about it, if you aimed that smile at him, he’s not entirely sure he’d be able to refuse.

Anthony doesn’t reply right away, and there’s a moment where Freddy thinks you have managed to get your way. And if that is what’s happening right now, he doesn’t even care that he’s been proven wrong. You’d probably gloat, telling him in a sing-song tone I told you so, and he’d be a good sport and accept it and he’d promise not to underestimate you again.

Unfortunately, it appears as though there are still those out in the world who are impervious to your charm, for Anthony shakes his head again. (Freddy notices that he does look considerably more apologetic as he does, which means your grin had had some effect, at least.) “Sorry, [Name].”

Your smile drops, replaced by a slight frown, and your shoulders slouch—a picture of defeat. It occurs to Freddy he’s never seen you legitimately bummed about anything. Whether your dejection comes from the fact this means there will be no collectible figurine to be had, or from the fact your honey-dipped grin hadn’t worked, he’s not certain. Suddenly he hates that he had been right about the limitations of what he had always coined as your little superpower.

But he’s not going to let you flounder, disoriented in the face of loss. He’s your friend, your best friend, and what kind of friend would he be if he did that? So he wracks his brain—Think, Freddy, think!—for anything he could say to come to your aid.

“I’ll give you my lunch money for the next few weeks,” he proposes.

Anthony’s nose scrunches up like he’s smelled something bad. “I’m not taking your lunch money, Freeman. That makes me sound like a bully.”

It’s quiet again for a few seconds, and Freddy’s scrambling to come up with something else. Money was supposed to work! If Anthony didn’t want that, what else could there be to bribe him with? In the midst of his flurried thoughts he catches the small grin you aim his way from over your shoulder, appreciative of his attempts to assist you, and it’s the eye of the storm. And then you’ve turned back around, and your mouth opens and he knows you’re going to concede and tell Anthony it’s fine but before you can do that, Freddy beats you to the punch.

“I can get you a date with Mary.”

This stops you short, and your mouth closes and you look at him again, but this time your eyes are widened a fraction in surprise. Anthony’s shock matches yours, and Freddy’s gaze flickers from Anthony over to you briefly, and in that short instance he can tell you’re silently asking what he’s doing.

“You’d do that?” Anthony’s question, voiced with skepticism and complemented by a raised brow, steals back Freddy’s attention.

Freddy shrugs. “Yeah, man.”

Mary had accompanied him to this shop in the past, giving him a ride so he didn’t have to take extra time using public transport. And whenever she’d been here, Anthony had been positively enamored. If one were to point it out, he’d vehemently deny it, but to Freddy, it had been glaringly obvious, almost embarrassingly so. He wonders if Mary noticed it too, and concludes she probably had. From what he can remember, their interactions had been fairly amicable, so perhaps this seemingly insane suggestion isn’t actually that insane.

Anthony braces his hands on the edge of the counter, staring down at both of you and seriously considering the offer. You wait with bated breath for his decision, at the end of your rope now and if this didn’t work, well, nothing would and then, then, it would be time to throw in the towel.

The bell jingles again as a customer enters and it startles you, causing you to flinch slightly, and Freddy catches the jolt in his peripherals. He chuckles at your jumpiness, and the melting away of the tension of the last several seconds prompts Anthony to finally come to a decision.

“Okay,” he states.

Your eyes light up and the smile Freddy likes seeing so much is back on your face. He forces himself to look away before he’s caught staring, and he looks at Anthony and joins you in thanking him profusely, interspersing the string of gratitude with phrases like You’re awesome, dude and You’re the best employee we know. Anthony waves it off and says I’m the only employee you know but he’s grinning a little so you know he’s not annoyed.

Other people are beginning to come into the store, some of them your age, for they had all made their way here as well after school was dismissed, and Anthony moves the conversation along, the bell continuing to chime in the background. “Was that all you guys needed? I got a full shop and still have to take inventory for tonight.”

“Yes, totally.” Freddy nods.

“We’ll get out of your hair now,” you add.

And as the two of you make your leave, in high spirits and practically buzzing with excitement because the day you’d been waiting months for (though it had felt much longer) is just around the bend, Freddy tosses over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow!”

On the walk to the subway station, you ask if Mary would be okay with what Freddy had done. That’s when Freddy realizes he never did recount to you those times she had come to the store with him and how much Anthony had taken a liking to her. He fills you in during the trip to his house, and at the end of it, remarks that he thinks Mary will be just fine.

The next day at 4:19 PM, the two of you are sitting on the floor in Freddy’s bedroom, eyes glued to the screen and fingers flying over the controllers. The sound effects floating out from the speakers is forced to compete with the loud clacking of buttons, and it would be for a while yet, for it’s Friday, and as far as either of you is concerned, this is how your Friday afternoon and evening will be spent.

Between levels, you hit pause to take a few minutes’ break, stretching your backs and clenching and unclenching your hands, for they had begun to strain with how hard you gripped the controllers. The house is steadily filling with noise as the others return, and it reminds Freddy to ask if you’re staying for dinner. You say sure, and he says he thinks he might be able to convince Rosa and Victor to order pizza. It’s the perfect gaming food, after all he reasons.

A breeze wafts in from the open window and it prompts you to take a deep breath, chest expanding and then shrinking with your exhale. The exclusive collectible figurine, a PVC recreation of the game’s main character, sits between you both, next to the sodas you had picked up on the walk here. You lean over to pick it up and hold it out to Freddy.

He knows what you’re implying by doing so and merely shakes his head, gently pushing your hand, and thus the figurine, back in your direction. “No, keep it.”

“But you’re the one who convinced Anthony to get it for us.”

“Hey, you softened him up though,” he shoots back, and then, with a grin, he continues, “It was… a team effort.”

At this comment, you mirror his grin, lowering your arm and setting the figurine back down. “Well, we make a great team.” You don’t say anything after this, but Freddy, still surveying you closely, can tell you want to, so he calls attention to it himself. He has a sneaking suspicion he knows exactly what you want to ask.

“Did you want to flip a coin?”

Immediately you nod, a smile creeping onto your face and it’s contagious. Freddy’s smiling too and he chuckles and says Let me just find one and he rifles through his pocket for some spare change. You’d feel more comfortable if you ended up keeping the figurine after a coin toss, to keep it fair, and Freddy is willing to indulge this because even if you call it wrong and by the rules of the game, the figurine comes into his possession instead, he’ll just sneak it into your backpack before you go home.

“All right…” Having produced a quarter, he curls his hand into a loose fist, then rests it atop his thumbnail. He flicks his thumb and the coin clinks quietly, and both your gazes follow as it flies straight up, spinning over and over—heads, tails, heads, tails… “Call it.”

[venusofthehardsells]

Claimed [Moon Blood part 2]

ReaderxVampire!Steve RogersxVampire!Bucky Barnes

Summery: The reader is a human held against her will at a facility doing research on vampires. Her first task as a “donor” is to let the vampire Steve Rogers drink of her blood, but Steve prefers to share his meals. Warnings: Noncon (forced consent), bit of violence, your typical vampire stuff A/N: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS, this is NOT for everyone! Most of this is obviously shamelessly stolen from the plot of True Blood and was originally intended as a one-shot, but I decided to continue the story and am so far writing and planing for it to be 3 parts when finished. Phew. This took a month longer than anticipated and I am so sorry. Life is a bitch sometimes. I struggled like crazy to get this chapter out, but I really hope the next one will be easier. This part focuses mainly on Bucky, hope it doesn’t disappoint. Enjoy! ~ Part 1 _____ The door to the cell they wanted you to call a dormitory slid open with an almost inaudible whoosh, but every single donor in the room woke up anyway. You opened your eyes, but didn’t dare move just yet. In the fluorescent light from the doorway, you could see two guards dragging a girl inside. They left her in a heap more or less in the middle of the floor, before turning around and leaving without a word. The door slid shut again and cast everything in darkness once more. You were out of your bed and next to the girl as soon as the guards were gone. She was whimpering under her breath as if trying to stay quiet and failing. You recognised her as Number 21; earlier today, she had been called to the science department and hadn’t returned for dinner. You had feared the worst when she also failed to show up for the mandatory evening grooming. Of the thirty people originally in your donor group, only 17 remained. “It’s alright. It’s over,” one of the others whispered to her. Your eyes were starting to get used to the lack of light again and you could tell that her formerly white robe was stained all over. It wasn’t hard to guess with what. When two of the boys helped her to her feet, her legs wouldn’t hold her up and she whined in pain. In the end, they had to carry her to her bed and you fluffed her pillow for her while Number 16 tried to make her lie comfortably. “What happened?,” she asked quietly, as if someone might still be inexplicably asleep. Number 21 was sobbing outright now. “Don’t beg,” she managed weakly. “No matter what they do, don’t ask them to stop. Don’t… break. Don’t give them any reason to… to shoot you. They need the corpses too.”

No one in your group slept for more than a few hours that night. You were tense and on edge when you went to the small waiting room after lunch, having spent the morning being prettied again. One of the overseers had made a harsh comment about the dark circles by your eyes before they had been covered up and it had only made you even more uneasy. Number 21 looked ashen in the artificial daylight. It had taken them a long time to cover the bruising on her hips and marks on her face and inner thighs. Her bloodied robe had been switched to a new one during your shower, as had her bedding. Except for the grey pallor of her skin, she was just as beautiful as always. You wondered if by the end of the day you would still be as pretty as you were now. The two little puncture wounds on your neck were little more than needle marks; you couldn’t even feel them. Steve really had been careful. The sound of someone turning the speaker on somewhere in the facility made you close your eyes hard. Not me, not again, please… “Donor 29, please proceed to the hallway. You will be escorted to the science wing shortly. I repeat, Donor 29, please proceed to the hallway…” It took everything you had and then some not to empty your stomach out onto the floor. The others looked surprised to see you be chosen again already. Normally, the donors got a day or two between sessions to recover, unless… It was as if your breath wouldn’t go deep enough. The air in the room seemed to shrink away from you, until you were shaking all over and Number 21 had to put her arms around you to help keep you on your feet. Her eyes were bursting with tears for you. She supported you to the door, but once you were out in the hallway and away from the other donors, it felt as if the walls began to close in. Your lungs were burning. By the time a pair of armed guards arrived and asked you to follow by poking you with the barrel of a gun, you were heaving for breath and only barely stumbling along the corridor. “Keep up,” one of them sneered. It was hard to see through all of his gear, but there was no doubt in your mind that he was scowling at you as if you had killed his best friend with a blunt knife. You forced yourself to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and not think of anything else until they stopped in front of a security door with a retinal scanner and a silicone code pad. One of the guards removed his goggles and stood in front of the scanner to let it recognise his eye, then punched in a code on the pad. The other guard shoved you inside another corridor in what you guessed must be the science wing. The very air here seemed laced with sterile, antiseptic dread. You were sure you heard a scream somewhere far off. “Move.” They marched you through another two security points, before stopping in front of a lift. One of them kept a bruising grip around your upper arm now. The physical pain kept you grounded in your body as the lift ascended several levels and let you out with a crisp little ding. It was the only thing you felt for another brief minute as you were led through a laboratory and into a tiny closet-like room only barely big enough for the three of you to stand in. “Lose the robe.” You pressed your teeth so hard together your entire skull hurt with it. The pain made it easier to keep your fingers steady as you slowly loosened the fluffy belt and let the shield of the white bathrobe fall away. The guards took it and chucked it out of reach before it had even hit the ground. The nearest one shoved you through yet another reinforced doorway. Your knees hit the white tile floor of a circular room with walls two stories high. There was nothing in there beside a mattress across from you and the vampire restlessly lying on it. His long, brown hair lay tousled around his face like a soft halo and he was not wearing the standard hospital pyjamas the compound vampires were normally found in. Instead, his enhanced physique was completely on display, from the high slopes of his biceps slung across his broad chest to the stark lines of his hips. He might as well have been cut in marble. James. He was on his feet and by your side the moment the door slid shut behind you. “Darling?” You let out the tiniest of whines and folded your arms tightly around yourself. It did nothing to help with the way your entire body was shuddering in fear. Yesterday, you had been a donor in a monitored, controlled environment and the pleasure James had wrought from you had been for his own benefit. But everything was different now. For all you knew, he could be about to kill you. Perhaps these people wanted to study how a vampire tore its prey apart or learn how much blood it could drink without bursting or something equally sinister. James’ hand on your shoulder made you blanch. “Shh, darling, s’gonna be alright,” he mumbled almost lovingly into your hair, his lips moving against the very crown of your head. How do you know?, you wanted to yell at him, but somehow you couldn’t gather enough air in your lungs to get a single sound out. He kept whispering soothing little reassurances, until the scramble of a speaker being turned on made both of you start and look around. “…begin now that everyone’s here. Copulation study 015, male vampire, female human. For this study we have Subject 66, James Barnes and Donor 29, individual file to be attached by assigned warden at a later date. Both participants have been adequately tested prior to this study…” The voice went on and on about who would be observing, what you had eaten and when, the air temperature in the room, and about a thousand other details you couldn’t focus properly on. You weren’t sure you wouldn’t get sick as the truth of what was about to happen slowly sunk in. When you had been brought to the facility in the first place, you had thought that the extensive medical tests had only been to scare and humiliate the donors further. It had not occurred to you until now that the nightmarish gynaecological examination you had endured upon your arrival actually served a purpose. “Subjects, please proceed.” It was with unmasked terror that you met James’ sea-grey eyes. They were wide with shock, and pitying as they took in your frightened state. “Don’t worry, doll, ‘m not gonna do anything,” James mumbled against your forehead and got up to face the wall. You assumed he could hear people on the other side of it. “Do you hear that? I’m not gonna do it!,” he hissed, baring his fangs. “I’m not a fucking rapist, I’m not gonna fuck her for your stupid pseudo-science shit.” He was met with silence. After a while when nothing happened, you dared to lift your head and look at James. That was when the beam hit him. Without warning, a small round hole somewhere in the ceiling far above you opened and a ray of concentrated sunlight flared down into the room, hitting James square in the back. He let out a shrill wail and stumbled into the wall. The sun had only shone on his skin for half a heartbeat, but he was already branded with a circle of angry, red burns. Your eyes barely had time to adjust before another streak of the garish light of day shone onto the back of his shin, scorching, burning… He collapsed on all fours with a pained groan. Your stomach tied itself into a hard little knot of agonising, infuriating compassion. You didn’t want to feel sorry for him, things were bad enough for yourself already. “First warning, subject 66. Proceed.” “No…,” James managed, heaving. “I’m not doing it.” The floor under his face was stained, you noticed. Dark red little spots flecking the sickeningly immaculate tiles. Blood. James was crying. The ray of light came down on his back again. The howl of pain that left him made your throat constrict painfully and without thinking further, you threw yourself over him. This time, the second beam was aimed at the back of James’ shoulder, but you pushed him down against the wall to better cover him with your body that suddenly felt all too inadequate. “Final warning, subject 66. Proceed.” You had to do something. Panic was making you blind and you had to take several calming breaths to calm down enough to think. If they killed James, what kind of man would they replace him with? Would they even bother? The words of Number 21’s warning rang in your head. They need corpses too. With a heavy heart that beat too fast for its own good you took both of James’ hands and helped him onto his feet. Then you led him to the mattress. James’s face was full of bloody tears and the way he looked at you when you sat down made you think of a kicked puppy. “But I don’t wanna hurt you, darling,” he whispered devastated as you lay down and took a deep breath, trying to brace yourself. He knelt carefully next to you. The burns were already healing, but it was clear by the way he tightened his jaw with the movement that the pain lingered on. He softly caressed your cheek. His touch was so tender, as if you might actually break beneath his fingers like a fair little china doll. It made you think of the way his tongue had coaxed pleasure out of you the day before. How he had lapped and sucked and licked you over the edge of delight when he could have easily been rough and unfeeling. You reached up and cupped his face, willing your hands not to shake so damn much, but James felt it anyway and he certainly saw the way your eyes betrayed you by filling up with tears. With as much determination you could muster, you gave him a small, quaky nod. “You don’t mean that,” he said softly and you wanted to scream at him that it didn’t matter, that if he didn’t stop being so noble both of you would end up dead. And James was so much stronger than you. Even if he hadn’t been a vampire his body was still rippled with muscle and so your attempt to drag him down towards you was much like moving a human sized statue. Your arms around his shoulders did nothing to bring him closer, so instead you opted to lift yourself into his arms by using his cold unmoving body as leverage. His long hair tickled your face as you leaned in and brushed your lips against his ear. “Please…,” you managed so quietly that for a moment you doubted any sound had left you at all. The delicate little shape of the word in your exhale made him frown. “If… If we don’t do this…,” he whispered, understanding finally beginning to dawn in his eyes, “they’ll hurt you too?” You gave him another slow nod and he bit his lip, searching your face with those big beautiful eyes of his that made you think of rainy autumn skies over endless, rocky seashores in the north. “Will it be worse than this?” The answer was vividly painted in the lines your tears drew down your cheeks. He swore and gently eased the two of you onto the supple foam of the mattress, keeping the full weight of his god-like stature off you. With light, repetitive motions, he began running his fingers through your hair. He placed one loving kiss on each of your cheeks before leaning down and touching his lips to yours. Slow and light at first, then steadily with more and more passion, until he was devouring your mouth with the hungry devotion of a wavering believer being shown the face of god. You had never been kissed like this before. His full, pink lips were insatiable against yours. He took his time savouring you until your lips were raw and swollen and warm, never rushing, never pushing and you knew why. You were dry and he was big. Even like this, he still didn’t want to hurt you. Somehow the thought made your stomach tingle. You reached into his hair and let your fingers gently tangle into his soft, brown locks. James sucked on your bottom lip, tentatively asking permission and you let out a sigh, allowing his tongue to trail into your mouth with the same care it had shown your cunt yesterday. Every little lick made your nerve-endings sing. He tasted of salt and copper. Alive-like. Almost human. You were out of breath when James drew back to rest his forehead on yours. “You don’t deserve this…,” he murmured so quietly you weren’t sure you were supposed to hear it. He brushed the tip of his nose over your cheekbone, slowly moving to the shell of your ear. His entire body was pressed flush against yours now and he wiggled a little to make you give him more space to lie between your thighs. “I’m sorry, darling. I’m so sorry…” A winded gasp left you when James’ mouth latched onto the column of your neck and he began sucking a mark into your skin. His fangs grazed you and you braced yourself for the bite, but it never came. Instead he dragged his perfect cupid’s bow down your throat, the stubble of his sharply trimmed beard tickling you in its wake. You never wanted him to stop adorning your body with his kisses. “Try and relax, yeah?,” James whispered without ever lifting his lips off you. One of his hands moved from your hair and down to grasp at your breast. He squeezed greedily and began rolling his thumb over your nipple, teasing it into a hard little peak before moving over to bestow the same attention on your other one. “Imagine you’re somewhere else. Somewhere nice… Keep your eyes closed, doll. Just dream, okay? ‘S just you and me.” His low voice made the blood flow twice as fast through your veins and you ran your fingertips down the exquisite firmness of his upper arms, sensing the warmth rising in him too. With your eyes tightly shut, you could almost fool yourself into believing that you were lying on fresh, clean cotton sheets in a cabin somewhere in the Greek archipelago. That James, kind, loving, devastatingly handsome James was there with you in the sunlight, smiling and laughing, still wearing the scent of the fresh Aegean waves as he put his sun-kissed arms around you… It was impossible to keep the sound of a contented moan back when one of his hands slid between you and skimmed over your clit. “That’s it, darling,” he cooed when another light flick of his fingers made you arch your back off the mattress. “It’s all gonna be fine, ’m gonna take so good care of you, let me take care of you…” The way he said it, almost desperate, made your heart do a backwards somersault in your chest. One of his fingers slowly began gliding along your folds. His mouth found yours again with no less fervour as he spread your sparse wetness on his finger. You knew it wouldn’t be enough. He felt so good, but you were still too nervous and the more you thought about it, the worse it got. “Just gonna take it real slow, doll,” James mumbled into your mouth and pulled at your nipple with the hand not tracing your cunt. It made you hiss in surprise, but the warm buzz the motion set off in you shot right down between your legs and almost immediately made it easier for James. “We’ve got all the time in the world…” He put pressure on your clit with the top of his palm, making your hips buck into his hand of their own account. He did it again and again while his fingers still leisurely traced the lips of your cunt, getting acquainted with every little fibre of your skin. When he finally slid his middle finger into you, you tensed up around him and he stopped moving. Instead, he kissed his way from your lips across your cheek to the very top of your jaw and the soft skin beneath your ear. He continued down your neck until he found a spot that made your breath hitch and sucked hard on it, and then teasingly nibbled at it with his front teeth. The action sent a shudder of pleasure though you that made you move into James’ hand again. He crooked his finger ever so slightly, quickly swallowing your moan between his beautiful soft lips. The way he moved his hand between your legs was slow and deliberate, gently stroking your walls with small come-hither motions until you were wet enough for him to begin thrusting his finger in and out of your hole, shallow at first to help you adjust, until he could push it in with ease. “Deep breath, doll,” he whispered, placing another kiss on your swollen lips. His long hair brushed over your closed eyelids as he moved his head down to your breasts again, lavishing them in open-mouthed kisses. James worked another finger into you, stretching you more than your own fingers had ever managed. “Just relax. Think ‘bout yesterday, how good that felt.” Sweet, velvety words kept falling from his lips and onto your skin in a never-ending stream, while he set a steady pace between your legs that made a string of little moans pile up in your throat, but it was never enough to tip you over pleasure’s edge that at last felt within reach. “Good girl, you’re doing so good.” The praise landed on your collarbone, quickly followed by his tongue and his teeth, but not his fangs. You pressed down on his head a little, arching your throat up to let him know you didn’t mind, that he could take his blood from you if he wanted, but James drew back from you at the pressure and you opened your eyes. Had you done something wrong? “’M sorry, darling.” He shook his head with an almost woeful little smirk and sank his fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt, hitting every right spot inside of you. Your legs immediately came together around his hand, your hips once again moving you right into his palm. “I can’t drink from you. Wish I could, gods, I swear I thought these thighs were the gates of heaven.” James leant down and placed an almost chaste kiss just above your trembling knee. “But Steve claimed you, yesterday when we got back. Did it ‘n front of everyone. Can’t drink from someone who’s been claimed ‘nless you’re given permission. It’s our law, darling. He did it to protect you.” Another kiss, harder and higher up your thigh. Your breath caught at the thought of having his mouth, that sinful, perfect mouth just a little bit closer… You jolted against him when he started to move his hand faster and added a third finger. Just then, he bowed his head the rest of the way and flattened his tongue against your clit. Hard. It sent a shock through you that made the heat flare up in your lower body, hotter, hotter, until it felt as if your very skin was about to erupt. James was relentless now and within seconds, you were nothing but a shuddering mess at his mercy. Another firm lick and you dug your fingers into his shoulders to try to steady yourself. One more and you knew you were done for. He dragged his tongue against your little bundle of nerves again. Your entire body convulsed beneath him as the searing heat finally burst and you came with a breathy moan, clenching around the digits still inside of you, whining, whimpering, while James kept pumping his fingers to milk you of every single drop of pleasure he could. “Damn, doll, you’re pretty as a picture when you cum.”

James leaned back up and placed the deepest, filthiest kiss on your gasping mouth until the only things your mind could hold were the insistent press of his tongue against yours and the taste of yourself, sweat, cum, flesh, blood… “Gotta do it for me again,” he whispered as he slowly withdrew his fingers and began spreading your juices along his cock, stroking himself to full hardness with much less grace than he had handled you with so far. “’S gonna feel even better this time, I promise. Just remember what I told you, doll. I’ll be so good to you.” He lined himself up with your entrance and an involuntary tremor ran through you when he brushed your over-sensitive clit, before slowly easing the head of his cock in between your folds. You closed your eyes again and dug your nails into his biceps, fighting to get your muscles to cooperate and accommodate his girth. If only he hadn’t been so bloody thick. Your walls clung to his length as he gradually pushed himself into you, stretching you in places you had never felt with your fingers. A short, little cry of pain escaped you before you could prevent it and James immediately stopped moving. Only halfway in and you already felt as though you were being torn in half. “Oh, gods, you’re tight, darling… ‘m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry…” To your horror, he started to pull away, his beautiful blue eyes red with tears. The thought of what they might do to him if he refused again… Ignoring the pain in your lower body and the stiffness in your thighs, you folded your legs around his waist and forced him closer with all your meagre strength. James clearly hadn’t expected it. He gasped as you took him in to the hilt and you could guess by the way his nostrils flared and the stinging hurt that shot through your abdomen, that he had ripped something. He looked utterly crushed at the realisation, but also on the brink of losing his control. His words were thick with desire when he spoke. “Holy hell, doll, darling, you’re squeezing me so tight… Gotta let up a little, yeah? ‘m not gonna move ‘ntil you do.” He kissed your cheeks clean of tears that had sprung to your eyes from the abrupt pain of having him in you and his hands found the small of your back, brushing his thumbs over your hips in simple patterns. You took a breath as deep as you could and let it out in a shaky exhale against his ear. His cock twitched inside of you and you moaned softly at the unexpected sensation. A tentative heat was beginning to spread in your body like boiling water running through your bones, little by little turning the soreness into comfort and on into the beginnings of pleasure as it coursed beneath your skin from where his fingertips touched you. “That’s it, nice ‘n easy, doll. Fuck, you feel divine.” James offered you a smile that made the world fall away around you. The warmth from his touch and the hardness of his length inside your core made you feel light and tingly all over. There was something about the way he held you, looked at you that had you wishing it would never change. It didn’t matter that it had hurt at first. As he dipped down for another lasting taste of your lips, you brought your hands up to cup his face, that stunning, god-like face and imagined once again that you were lovers hiding away on a Mediterranean island far away from the rest of the world, spending your days in bed or in the sea… James carefully rolled his hips against you once and it felt as if a jolt of hot electricity shot through you from where you were conjoined, releasing a sound that had been stuck in your throat since his initial intrusion. This time however, it came out as a moan rather than a cry and James lifted his head, hesitating, the pale blue of his eyes searching your face for reassurance that he could continue. It was your turn to bring your lips to his and lick your way into his mouth. You moved your hips up to meet his, already craving that sizzling feeling back. You felt stretched, but it was nothing compared to the pleasant burn aching in you now. You needed more. He was only eager to comply. The first thrust was slow and it hurt, but the friction of it felt so intense it nearly drowned any discomfort out and exchanged it for pleasure. The second one went easier. The way his cock brushed against your walls made you feel utterly lightheaded and you lost control of your kiss, letting him plunge his tongue back into your open mouth and languidly drag it over yours in a sloppy caress. The third and fourth thrusts of his hips had you arching your back off the mattress. By the fifth, you lost count. You lost your breath as well and any sense of time and place and self as James set a steady rhythm that deliberately spurred you to the peripheries of madness. There was nothing but your flesh grinding against his and the heat gathering between your bodies, simmering, flaring as he pushed into you over and over and over… And it was glorious. Heavenly. But not enough. His hands easily guided your movements to match his own, as if you weighed nothing. The friction was at the same time delicious and excruciating. You never wanted him to stop, just to go faster. Each stroke of his cock rubbing just the right spot inside of you, feeding the flame growing in your lower body, had you whimpering for more. Pure desperation made you sneak your hand down between your bodies to massage your clit, but James caught your wrist and pinned it to the mattress next to your head with one hand, before quickly trapping the other one as well. “I’ll take care of it, darling,” he assured you in a breathy whisper. He proceeded to speed up the pace of his thrusts. His pelvis was slick with your juices, you noticed, but you didn’t have time to feel embarrassed about it as your body began to tremble of its own accord, chasing that second orgasm he kept just out of your reach. When the heat inside you was so intense you were sure you would burst with it, James reached down and began rubbing tight circles on your clit as he kept the rhythm of your joined movements going. “Yes, that’s it… Oh, fuck, oh doll, I can’t- you’re perfect… gods.” You whined and curved your back upwards, lodging your nails into his shoulders for leverage when he let go of your arms to hold you in place instead. You were writhing beneath him now. The walls of your cunt were fluttering with need around his cock and the heat in your belly was tightening painfully, unbearably, until one particularly deep thrust combined with the pressure to your sensitive clit finally unraveled it all and set you ablaze. With a helpless, shallow gasp, you clamped down around his length, your body scorching and burning with the pleasure that came gushing through you, overtaking you, overwhelming you until your vision blurred and your hips stuttered mindlessly against him. James groaned as your cunt squeezed him and made him follow you into the surge of your orgasm. He clung to you in a bruising embrace, burying his face in your chest with a sound almost like a sob. Your arms relaxed around him and fell to your sides; it was as if your body was humming faintly beneath your skin with the slowly fading waves of rapture. Could you move if you tried? Every muscle in you felt paralysed. The weight of James’ heavy body was beginning to make you feel a little crushed as well as you lay there beneath his bulking frame, both of you basking in the afterglow. You wanted his affection but you also wanted to breathe. “James?...” Your voice was feeble and hoarse with disuse. You hadn’t spoken more than a few words when forced to since you arrived at the facility. Talking made your situation all too real. It was just his name, but James looked up at your from between your blood-smeared breasts as if you were the eighth great wonder of the world. “Yeah, darling?” He reached up and brushed away a bit of hair that had stuck to your forehead. The movement made you wince and he seemed to realise he was still lying on top of you, because he hurriedly got onto his elbows and carefully pulled out of you again, leaving you feeling strangely empty and hollow. There was an ache as well that the fullness of his cock had drowned out during your lovemaking. You chose to ignore it and nestled into his side as he got comfortable next to you. His closeness was nice. You had been without physical contact even longer than you had been silent. “I wish we were somewhere else…,” James sighed, kissing your forehead. “I wish this was all different…” He nuzzled his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply. So do I. But you didn’t get the chance to say it out loud. The door to the room was slammed open with a crash that made you jolt away from him. Four armed guards entered, all of them equipped with specialised weapons you were sure weren’t legal, not even in the US. “Get up.” The guard in the front poked your shoulder with the barrel of his gun. Your legs were shaky and unstable beneath the weight of your body; it took everything you had not to topple over. Why did it suddenly feel as if you hadn’t get a single bone left? James got up and moved to support you, but one of the other guards shoved him away. “Enough, dead guy. You’ve had your fun with her, now back off.” James snarled at him, but didn’t move any further. “Hey! Fangs back in your mouth, freak.” The one who had had his gun trained on you, a stocky type who seemed to outrank the others, grabbed you by the shoulder and pushed you forwards towards the door. Your legs crumbled and you were on the floor again immediately. It was taxing just to get back on your knees. “Careful with her.” The change in James’ voice sent chills down your spine. He hadn’t moved an inch. The eerie calm with which he spoke was so different from the loving way he had whispered and cooed at you just a moment ago, you nearly swore he was a different person. One of the guards chuckled. “Or what, corpse?” Without warning, he backhanded you across the face. You fell backwards with fresh pain singing and echoing in your skull. You didn’t attempt to get back up this time. Your vision swam and blurred so badly you shut your eyes. Whimpered. “That’s gonna cost you the hand.” The stone-cold certainty in his words was simultaneously the most comforting and most frightening thing you had heard in your time at the facility. “A threat like that is going to cost you a lot more, corpse. I hope she was worth it. Maybe I should have a go at her myself, see what’s getting you so worked up.” Even if you couldn’t see the guard, you could tell from his tone he was smirking. There was nothing James could do to these men and you all knew it. The fact that he didn’t answer this time told you as much. “That’s right, corpse. I am going to split that little fang-banger in half and I might just let you watch. See if I can make her scream-“ “Corporal, let me remind you that we need our sample untainted for the study,” a voice remarked sternly from the speakers. “Get her to surgery now. Subject 66 will be escorted back to his ward when convenient.” “Fine. Let’s get moving.” The corporal, or maybe one of the others, yanked at your arm, but it was impossible to get your legs to cooperate. In the end, they had to drag you from the room. The sound of the door closing somewhere behind you, separating your from James, made your chest hurt almost as bad as your head. None of the donors who had been taken to surgery in the past had come back. You sniffled and tried to imagine the little Greek beach house again. White cotton sheets, the scent of salt and wood, the warmth of the sun… The ocean in James’ shining eyes… You clung to the faint impressions as your knees scraped and bumped into several sharp metal thresholds. They were the only things that kept you from spiralling directly into madness, but they faded with every second. As you were lifted up and strapped to a surgery slab, you wondered if madness wasn’t the better choice after all. Through the hurt in your head, you could hear tools rustling and beeping from several machines being turned on. A bright light appeared above you, burning through your closed eyelids. “Great, let’s begin then,” a voice somewhere behind you declared. “Copulation study 015, breeding trials 001.” _____ Tags: @lilypalmer1987​ @scuzmunkie​ @cake-writes​ @atthediscowithoutpanic​ @sagechanoafterdark​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink​

[prorevenge]

You try to cut my team in half so I outsourced your entire department.

This tale takes place over the course of many months and resulted in over 150 lay offs, all to save 22 IT Techs from losing their jobs.

I learned a long time ago that no one cares about the IT team at our company. They see us as "Those useless employees always complaining about rules."

We are a mortgage company, and those rules are the rules everyone follows to protect customer data privacy and to prevent theft. When your company suddenly loses 2 full payments for a house to some scammer in Nigeria and the FTC has questions for you, then it is time to change your policies.

This meant cutting legacy access, revoking unnecessary access, and correctly coding job titles in active directory to prevent people from granting their own access.

What this boiled down to was a meeting that I phoned into a year ago. This was one of those meetings where I did not need to be there. Budget meetings.

In this meeting the VP over the accounting department played a recording showing times when someone in the IT Tech team provided "sup par service." She tried using this as reason to fire half of the tech team.

The trouble was, that all of the people she played recordings of were already fired for giving terrible customer service. These people were replaced by 5 star techs who know what they are doing and give excellent customer service.

This started the whole chain of events that led to last week.

Since this meeting was every 2 months, VP has tried to use her position and influence to grow her team while shrinking ours.

Every budget meeting, I would show up and VP, who shall hence be referred to as Karen, would target my team. I would pull out the numbers, and pull out the logs showing how my team received a little over 3/4s of that team's call volume.

I show how my team of 22 techs personally receive more phone calls than every other inbound call employee by more than double the number.

I show how with the call volume we receive we still maintain a 98 percent satisfaction rating.

At the 3rd budget meeting the COO had been tired of "hearing the same excuses" and wanted hard data. He had a point. I was merely throwing out basic numbers without providing real data.

Our company was in the middle of a budget crisis and someone needed to be cut. These budget meetings were basically a way to defend our own department from the chopping block. Karen believed that the best defense was a good offence. She was right, but not in the way she thought.

When it became clear that the IT support team was on the chopping block, Karen starts to have her employees call into the tech center and have them make requests that she knows we can not assist with as that is handled by another company entirely. We are not able to transfer calls to an external line so the only thing we can do is give the number to call and hang up.

The negative CSAT's start to flood in after this. Every single call from that team regarding a vendor's password reset gets a negative csat. Our approval rating tanked to 72 percent in one day. I instantly took action.

First I contact a few of the users, on recorded calls, and ask them why they called the IT Tech team when they know we are not capable of resetting the vendor's password. She replied that she was told it was policy to do that now. I asked why she left a negative satisfaction rating and she said that those no longer count against the employee. That those are only used for macro metrics.

I walked over to Karen's office and walked in. "Karen, why are you having your team call mine to reset vendor's password?" Karen looked confused and stated that she did no such thing. She said she would talk to her team and make sure that they call the correct number in the future.

The calls did not stop. Now a few of her team were calling in with personal machines that were not an asset of our company. They were wanting things done which would violate license agreements with microsoft or dell. Each of these were refused and each of these were leaving negative CSAT.

It became clear that Karen was trying to tank our stats before the next budget meeting.

I let my boss know and he just gives me a sly smile. "The leash is off. Sick her." This is an inside joke between us as I am someone who is very detail oriented when I am focused. When you try and get my team fired because you want to grow your useless team, I am very focused on you now.

The first thing I do is enable call recording for every corporate employee as to not arouse her suspicions. Her team did not have call recording enabled because her team "handles CDP" on a daily basis.

I pull a live call and listen in.

"This is Employee with our company may I have your account number or your name?" The customer gives the name. "OK I have your account pulled up, are you wanting to make a payment?" Customer says yes. "Are you authorizing me to go ahead and make the withdraw from the bank account we have on file?" Customer agrees. "OK payment is processing. You will be notified in X days when it is complete. Your next due date is this date." The customer thanks her and he hangs up.

Entire phone call was 1:22. Short phone call so I listen to another. Similar situation. I listen to another and get the same thing. I start seeing a pattern here so I go through the rapidly building log and see that all of the phone calls are usually less than 1 minute and 20 seconds long. It takes well over an hour before an anomaly occurs and I see a 5 minute phone call.

The customer needed an extension and the employee was authorized to give her a 30 day extension to avoid a late fee if she would make a double payment next month. The person on the phone agreed.

At this point I also turn on the CSAT for her team only. I expected a largely similar rating as my team. I was not prepared for the nearly instant 50 percent rating that steadily dropped.

My boss comes over to my desk as he was getting the email notifications for the sub 75 percent csat rating and was flabbergasted at the sheer volume of negative reports.

Its now clear that there is no choice but to examine this further. I assign 4 people to review the negative calls from the other team and have them all. The amount of employees being downright rude to customers, not other employees but paying customers, over the phone was shocking. The negative tones in their voice, the unwillingness to fully answer questions, the extreme lack of empathy, and the shocking lack of mute button use was too much.

Then came another shocker. The number of customer facing employees was ridiculous. 152 employees to handle roughly 30 percent more calls than my team of 22.

I call the CIO.

$CIO - What you got for me?

$ME - I have something for you. Its incredibly evil, depressingly accurate, and can probably save the company a ridiculous amount of money.

$CIO - You know this is the second time you have said those exact words to me right?

$ME - Yup. But there is something I need to know first. I am not currently authorized to know it and I need to request it in a way that would not set off any red flags.

$CIO - What is that?

$ME - The starting pay scale for all account employees.

$CIO - Tell me your plan.

The next budget meeting was not a budget meeting. It was a IT Tech defend yourself meeting. The COO directed it and let Karen speak first.

Karen pulled out the same stuff as before. Calls upon calls to our group that were cherry picked as well as listing off dead zone times when we had people working but no one calling in. Then went on about how they could cut our group in half and hire more Account employees to reduce the workflow.

Instead of defending myself or my department, I played 4 of the short call recordings from Karen's department. I then pulled up the excel sheet that was color coded showing how many phone calls each account rep received and the length of time they were on. each call, and the customer satisfaction rating.

I explained the lack of high csat with my own little recording I liked to call a failtage. Its a montage of fail and her team were the stars. Before you ask, I did put music to it.

The recording starts off with an employee saying. "Yeah I guess I can take your payment." Then goes straight into one where a customer accidentally gave the wrong bank account info and said don't use that one. The rep responded with "Christ. What is the actual account number?" It only got worse from there.

This group was unmanaged for so long they were filled with rude and useless employees.

I then showed them a side by side comparison of each tech who received a call. I showed how my techs were receiving more than 4 times the number of calls, per rep, than her team was getting per day. I showed how we all were on the phone for well over 7 times the amount of time her team was on the phone for, and I demonstrated how each tech had double or tripple the satisfaction rating over all of her group.

Half the room that was uninterested in the conversation were suddenly interested when I closed out my presentation.

"In short, I saw no reason to defend the IT team today as I have successfully done so in every prior meeting. Since the last meeting, however, Karen has crossed the line and has had her team call mine in regards to things we have no access to."

I played the recording of me calling her minion. "As you can see here, she directed her team to call mine and to leave bad satisfaction ratings on my guys because of it. I have since deleted those CSAT's as they served no purpose whatsoever. " I then pulled out my next flowchart.

"This is the monthly expense, taken from the last 9 meetings, that our company spends on IT and Servicing departments." I look at the COO who was looking at me intently. "Before today I was on the defensive as I saw no reason to attack another group. But it is clear to me now that my team has a target on its back. That is why I now show you this."

It was a graph showing the starting pay scale for each IT and Servicing employee code as well as their average daily workflow. There was one glaring anomaly on this list. Account department had the highest starting pay scale with the least amount of work.

"So basically in laymen's terms, the Account department can reduced to one tenth of its current size, and we can reduce the pay scale to a little over one half as this department requires very little in the way of problem solving and critical thinking." I saw a few raised eye brows as well as one impressed smile from the CIO.

The COO ushers everyone out of the room except for me, my direct supervisor, and the CIO. He looked at me and said "Continue."

"Further, we can cut this department entirely and outsource THEM instead of IT. Since this group merely takes payments and sometimes allows extensions, we do not have to worry too much about technical ability. Outside of simply using windows we can hire high schoolers if we wanted to." This got a laugh from the CIO. Karen was staring through the window with this smug grin on her face the entire time.

"Now for my final bit for this meeting, I am going to play two cherry picked phone calls. These are the two most technical phone calls I could find from the last month for both departments."

I play a call where a payment fails to process and the rep realizes she typed in the wrong number.

I then play a call where it starts out with a user stating that her customer submitted a payment to the wrong CD. The tech breaks out into our procedure to prevent wire fraud. Thanks to the quick action of this tech we were able to reverse the CD and save this customer from losing their down payment.

The final masterful stroke was playing my final card. "As you all know, Karen has been coming after my team for months. She has been grinding her axe against us because she, like everyone else, has made the mistake that we are incompetent, inept, and useless to the company. What she did not know was that I have all of the logs showing the truth. The smoke she has been blowing for years is so thick that its ridiculous. Her team is highly replaceable and we both know my team would require extensive training and effort to replace."

The CIO spoke up. "With just 30 people, we can outsource her entire department and save the company millions a year. The next time we have a major IT issue, you will be regretting outsourcing us." He then pointed to the graphs and flow charts brought by both myself and Karen. "Her team is useless."

The next day I watched in pure joy as a term request came in for Karen. It came in with the double ** indicator at the beginning meaning this was a stealth term. To be done and coordinated with the person who will inform her of the termination. (Its not actually ** I changed that for here to protect identities.)

Over the next two months, the account team was shuttered. First they came for anyone with disciplinary issues or attendance issues. Then they laid off anyone who had been there a really long time. Then the newest employees.

The smart ones applied for other positions in the company or left before getting laid off. All the while the calls for payments were slowly shunted to the call center in India.

By the end of last week we only have 4 domestic accounts people who take escalations that the India call center is not authorized to take.

Do I feel guilty about being integral for 148 people being laid off? Yes quite. But I know it was necessary to keep my job and my health insurance. Without my health insurance I am a dead man.

The entire reason why this happened though, was because a division was slated to be cut and sent to India from the outset. Thanks to the actions of myself and my direct supervisor, we prevented it from being a sure thing that our team was going to get cut.

On top of that we cut out a festering wound in the company that was slowing it down and costing it money.

My team has not been brought up in the budgetary meetings since.

(source) story by (/u/TheLightningCount1)

[roman-writing]

two, across (4/?)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Lysithea von Ordelia

Rating: T

Wordcount: 8,470

Summary: Lysithea can barely keep afloat under the workload of giving undergrad lectures and finishing off her PhD thesis. Meanwhile Dr. Hilda V. Goneril is somehow both the laziest person as well as the most successful young professor she has ever known. It’s absolutely aggravating.

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

Lysithea allows herself to be distracted by Hilda for the entire weekend. She does not open her laptop to check her emails, or even sneak onto her phone to peek at the university webportal login. On the same front, Hilda does no visible work despite the fact that she has a class to teach on Monday. Whereas Lysithea only allows herself this rare luxury because she does not have her lecture until Tuesday. 

She will regret it come Monday evening, but during the weekend she cannot bring herself to care enough to actually disrupt the two days by worrying about university work. She messages one of her flatmates that she will be out all weekend, and spends the time alternatively lazing about Hilda’s apartment, or being dragged around town by Hilda to spontaneous events. 

In the past, Lysithea had never been much interested in going to animated little bars with live music and decorative antlers. Hanging out in trendy establishments specifically designed for the consumption of alcohol, when she preferred to not mix meds with spirits, is not high on her to-do list, but something about the company more than makes up for it. Hilda herself opts to not drink much either, despite being on a first name basis with everyone on the premises, including Claude, the owner -- a rakishly good-looking man with dark hair, and eyes even more cunning than his smile -- who clears out other lesser customers from the best seats in the house for them, and personally ensures that their glasses are never empty. 

So it is that on a frosty Monday morning Lysithea returns to work more refreshed than she could remember feeling in years. This time she and Hilda take the train from the apartment together. It is far too easy to go about her usual daily routine with Hilda in it; Lysithea does not even pause to think that it might be odd. It isn't until they are ordering their coffees at the cafe just around the corner from the university, that it strikes her that this is a departure from the norm. 

Lysithea murmurs her thanks to the barista as she accepts her mocha, a slight furrow in her brow. She is so preoccupied with the notion that she does not even scold Hilda for stealing one of the marshmallows resting atop the lid of her takeaway cup. 

The feeling lingers when they are waiting for the elevators with their coffees in hand, as though the return to what used to be the normal routine was more jarring than what had occurred just previous. Lysithea tries to shrug it away. Hilda doesn't seem to notice. Or if she does, she does not mention it. 

They do the crossword in Lysithea's office. Hilda leaves for her class -- late, as usual -- and Lysithea opens up her work emails for the first time in two days.

A few of the usual suspects litter in inbox. Three spam emails that had slipped through the cracks of the university's firewall. A flurry of students worried about their upcoming assignment at the very last minute; the paper is due at the beginning of next week, and by the looks of it some of them have only just started now. No surprise there. 

Midway through clearing the list of emails, Lysithea goes stock-still. Tomas has replied to the final thesis draft she had sent him on Friday. His response takes up only one ominous line on the screen:

‘We need to meet to discuss further. Come by my office Monday 2pm, if it suits. -T.’

Her heart races in her chest. A million possibilities pop up into her head about what could have possibly gone wrong this time. Or perhaps it has gone right for once, and she is simply over-reacting. 

The latter seems unlikely. And besides, Lysithea had never been predisposed towards optimism. Life had taught her that, and if nothing else she is an expert study.  

She responds to the email with an affirmation, and then spends the next few hours agonising over it. She wishes Hilda were here. She wishes Edelgard were here. But Hilda is in the second floor lecture hall, and Edelgard is four hours time difference away and probably busy with very important meetings. 

Briefly, Lysithea considers going to Hanneman to pick his brain, but by the time she has thought to do so it is half an hour before she must meet with Tomas. She was supposed to have spent the day writing up her lecture for tomorrow, but instead she stews in a soup of anxious anticipation, unable to bring herself to do anything more than stall and not dissolve into full-blown panic.

She arrives at Tomas' office fifteen minutes early, unable to stand the idea of waiting a moment longer. In one hand she clutches her notebook and pen, and in the other her bag. Thankfully, he is inside. The door is ajar, and the lights are on. Lysithea has to steady herself with a deep breath before she raps lightly on the door, and pushes it open.

"You wanted to see me, Tomas?"

For a portly old man who dresses all in unassuming beige, his presence never fails to fill her with dread. He glances up from his computer. "Ah, Lysithea. Good. Come in."

This is how it always starts. With smiles. With a veneer of kindness and understanding. 

Lysithea perches herself gingerly on the edge of a seat which is located at the end of his desk. She puts down her bag at her feet. He already has a copy of her latest thesis draft printed out. She feels ill at the sight of his handwriting scrawled all across the margins. 

"About this draft -" she starts, but he cuts her off before she can get more than a few words in edgewise.

"Yes. I'm glad you sent it to me." Tomas pulls his chair a little closer so that he can angle his notes towards her and they can both read them. "I have a few concerns."

"O-Oh?" She clears her throat, and tries to hide the tremble of her fingers when she opens her notebook to a fresh page. She has already labelled the top of the page with the date, time, and meeting title.

Tomas flips to midway through her thesis, where a portion of her data is spilled across the page. The rest of the extensive tables and figures are located in the appendices. Meticulously, he puts on a pair of round spectacles, and pulls out a pen of his own. 

"This main section here," he taps with the end of his pen at the corner of the data table. "It still isn't clear enough. You don't prove the correlation between your data and your results." 

Even though Lysithea is poised and ready to take notes, she cannot bring herself to write anything down. Her notebook is filled with pages and pages of figures and sketches and explanations and minutes of their meetings on this exact topic. 

"I don't understand," Lysithea says slowly. "How else can I explain it?" 

"In a way that makes sense, preferably." His answer is dry and biting. 

She has to mask a wince at his tone. She takes a moment to respond, and when she does so, it’s like hearing her own voice from a distance. 

"With all due respect, I think that what you're asking me is outside the scope of this project."

He goes still. He leans back in his seat, and studies her. His eyes look very small through the lenses of his glasses. "I beg your pardon?"

"I just -" Lysithea swallows thickly, and forces herself to sit up a little straighter. "I just don't think that what you're asking of me is what this thesis is meant to deliver."

"Incorrect. This -" he taps at the pages, "- is not a thesis."

A chill settles over her. "What?"

"This is not a thesis. If you submitted it to anyone, they would fail it."

"I don't understand," she repeats. It's a sentence she has said many times in this office, and which she imagines she will say many more times yet. "I received independent advice from other academics in the field, and they said that -"

"Which academics?" Tomas' face has gone hard. 

"Ha-Hanneman, of course -"

"A secondary supervisor is not an independent source."

"And Dr. Goneril," Lysithea adds. 

It feels like a trump card, using Hilda’s name. The rising star of the department. The young up and coming darling of the field with a bright future and an academic matrix to die for.

This time when Tomas smiles, it looks forced, like a baring of teeth. “And what did Dr. Goneril have to say?”

“She gave me constructive feedback, which I took. And then she said it was ready to submit,” Lysithea answers truthfully.

The last bit in particular had made Lysithea’s chest swell with a sense of accomplishment at the time, as though her thesis had already passed the examination stage by the grace of Hilda’s approval alone. 

Tomas takes a moment to clean his glasses with the edge of his beige sweater. “Well,” he perches the spectacles back upon his nose, “Dr. Goneril is very young. And unless I am very much mistaken, she has never been an examiner before.”

“Then, can you please tell me what you would have me do to fix whatever problem you think there is with my thesis?”

“Get more data.”

A prickle of fear down her spine. “That would take months. It’s not feasible within the timeframe to -”

“And yet it must be done. What you have here is -” He shuffles a few of the pages, and then waves at them like they’re garbage that has sullied his desk. “- nothing. It doesn’t prove anything. You’re miles away from finishing. You need more data, and you need clearer explanations as to how you arrived at your conclusions.”

“I -” Her mouth feels dry. Her stomach squirms like a bed of snakes, and with a sense of unreality she says, “No. I won’t.”

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

“I won’t change it anymore.” Lysithea shakes her head. Her voice is faint, but immovable. “I don’t have time to rewrite my thesis to be what you want. It’s - It’s never going to be what you want.” 

Tomas stares at her for an uncomfortable length of time. A muscle leaps at his jaw. Then, he tosses his pen down, and crosses his arms. “In that case, I will not be endorsing your thesis for examination.”

Lysithea glances down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Her fingers are still clenched around the pen, poised to take notes upon a blank page. She closes the notebook, and clips the pen into its sheath. 

She grabs her bag, stands, and is surprised when her legs support her. “Then I suppose we are finished here.”

As she reaches the door, Tomas’ voice gives her pause. “You’re making a mistake, Miss Ordelia.”

She doesn't answer. Her fingers rest upon the door's handle. She pushes the door open, and walks out into the hallway. 

When the door closes behind her, Lysithea stands in the hallway for a long moment, unsure of exactly what to do. She looks at the opposite wall, at the abstract painting of a cancerous cell hanging there, until she begins to walk. Her feet carry her down the hallway in a daze, and Lysithea does not think of her destination. Indeed, she has no destination in mind, but her legs seem to know.

She strides towards her own office, but freezes when she sees that Hilda's door is open; she must have just finished her lecture. Lysithea approaches, and walks in without a word.

Hilda is wearing earphones. She hums merrily along to a song that is playing on her phone while she texts simultaneously. Upon noticing Lysithea's presence in the doorway, she glances up, beaming. "Hey! What's up?"

Lysithea's mouth opens, but no sound comes out. 

Hilda frowns, and reaches up to take out her headphones. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Um -" Lysithea swallows and tries again. Her hands are trembling uncontrollably now. "I - uh - I just had a meeting with Tomas, and he told me he isn't going to support my thesis."

Hilda looks blankly at her, as though she had not understood what was said. "I'm sorry -- what?"

The words fall from Lysithea’s mouth in a torrent she can’t stop. "He - He said that I would need to collect more data and rewrite whole sections for clarity, but I don't - I don't have time. I came to the university on a grant basis, which pays for full tuition and ensures I have a job, and it runs out in three months, and if I don't submit - if I drag this out any longer I'm not going to be able to stay without paying out of pocket, and my family isn't - I can't ask El to do this for me. I can’t go home like this. I can’t do that. My parents are - they aren’t -"

The world is spinning at the edges. Her chest aches, and it is difficult to breathe. Lysithea hardly registers the fact that Hilda has risen to her feet and shut the door so they are alone. Gentle hands are suddenly on her shoulders, but Lysithea flinches so abruptly she drops her pen and notebook.

"Woah. Okay. No touchy. Got it." Hilda turns off the lights, and twists the blinds shut so that the room is dimmed and nobody can peer inside. 

Faint music is still playing from Hilda’s headphones. The cheery pop tune is a stark contrast to the all-consuming panic that washes over her. The whole scene feels surreal, like she’s watching herself drown in a dream. She covers her face with one shaking hand. Her breaths are sharp and rapid against her palm. Lysithea closes her eyes and tries to will the world to stop turning so that she can collect herself -- just for a moment. 

"Do you have your phone on you?" Hilda mumbles as if to herself. This time when Lysithea feels a hand start to sneak into her bag, she does not move away. 

Hilda grabs Lysithea's phone and pulls up the screen. She unlocks it without any trouble, and starts flicking through the contact list before lifting the phone to her ear. 

A familiar voice answers on the other line, but without the speaker on, Lysithea can't quite tell what Edelgard is saying.

"Hi! Nope. It's Hilda. Yeah, sorry, no time to chat. Lysithea is having a bit of a meltdown right now, and I need you to talk to her, okay?"

A touch at her wrist. Hilda gently tugs Lysithea's arm down so that she can press the phone between her fingers. 

Trying to calm her breathing, Lysithea's voice is still a trembling mess when she says, "H-Hello?"

"Lys," Edelgard sounds grave and concerned. "What happened?"

Lysithea gasps on a sob. She tries to bite it back. Her teeth dig into her lower lip hard enough that she can feel them cut into skin. Her eyes burn, everything goes blurry, and suddenly it's all coming out in a rush. 

Edelgard listens while Lysithea babbles on the phone about the events of the day, and even her silence is thunder-graven, as though she were hanging off of Lysithea's every word. When Lysithea finally stops to choke on a sob and wipe at her cheeks, Edelgard says in a soothing tone. 

"You know I wouldn't let that happen."

"No, El."

"Lysithea -"

"No!" Lysithea has to lower the phone for a moment to compose herself. She roughly drags the back of her hand across her eyes, and brings the phone back up. "Accepting gifts is one thing but this is - this is too much. I can't. You can't solve everything for me with money. I don't want you to. I just - I just want -"

For this to have never happened. To submit her thesis. To pass. To graduate. To teach. To live without something horrible looming on the horizon, like she had for so long.

"I know," Edelgard murmurs. "And if that's what you want, of course I will respect that. But it isn't weakness to let others help you. This isn't the end of it. There is a way to solve this. You just have to find out how."

It takes a good fifteen minutes on the phone with Edelgard for Lysithea to finally get her breathing under control. By then, she has sunk down to sit on the ground, her back leaning against the wall. Hilda is sitting on the corner of her desk nearby, waiting patiently even as her foot jiggles and her fingers play with one of the gold bangles at her wrist.

Edelgard’s voice sounds distant for a moment as she pulls the phone away to speak to someone else, “Just another moment, Hubert. I’m almost done.” She brings the phone back. “I’m sorry. I really need to go.”

“Yeah,” Lysithea closes her eyes, and leans her head back against the wall. “I know you do.” 

��I will call you tomorrow.”

“Alright.” 

“Can you put Hilda back on the phone?”

Wordlessly, Lysithea holds the phone out, and feels Hilda cautiously take it from her. 

“Y-ello?” Hilda chirps into the phone. “Nah, it’s fine. Got it. Yup. Yuuup. I said I got it, didn’t I? Geesh. Sure thing. Bye.” 

Lysithea’s eyes are still closed. She can hear the soft beep of the call being ended, followed by silence. She opens her eyes when Hilda sits down gingerly beside her. Their thighs are pressed together. Lysithea stares down at both their shoes; her own outstretched feet stop midway somewhere between Hilda’s calves and ankles. 

“I’m sorry,” Lysithea says; she sounds raspy and wooden to her own ears.

“Sorry?” Hilda stares at the side of her face, incredulous. “For what? Tomas being a bully?”

"For -" Lysithea waves at herself and then at Hilda's office. "- barging in here and just -"

"Oh, no. You don't have to apologise for that. You know how many people in their mid-twenties I have made cry in these very walls?" Hilda leans in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "So many."

Lysithea can't keep a watery laugh at bay. She wipes at her eyes again, and sniffles. "What if he's right? What if it's all complete rubbish, and I've just wasted the last three years of my life?"

"Look at me." Hilda tugs at Lysithea's hand until she reluctantly glances up. Hilda is wearing a stern expression, as though she has just been insulted. "Are you calling me a liar?"

Lysithea blinks in confusion. "What -?"

"Because that's what it sounds like to me."

"Hilda, I don't -"

"Seriously though. Seriously. Have you ever known me to spout platitudes just to make someone feel better?"

Slowly, Lysithea shakes her head.

"That's right," Hilda says. She runs her thumb across Lysithea's fingers. The gold and coral rings she wears are warm from prolonged contact with her skin. "Because I am many things. Brilliant. Talented. Funny. Gorgeous -"

Lysithea's laugh is weak, but she can still feel the smile splitting her face.

"- but a liar is not one of them. I’m a modern day Oracle of Delphi; I only speak divine truths, which no one is ready to hear or appreciate," Hilda continues. "And your thesis is good. Alright? It's really good. And Tomas may be playing some fucked up game that's unfairly involved you. I don't know what it is. Maybe he's after more grant money. Or maybe he's just a dick. Personally, my money is on the latter of those two options. Occam’s razor, or whatever."

"I don't know," Lysithea sighs. 

She allows Hilda to keep playing with her hand. She even responds, turning her palm face up and curling her fingers so that their hands are laced together. It doesn't last long; Hilda is terrible at keeping still. Soon, she's toying with Lysithea's fingertips again like they're her own personal playdough putty. 

"What am I going to do?" Lysithea says softly.

Hilda mulls over that for a moment before replying. "Well, it's your thesis, you know? And a supervisor's role is to supervise. Which is very tautological of me, but tautology has its place in the world irregardless of the fact that it's mostly bunk. So, my point still stands. It's your thesis. And technically speaking you don't need a supervisor's permission to submit it. You can just submit it on your own."

Lysithea stares at their hands, and then at Hilda herself, who is watching her intently. "But how would I find examiners, or - or -? I don't know the process behind the bureaucracy."

"No," Hilda drawls the vowel out as if savouring it in her mouth. "But there are other people in the department who do."

"I can't go to Judith," Lysithea says, adamant. "She was taught by Tomas! He's the professor with the longest tenure in the school, let alone the department! He's untouchable."

Hilda uses her free hand to tap the tip of Lysithea's nose. "Au contraire. He’s very touchable.” Realising what she has just said, Hilda makes a disgusted face. “Oh, ew. Forget I said that. Anyway! I wasn’t talking about Judith.”

“Then who do you -?” Lysithea’s eyes widen, and she pales. “You can’t mean Rhea.”

“Directly to Rhea,” Hilda confirms. “Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.”

“I can’t do that. He would be so mad.” Lysithea even checks over her shoulder towards the closed office door and drawn windows, as if he were a boogeyman lurking just outside and eavesdropping on every word. 

“Yeah, well. Maybe he should’ve thought of that before being a fuckwad.” Hilda slips her hand free of Lysithea’s in order to shuffle a little upright and turn towards her. “Listen. I get it. Rhea puts the fear of god in me, too. But she’s the Dean. She is literally everyone’s boss. And as part of her job description, she is supposed to weigh in on these things when they crop up. Speaking of cropping -- do you want me to dismember Tomas horribly?” 

Though Hilda is smiling when she asks it, her eyes are very cold and her voice very serious.

Lysithea takes a moment to mull the offer over. “Tempting, but no. Thank you.”

“Oh, anytime. You need someone’s ass kicked? You call me.” 

“Isn’t that job reserved for older siblings, not younger ones?”

“Well, la-dee-da, Miss Only Child! When did you suddenly become an expert on sibling relationships? I’ll have you know, I kicked many a deserving ass without my brother’s help.” Hilda pauses, then adds. “That being said, if Holst were to kick someone, their individual vertebrae would pop out of their mouth like a pez dispenser.”

Lysithea pats Hilda’s knee in a consoling fashion. “Don’t worry. I’m sure if you bulked up some more, you too could kick someone into low Earth orbit like a Saturn V rocket.”

“Aww...That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

“Yes, nothing says romance like a girl stumbling into your office and blubbering like an idiot for thirty minutes,” Lysithea says dryly. It is a testament to Hilda’s skill at distracting her that Lysithea is even able to summon up a bit of sarcasm right now. 

In answer, Hilda uses the edge of the table to pull herself to her feet. Then she turns to offer Lysithea a hand. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

“But -” Lysithea starts to protest, but Hilda shakes her head.

“No way. You’re not staying here after this fustercluck. Take the rest of the day off. And tomorrow, too. I know you have lectures tomorrow, but I’ll bet my studded McQueen boots that you haven’t missed a single day of class this term, so don’t even think about coming into work. Now,” Hilda wraps her scarf around her neck, and hoists her black bag over her shoulder. “Do you want to go to your place or mine? Up to you.”

At the thought of having to explain this whole thing again to each of her flatmates as they come home, Lysithea cringes. “Yours, please.”

“Great choice. I’ve got that pizza place’s phone number burning a hole in my pocket, and enough ice cream in my freezer to tranquilise a horse.”

Lysithea lets herself be pulled up from where she is seated on the floor. Crying has completely drained her, and the promise of food does little to rouse her appetite. If she had gone back to her own place, she wouldn’t have eaten at all that evening. Indeed, the idea of curling up on the ground and sleeping for the next thousand years seems like the best available option, but Hilda is already opening the door for them to go. 

As they step out into the hallway, Lysithea briefly considers grabbing her laptop from her office, but the thought makes her stomach turn, so she leaves it behind. Walking to the elevators means walking past Tomas’ office, and Lysithea skulks behind Hilda the whole way. She doesn’t relax until they are leaving the building entirely and striding across the snowy street towards the train station.   

Arriving at Hilda’s apartment feels like reaching the promised land. The familiar clutter draped over every surface, and the smell of Hilda’s perfume on the air might as well be salvation. 

Hilda flings her bag into a corner of her bedroom, and taps away at her phone to turn on her automated heating system as well as order them a pizza with all the trimmings. Without needing to be told or ask permission, Lysithea opens up one of the drawers to pull out a spare set of Hilda’s overly large sweatpants and t-shirt for pajamas. 

She wanders into the restroom, but doesn’t bother to lock the door. She runs a bath, and strips. The hot water scalds at first, then cools to just the right temperature. She cries a bit more. She lets the bath wash away the day’s events until Hilda is knocking on the door to announce that their food has arrived, and that the delivery boy was a seven. 

Lysithea emerges from the bathroom with wet hair, dressed in Hilda’s clothes. She flicks a quick email off to her students on her phone that she is feeling unwell and will be unable to make it to tomorrow’s lectures, while Hilda opens the pizza box in the kitchen and puts a few slices onto a single plate for them to share. 

Four episodes of a netflix show and a tub of ice cream later, the world outside has fallen to an early wintry night. Snow gathers on the windowsill, illuminated by the glow of the laptop on the bed between them. It’s barely nine in the evening, but snuggled up beneath the warm sheets Lysithea yawns. Hilda shuts the lid of the laptop and sets it on the ground. The room is plunged into a quiet darkness. Rolling over to face the window, Lysithea buries her head into her pillow.

The mattress dips slightly as Hilda shuffles around. “You still in no touchy mode? Or are cuddles acceptable?”

In answer, Lysithea gropes around in the dark for Hilda’s hand. She finds her wrist, and pulls it over so that Hilda’s arm is wrapped around her stomach. Lysithea lets her eyes fall shut as Hilda curls up against her. And as she drifts off, she dreams that Hilda presses a chaste kiss to the back of her neck. 

--

Lysithea decides she is very bad at playing hooky. She spends the day at Hilda’s apartment. She tries to not do work -- she really does -- but the itch is so overwhelming that it’s a relief to use Hilda’s tablet to plan her Friday lecture. 

She may not have had the crossword with Hilda that morning, but at least she can do one thing that feels normal and routine. Today of all days, Lysithea clings to any creature comforts she can get her hands on. And if that means meticulously planning out notes and a slideshow for a two hour lecture, then that's what she's going to do, god damn it.

Eventually however even that isn't enough to keep her occupied. Hilda had promised to return early from the university, but without her the apartment feels haunted by her absence. More than once Lysithea looks up, ready to speak to Hilda only to realise that she's not there. Disappointment twists her gut, which only makes her frown and throw herself back into her work with more zeal than before. By the time it reaches one in the afternoon, Lysithea has finished with her notes, and has even added a few extra slides to her powerpoint in case she needs to pad out the time, leaving her with nothing to do.

Opening a new tab in the browser, Lysithea goes to the university website. She looks up the dean's page. She chews nervously at her lower lip as she stares at Rhea's email address. And then, before she can convince herself that it's a bad idea, she copies the address and pastes it into the send bar.

The email she sends to Rhea is simple, a request for a meeting to discuss her main supervisor.

No sooner has Lysithea put down the tablet and gone hunting through Hilda's kitchen for the ingredients for a hot chocolate, than she hears a faint chime of an email in her inbox from the other room. It takes her very little time these days to find things in Hilda's apartment, and she returns to the tablet with a mug of steaming cocoa, complete with whipped cream and a cinnamon stick as a garnish. 

She almost drops the mug when she sees that Rhea has already responded to the email.

'Of course. I have fifteen minutes in between meetings tomorrow at 3:30pm. Your schedule permitting, come around to my office then. -Rhea, President of the University for Biology and Medicine, Dean, Division of Biological Sciences and Physical Sciences, PhD.'

Lysithea takes a hasty gulp of cocoa that's too hot, but the scalding grounds her. Her stomach was a hive of anxious activity again. She didn't know if she could handle another meeting like the one she'd had with Tomas just yesterday all in the same week. 

And the worst part about it is that Hilda was right. And Lysithea just knows that Hilda is going to be insufferable about it. 

--

Lysithea sits in a chair outside the dean's office. The walls in this level of the building are sleek and wood-paneled. She feels excruciatingly out of place with her knee-length skirt and tattered old notebook clutched in her hand. For the fourth time since arriving and being told by the assistant to take a seat while she waited, Lysithea checks her watch. As she turns over her wrist, the door to her right opens, and she nearly jumps out of her skin. 

Rhea stands in the doorway, wearing a white dress. Her hair is long, extending down her back, and from beneath the hem of her dress Lysithea can just see the hint of sandals, the kind that Hilda would have liked and therefore must have been fashionable. On anyone else, the outfit would have made the wearer appear to be an ancient Graecian noblewoman or perhaps a lost ghost from a gothic Victorian novel, but on Rhea it just makes her look sleek and imposing. 

Rhea opens the door a little wider and steps back in a wordless invitation. "Miss Ordelia. I'm glad you could make it."

Lysithea rises to her feet. When she slips past Rhea, she tries to stand a little straighter, but it has very little effect. Rhea is one of the tallest people she's met, and somehow Lysithea always feels even shorter when around her. As though Rhea were not tall at all, but that other people were merely too short to stand beside her and meet her gaze. 

"Thank you," Lysithea says. She holds her notebook and pen in both hands as though they were a shield. "I really appreciate you making the time to meet with me so promptly."

"Not at all." Rhea closes the door so that they are alone in the office. She gestures to a chair. "Please. Sit."

The office is large enough to house an enormous desk on one end, and a seating area for guests in another. Also an entire wall of floor to ceiling bookcases, complete with a marble bust of some religious figure or another that Lysithea does not immediately recognise. Rhea had gestured towards the desk half of the room, so Lysithea takes one of the seats there.

Rhea meanwhile rounds her desk and sits behind it as though seating herself upon a throne. She leans her elbows on the polished wood surface, her gaze sharp and green and attentive. "How can I help you?"

For a moment Lysithea fiddles with the lavender-coloured ribbon that marks her place in the notebook. Then, steadying herself, she explains the events of not just yesterday but the last year during which all her troubles with Tomas began. 

Rhea listens, calm, never once interrupting. Her face is a mask of composure. Lysithea wishes she could read her, but Rhea has always come across as cold and distant no matter the occasion, be it during Lysithea’s entrance interviews, or during departmental holiday parties. It makes Lysithea even more nervous, and more than once she has to pause to collect herself before she can continue once more.

Finally, when Lysithea stops, Rhea speaks. "First, allow me to apologise on the university's behalf. Students in your position are vulnerable to this sort of behaviour, as they are reliant upon their supervisors for advice and information through a very stressful time. Had this issue been brought to my attention sooner, I might have been able to act upon it then."

Hearing that, Lysithea can feel the small ballooning of hope in her chest fade. But then Rhea continues. 

"However, I believe the solution to your problem is quite simple at this point. I understand that there are certain time sensitive elements to your employment and connection to this programme, but this works in your favour, not against it.” Rhea raps her fingers against the desk as she speaks; her fingernails are painted a pale green, like Wedgwood porcelain, or the shell of an egg. “I am going to make the recommendation that Tomas’ supervisory role be transferred immediately. I will ensure the paperwork is expedited so as to take into account your grant deadline, but I will need you to first send me an email outlining everything you have told me here today. Spare no detail.”

Lysithea blinks in confusion, wondering for a brief moment if she has heard that incorrectly. “You’re going to give me a new supervisor?” she asks slowly. 

Rhea cocks her head to one side. “No. While I understand that due to the interdisciplinary nature of your work that you had two supervisors, I trust that between you and Dr. Essar, you will deliver a more than passable thesis. Unless you take objection with this option?”

Lysithea shakes her head furiously. “No! No, this is fine. Thank you.”

Hanneman as her sole supervisor. It’s better than fine. It’s what she wishes had happened to begin with, but which she only could have known in hindsight. 

“Excellent. Now,” Rhea leans forward in her seat. Her glass-green gaze is fixed and unblinking, like that of a great serpent. “Have you by any chance been keeping record of specific dates and notes of your meetings with Tomas?”

Lysithea nods. She holds up her notebook and gives it a little wave before placing it back in her lap.

Rhea’s gaze flashes with something keen and sharp. “Good. Be sure to include those as well.”

“Might I ask -?” Lysithea hesitates, waiting for Rhea to give a slight incline of her head before continuing. “What exactly are you going to be doing with this information?”

Rhea smiles, and for the first time Lyisthea notices two things. One: that Rhea has not seemed to blink even once during this entire encounter. Two: that Rhea’s teeth are remarkably sharp.

“While I cannot speak too much on the matter outside of a confidential arrangement, I can tell you that yours is not an isolated incident, Miss Ordelia. Let us say that Tomas has a not insignificant file on record. Any details, any specifics at all you can give me may be instrumental in current proceedings.” Rhea’s long, pale, green-painted nails are like talons atop the darkly-varnished wooden desk. “So, do be sure to send me that email at the first available opportunity.”

--

Less than two weeks later, Tomas is no longer her supervisor, and Hanneman is signing the administrative paperwork to submit Lysithea’s thesis. That sense of unreality still hangs over her like a cloud. Hanneman hands her the pen to sign on her own dotted line, and it feels like reaching for a piece of candy that is going to be snatched away at a moment's notice. 

The giddiness starts up when Lysithea is carrying her final bound and printed thesis copies from her office for submission. There's a bounce in her step that she hasn't felt in ages. There are two copies of over two hundred pages each, bound in white with her name in simple gold lettering embossed on the cover. 

Her step falters when she has to walk by Tomas' office. She had avoided him ever since that meeting. Every day where she went without seeing him was a day she breathed a sigh of relief. Today however, as she strode down the hall towards the elevators, she noticed his office door was wide open. 

Lysithea walks a little faster, but then pauses. She turns and peers into Tomas' office. 

The desk and chairs remain, but the shelves are empty. Indeed, all personal affects seem to have vanished. Tomas himself is nowhere to be seen.

Her grip upon the twin copies of her thesis slackens. As if she had seen a ghost, Lysithea hurries off towards the elevator, stabbing at the button with her finger to call the lift from the second floor. Her heart is hammering in her chest, and her mind whirls at the speed of light. 

Upstairs, she drops off her thesis copies and the forms Hanneman had signed onto the desk of one of the dean's many administrators. The woman seated at the desk checks over all the paperwork before stamping it with an official seal that she then signs and dates. Afterwards, she smiles up at Lysithea, and ensures her that everything is completed. She also reminds Lysithea that neither she nor Hanneman are to attempt to contact the examiners in any way, no matter how long the process takes. 

"You will hear from the dean when your examination results are in," the administrator assures her. 

"Thank you," Lysithea says for what must be the fifth time since she arrived just moments ago to turn everything in.

"Not a problem. Go. Relax." The administrator waves at her in a kindly fashion. "Try to think about something else for a while. You've earned a break."

"Thanks," Lysithea repeats, then realising that she has said it yet again, turns to leave. 

The dean's offices are located on the top floor of the building. Between the wood-paneling and the statues and the light streaming through the stained-glass windows, it feels like standing in the wing of a cathedral. Lysithea bounces on the balls of her feet, and hums to herself as she waits for the elevators to make their long haul back up to this floor. Before the elevators can arrive however, someone steps up beside her.

"Good afternoon." Rhea smiles down at her in that chillingly beatific way of hers. 

"Hello." Lysithea tries to return the smile, but it feels tremulous all the same. 

They stand in silence. Lysithea watches the light counting the floors over the shining elevator doors. She has never thought of herself as being a particularly fidgety person, but beside Rhea's poise, Lysithea feels like a child unable to keep her hands and feet still for longer than a few seconds. Perhaps she really has been spending too much time with Hilda lately.

The doors open, and Rhea gestures for her to enter first before following after her. Lysithea hits the seventh floor button, while Rhea presses the third. As the elevator doors slide shut, the image of Tomas' empty office puts an immediate dampener on Lysithea's recent triumph. The elevator shudders, then begins its descent. 

Bracing herself, Lysithea turns towards Rhea and asks, "Excuse me for asking this, but I was walking past Tomas’ office and - well. What happened to him?"

Rhea does not glance in her direction, instead watching the floor counter overhead. "I fired him."

Lysithea stares. "You - You what?"

"Perhaps I misspoke," Rhea says in that same decorous tone she always seems to use. "There was an official panel inquiry by the board of directors, and then I fired him."

Finally, Rhea looks over at her, and all of a sudden Lysithea very much wishes she hadn't. 

Lysithea drops her gaze to study her own shoes. The long hem of Rhea's elegant dress brush against her ankles, and Lysithea has to resist the urge to shuffle further away. She thinks of all the notes she had typed up and sent to Rhea in that email, all the dates, all the hours Tomas had spent berating her over data and clarity and other nonsense, all the correspondence she had forwarded between them. Damning evidence, to be sure, but she never could have dreamed it would be enough to get someone with that much history at an academic institution actually fired.

Somehow she knows even without looking in Rhea's direction that Rhea has turned her attention away again. 

"I really ought to thank you. The panel had already been meeting for over a month at various times. Your notes came at just the right time."

Lysithea's head spins. She swallows past an obstruction in her throat, but does not trust herself to speak.

"Though I should also tell you that this was not your doing alone. Tomas tied his own noose long before you arrived on the scene.” Rhea gives a wave of one hand, as if trying to clear the air of flies. “He was near impossible to get rid of due to his tenure, and so I began building a case against him some time ago. You were merely the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.”

Despite Rhea's obvious attempt at mollifying, Lysithea does not feel very soothed by her words. After a few seconds of chilly silence, Lysithea manages to croak out a weak, "Oh."

Rhea hums a note at the back of her throat as if in agreement. The elevator slows its descent, and Lysithea is eager to escape being alone with Rhea in a small steel box. When the seventh floor illuminates on the screen, and the doors slide open, Lysithea nearly trips over her own feet in her haste. 

“Miss Ordelia?”

Lysithea hesitates, and glances over her shoulder.

Rhea is smiling that cold smile of hers, a smile that never seems to touch her eyes. “Congratulations on your submission.”

--

The moment Lysithea returns to her office, feeling dazed and bewildered from her run in with the dean, Hilda is already waiting for her. 

"You all done?" Hilda asks. She stands leaning against the closed and locked door to Lysithea's office. Her thumbs tap away at something on her phone, but after a moment she puts her phone away and awaits Lysithea's answer with an expectant expression.

Lysithea nods. "All done. It's submitted. Now, I wait."

A slow smile spreads across Hilda's face. She pushes off from the door, and links her arm through Lysithea's so that she can steer her back down the hallway towards the elevators.

"Where are we going?" Lysithea asks. 

"Out to celebrate." Hilda hands over Lysithea's own bag, presumably pinched from her office just earlier. "You forgot this at home, by the way."

"Oh." Lysithea flushes. 

So, not pinched from her office, then. Lysithea must have been so distracted this morning at the thought of printing and submitting her thesis that she had left her bag behind at Hilda's apartment, where she had been staying for -- well, for weeks now. 

At this point, Lysithea is greeted with surprise by her flatmates when she actually returns to her own apartment.  

Hilda drags her back to Claude's bar, which Lysithea has learned was her favourite haunt in the city, though certainly not the only trendy place she frequented on her nights on the town. It's only three in the afternoon, but still the bar is flooded with customers. When they enter, Hilda waves at a few people as they call out to her. One or two even flash Lysithea a familiar smile as well, to which Lysithea reacts with pleased puzzlement. 

She has never been recognised at a bar before. Especially not one like this.

Hilda breezes her way through a few customers to get at the bar and order drinks. Lysithea has a soda, but despite the hour Hilda orders herself a fruity drink with more vodka than sense. Grabbing up both their drinks, Hilda heads towards her usual seat in the house: a series of rich leather couches on a raised platform like incredibly comfortable thrones upon a dais. The walls behind them are festooned with gold-lacquered deer antlers for which the establishment takes its name. A well-stocked fireplace keeps this area warmer than the others. Logs are meticulously stacked against one of the walls all the way up to the ceiling to give the impression that they are lounging in a luxury lodge in the middle of the woods.

Hilda leans back into one corner of the couch, her feet propped on the low table before them. From her seat, she can see everyone in the room, and they can all see her. Lysithea feels like she’s on stage sitting next to Hilda here. And indeed a few other customers glance curiously in their direction.

“So,” Hilda sips at her drink, and says around the bright yellow straw, “how was Rhea?”

“Terrifying,” Lysithea admits truthfully. 

Hilda sniggers. “You gotta admit though: she gets results.”

“She fired Tomas.”

“Good. I never liked that guy anyway. Gave me the creeps the first time I met him.” When Lysithea squirms somewhat in her seat and doesn’t answer, Hilda rolls her eyes. “Oh, please don’t tell me you feel guilty about this.”

Lysithea frowns, indignant and a little irritated that Hilda can read her so easily. “I just wish we could’ve found a better way around this whole situation.”

“Honestly? To be honest? To be perfectly frank?” Hilda gestures emphatically around the drink in her hand. “I think everyone got what they deserved. Tomas got fired. Yay. Hanneman gets to be your main supervisor. Yay again. Good for him. And you got to submit your thesis on time. Double yay.” 

Lysithea still hasn’t touched her soda. It remains on the table, atop a coaster because she remembered from the last time their visit how one of the wait staff had scolded Hilda for not using one. 

“And you?” she asks.

Hilda tilts her head. “Me?”

“What did you get?”

For a moment, Hilda appears utterly puzzled by the question. Then, she snorts. “I got to help a friend. Duh.” 

It occurs to Lysithea then that of all the times she had thanked everyone throughout this process -- Rhea, Edelgard, Hanneman, even the administrator whose name she couldn’t remember -- she hadn’t thanked Hilda. Thanking her for offering to maim Tomas just doesn’t feel the same. 

“Thank you,” Lysithea says. "I don't know what I would've done without you."

"Oh, pssht!" Hilda waves her away. "I didn't do anything. You and Edelgard and Hanneman and Rhea did all the work. I was just an accessory."

Lysithea shakes her head. "You and I both know that's not true. If you hadn't been here, I probably would've given up."

"Bull. Shit." Hilda slams her drink down on the broad arm of the couch, where it teeters precariously. "You would've pulled through just fine. You're amazing! I've never met anyone more resilient and hard working. Not gonna lie, it's a bit spooky. You were, like, super intimidating when I first met you."

The idea that Hilda could have been intimidated by anything let alone by Lysithea is ludicrous. Lysithea doesn't believe it for a second. She scoffs.

"That's ridiculous. I'm not special. Not like you. I'm just diligent, whereas you're -" Lysithea gestures to Hilda, "- actually gifted. You just chose to be lazy. And even then you make it all seem so effortless. I wish I were more like that."

“As much as I just love being complimented, the sincerity of your delivery is kinda starting to freak me out. Are you feeling alright?” Hilda reaches over to test the temperature of Lysithea’s forehead.

Lysithea doesn’t pull back, but she does scowl. “I’m trying to express my gratitude!”

“Yeah, well, gratitude expressed. I’m great, and you’re welcome. Anyway -”

Lysithea isn’t letting her off the hook that easily. She sits up a little straighter on the couch and looks Hilda dead in the eye. “I mean it. It’s important to me that you know that I - well, I -”

The dim lights of the bar wash the room in a golden sepia glow. The fire flickers and warms the air around them. Hilda is watching her with an expression that can only be described as star-struck, and Lysithea wonders how long Hilda has looked at her like that for, or if this is just the first time she’s noticed. 

“- appreciate you,” Lysithea finishes slowly. “And everything you’ve done for me.”

A steady flush rises up Hilda’s cheeks until her face is bright pink. Lysithea stares. Hilda is the first to break eye contact. She snatches up her drink, and slouches back against the couch to sip at the straw, holding the glass like she’s trying to hide behind it. 

It hits Lysithea like a freight train, the sudden realisation. Her jaw goes slack. Hilda has already recovered, and is striking up some new spirited conversation about the band that’s setting up across the room, but Lysithea can barely hear over the blood-dimmed rush in her ears, roaring like the tide. 

She doesn’t know what’s worse. That she now has to wait a harrowing few months to find out if her thesis has passed. Or the newfound knowledge that she is absolutely, irrevocably head over heels in love with Hilda Goneril. 

[vulpinmusings]

Ski-tar and Friends part 7: Junk Race

Picking up right where we left off, Vemir and 6 remotely participate in the junk race while Ski-tar kicks back to watch the mayhem.

Where be began

Where we just were

Vemir, Sixer, and I were nearly to our seats before I hit upon a solution for our One Remote vs. Three Users conundrum.  Rat-rod had designed his course to fully embrace the “Junk” in Junk Racing, so there was a bunch of scrap and half-broken thingies everywhere.  I spotted a device that wasn’t too dissimilar to the remote Laboni had shoved at us and enough loose wires and other bits to turn the device into a functional wireless extension of the original remote. My thing could only handle a fraction of the functions the actual remote could, but that was enough.  I set it up to control the weapons on Laboni’s junker and handed it to Sixer.  As our team’s official pilot, Vemir would take charge of keeping Laboni on the course and up to speed, and I took upon myself the noble duty of watching the race and occasionally giving the other two advice.  I would’ve stayed down by the track to handle pit-stops, but since the race was only going to be a single lap there wasn’t much call for that.

The big draw of Junk Racing is the unpredictability.  The racers are allowed to shoot one another with disabling weapons, and even the best of the vehicles on the circuit was cobbled together from scrounged scrap.  This makes predicting the outcome of a race more difficult than normal, and so even bets on the favored racer can pay out well and, of course, simply watching the race brings its own level of excitement.

That said, you’ll never convince me to actually get behind the controls of a junk racer.

Our race started off with a major upset to the general expectations. While Laboni and two other racers got off to a roaring start, reigning champion Rat-rod stalled out before even crossing the starting line.  He managed to get going a second later, but it seemed like the damage was done.  Our biggest rival after the first turn was Orsus, the Lashunta with the glitzy hot-rod, while the gnome technomancer who had promised to help us against Rat-rod was a couple places behind us.  Since Vemir had agreed to help the gnome place second, Sixer tried to shoot at Orsus to slow him down and give her space to move up.  The shot went wide, and Orsus didn’t return fire, to my confusion.  Shooting at each other is half the point of Junk Racing.

As the racers zoomed down the first straightaway, Laboni remained fairly solidly in the lead while Rat-rod struggled to catch up while under fire from the gnome, us, and the tank-like racer Vemir had failed to stick a detonator on.  Rat-rod was struggling so much that I briefly suspected that someone else had done some sabotage, until he finally got his systems in order and started working his way up in the pack.  As this was happening, the last racer, an android, caught up to Orsus and rear-ended him, unwittingly helping with my minor goal of damaging Orsus’ beloved vehicle.  It was about at this point that I realized that Orsus wasn’t participating in the constant crossfire at all because he didn’t even have any weapons on his vehicle.  The fool was Junk Racing without a gun and still keeping pace with Laboni.  It was impressive.

Just before the racers reached the big turn that marked the halfway point of he track, the tank driver made the mistake of turning an energy weapon on Rat-rod.  The champion took the hit with glee and poured the energy into a speed boost that brought him up to threaten Orsus and Laboni.  He then made good on the threat by shooting Laboni and pulling into the lead.  Meanwhile, our gnome friend and the tank both suffered engine troubles and fell so far behind the rest of us that they were effectively out of the race.

Orsus fell back a bit in the turn while the android moved up, and between it and Rat-rod we suffered several hits.  In a moment of desperation, I grabbed the remote from Sixer with the intention of turning our energy weapon on the android, but in my haste I dropped the device and somehow sent a signal that interfered with Vemir’s controls and caused Laboni to stall out for a second.  I sheepishly returned the secondary remote to Sixer as he and Vemir both gave me hard looks, and instead tried to link my augment rig to our control net so I could shoot the guns without disturbing Sixer.

Laboni was in fourth place going into the second straightaway, with Rat-rod in first and Orsus and the android jockeying for second and third. Vemir got on the comms and reminded Laboni that the Starfinder Society’s reputation was hanging on her.  Laboni dutifully stepped up her game enough to get up past Orsus.  Rat-rod suffered a glitch as we neared the final turn, allowing Laboni to pull into the lead.

The pack tightened up in the last turn, and the shots started flying out faster and harder.  With the sudden desperation of an overly proud rat being facing imminent failure, Rat-rod decided to turn one of his own weapons on himself to get the power for one last speed boost, winding up neck-and-neck with Laboni for first place as the finish line came into sight.  The two rivals jockeyed the entire rest of the distance, until at the last second Orsus swooped in to steal the win and knock Rat-rod back enough for Laboni to get second.

Not a total win, but Laboni did beat Rat-rod, so mission technically accomplished.

It took a few minutes for the gnome and the tank driver to limp over the finish line.  The tank driver was quite upset at her vehicle’s performance, and everyone wisely decided to just giver her space. The gnome wasn’t upset about not getting second place, shrugging it off as poor luck and simply glad that at least Rat-rod hadn’t won. Orsus was so proud of pulling off a win despite not having any weapons that he barely noted the damage his vehicle had accrued, and I just didn’t have the heart to try and make a fuss over it.  The android racer was also a good sport, and quickly struck up a friendship with Sixer, swapping comments about their chosen names (they call themselves Velocity, appropriately enough), appearance, and possibly other android flirtation topics.  I was a bit too focused on Rat-rod and Laboni to pay the robots much mind.

Laboni tried to be the bigger person by offering Rat-rod an apology for the statements that had gotten her into this whole mess, and then very nearly spoiled the apology by insinuating she’d be able to beat Rat-rod again.  Rat-rod accepted the apology with much grumbling and disappeared into the junk, complaining about possibly losing his precious track to some pretty-boy Lashunta.

For coming in second place, Laboni won a set of carbon skin armor that didn’t fit her, so she passed it on to Vemir, and a bunch of credits that she split with the three of us.  Then, we hiked back to the Eye to report to Ratazan.

Naturally, Ratazan had been watching the Junk Race on the vids and so already knew that we’d saved the Starfinder reputation.  He didn’t let Laboni off the hook for causing the situation in the first place, though, and assigned her to clean out his tadpole aquarium as penance.  As for the three of us, we were just dismissed to return to the Lorespire Complex and get our next initiation job.

Back at the complex, the hologram Guidance told us our next assignment would come from Historia-7 of the Dataphiles, the archival arm of the Starfinder Society.  Historia-7 is apparently new to the position, since Historia-6 was among those lost in the Scored Stars Incident.  I’m putting even bets on Seven being an android or another hologram like Guidance.

We decided to wait and relax a bit before going to the Archives, and Vemir ran off to the market to pick up more healing serums.  We hadn’t used any serums since our last big shopping trip, so I was little concerned why Vemir suddenly wanted more.  Still, he’s an adult (at least in terms of chronological age), so I didn’t think it was worth following him since I didn’t need to buy anything myself.  I did find it strange that he took a lot longer than it should to complete such a simple errand, but when I asked him about it he just said the marketplace was a madhouse from everyone reacting to the recent upset on the Junk Race circuit.

That made sense, so I put it out of my mind.

[imaginesfordayss]

What are the odds (x)

Summary:  Teacher!Clarke + Singer!Bellamy + Soulmate au  Word count: 2.2k Warning(s): None, just fluff and tiny bit of angst if you squint 

Find it here on Ao3

Clarke looked down at her hand, the beginnings of a scribbled note appearing below her wrist, “Drop ship, 8pm, tuesday’. She almost spilled her coffee. It just so happened that the drop ship was a local lounge in her town and that her soulmate would be making an appearance there this tuesday night.

Now Clarke didn’t necessarily believe in the idea of soulmates, obviously she knew they were out there but of all the stories she’d heard growing up, she’s learned that soulmates were complicated. There was no guarantee that you’d meet them or even like them; her parents hadn’t been soulmates and they’d ended up just fine. Clarke pulled up her sleeve and turned back to her students, “Now I know the deadline is nearing so I hope you’ve all at least started your projects, remember oil or acrylic paint only for full credit, see you wednesday!” The aforementioned students filed out one by one except a brown haired girl sitting in the back. Clarke looked up at her as she neared, Octavia Blake, she was a recent transfer from somewhere upstate. “What can I do for you Miss Blake?” The young girl smiled shyly.

“I know i’m pretty late into the semester, I was wondering if there’s any make-up work you’d like me to do since I won’t be able to participate in the final project?” Clarke smiled at the girl before rummaging through her desk for an empty sheet of paper.

“Of course, how about this, I want you to find a piece of art, or anything really that you think is art and write a paper on it, let’s say two pages. Analyze this art, why it interests you and all that. I’ll give you an extension since it’s pretty short notice and if you have any questions, go ahead and give me a call.” Octavia took the slip of paper smiling at the bright haired woman before hurrying to her next class.

Clarke sighed, again staring at the crooked handwriting on her arm and wondering what she’d do about it. Officially, she was off the clock so she grabbed her laptop and bag and headed to the one person who’d help her figure this out.

“Raven, I’m having a crisis.” She yelled upon entering the auto shop. Raven slid out from under a car near Clarke’s feet giving her the smug look she always gave her.

“Accidentally slept with a cheater again?” Clarke kicked her foot and then pulled up her sleeve for the girl to see. Raven immediately straightened grabbing Clarke’s arm for a closer look. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You have to go!”

“What? No, I don’t even know them, they could be a terrible person or an alcoholic or something.”

“True, but it’s your soulmate, Griffin. So many people would kill for an opportunity like this. Plus, you need to get out anyway, this whole teaching thing is turning you into a hermit” Clarke glared.

“There’s nothing wrong with marathoning shows in my apartment.”

“We all need a breath of fresh air sometimes..and a few shots of tequila.”

“I mean, I guess. At least come with me.”

“No can do, Shaw’s taking me out tomorrow, real fancy place, I have to shave my legs and everything.” Raven laughed.

“What if they’re a total creep and they kidnap me and chop me up into little pieces?”

“First of all, your imagination is running a little wild and second of all, we both know you can hold down your own, need I remind you of the night you broke Cage Wallace’s nose after he groped you at a PTA meeting? You’ll be fine, and just incase put me on speed dial, problem solved.” Clarke shrugged, she did have a point.

“Fine. See you at home?”

“Pick up wine and ice cream on your way home?” Clarke nodded heading back towards her car with thoughts swirling through her head.

Clarke laid in bed that night tracing over the words, the sounds of some documentary playing in the background. She knew so many things could go wrong, she’d heard the stories of matches that just didn’t work and yet something in her told her that this was a good thing. She hoped her instincts were right, for once.

The start of her tuesday morning was anything but smooth. Raven had used up all the hot water so she hurried through her morning routine while shivering. Then before even leaving the house, she managed to spill coffee all over her only white blouse. Somehow it all managed to go further downhill after that. The traffic made her almost an hour late to class, a student spilled paint on her laptop, and to top it all off a parent felt the need to yell at her because her son was failing the course. It took her several attempts to explain that attendance and actually turning in assignments were necessary for passing. By the end of her last class she was ready to go home and lay under the covers forever.

She did just that, throwing off her heels, her pants, and her bra before sliding under the covers and closing her eyes. Clarke woke several hours later feeling slightly more refreshed, she pulled her phone from the nightstand checking the time, 5:47pm. She still had time, time to make a decision.

And perhaps that was her biggest dilemma of the day, making a decision. For years she’d thought about reaching out to her soulmate, if she even had one. Finally, in the tenth grade she started writing on her hands hoping for a reply, instead she’d wake up with the same faded marks of her own handwriting and nothing else. She figured she probably didn’t have one or if she did, they just didn’t care so eventually the writing stopped and she moved on to other potential relationships; those didn’t work out so much either. She was sure Finn was the one but then she found him kissing another girl who as it turned out, was his girlfriend of 3 years. When she opened herself up again, it was to Lexa. Clarke’s affection to the broody and blunt girl had caught her by surprise but she felt herself hoping that maybe this time she’d gotten it right. But months later, Lexa had run into Costia; Clarke noticed their matching tattoos almost immediately and ended the relationship to save them both the heartache.  

Clarke pulled herself out of her thoughts and stared at the ceiling. Go or not go? Screw it, she thought, She’d give love one last chance. She threw on something casual that still held a semblance of cute and available and made her way out the door. Parking was always a hassle around the drop ship so she opted for taking a bus. The drop ship looked the same as it always did, old, worn, with just a hint of modern touch courtesy of the new owners. She’d always wondered how they managed to open a place that worked as a bookstore, a bar, and a local hangout for teens.

The place seemed to be unusually crowded today as she walked in, noticing chairs lining the main stage and a line at the bar. She’d been here for open mic night a few months back when Raven talked her into having a girl’s night and it hadn’t been nearly as crowded as this so she figured something big was going on and found a seat near the back. She sat around for ten minutes or so wondering how the hell she was gonna be able to even find her soulmate in here but before she could think of a solution, the lights dimmed and her attention was brought back to the stage.

“I see familiar faces in the crowd, and a few newbies too. Anyway, for those of you who’ve never been, welcome to the Dropship, I’m Miller. My best friend and I bought this place a while back so let me just say we are grateful to you for your support and continued help in transforming this place into a spot for people to have fun. So anyway let’s get this thing started, here’s Skaikru!” The crowd cheered as Clarke watched a group of people walk onto the stage. The sounds of guitars and drums vibrated through the room as a melodic voice filled her ears. She vaguely recognized their faces from a local band poster she’d seen around the high school, her eyes narrowed on the drummer recognizing the girl instantly as Octavia Blake. Clarke found herself smiling and then nodding along to the beat, the vocalist’s voice was mesmerizing and soon she’d forgotten what she came to the lounge for in the first place. He had what looked like a permanent smirk etched onto his face, his sweat drenched curls sticking to his forehead as he sang to the crowd.

She wasn’t sure how long their set lasted but as they left the stage she felt herself wanting more, she was sure she’d listen to the guy’s voice even if he was just reading off a grocery list; it didn’t hurt that he was nice to look at either.

“Miss Griffin?” She turned at the sound of her name finding Octavia staring at her.

“Oh Hi, Miss Blake, I didn’t know you were in a band? You guys were really good.” The girl brightened immediately.

“It’s my brother’s band, Bellamy, he’s letting me fill in on drums while Roan’s on holiday. Oh there he is, Bell!” Clarke turned to find the girl waving over the vocalist from before, she blushed, realizing she’d been mooning over her student’s brother. “Bell, this is Miss Griffin she’s my painting teacher.” Bellamy reached a hand out to the blonde giving her a once over.

“Call me Clarke, you guys were, uh, really good up there.” Bellamy smiled involuntarily instantly finding himself attracted to her, though he felt a little guilty considering she taught his sister.

“I’m Bellamy...thanks. You, uh wanna grab a drink or something, you can tell me all about how much a mess I’m sure my sister has made in your class.” Octavia punched his shoulder in retaliation. “Go help Murphy pack up the equipment O.” Octavia rolled her eyes as her brother’s obvious attempt to make her leave so he could flirt with Clarke.

“It was good to see you, Miss Griffin, I already have some ideas for my essay that I wanna run by you on friday.”

“Sounds good.” And with that the girl was off, sprinting to the stage to help Murphy load up the remaining mics.

“So what brings you here?” Bellamy asked casually, signalling for Miller to slide him a beer.

“Kind of a weird story actually.”

“I’ve got time.”

“Uhm, well…” what harm could it do? “Well actually I’m supposed to meet my soulmate. Okay, no, not exactly meet, but, okay so they’re supposed to be here but, oh my god, okay just look.” Clarke stopped babbling and pulled up her sleeve to show him in the low light. Bellamy grabbed her arm to examine it closer, his face growing pale for half a second and then he just stared at her in a way that completely unnerved her, so of course, she kept talking, “I know it’s kind of weird or whatever but this is the first time they’ve ever written anything and I thought it was worth a shot but I guess it doesn’t really matter now anyway,” She looked around at the nearly empty room; they’d probably left already. She looked back to Bellamy who still hadn’t said anything.

“Clarke.” He spoke suddenly.

“Sorry, too personal?” Bellamy laughed shaking his head in disbelief as he pulled up the sleeve of his jacket to show Clarke the matching handwriting on his wrist. Clarke nearly choked on her drink, putting it down she hesitantly traced her fingers over his arm. “Oh.” She whispered, so quietly she wasn’t sure if he’d heard.

“What are the odds?”

“So you’re not a serial killer or anything right? Because that was like like half of my consideration for not showing up tonight.” Bellamy laughed again and she found herself loving the sound more than she’d like to admit.

“No, I’m not a serial killer. Do you wanna get some coffee or something, I’m not exactly sure how this whole thing works.”

“Yeah, coffee sounds great and don’t worry. I’m sure we can figure it out together.”

Years later Clarke would stare at Bellamy with a smile gracing her face and think of how she almost didn’t show up to the Drop ship, how she almost gave up the chance to meet him. She never would have had the chance to fall in love with him and every little thing about him. She was almost surprised by the force at which her love for him sprouted. She was meant to be taking it slow, trying not to ruin another relationship by going in blindly but then Bellamy would laugh or look at her and she couldn’t stop herself from being so irrevocably drawn to him.

She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to show her that this relationship would fail, and yet, year after year they remained together, always the couple everyone hated because they were so annoyingly into each other. It was around the sixth year that she realized she could just let herself be happy with him, she didn’t have to worry about every little argument or the chance that he’d fall in love with someone else. Bellamy wasn’t going anywhere, he never would.

[fictionerd]

Good to see you, friends! So this week’s episode opens exactly where the last one ended, and we get an extension on the conversation. Tsutsui makes the same arguments for his case I did last week. Namely that he’s socially inept and it’s hard for him to understand a problem if people don’t give him something other than inference to go on. Iroha, of course, is having none of it and tells him to just “think about it normally”. Let me take an aside here.

Iroha, you’re off base. This is the man who, when you told him you found men baking attractive, picked up a cookbook and learned to make sweets for you. WHEN YOU WERE ALREADY DATING! Dude went out and learned a skillset (Admittedly one that’s not hard to pick up if you learn how to follow recipes) for no other reason than he thought it’d make you happy. Give him something to run with and he will make your wildest dreams come true.

Tsutsui, While I AM defending you. I must say that you have seen far and away enough cheesy romance in anime that you should be able to pick up the cues here. I get that anime isn’t meant to be reflective of actual social interactions, and that usually you don’t want to pattern your behavior in these situations based on scenes from anime.In this ONE instance, however we have a textbook fucking scenario. You’re failing to reciprocate,dude! She keeps telling you she loves you. You feel too inferior to reply in kind. FIX THAT! (Yeah, I realized in the week+ since I watched the last episode that’s what she meant so my bad there).

So moving into the episode proper: Tsutsui meets back up with Ayado in the garden. (Does she actually attend classes or is she just always there?) They exchange awkward small talk based upon their final encounter from last episode, and before Tsutsui can take off to bury his head up his own ass she hands him a massive sack of potatoes. He takes the tubers then returns to tormenting his tortured psyche.

He’s really hung up on this whole “Iroha is mad at me and I can’t figure out why” thing. Then he has an epiphany. If there’s no way I can figure this out on my own then maybe I can get some help from a friend and so turns to Ito. However, Ito informs him that he has other things to do and says that Tsutsui and Iroha should just have lunch together on their own being apparently oblivious to how their relationship is going. When Tsutsui discovers that Ito’s been spending time with a cat instead of him he jumps to the conclusion that Ito has somehow snapped due to loneliness and makes an ass of himself.

When Ito calls him out for his insensitive, self-centered behavior it shatters him and he has to spend some time later that night having a flashback to come to a realization about what to do.

He remembers the halcyon days of his Chuunibyo when he was a back-corner loner who constantly had earphones in listening to, no doubt, the choicest of epic soundtracks in preparation for the day he was finally crowned the King of all Demon hosts.

Turns out that back then he was even MORE of an antisocial jerkbucket, by which I mean he was a jerkbucket intentionally rather than the unintentional jerkbucketry we’ve been treated to this episode. At first he slapped away any attempt at friendship because “Anyone who’s interested in you is doing it out of some desire to fix you and not out of genuine kindness. I’m just waiting for the day you assholes all sprout angelic wings and halos and attempt to Save my soul by beating me senseless with divine armaments so I can finally unleash the hellfire within me to burn away all the haters!”

Later on we see that in spite of his stand-offish attitude he has this thing about repaying debts and so in return for Ito finding his headphones he actually shows up to a task he was assigned to do anyway. (Granted it was sort of forced on him). It’s here that he gets a real look at what the other guys in class think of Ito which naturally is something along the lines of “Ito’s a good dog. Show him a little kindness and he’ll be blindly loyal to you forever!” Naturally Tsutsui’s response is to say, “Well, how about it? Wanna ditch the heavenly host and come reign in hell with me!?”

Okay… I may be taking the Chuunibyo jokes too far particularly since it’s only based on a single comment by Ito at the end of the flashback. What really happens is that they walk home together because it’s raining and Ito offers to share his umbrella. They have a talk about how the rest of the class is using Ito as an excuse not to do homework and he’s just going along with it because he doesn’t want to be hated by everyone. Tsutsui tells him, “I don’t think you’ll die or anything if people hate you.”

This sage wisdom effects Ito in some profound manner so the next time the class bully is bugging Tsutsui and takes it into his head to destroy private property Ito actually stands up for him and gets beat up for his trouble. He then tells Tsutsui that it was because an issue of Animeid is worth 800 yen and when Tsutsui is shocked and asks how he knows Ito replies with. “You’re not the only Chuunibyo here.” Thus the source of my humor for this section was established.

Ito tells Tsutsui that he decided to give up on a lot of things and that wasn’t honest. He says he’ll make it up to him by hanging out with him from now on. Huh? Am I missing something here? The only person Ito has to make anything up to is himself. Oh whatever just roll with it.

Having remembered all of this in the time it took him to peel and apparently mash the potatoes Tsutsui decides that he doesn’t believe his Chuuni self. If Ito hates him he really will die.

Wow… Way to out-edge yourself there, Tsutsui.

I partially kid. I know what that feeling is like. When you feel like your only friends must hate your guts it can make you feel like you’ve got no reason to keep on going. So really while I mock that attitude I also understand it.

Tsutsui takes potato dumplings to school the next day by way of apology to Ito for failing to see beyond his own emotional needs and the two reconcile. You’d think this would trigger an epiphany in Tsutsui as to why Iroha’s been so angry, but NOPE! He rides a wave of momentum to her classroom and chickens out at the last second only to later look up her address and just show up on her doorstep like a stalker. Which he thankfully lampshades. Iroha noticed him standing forbodingly outside her house and asks what he wants and he offers her peace-offering dumplings as well.

[sighs] Do I have to cover this? It feels like it’s a farce and resolves absolutely nothing. Okay, FINE! You’re right it’s in the charter and this is already super late.

Okay, he says he wants to apologize, but he can’t really do that if he doesn’t know what’s wrong then tries to peace out. She responds with…

Anyway she invites him up to her room. He takes the opportunity to… Lay his head on her bed and smell it? Is that a thing? I just… Don’t get it. Does he not clean his sheets very often? Is that what that’s about? Whatever… Let’s get to the meat of this bit.

He’s apparently super scandalized when he realizes she wears low-necklines and short skirts at home. Dude, just how distrusting of humanity are you? [remembers his chuunibyo jokes from earlier] Right, fair enough. Dude’s sheltered as all hell moving on.

Iroha tells him the reason she was mad is because she felt he didn’t trust her. Like no matter how many times she told him she loved him, he never seemed to believe she meant it. He responds that he can’t help but believe her it’s just the circumstances he can’t believe. They kiss he mentally stammers in disbelief about his situation. They engage in possibly the least intimate looking hug I’ve ever seen…

Then he snaps at the mere thought of being sexually attracted to someone. I’m not kidding. He thinks ‘ I can’t’ seemingly topples to a compromising position and then flips out and runs the hell away apologizing profusely and berates himself for being “dangerous” because he was sexually attracted to this girl who he is romantically attracted to and whom he is FUCKING DATING!

The next day when they meet at the shoe lockers in the morning he runs away AGAIN saying “Don’t come near me for the time being”

After said massive freakouts, Tsutsui somehow thinks it’s a good idea to bring dumplings to Ayado. All I have to say is: “Don’t do this! Please for the love of all that is holy, don’t do this! I see what you’re trying to do. She’s going to have followed him or otherwise be looking on and get the wrong idea. Don’t you DO IT!”

GOD DAMMIT!

Okay… First some positive. I was wrong about my assumptions as to where this would go last week and for that I apologize. It seems they weren’t planning to sacrifice Iroha’s character to the great god known only as “plot”. On to the bad parts though.

Iroha is projecting like hell onto Tsutsui. She talks a big deal about how she doesn’t feel like he trusts her, and then the next day when he makes an admittedly bone-headed move she automatically assumes the worst. Or at least that’s how they seem to be painting it and if there’s one thing I hate it’s over-reactionary romantic syndrome. Fortunately we have the terrible judge of character Ishino to act as our litmus test and go forth on a tirade FOR Iroha. Hopefully when she goes on the warpath Iroha will twig to the line of logic established about Ishino being a terrible judge of character and realize that maybe she ought to ASK what the situation was between Tsutsui and Ayado.

Of course I can’t just let that be all I say on the matter because Iroha isn’t the only one being an idiot here. Tsutsui… Why are you being this way? Why are you terrified of the thought that you could be sexual attracted to this lady whom you are also romantically attracted to? I mean maybe the argument could be made that he’s asexual, but that doesn’t seem to be the case and this is Japan we’re talking about here. (Though admittedly if that does turn out to be the case and they manage to sort through that I’d be super impressed.)

I mean Ito does appear to be a feline other-kin and potentially a cat-whisperer so maybe that’s the direction they’ll go, I’m just not in the habit of hearing hooves in Central Park and assuming Zebra. Unless it’s for comedic effect of course.

[Sighs] Maybe I’m just not empathetic enough. I need to take a break. What do I have to do next for catchup duty.

[whispering off “screen”]

Butlers x Battlers!? I need a drink >: { Until next post, keep talking fiction, friends! I’ll see you soon.