#Playing first chair in the orchestra of my own suffering.

[painted-bees]

finishing my work will fix me.

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

Chaconne (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: You are an aspiring concert violinist who attends an audition for the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra, under the new direction of famous conductor Agatha Harkness

Word Count: 4.2K

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NBNquKkKcF4

A/N: Hello! This is an AU fic heavily inspired by one of my favorite tv shows Mozart In The Jungle. This is going to be at least 3 more chapters, and I already have the second part done so it should be uploaded by the weekend. Also, I added a link to the piece that is heavily mentioned throughout this fic. It’s not necessary to listen to it before reading (or at all haha), I just thought I’d add it in for anyone curious :) Hope y’all enjoy! Please let me know what you think, and my inbox is always open for any questions. Also: I do not own Mozart In The Jungle...Jeff Bezos please do not sue me. 

You rushed through the bustling streets of Manhattan, silently cursing yourself for not getting a cab. Not that it would’ve made much of a difference; rush hour in the city was horrendous no matter what form of transportation you chose. But at least you would have been sitting in an air conditioned car and not running through the crowded streets. You tightened your grip on your violin case as you hurried across the street, destination clear in your mind.

You had been finishing up your final private lesson of the day when you received a call from one of your old college friends. They informed you to drop everything you were doing, not literally because that would include your very expensive and very fragile violin, and hurry down to symphony hall because one of the first violinists in the Manhattan Symphony had sprained her wrist and they were holding open auditions.

A part of you knew the odds of being selected from hundreds of the best violinists in one of the most affluent cities for music was slim to none, but you also knew you had to take this chance. It’s what you had been working so hard towards during undergrad and grad school, and it would be nice to have a more...stable job. The Manhattan Symphony Orchestra was one of the greatest and well respected orchestras in the world, and you would kill to earn a chair.  

You ran faster than you had in months, and made a mental note to add more cardio to your basically nonexistent workout regime because wow, you were out of shape. Rounding the corner, you quickly dodged running into other pedestrians and could see symphony hall a block away. Despite the burning in your lungs begging you to stop running like a mad woman, you picked up the pace and sprinted to the building.

Ever since you started playing the violin you swore to anyone who would listen that you would play in the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra. Your siblings would always ask for concert tickets to see their favorite band, or sporting tickets, but you always begged your parents to take you to the symphony. While your siblings hated it and complained how long and boring it was (and the outrage that they weren’t allowed to bring food inside), you were enraptured by the entire experience.

You fell in love with the sounds of Dvorak, Beethoven, Brahms, and Tchaikovsky. Sitting in the concert hall you waited in anticipation to watch the musicians who had spent their entire lives preparing for that moment; to pour every ounce of their soul into their instruments. Ever since the moment you stepped inside your first concert hall at the young age of five, you knew this is where you wanted to spend the rest of your life.

Shaking those thoughts aside you hurried through the building to where the blind auditions were being held. You silently thanked whatever genius came up with the idea of a blind audition, because you were a mess after running over twelve blocks from your apartment. Following the signs on the walls, you found the warm up room, but was surprised to find everyone packing up.

There were over a dozen people of various ages, and you noticed one of them crying. A woman around your age noticed your disheveled appearance and sighed. “If you’re here for the blind auditions, they were cancelled.”

You felt your heart drop. “What? Did they already find someone?”

“No, because the new conductor is a total psycho,” Someone else said angrily. “She kept yelling about how we’re all wasting her time and she’d rather have her pet rabbit play New World Symphony.” He motioned to the girl who was sobbing. “And she told Megan her tone was so bad that she would personally throw her violin into a wood chipper so no one would have to suffer through her performing again.”

The new conductor he was referring to was one of your favorites. Agatha Harkness. She was beloved throughout the music community and had many fans, but you had heard rumors of her hard work ethic and ability to make people cry in under a minute. You thought back to your undergrad violin lessons where one of your professors told you that your tone while playing Mendelssohn sounded like a dying donkey. Musicians were often times very blunt.

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“A bit?” The guy rolled his eyes. “This job isn’t worth it. I’m going to audition for the second violin chair in Iowa. It might not be as great of an orchestra but at least their conductor isn’t the devil incarnate.”

As the others continued to pack up, you still felt your gut twisting at what could have been. Feeling rejected, you left the room and saw the back entrance to the stage open. From a quick glance around it appeared the hallway was deserted, so you quickly ran through the door, violin case still in hand.

Time came to a stand still as you walked on stage and stared into the seemingly empty concert hall. You dreamt about this moment more times than you cared to admit. There was something so peaceful about being on stage. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and pictured a scene you had spent years dreaming about. Realizing the opportunity to play in this hall wouldn’t likely come again, you made the split decision to open your violin case.

Staring at your violin, you briefly wondered if this was a good idea. But, you silently argued that no one else was around, and besides, you did run half a mile to get here. It would be a waste to not play and appreciate the gorgeous acoustics. Plus you could feel your fingers aching to play something, anything, to let out the feelings of  disappointment from missing the auditions.

Gently pulling out your bow, you applied a generous amount of rosin before grabbing your violin. You took a few minutes to tune, and the moment your bow hit the strings you felt a shiver at how the sound bounced off the walls. You went through a condensed version of your normal warm up and played a few different scales before debating on what piece to play.

Although your friend had briefly explained the audition would be sight reading and then playing excerpts from Dvorak’s New World Symphony, the auditions were over and you wanted to play something else. It wasn’t the flashiest piece, or one of the better known violin concertos, but it felt right. Vitali’s Chaconne arranged by Charlier. You had originally learned the gorgeous piece during your junior year of undergrad for a concerto competition and it had quickly become a favorite.

Clearing your mind of everything but the music, you closed your eyes and began to play. Your bow swept across the string, producing the opening g-minor chord. The melodic sound rang through the empty hall and you felt your heart ache at how good this felt. It had been a while since you had the time to play this piece, but it was like it had been no time at all. Your fingers danced across the strings and you felt all the uneasiness leave your body.

While this wasn’t the most complex piece you had ever played, it required your full attention. The chaconne was structured as a simple sixteen bar phrase that was rephrased and dallied up with different techniques and melodies which made it easy enough to memorize, but hard enough that you needed to focus on the pattern your fingers made.

With every movement of your bow, every run you made up and down the fingerboard, you were letting out the pain and sadness you felt radiating through your body. It was hard to put into words how playing the violin made you feel, but the best explanation you had come up with was that it was your salvation. There was no sweeter medicine than performing. No matter how out of control life was, how bad things got, your solution was turning to music. It saved you.

As you neared the end of the piece, you felt your bow arm gently ache and you knew you had to have complete focus if you were going to hit the upcoming octave slides that led to the double stops of doom. Octaves were never a violinist’s favorite technique, and they were your own personal kryptonite. You had rather tiny hands, which made the stretch from your index to your pinky rather difficult on a good day. You changed the position of your hand to make the reach to hit the upper octave, but briefly winced when you realized you had fallen flat on the lower note.

You ended with a flourish of your bow on the final g-minor chord and let out the breath you had been holding in. You stood there for a moment, soaking in the afterglow of your performance and enjoying the quiet that radiated throughout the spacious room. Just as you went to clean off your violin and leave before you got kicked out, you heard the sound of slow clapping from within the hall. The hall was dimmed and you saw a figure sitting far up in the upper rows. The mystery figure continued clapping and they stood up and walked down the steps towards the stage. There in all her glory stood Agatha Harkness, the newest conductor of the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra.

“Not bad, but your octave slides could use some touching up,” Agatha offered as she stood at the bottom of the stage. “You tend to go flat on the lower notes.”

You felt your breath hitch as you saw the famous, and apparently very scary, conductor staring at you. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was still here.”

“Ah so you aren’t here for the auditions?” Agatha questioned, arching an eyebrow up at you. “What are you doing here then, breaking and entering? I’d hate to have to call security on you.”

“What? No, no I’m not...” You stammered, feeling your cheeks turn red. “I came for the auditions but I was told they were cancelled.”

Agatha laughed, and you noticed how it was more of a cackle. “They were. But believe me dear, I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in my shoes.”

“One of them said you threatened to throw their violin in a wood chipper. Isn’t that a little mean?” You pointed out.

“You did not have to listen to that imbecile butcher the opening of Mendelssohn,” Agatha argued, folding her hands across her chest. “Throwing her violin in a wood chipper would be the least I could do to ensure no one else suffers hearing that disgrace of a sound ever again.”

You stifled a giggle that threatened to escape. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

Agatha waved her hand in the air. “Maybe. But you,” she pointed a finger at you, intrigue colored her features. “You were good. Vitali’s Chaconne is a personal favorite of mine. Everyone always chooses to play Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D Major, or Mendelssohn, or Brahms, or something big and flashy. I’ve always preferred a more subdued piece like Vitali. Violinists don’t take enough time to appreciate the beauty of a chaconne.”

You stared at her in disbelief. Almost no one had even heard of Vitali’s Chaconne, but she did and it was her favorite. “Thank you, Miss Harkness. I-“

“Ah ah ah,” Agatha waved a finger to silence you. “I’m not finished. You were good, but not great. Your octave slides were flat. Your bow hold is giving me a headache, you need to relax more. Your vibrato is too fast, we need to work on slowing it down. Didn’t your teacher ever tell you that? And don’t even get me started on your opening chord.” She eyed the younger woman before continuing. “But despite all that, you have promise.”

You were speechless. She wasn’t yelling at you? “You think I have promise?”

Agatha nodded. “Which is why I’m offering you a job.”

“I got the position?” You smiled. “I can’t believe it.”

Agatha’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not ready to play with the Manhattan Symphony.”

“But you said you were offering me a job,” you repeated the words of the older woman.

“And I am. As my personal assistant,” Agatha explained as if it was the most obvious answer.

“You want me to be your assistant?” You said in disbelief. “Miss Harkness I’m not so sure if I’m qualified-“

Agatha cut you off again. “If you’re serious about being a violinist, especially being a violinist in my orchestra, we need to work on your technique. Natural talent only gets you so far my dear.” She shrugged. “And I may have just fired my newest assistant for being entirely incompetent.”

“I don’t know what to say,” You admitted. This certainly isn’t how you expected your day to go.

“I’m not going to force you to work for me, dear,” Agatha drawled out. “You can walk right out that door and continue on with your presumably simple and boring life.”

“And if I stay?” You prompted, already knowing what you were going to choose.

Agatha slowly walked up the steps of the stage and approached you. “Well then I’ll have my work cut out for me. As will you, darling. I’ll be working you quite hard.” You blushed at her suggestive tone and she smirked at your reaction. “Blushing already? I’ve barely even started.”

You cleared you throat before nodding. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

“Then let’s get started.” Agatha smirked. “This is going to be fun. Now, let’s take it from the top.”

Working for Agatha was interesting. She was very hard to read, and you could never tell if she was mad at you or if she was just in a mood. You had spent the past few weeks helping her prepare for the first symphony rehearsal of the season. Granted you weren’t doing much to help, all she was asking you to do was make copies of parts and to organize folders for each section.

Today was different. You entered the mostly empty building with a drink holder containing two cups of coffee in one hand and your violin case in the other when the sound of Agatha’s heels came click-clacking down the hallway. From the moment she rounded the corner, you could tell she was in a foul mood.

She was mumbling something incoherent but she stopped when she spotted you. “You’re late.”

You chose to not comment on the fact you were an hour early and instead carefully set down your violin case to hand her one of the cups of coffee. “Bad morning?”

“Hayward is an asshole,” Agatha seethed. “I had the entire season planned out but he thinks I’m not appealing to our investors.”

Well that explained it. Tyler Hayward was CFO of the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra and was a Grade-A asshole. You only had a few interactions with the man but they had all been quite unpleasant. He was less than pleased to discover Agatha had fired the assistant he hired and chose to hire you without consulting him. Luckily Agatha had all but kicked him out of her office and told you to come to her if he gave you a hard time.

“How is Dvorak’s Symphony No. 9 not appealing to investors?” You asked in confusion. “Everyone loves The New World Symphony.”

“That’s not the problem. He thinks I’m playing it too safe with the soloists,” Agatha explained and you thought of the soloists selected thus far. You could see how they would be safe options, but who doesn’t love Joshua Bell?

“But it’s too late to get out of those contracts without losing money,” You pointed out. “Does Hayward not know that?”

“Oh believe me, Hayward always gets his way,” Agatha spat out, and you noticed she appeared to be growing angrier. “He’s still mad I was voted in as music director by the board instead of his choice for the position, so he’s punishing me. And now I have to deal with Maximoff.”

You made a mental note to address the first part about Hayward later when Agatha wasn’t as grumpy, but grinned at the mention of the famous pianist. “Maximoff as in the Wanda Maximoff? She’s-“

“A wild card and not the soloist I envisioned having,” Agatha finished for you, glaring at the mere thought of the woman as you both walked towards her office.

“But she’s an amazing pianist,” You argued, remembering the one time you had the opportunity to watch her perform live with the Royal Philharmonic. “The way she plays is beautiful, and magical, and-“

Agatha growled and glared at you, picking up the speed she was walking at. “And she has no control. She doesn’t listen to direction and thinks she’s always right. Her ego is her downfall.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Wow, that sounds absolutely nothing like you.”

Agatha let out a laugh but still sent you another glare. “Don’t push it, darling,” Agatha warned you as she unlocked the door to her office. “I am nothing like Wanda Maximoff.”

You rolled your eyes after she turned around. “Right. So I’ll take the Beethoven parts out to make room for Wanda’s piece?”

Agatha sighed and combed her fingers through her wildly curly hair. “Well I’d rather just tell the little Sokovian princess she’s not allowed anywhere near my orchestra. But since that would be frowned upon, yes put the Beethoven back. Her agent should be emailing us the parts later today.”

You set off to prepare the dreadful task of reorganizing each folder while Agatha studied different scores. She had her baton out and was mindlessly conducting as she went through the fourth movement of the Dvorak. Over the past few weeks you had started to fall in love with watching her conduct. There was something so mesmerizing by the way she could bring different pieces to life with the mere movement of her hands. You watched her right hand lightly grip the baton and noticed the position of her fingers lightly grasping the silver object while her blue eyes scanned the score.

She felt your staring and smirked as she continued conducting. “See something you like, dear?”

Blushing furiously you went back to your task of sorting music, but every once in a while you allowed yourself to take a break to watch Agatha conduct, and although she smirked whenever she noticed, she didn’t make any more comments. Eventually you finished the work and put the folders away while filing the Beethoven in the cabinet.

“Good, you’re done,” Agatha said as she stood up. “Now it’s time for my favorite part of the day.”

You internally groaned and realized what she wanted. “Where you make one of the interns cry and go get lunch?”

“Close, dear. But no.” She motioned to your violin case. “Come.”

This was your least favorite part of the day. Now, you were used to receiving constructive criticism, and even just good old fashioned criticism. Over the years you had less than kind violin teachers, and you shuddered at the memory of Stefan throwing a chair across the room when you only had three pages of Mendelssohn fully memorized two months before your recital preview. He kept yelling in Russian that he would not be the first faculty member to have a student fail a preview. Or the time Jacqueline caused you to have a panic attack right before your sophomore year concerto competition because she didn’t ‘like your stage presence’ and went on some insane rant, and then yelled at you more while you were sobbing. Ah, the fond memories you had of college.

But there was something so intensely nerve wracking about performing in front of Agatha that it made all of those encounters seem like fun and games. You weren’t sure what it was about the woman, but there was just something about her presence that constantly had you on edge. What made it ten times worse was that Agatha seemed to be aware of the effect she had on you, and did whatever she could to make you blush.

You took a few moments to tune your violin and roll your shoulders back while Agatha made herself comfortable in the audience, but you both knew she wouldn’t stay out there for long.

“Now darling,” Agatha called out from her seat. “I want you to remember what we’ve been working on. The first impression you set when your bow hits the string needs to be dominating. I want to feel like you’re pinning me down on the stage. Make me want it.”

You stared at her incredulously and shook your head, trying not to visualize what she just said to you. “Right...pinning...dominating,” You murmured as you straightened your stance and took a deep breath. Setting your bow on the string, you made sure it was positioned at the frog.

“I can see you tensing from all the way out here,” Agatha said in a mocking tone. “Do I need to come up there and help you relax?”

You knew her coming anywhere near you would do the opposite to relax you. “Nope. Just stay where you are!”

“Oh, are you the one giving orders now, my dear?” Agatha teased as she slowly got out of her seat and made her way towards the stage. “I’m just trying to help. You need to relax your shoulders, otherwise you’re going to end up with a hunchback.”

“I like the Hunchback of Notre Dame,” You offered weakly as you watched her stalk her way up the stairs, her heels clicking up each step.

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.” She closed the distance between you and put her hands on your shoulders. “You need to relax.” She examined you closer and arched an eyebrow. “And breathe, my dear. Unless you want to fall in my arms.” You had taken to staring at the floor of the stage until you felt her hand gently cup your chin, forcing you to gaze at her. “Am I that hideous to look at that?”

“Ha, you’re so funny,” You managed to get out before taking a deep breath, and once again tried to relax your shoulders.

Despite your best efforts, you still felt tense, and Agatha noticed it as well. Letting out a gentle huff she moved behind you and began to rub your upper back. “Jeez, have you ever had a massage? It seems like you need one.”

“That’s a bit above my current pay check,” You quipped and blushed when you heard her responding chuckle.

“If you’re asking for a raise, you’re going to have to do better than that,” Agatha replied, her breath tickling your ear and sending delightful shivers down your spine. “You need to let go, darling. This much tension in your shoulders will do too much damage to your posture.”

She hit a particularly hard knot and you couldn’t help but moan at the sensation. You thought you heard Agatha mumble something under her breath but you were so lost in the sensation you didn’t ask her what she said. Agatha continued rubbing your shoulders and you slowly felt yourself relax into her touch.

“That’s it,” Agatha murmured. “Good girl.” Your eyes shot open at the praise and you heard her lightly chuckle. “Relax, dear. I could do this all day.”

Your shoulders eventually loosened up and you couldn’t help but groan when Agatha took a step away from you. “Quit your whining and play that chord,” Agatha demanded as she turned away from you, clapping her hands loudly. “I want to be wowed.”

Taking a deep breath, you fixed your stance before setting your bow back on the string. You were hesitating, and Agatha knew it too.

“Any day now. It’s not like I have anything else to do,” Agatha’s words were sharp but you knew she meant it as encouragement.

You let go of any fears you had of what would come next as you positioned your fingers on the string and rolled your bow to produce the g-minor chord. Your left wrist was loose enough to slow down your vibrato and you went through the first section without any interruptions from Agatha. As you began the next phrase you remembered what Agatha had told you about making it bigger and better than before.

“Always leave them wanting more,” Agatha had instructed her. “Make each phrase slightly different. No one wants to suffer through ten minutes of the same few notes.”

You added more vibrato for this phrase and changed the dynamics so you were growing in sound until you heard her calling for you to stop.

“Stop! Stop, that’s enough,” Agatha yelled as she walked back towards you. “That was...better.”

“Dare I say you sound surprised?” You joked causing her to glare at you.

“Fishing for compliments, are we?” She questioned, but eventually relented. “You’re getting better.”

You grinned wildly at her praise. “That was the nicest thing you’ve said to me so far today.”

“Keeping score?” Agatha mused, a smile threatening to tug at her lips at your enthusiasm. “Like I said, you’re getting better, but there’s a lot of work to do. I want to hear those octave slides and not feel like my ears are bleeding from your intonation. Chop chop.”

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

please please a part 2 of that gamer!geralt au, them doing something like Q&A

Nonie, I hope you know what you signed up for. This got out of hand lmao. like 2.4k of Q&A kind of out of hand. 

Warnings: swearing, talk of drinking to excess, kinda spicy questions, lil kisses, idk how but I meant for this to be goofy and horny and it got kinda soft? what’s new?

____________

“Holy shit,” Geralt sat staring at his phone as he mindlessly stirred pasta.

“I swear to god, if you found a way to burn noodles-” Jaskier turned away from the blender to wave a wooden spoon covered in pesto puree.

Geralt shook his head and held his phone up to him, scrolling through the replies to a tweet as he did, going on for ages as Jaskier’s jaw slowly got closer to the floor.

“What are those for?!”

“I put up a poll for a boyfriend Q&A or a game review and not a single person has voted for the game review.” Geralt was still scrolling through questions people wanted answered as he watched Jaskier’s face go from shock to confusion to a smug grin. 

“They love me,” he sang, kicking his heel up as he turned back to the pasta sauce.

Geralt rolled his eyes and started screenshotting some of the less invasive questions, shaking his head and muttering, “Course they do.”

-

Geralt pressed record, waited a moment, and heaved a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, “You guys literally didn’t even give me a choice on this one,” he reached off frame and scruffed Jaskier, plopping him down on the couch with him. 

Jaskier didn’t stay where he was put for even a moment, using his momentum to bounce up onto Geralt’s lap with a shit-eating grin, “Oh? Are we rolling?”

Geralt dropped his forehead to Jaskier’s shoulder, stifling a laugh, “This is gonna be a long one.”

“Yeah, it is,” Jask agreed, then turned to the camera, stroking Geralt’s hair, “My fans want more!”

“OH-kay,” Geralt manhandled Jaskier to sit next to him which earned him a pout and a leg draped over his lap as he continued his intro, “I’ve got a bunch of questions from twitter. I didn’t even have to confirm which video we would do, you guys just went straight for the kill. I picked a few, Jask picked a few, neither of us knows which ones the other picked.” he turned to see Jaskier wiggle his eyebrows at the camera, “Why am I thinking you picked the raunchy ones?”

The brunet pretended to be offended before he smirked, “Only a few.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he nudged Jask with his shoulder and opened up his phone to his screenshots, “Okay! First up is AdamSandlersBitch, nice name. They asked what Jaskier’s favorite gaming console and game to play is.” he turned to Jaksier with raised eyebrows.

His boyfriend cringed, “My.. my phone? I don’t know? I play a lot of Candy Crush while I listen to podcasts?”

Geralt smiled sweetly, “Wait what about Stardew Valley? I thought you started that?”

“I did!” Jaskier brightened up for a moment before he deflated again, “But I got confused and then the ADHD made me bake cookies.”

“Those were good cookies. I’ll play with you if you want?” Geralt’s normal ‘streamer dude’ persona melted away while he played with the rips on Jaskier’s jeans. 

Jask leaned forward and kissed his temple, “I’d love that.” 

Geralt blushed, even after years, Jaskier’s affection still caught him off guard. 

“Mkay! My turn!” Jaskier flashed his devilish grin and read, in his most obnoxious voice, “Dwn2Clwn said ‘do you two live together? Have you said ‘i love you’? And who tops?’”

Geralt’s mouth twisted into an upside-down U as he stared at Jaskier in muted surprise, “Honestly, not as bad as I expected.”

Jaskier looped his arm around Geralt’s, “I’m starting off easy.”

Geralt let his mock-disapproving gaze linger just a bit before he answered, “The living together is kind of new-like a few months. This one said ‘I love you’ on, what? The fourth date? Fifth?”

“Fourth.”

“No, it was the fifth, Eskel locked himself out on the fourth. Remember?”

“Shit you’re right,” Jaskier gave the camera a stern look, “In my defense, we’d been friends for a good four years before this. I wasn’t just confessing my love to a tinder date - though I have done that before.”

Geralt nodded, “That was very amusing.”

Jaskier tapped his nose, “Don’t avoid the last part, darling.”

Geralt huffed and stared down the camera, and, in the most matter of fact tone possible, said, “We switch. Compromise, folks. Can’t have one person doing all the work all the time.”

Jaskier nodded sagely, patting Geralt's chest, “We got a pow-”

Geralt clamped his hand over Jaskier’s mouth, 100% sure he was going to say ‘power bottom pillow princess’, “Nope. I’ll get demonetized for that.”

“But not who tops?” Jaskier asked through Geralt’s fingers.

He just shrugged, “I don’t make the rules.”

Jaskier tapped his phone and raised his eyebrows, telling him to move to the next question. 

“Mis- Mischanication? Shit I hope I said that right, Mischanication asked, ‘would you ever get a pet together?’ We did! Her name is Roach and she’s a little shit! I told Jaskier not to feed her, but he did, now we have the snuggliest, crankiest cat I’ve ever met!” 

Jaskier had gotten up to pluck Roach from her perch on the windowsill when Geralt had read the question and plopped down with her as Geralt finished his proud speech, “She’s not a little shit! She’s just delicate! Isn’t that right, darling?”

Geralt scratched under her chin and cooed, “You are a nasty little dragon baby, aren't you?! Just a little garbage child! Yes, you are. We love the tiny demon beast.”

“Geralt!”

He snickered and kissed Jaskier’s hair, “Next question, love.”

Jaskier grumbled something about positive reinforcement as Roach scampered back to her cat tree and he unlocked his phone for his next tweet, “This darling wants to remain anonymous,” Geralt gave him some serious side-eye at that, “they said ‘I think I’m in love with the flower twink, where can I find one of my own?’”

Geralt frowned at the camera and pulled Jaskier onto his lap, holding him close and snuggling into his chest, almost growling, “Hands off.”

Jaskier giggled, brushing Geralt’s hair out of his face as he talked to the camera, “You heard the man. Unfortunately, I was not mass-produced and I’ve been spoken for.”

Geralt looked up at him with what could only be called suspicious puppy eyes, “You picked that one just to sit in my lap didn’t you?”

“Yes. And because I want to change my socials to ‘flower twink’.” 

“Do it,” Geralt kept Jaskier on his lap as he swiped to his next question, “Eggsfuckingsuck - heh, my dad hates eggs- Eggsfuckingsuck says, ‘what is the most embarrassing thing you’ve caught each other doing/saying?’ Oh boy, do I have a story for you!”

"Oh I couldn't say the thing but you can tell this story!?" 

"...you have a point... Check my insta stories. I'll put it there after I post this." 

Jaskier nodded, ever so pleased, and turned to the camera, "Our dear Yennefer of sorceryglammour once beat Geralt at trivia night when the theme was 'video games'." 

“We did shots before we went to the bar and she goaded me and Lambert into a chugging competition before the round started. I’m telling you, she planned this. Yen is ruthless.” Geralt desperately tried to justify his defeat but Jaskier was having none of it. 

“She’s mostly harmless, plus I have video evidence from that night. You weren’t that far gone.”

“Pull it up! Let’s settle it.”

Jaskier patted Geralt’s head like one would a toddler, “I’d have to get my old laptop out. Later, darling.”

Geralt had a smug look on his face, “That means he doesn’t have it anymore.”

“Next question!” Jaskier squeaked, not at all changing the subject. 

Geralt shrugged, “If you admit I won that one.”

“It’s not a competition!” Jaskier laughed, looking down at him with that stupidly smitten look on his face.

“Hmmm…” Geralt tilted his chin up defiantly, “if you say so.”

Jaskier kissed him, lingering a little bit more than could be considered chaste, “I do.” 

Geralt looked up at him, batting his eyelashes, “Fine then, next question.”

Jaskier handed him his phone and he read it off leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder, “CountryBumpkin42 asked if we play any instruments. I play the recorder very poorly, but Jask plays everything.”

“Not everything, but yes, I could cover a Trans Siberian Orchestra song if I had a pedalboard with enough loop settings.” Jaskier preened. 

“And more,” Geralt added, counting on his fingers as he spoke, “In this house alone he has two pianos, three different types of guitars, a drumset, a violin and fiddle, a flute and piccilo, an oboe, a mandolin, a lute, bongos, saxophone, clarinet, tambourine, trumpet, and xylophone. Did I get them all?”

Jaskier glanced from side to side with a guilty look, “Ah… no, I bought a bass sax that showed up last night.”

“Oh, did Thursday at 3 decide they wanted to switch after all?”

“Yeah! She got the third chair as a freshman on a loaner instrument! I’m very proud!”

Geralt seemed to remember they were recording and turned back to the camera, “J teaches music at the university and does private lessons.” 

“It’s how I can afford such a pretty trophy boyfriend,” Jaskier teased, ruffling Geralt’s hair and earning a little chuckle.

“Mkay, what do you have next?”

Jaskier smoothed Gearalt’s hair back down as he read the next question, “3R4108F6!J asks if we have any cute nicknames for each other.”

Geralt’s eyebrows nearly flew past his hairline, “J has a new one for me almost every day.”

“Its true,” Jaskier nodded, “I am a slut for cute nicknames. This morning was Ger Bear, one of my faves. I called him Thumbs for a bit, I lovingly call him Dumb Fuck rather often.”

“And he is Dip Shit, it’s balanced. I usually just shorten names? Jask or J is usually it, right?” Geralt asked, shifting so Jaskier was sitting on the couch between his legs and they were both turned out toward the camera but very much still cuddling. 

“And when I’m being childish I get Alfie. But Geralt is much more deliberate and specific with his nicknames. It’s a bit of a friendship level up when he uses nicknames.”

Geralt frowned at him, “I do that?”

Jaskier giggled, “You never noticed?”

He tilted his head, giving Jaskier a quizzical look, “Not at all.”

Jaskier cupped Geralt’s cheek, “You’re so cute.”

Geralt blushed again, leaning into the touch just a tad, “Who’s turn is it?”

“Yours,” Jaskier hummed, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“Okay,” Geralt blushed even more, “I had this one as an alternate, but uh, Yen asked what we’d name our first kid?” 

Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s shoulder and hummed as he thought for a moment, “I always like Blake or Spencer, but I seem to remember you saying something about old world traditional names?”

Geralt nodded, absentmindedly running his fingers up and down Jaskier’s arm, “My grandma was hoping each of us boys would be a girl and wanted mum to name us Cirilla every time. I quite like it, but I’m rather open as long as I don’t know someone with the name. I really like Eric?” 

“Oo, I like Eric.”

“But you like the neutral names.”

“I do, but it’s your hypothetical kiddo too.”

Geralt gave him a little squeeze, “There’s time for that later. What’s your next one?”

Jaskier snorted when he looked at his phone, “What are your guys’ love languages?”

Geralt just looked down at Jask, completely entangled in his arms, then up to the camera, “I’m gonna hazard a guess at physical touch.” 

“Yeah, I think that’s a safe bet,” Jaskier giggled, “I haven’t taken the quiz in years, but I was that and gifts.”

“Oh, yeah. Physical touch and words of affirmation. I got like a 0 on acts of service and gifts, but I really like giving gifts.” 

“Mhm, yes you do,” Jaksier wiggled his eyebrows, then turned to the camera, “I also had no idea you could have different giving and receiving languages till I met this one.”

Geralt nodded then turned to him with a slight frown, “you know I really thought your questions were going to be more graphic.”

“Oh, honey I saved the best for last,” Jaskier winked. 

“Fuck me,” Geralt grumbled before reading off his last question, “Cali852 asked what we did for Pride.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up, “Oh Pride was fun. We watched the parade, of course, then Yen did our makeup and… and where did we go after that?”

Geralt looked like he’d been waiting for this, “We went to a club, where you ordered three kamakazis, knocked them all back, danced for twenty minutes, then I took you home.”

“N-no… we went to the beach, didn’t we?”

“That was the year before. We were going to go to the drag show at our regular bar too, but someone had just finished grading finals and went a little too hard.” 

Jaskier grinned, “Speaking of finals, time for the last question. I had a different one in mind but if the thing I cant say from earlier would get this demonetized then that defintitelyi would. So we’re going with ‘what is the wackest placy y’all banged?’”

Geralt snorted, “Shit who knows anymore?”

“Well there was the boat?”

“Or the train?”

“Nah, too standard. What about the cabin?”

“Heh, no I think your o-”

“I don’t have tenure darling,” It was Jaskier’s turn to slap his hands over Geralt’s mouth, “The answer is a dilapidated structure my parents still try to call a cabin out in the foothills.”

Geralt laughed and pulled his hand away, “Okay, that can be the answer.”

“Is that it? Now we just say bye?” Jaskier looked between Geralt and the camera.

Geralt shrugged, “Yeah. You wanna say the thing?”

Jaskier wiggled with a little pride and excitement, “Don’t forget to like and subscribe! Bye Fuckers!”

They both waved for a couple seconds before Geralt got up and turned the camera off. He popped out the memory card and was going to immediately start loading it onto his computer but Jask hooked his finger through a belt loop as he walked past and tugged him back down. 

“I’m tired. Snuggle with me.” 

Geralt hummed, “We just snuggled that whole time.”

Jaskier heaved a dramatic sigh, “I know and this is exhausting. I don’t know how you talk to a camera all day.”

Geralt stretched to set the chip on top of his laptop before collapsing back on top of Jaskier who had stretched the length of the couch, “Are you making fun of me?” he teased. 

Jaskier cupped his face between his hands and pulled him up for a deep kiss, “Oh never.” 

[tyrustrash]

Going Down in The White House

The White House has always been a place for shit to go down, literally. With everything that has happened, history likes to repeat itself. For example, the live broadcasts the president gives whenever some major world news breaks out, or the signing of a new bill that will probably help the country. Perhaps one of the most infamous moments of White House wouldn’t have crossed people’s minds since it was an embarrassing and a total what-the-fuck moment. A damn blowjob. Come on, no pun intended, it was a complete gag, again, no pun intended, that moment happened. Out of all the places they could’ve gone, it doesn’t make sense why it was done in the Oval Office. Maybe the floor wasn’t hard on the knees, or they just wanted to say they’ve gotten it on in that room. Whatever the case might be, history is bound to repeat itself and that’s what Alex and Henry wanted. They wanted to make some history, huh. Alex stands in the corner of the office as he watches his mother handle some paperwork for an upcoming conference. She is planned to gather with other world leaders to discuss a new treaty that would potentially end all threats and would cause peace. She’ll go down as the best president if the conference is successful. Not even a few months into her reelection and she’s making progress that others have dreamt of doing. She’s proud of her accomplishments so far, but each one brings more and more stress. Alex can barely handle it himself, and he’s not even doing any hard work. All he has to do during this process is be her support system, be her errand boy, and stand to the side next to Henry and look cute for the purpose of demonstrating that nations can be united, although those two are more united than the other countries wanted to be. Speaking of which, their relationship for the past few months has been stronger, and hornier, than ever. The two made sure to be in attendance at every broadcast and public event that has been held, showing that it is possible for countries to be at peace, and to give updates about their relationship because the world wanted to know how the first son of the president and a prince can hold a relationship. Questions included if they plan on getting married, if they want kids, if Alex plans on running for president and hoping Henry becomes king to that they can be the ultimate power couple. They enjoyed answering the lighthearted and simple questions, however, they wanted to completely ignore the damn tabloids that wanted nothing other than to hurt them and make them look bad. There were still skeptics that thought their relationship is just a cover-up for the US and the UK to take over the world, or that they were only pretending to date to someone take advantage of the citizens, which didn’t make sense but somehow idiots believe it. So much negativity can get to them at times, but they keep telling themselves to ignore it because the only thing that matters is their happiness. Right now, their happiness is through the rough, and about to be through their pants if they can’t control themselves. Henry is standing to the left of Alex with his hand rubbing Alex’s back and is making its way down. Although there are plenty of people in the room, including the president herself, it made it even more of a turn on. The couple realized they had a thing for physical flirting in public, as long as it didn’t go too far and didn’t get caught. This moment is definitely one of their riskier times, but it will be so worth it once they leave and get an empty room all to themselves. Henry’s hand slides down Alex’s back and reaches the top of his ass. The sensation sends tiny bursts of tingles throughout Alex’s body. All Alex can do is place his hands over the raging boner that’s growing in his tight silver dress pants. Henry notices and uses his free hand to pull Alex’s hands away, resulting in an angry, yet pleasurable, groan from his boyfriend. Henry takes one of Alex’s hands and holds it. Without waiting any longer, Henry continues his trail and his other hand lands in the middle of Alex’s ass. Giving it a firm pat, Alex can’t help himself to jolt a little from the pleasure. “Damn you, you little tease,” Alex whispers as he attempts to hide his boner again, but Henry doesn’t allow him. “What can I say,” Henry starts saying as he feels his boyfriend’s ass and squeezes it every few seconds. “I know this gets you worked up, which will end up with me fucked up.” Alex lets out a deep huff, knowing Henry’s right. The more Henry restricts him during this, the harder Alex will go when the actual start fucking. Either way, it’s a win-win situation. “I got to do something,” Alex says. “Please, baby, mi amor, let me do something.” Henry grins as he swats Alex’s ass again. He moves his hand to the front of Alex’s pants and gently rubs his boner, causing a staggering moan. “I wanna do something else.” Alex’s eyes widen as he looks around the room. Luckily, no one is watching. “Babe, right now? We can’t. We can’t just leave. What if my mom needs us for something?” “Well,” Henry starts saying as he continues rubbing Alex’s cock. Alex feels as though he might burst. “Perhaps we can wait until this little part is over. Shouldn’t be too much longer.” “I hope you’re right.” He isn’t. Alex continues to be in a state of semi-ecstasy for another hour while waiting for his mother to finish. All the while, Henry continues to be the damn tease that he is and makes Alex suffer some more. He dips his hand into Alex’s pants and kneads his ass like pizza dough, almost making Alex produce some sauce from the friction caused by his pants. While making sure no one is looking, Henry maneuvers his hand to the front and rubs Alex’s dick. He feels the precum start to come out and uses it to help guide his hand. Alex can barely hold himself back from making the loudest moan he has ever made. Unfortunately, he does too loud. One of the secretaries hears his moan and turns her attention to the two. As if he were The Flash, Henry quickly removes his hand and places it behind his back, so that she doesn’t she the residue. Letting out a sigh as the secretary goes back to work, Henry deviously grins. He caresses the back of Alex’s head; he plays with the end of his ear and leans in. “That was so fucking hot.” “We almost got caught!” Alex whisper yells. “I don’t want to know what would’ve happened if we were.” “That’s the thrill of it.” Henry slowly and seductively traces his finger across Alex’s chest. When he reaches his nipple, he gives it a little flick, sending body-aching levels of desire throughout his body. Everything about this moment makes Alex more impatient. The more he waits, the harder it is to control his thoughts of slamming Henry face down on the table and fucking the life out of him until they both make the White House even whiter. After waiting longer than they had hoped, Alex and Henry finally have the Oval Office for themselves. They made up a completely bullshit excuse about wanting to have their own meeting about military funds as a way of them being allowed to stay in. They were shocked that it had worked, but they weren’t going to complain, mainly since their mouths will be full. Henry sits on top of the desk with his legs spread apart. He can barely contain his own boner when Alex stands between his legs and kisses him passionately. Their hands are roaming every area of their bodies. They can hardly breathe due to not wanting to stop the intense make-out session. Henry is the first to pull away from the kiss. He moves his hands from Alex’s shoulders to his crotch. He begins undoing his belt. “Sit down.” “What?” Alex helps with the belt. He takes it off and flings it across the room. He does the same for Henry. “What for?” “History.” Henry stands and guides Alex to the leather chair. Alex plops down and unbuttons his pants, but Henry stops him to do it himself. Henry gets down on his knees and unzips Alex. With just the crotch area of Alex’s boxer briefs showing, Henry goes down and starts working his tongue. He goes faster upon smelling the musk radiating from Alex. Alex, on the other hand, is completely losing it. He can hardly contain himself in the chair. He tries standing, but Henry sits him back down while continuing his thing. Without looking up, Henry manages to bring Alex’s hands to his head, indicating he wants it rough. Alex grips Henry’s hair and pushes him deeper into his crotch. Coming up from panting too hard, Henry takes Alex’s pants and underwear and pulls them down to his ankles. Alex’s eight-incher points straight up at the ceiling as Henry holds it. Alex rubs his hand through Henry’s hair and nods. As soon as Henry goes down, Alex’s head flings back and lets out the deepest groan. He can’t believe the sheer amount of pleasure someone can bring him. This is unlike all their past experiences. This belongs on a different spiritual plane, its own dimension. Henry’s sucking skills have definitely increased. The way he hollows his cheeks allows for the premium quality of suckage that feels like his dick could come off. The way Henry’s hand helps by gripping and tugging at the base adds an extra layer of sensation. Just the sound of Henry’s slight gagging and slobbering is an orchestra. The entire process needs appreciation because not everyone can accomplish this skill. Oh, but the sight is the best part. Alex can never get enough of the sight of the world’s perfect boyfriend as he sucks him off. Although Alex is the one that typically does the blowjobs, he’ll never refuse to receive one. Even though Alex loves the feeling, he loves the look on his boyfriend’s face more. Looking into his eyes while Henry looks up at him brings warmth to his heart. Henry always has that look of seeking approval, even though he knows he’s an expert. But that look makes the prince look even more precious and it makes Alex contemplate how he was dating him. Seeing the spit roll down his chin makes Alex’s mouth water. It makes him want to pull Henry up and lick it away as they kiss. Henry’s blowjobs are the most beautiful site he can imagine. “How does it feel?” Henry asks as he pulls away but continues jerking him off. “Feels like,” Alex starts saying, but hesitates due to his heavy breathing and him trying to not let his hips thrust up uncontrollably. “Feels like I want to fuck you senseless. I want to bend you over and punish you like the damn naughty boy you’ve been.” Henry chuckles as he slowly starts to rise. He keeps his hands on Alex’s thick and sturdy thighs as he continues rubbing them. “Oh, I’ve been a naughty boy, have I? I haven’t noticed.” Alex lets out a huff as he takes a hold of Henry’s waist, pulls him up, and sets him on his lap. His dick rests between the crack of Henry’s khaki covered ass. “The best tease I’ve ever experienced. But now, I get to have some fun.” Henry leans forward until his mouth is next to Alex’s ear. He gives the ear a little nibble and says, “Fucking destroy me.” As if he has superspeed, Alex manages to pick up Henry, slam him face down on the table, and pulls down his khakis and briefs to his ankles. Alex drools at the sight of Henry’s glorious ass, all bubbly and spankable. He raises his hand and brings it down on Henry’s ass, resulting in an echoey wave throughout the room. His ass simply jiggles as a faint red spot appears. “Fuck,” Henry mummers, “Never gets old.” “Well,” Alex starts as he raises his hand again, “Naughty boys deserve a spanking.” Another rough spank makes Henry squeal in pleasure as he begs for more. “Oh, daddy.” That’s music to Alex’s ears. Hearing a damn prince call him daddy is something that he never thought of hearing, but it’s the only thing he wants to hear during sex. “What’s my name?” Alex asks in a seduction yet stern manner, which nearly causes Henry to climax. “Daddy.” Henry begins sweating. “Please, Papi, take me already.” Fuck it. No, fuck Henry. His Spanish, or what bits of it he knows, triggers his animal instincts. He takes off both sets of pants, underwear, and shirts and tosses them to the nearest bookshelf. He uses his legs to spread apart Henry’s. He spits on his hand and uses it to help lube up his dick, which is easier thanks to Henry’s own spit and the precum from the blowjob. Alex aligns his dick with Henry’s hole. He can hear the slight begging from his lover, and it makes his dick throb even more. Slowly pushing it in, Henry lets out a loud, high-pitched, and extremely sexy moan. Alex leans down, making sure to rub all over Henry’s back, and rests his head on his shoulder. “How bad do you want me?” Henry can barely respond. Even though he should be used to Alex’s dick, the feeling never gets old. Just having it in him brings a level of pleasure that he only ever dreamt about. Alex begins pounding him slowly with rough thrusts. Henry’s ass jiggles with each moment Alex pounds the living daylight out of him. He can feel himself getting close. “Harder,” Henry manages to say at an audible level, “Faster. I’m so close that I want it to go all over this room. I want you to fuck me so hard that my come soars all over.” “Your wish is my command.” Without missing a beat, Alex increases his pace and power until the only thing that can be heard is a mix of an ass getting pounded and Henry’s moans. Alex sets himself back to his position of standing tall so he can grip Henry’s hips. Making sure his hands are tight enough, Alex begins bringing him further on his dick. Henry is in heaven. His dreams are coming true, literally. Ever since they officially began their relationship, he wanted to do something in the Oval Office, mostly because he was a huge history fan and wanted to relive that one moment. Now, he’s getting more than what he wanted, and he’s not complaining, mainly because he’s unable to say anything due to being so caught up in the pleasure Alex is giving him. A few short moments later, Henry is feeling pure bliss. Alex starts hitting his prostate, resulting in louder moans and more begging. It’s like the ultimate form of pleasure he can receive. “That’s the spot,” Henry says between his panting. The sweat is covering his face. “I’m almost there, keep going.” Not saying a word, Alex goes faster. Neither one can breathe properly, they can’t control their sweat, they can barely control themselves. Alex rubs his hands over Henry’s back as he leans down and kisses his neck. Seconds later, it’s over. Henry lets out the loudest groan as he comes all over the desk, with some get on the floor, which makes the room look like a shaken snow globe. Alex, on the other hand, decides to stay in and comes in his ass. Feeling the throbbing of Alex’s dick send tingles up Henry’s spin. He can also feel himself feeling up with some, something he’s not used to but wouldn’t mind it happening more often. After lying still for a moment to cool off, Alex slowly pulls out. A strand of come follows, but it breaks off and hangs out of Henry’s ass. Henry stands but has trouble being straight. He hasn’t felt this amount of pain since they used toys for the first time. “Damn, that was fucking fantastic.” Alex sits down in the chair and wipes some sweat off his face. “Yeah, but we gotta clean this up before anyone comes back.” “Don’t worry about it.” Henry goes over and sits in his lap. “We always leave no mess behind. Besides, Maybe I want a round two.” They start making out again and Alex squeezes Henry’s ass before he gives it another little spank. Henry gyrates his hips and Alex begins sucking his neck. They are too caught up that they don’t see the flashing red light on the camera in the corner.

[the-blueish-trashcan]

He’s in Charge; Chapter Three

Pairing: Henry/Bertrum

Warnings: Referenced violence, light injuries, transphobia

A/N: Henry and Joey get into a verbal altercation in which Joey says some... unsavory things and makes some disrespectful threats. Henry doesn’t take it well. I apologize in advance for the way I’ve written the dialogue of one Wally Franks. He’s a delightful young man, but terrible to write and possibly terrible to read, so my bad. 

Chapter word count: 2,264

{First part} {Previous part} {Next part}

Chapter Three; Dreams Come True

Morning came without Henry noticing, considering the lack of windows in the building. The moment he heard activity, and saw more lights coming on, though, he hesitantly stood and went to the break room. A fresh pot of coffee sat on the counter, so he poured himself a mug.

“You’re early.” Came the surprised voice of Sammy Lawrence, who came to stand next to him by the counter.

“Implying that I left.” Henry gave him a sidelong glance. As usual, the music director’s curly blond hair went in all directions. It looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, but the neat button-up and clarity in his bright blue eyes suggested otherwise.

“That deadline’s killing you, too, isn’t it?” Sammy asked as he added two hefty scoops of sugar to his own coffee. 

“It really is, my hands are so stiff.”

“I don’t understand it. You and I are practically the only reasons this studio is still running, and we’re the ones suffering for it. You don’t even have an office anymore, you have a desk shoved in the corner! Budget cuts, my ass…” He grumbled as he took a long drink.

Henry glanced around him as if checking to make sure Joey wasn't there. He didn't see him, of course, but that did nothing to ease his fear of being overheard. “If you ask me, I think Joey just likes feeling like he’s above everyone here. He hardly does anything, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Exactly! This place is named after him, he should at least be trying a little harder.”

Henry nodded in agreement. “I should get going again. I just needed a jumpstart.”

“Me too, it was a mistake even going home last night, but the orchestra can’t play if they’re all half dead from exhaustion.” By then, they’d both made it back into the hallway, ready to go their separate ways. “Good luck, Stein.”

“Thanks. You too.” Henry gave a small wave as Sammy walked off, then went back to his own desk. Everything was just as he’d left it, of course, and he made sure to set his mug out of the way. Pain shot up through his whole hand and up his wrist as he lifted his pen, but that couldn’t stop him. Not that day.

*****

Mid-morning, at least by Henry’s guess, was when Wally came to see him again. His friendly demeanor had changed by then, seeming more nervous. “Hey, uh, Henry?”

The animator didn’t turn around. “What’s up?”

“Joey wants to see you in his office… The downstairs one.”

Henry whipped around, pen still in hand. “Did… he say what he wants?”

Wally shook his head.

“Did he seem upset?”

“I’ve got no idea, but… I’d hurry if I was you.” Wally made his way back down the hall, evidently into a different part of the floor. 

Henry stood once more, putting his pen into his shirt pocket. The way down to Joey’s office was dark, and nerve-wracking alone. That, along with the many ideas of what could be wrong, didn’t help to keep Henry’s heart calm. When he arrived at his boss’s door, which was closed, he knocked three times. On the other side, Joey’s voice drifted through.

“Come in, Henry.” Joey sat in the large chair behind his desk with his hands steepled, elbows resting in front of him.

Henry obeyed, closing the door behind himself and staying next to it. “You wanted to see me?”

“Please, come sit down.” He indicated the wooden chair across from him. When Henry did as he asked, he spoke again. “It’s been brought to my attention that you’re rather… unhappy with the way things are running around here. Is that correct?”

Henry swallowed and shook his head.

“Maybe I need to be a little more specific. You don’t think I’m pulling my weight around here. You think you deserve more than you’ve got. You can’t lie to me, Henry! I know everything that happens here!”

Henry internally scrambled for a response. Would Joey even let him respond? No good could come from this. But… In his moment of panic, his conversation with Bertrum the night before came back to him. Bertrum thought he needed to stand up to Joey, obviously with legal help, this was a totally different situation. Despite the way his chest seized, Henry took a deep breath. “You don’t pull any weight here.”

Joey’s eyebrows went up, surprised. “Oh, wow. Do you have anything to back that up?” Joey tilted his head, smiling dangerously. 

“All I’ve seen come out of this office are deadlines, empty promises, budget cuts, and poorly-planned concept sketches.” Henry bit back. “Not to mention staggering bills for an amusement park we clearly can’t afford.”

Joey leaned forward. “Tell me more about these… empty promises of mine, hm? You wanted to make cartoons on a large scale, I said you could, and here we are. Go on, tell me.”

Henry completely missed the threat, his mind fogged by both sleep deprivation and a sudden rage-fueled fire. “You told me I’d be big. Me, not just my characters which, by the way, you’ve been taking control of. You told me my dreams would come true, but right now? At this moment? Working for you is a nightmare! No one knows my name because you took it out of the credits, you replaced it with your own. You took my office and put my desk in a back corner, no one even knows where to find me! I don’t even have a sign with my name on it, I have a sign that says art department! How is that fair? How is it fair of you to keep threatening my paycheck? Do you really expect me to just keep taking it?!” By the time he stopped, he was on his feet, an action he hadn’t even noticed. His hands were braced on the desk, leaning towards his boss as he yelled. 

Joey only laughed in return, a dark sound. “I do, Henry. Because,” He got to his feet as well, towering over the animator. Before Henry could stop it, a hand was gripping his tie, pulling is face closer to Joey's snarling expression. “You would be nothing if it wasn’t for me. I bought the space, I make sure you have enough to survive. No one would even know your cartoons if I hadn’t given you the space and supplies to make them.” Henry opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off. “Besides, it would be a damn shame if word got out that it wasn’t really a man doing all the work.” Then Joey let go, acting as if the fabric he'd been holding was hot.

At first, Henry wasn’t sure what the other meant, but then it dawned on him. His eyes went wide and he took a half-step back, pushing the chair as well. “I trusted you with that. You wouldn’t. All the things you've done, you wouldn't dare.”

“You really have to be careful who you trust, Henry. One slip up, everything goes away… I know that wouldn’t be ideal, but maybe that will be a reminder for you to remember where you are. You draw, you meet my deadlines, I give you money. Don’t disrupt that, alright? You can go now.” He was waved off. 

Afraid to say anything more, Henry quickly exited, shaking all over. Along with the burn in his eyes from how tired he’d become, there was the burn of tears forming, his chest aching even worse. At first, he aimed to go back to his desk, but he soon found he didn’t have the strength. He pushed into the nearest bathroom he could find, taking to one of the stalls and locking himself in it. He clamped his over his mouth, soft sobs wracked him. He knew Joey’s words shouldn’t have cut as deep as they had, but he couldn’t help it. He blamed it, mostly, on lack of sleep making him more emotional. Even so, he couldn’t believe Joey would betray him like that. He had no way of telling if he would make good on that promise or not, so Henry decided it would be best to play it safe; keep his mouth shut, work hard, keep drawing. It was all he could do, really. 

He had no idea how long he’d been hiding in the bathroom stall with tears running down his face, but he completely froze when someone else walked in. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Until Henry hiccuped, a whine escaping him as well. He silently cursed himself. The other person approached the stall, stopping just outside of it. Under the door, Henry could see dirty dress shoes, which he recognized.

“Is… everything alright…?” Bertrum questioned.

“Fine.” Henry managed shakily.

“Henry? What are you doing down here? Are you really alright?” Bertrum hadn't even realized who it was he was speaking to, it seemed. 

Henry didn't answer for a long time, but instead, opened the door. Just like the previous night, Bertrum wore a white shirt, but this time, half his face and much of his neck were splattered in machine oil. The smell alone was enough to tell Henry it wasn't ink, that explained why Bertrum had come in. His expression shifted towards concern when his eyes fell on Henry, though. He leaned down enough to meet the animator's eyes. “What happened?” He looked like he was reaching for Henry's face, but stopped and put his hand on his shoulder instead.

Henry hugged himself tightly. “I had a meeting with Joey…” 

Bertrum's mustache twitched as he sneered. “What the hell did he say to you?”

“It… really isn't important, I need to get working anyway. Sorry if I bothered you at all.” Henry slipped past the other man, and out the door. He hardly noticed the trip back to his desk until he was in his chair, staring down at the latest set of frames. He'd have to stop crying before he could work on them, though, or else he may ruin the page.

Even after the tears stopped flowing, Henry couldn't get himself to stop shaking. He once again had to blame it on lack of sleep, though he knew better. With a shaking hand, he could only make small movements without messing anything up. At such a critical time, he really couldn't afford it. 

*****

When the studio began to fall quiet for the night again, Henry gave in. He couldn't be in the studio overnight again, not after the day's events. He left everything where it was, shuffling off to the time clock and punching out before anyone saw or could stop him.

Outside, the weather had turned bitter. Wind threw his hair upward, its icy fingers pulling at his clothes as well. He found his car keys in his pocket and hurried to the vehicle, the beginnings of a rainstorm pelting him and leaving wet spots all over him. Despite his rush to be at home and in bed, he took the drive to his apartment slowly, the thought of warm blankets and a decent meal his only motivation.

*****

The next morning, it was pouring rain by the time Henry got to work an hour before he was scheduled. When he made his way to the front door, under the protection of a large umbrella, Joey was already there, keys in hand. He glanced back at Henry and even though the weather kept much light from filtering through, it was easy to see the huge tan band-aid across his nose, along with his blackened eyes. A slightly bloodied tissue stuck out of one of his nostrils.

“Morning, Henry. You have two extra days for the episode.” He spoke flatly as he pulled the door open, stepping inside without waiting for a response.

Henry tilted his head, but didn't attempt to get an explanation . He folded his umbrella, setting it down just inside the door to dry and went to his desk to continue his work. 

*****

Only an hour or so after he'd started drawing again, Wally came by to empty the waste bin next to his desk. At first, it didn't seem like he was going to say anything at all.

“You saw Joey, right?” He asked, a grin splitting his lips.

Henry spared him a look, the janitor’s smile spreading to him. “I saw him when I came in, is his nose broken?”

Wally nodded. “Sure as shit. He looks horrible, it’s great!” 

“Who had the guts to do that to him, any idea?”

“I thought it could a been you at first, thought maybe your meetin’ with ‘im didn' go as planned. Then I heard a rumor it was tha’ Bertie fella, th’ guy buildin’ th’ park downstairs? Neva gotten to talk to ‘im in person, but he’s a big guy. Th’ l’il guy tha’ handles th’ money said he heard ‘im an’ Joey shoutin’ at each otha, then Joey came outta his office with’a bloody nose.”

Henry’s smile fell. “Oh gosh… you think Bertrum would really do something like that?”

Wally shrugged. “Dunno. Looks pretty scary though, I wouldn’t doubt it.” Having long finished his original task, Wally started to move off. “See ya later, Henry. Just thought ya might like t’know what’s goin’ on!”

“Yeah, thanks.” He waved slightly as the man left, turning back to his work. Wally’s explanation kept running through his mind, though. If it had really been Bertrum that hurt Joey, was it because of the state he’d found Henry in the day before?

[chisie12]

Gency Week Day 7: Camellia/My Destiny Is In Your Hands

Day 7: My Destiny Was Always In Your Hands AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071907/chapters/46102117

This chapter is for Obamacare4u and for @glazzrain, for loving this series when I was insecure about it myself. Special thanks and love to a certain hobbit @historicfailure writer for helping me with this <3 It’s also for all the others who had silently loved this. The final chapter!

Closing the book in her hands, there was a moment where she simply stared off into space. Her mind wasn’t whirling with thoughts nor was she terribly troubled by it, rather... she felt at a loss. Was this what he had intended? To blindside her with this book? Filled with his feelings and memories? Staring blankly at the book, she traced the golden calligraphy of the title, feeling the slight friction and raised bumps of the dried ink under her fingernail.  

‘Was he afraid I'd forget him?’ 

‘You already did.’ 

‘I’m remembering him now though?’ 

‘He’s already reduced to a mere memory to you in his mind. It’s never the same.’ 

She gave a rueful grin, bringing the book closer to her chest and held it close. How much pain had he been suffering? Because of her. He never once complained about it, not even when he initially found her coincidentally in the café. It was like he had accepted her and was willing to start anew.  

A drop of water plopped as her head ached with a dull thump. Like a crack in the sky, rain began to pitter-patter on the cold pavement. Looking up with a wince and fingers on her temple, she watched the rain fall from inside the kitchen, staring at the reflection of light dancing in the water curtain.  

‘It was raining when I found him too. Just like it was raining after dinner in the office.’ 

Hugging the book with an arm, she reached out the open backdoor to touch the cold falling droplets, letting it trickle down the slender fingers. They move slowly around her digits, the droplets transparent yet opaque, falling as if beckoned to the ground with the crook of a siren’s finger. With the breeze, her fingers grew cold, but would it be crazy if she said that she felt warm at the touch, as though she felt close to it, a bond that couldn’t be broken. 

‘Because it’s a connection between him and I?’  She bitterly chuckled before retracting it back into the warmth of the kitchen.  

Seeing that the time for her break was almost up, she hurriedly returned to her job, settling the book back into the bag and dumping it under the counter. Yet, drama already started to roll before she even stepped out of the kitchen. 

“Moira? What are you doing here.” Mei’s tone was flat with an edge around it, though the smile remained. It lacked any warmth, having simply been forced there as the shorter woman looked at the newest incomer. 

Brushing the ginger hair out of her mismatched eyes, she grinned lazily at Mei. “It’s been a while, Doctor Zhou, but I wonder if I could still read your colleagues' research into the long-term effects of cryogenic freezing.” 

Mei tried to stay firm against the woman, but she couldn’t deny the tremble in her knees, the tight grip on her pen as she inwardly cried softly: Why is this woman even here! Moira’s smile may have seemed friendly to those oblivious, but Mei knew first-hand of the mad woman’s persistence in science and its discoveries, and her experiments can be lethal. Look at Widowmaker, damn it!  

Moira went up to the counter, the lethal grin still on her sharp face. “Could I place my order?”  

“Yes... Well... S-Sure... maybe?” Mei’s smile twitched as she dug her heel onto the floor, stopping her from taking a step back and ignoring Moira’s knowing smile at the same time. There’s nothing Moira could do to her now, don’t panic, don’t worry, she kept telling herself. With a deep breath, she recollected herself and asked in a friendly manner, “What would you like to order?”  

Before the ginger woman could even get a word in, Angela appeared from the kitchen with a paper bag in hand. “Moira? What are you doing here?” 

Pleasant surprise shone in those pair of mismatched eyes. “You’ve remembered, huh? Took you long enough.” Confusion flitted across both Mei and Angela’s faces. Moira laughed in dark glee at the sight before gesturing for Angela to talk to her in a corner. The two women shared a glance when the café owner ultimately agreed. Looked like she was extending her break time.  

“How’s your head doing?” Moira asked when the pair reached a quiet spot in the corner of the café. Buds of camellias decorated the café this week, dotting the place with various tones of red, pink and white, where even a row blocked them from view of curious onlookers.  

Angela was apprehensive and Moira rolled her eyes at the blonde doctor’s silence. “I’m the one that helped you recover your memories, Doctor Ziegler.” A groan escaped her lips when Angela stared incredulously at her. “It wasn’t hard. Those quack doctors don’t even know what they’re doing. Your body’s been altered with your applied nanobiology, so it has always been functioning different than normal humans.”  

“Oh.”  

“I’ve already stimulated your cells to begin their proper, actual recovery. So, how are you feeling?”  

Angela nodded her head slowly, digesting the new information that she was told. “It’s not hurting as when I first remembered a memory. But I feel like I haven’t remembered everything.”  

Moira drummed her fingers on the table, resting her chin in the propped-up palm thoughtfully. “It seems like quite a slow process. But it should be the majority of your memories because by now only two weeks had passed. Do you feel any different?” 

Angela shook her head. She felt nothing different apart from feeling a lot lighter than she used to be.  

Moira nodded slowly. “Alright. After today, you should probably remember it all.” 

“What do you mean –”  

A clawed hand reached out towards her face, the limb enlarged and glowing orange before her eyes. A chill ran down her spine as fear quickly consumed her. Subconsciously, Angela moved back from the unknown but Moira was quicker. She shot to her feet and leaned forward; the sound of the chair scrapping back echoing exceptionally loud in Angela’s ears. A cold sensation washed over her body, but unlike the odd warmth that she felt before, this was a cold that chilled her bones to their very core. She forced herself to keep breathing, to stop the panic from rising in her chest, and the palm descended upon her head. Fingernails dug into her scalp, sight shrouded in a flickering orange and she felt a force enter her cells. It stimulated the blood in her veins, causing them to pulsate and thump with a life force unlike the norm. A tinge of gold surfaced from the red cells, detaching and floating in the stream of blood as though they belonged before hopping and allowing the current to bring them away. They travelled through every vein, every stream, bringing about a chilly comfort in her body as she felt lighter and lighter, and the dull ache in her head fully disperse, dissolving into the shadows with no traces of its existence.  

But images danced in her mind, filled with voices and emotions, rushing and flashing like a movie on play. She saw a young blonde girl chasing after her father and mother, a loving couple who kissed her and called her their little angel; she saw death and chaos as the world fell into ruins with the war on omnics; found light in saving and healing people with her own two hands, that there was where she belonged. And then there was a shroud of darkness before her sight was filled with still colours and light, and Moira’s smug grin was clear in front of her eyes.  

“That should be all but it should come back to you over time. Maybe in the next month or so.” 

 Angela blinked to steady the blurring of her vision, slumping into her seat, not recognising the farewell Moira gave or the sound of her departure, for she was too focused on the memories playing in her mind.  

 ~*~*~ 

 I thanked the elderly man for the keys and walked into my new apartment. It was slightly on the older age, but still sturdy and comfortable despite the weather on the walls. It was a little out of the city, nearer to the outskirts, with flowering trees lining the pavements. My room was a lot smaller than the dorm room I had in the bureau, but it gave me a sense of control and freedom as I looked at the white walls, the wooden frame of the hard bed, and the similar hard wood furnishings around the place. It was perfect, at least it was for the next month before I leave.  

Dropping my bag on the round table, I tugged the scarf away from my neck as I slowly made my way to the large window. I felt no pain except for the malfunctioning of my cyborg self. I was limping, the left leg heavier than my right and it would creak as it bent at the knee. I pulled it up and straightened it on to the wide ledge by the windowsill, leaving my other leg dangling down as I rested my chin on the crook of my elbow, watching the people go about in their daily lives. They were laughing and smiling leisurely, unlike the lowered heads of those busy bustling in the city. Pink flower petals rustled and drifted down, painting the grey pavements a bright colour. It reminded me of the time when Sakura blossoms would bloom in Hanamura and I’d watch people pass just like this. Simple and carefree. And that’s when I caught sight of my own reflection against the glass, the dark black hair hanging limply against my forehead, locks having grown longer. My eyes traced the scars on my face like they’ve done so many times before, yet I felt at peace. At peace with the scars, at peace with my choices. It wouldn’t be long now.  

All there’s left was dinner. 

I sat there, remembering the memories that she and I shared in the past weeks, a tender smile floating on my lips. Even when there was the pitter and patter of rain against my window, my eyes closed for favour of basking itself in Nature’s orchestra. Soft and rhythmic, battering against the glass, and I descended into darkness at the gentle lull of sleep, one where I was free from the jeering and murmured insults behind my back, one where I felt safe.  

 ~*~*~ 

 But his rest wasn’t long at all, because on the fourth day after settling in, his left leg was acting up; It refused to bend and move according to his wishes, lying straight as a rod, as dead as any metal could be. Heavy pants heaved his chest to rise and fall, fingers tightly gripping the metal thigh as desperation silently screamed in his scarred countenance. Move, just move, damn it! There was a panic in his eyes when the mere feeling of his leg faded, as though the leg became simply what it was before: A dead metal. Fuck, fuck, fuck. No! His fingers clawed into the dead thigh, unwilling to accept the sheer hopelessness of the situation, and in a fit of despair, I started beating at my leg, pounding at it with my fists in hope that it’ll move. Just fucking move! I should have known that my light was frail, that my hope was nothing but a fleeting moment, a wistful thinking. The deep darkness swallowed me whole, diminishing all the happiness and bliss of all that I looked forward to. I cried in anguish while wrapping my hands around the thigh from where flesh met metal, the vision blurring in my eyes as a layer of wetness appeared on the surface.  

Why? Why now! 

Another howl was ripped from my throat and I laid down in defeat on my thigh, my sweaty forehead coming into contact with it.  

Please. Why?  

Couldn’t you have lasted another month? 

Fuuuck!  

Roaring out in unwilling rage, I harshly brought my fist back down onto the thigh, slamming it with every ounce of power that I could muster. The moment my fist pounded onto the limb, there was an instant jerk and a painful shock electrifying my senses that made me wince and cry out in pain. A relieved, wet smile broke out on my face when I felt the tingling sensation running along the limb.  

Oh, God. Fucking hell. Fuck. 

I grunted, willing my leg to move. It twitched, sending sparks of joy off in me. Any movement was better than none, right? I kneaded at my thigh, urging for the blood to flow in the flesh, hoping that it would stimulate it to function. A deep breath in and I tried again, but the more I pushed, the more it felt like I was trying to move a hundred-year old tree trunk. It inched bit by bit towards the edge of the bed, toes wiggling in between – A desperate grasp onto hope if you will.  

A dull thump echoed in the silent room when the foot dropped onto the floor, leaving only the sounds of my heavy breathing. Sweat oozed out from my every pore, jet black hair clinging onto my face, feeling like the battlefield was already half won. Pushing off the bed, I grimaced as my arm creaked under the pressure and got to my feet. The room tilted and swayed, and I quickly steadied my staggering feet. A foot lifted, toes tapping on the floorboards, and I was elated at the sensation of touch. Breathing out the stress bubbling in my stomach, I combed my hair back with a hand, preparing myself for a very long day.  

 ~*~*~ 

 When the night came, I had somehow gotten my leg to manage walking around like a normal human, and not lug around like a headless zombie. Dropping onto the chair, I stared proud yet pained at my leg, and then my hands. How nice would it have been if I was human? Then I could go see a doctor for any pain that I would have and I could cure with just the simplest medicine or physiotherapy, but no. I had to suffer at the hands of my older brother, turned into a machine for the use of others, and when I thought fate had been kind enough with giving me her presence in my life, allowing me to see the light in the dark, it equally ripped it away and now I’m left with a broken body that no one could possibly fix.  

“Haha... That’s just how it is. My life’s not mine to live for.”  

My soul had been battered and bruised, scarred and cut, leaving behind just a graveyard of buried hopes.  

But at least I’ll spend the last of it with her, and then I’ll gladly dissolve away into just being her memories.  

A deep rumble echoed from the depths of my empty stomach as a laughter burst from my chest. Before that, food! As I stood up, proud that I didn’t stumble or fall, I dove for my phone on the bed, only to jump in fright when the device suddenly vibrated and rang.  

‘Some agent I am,’ I chuckled lowly, bringing the phone up to my ear after accepting the call. “Hello? Genji speaking.” 

“Genji, it’s Gabriel.” 

Subconsciously, I straightened my back and levelled my tone as I gave him my greetings. 

“There’s no time for that right now. I know you’re no longer an agent, but I have a request to make. Is there a way for us to meet?”  

I frowned at the severity in his voice. “Alright, I’ll meet you at the office.” 

“No. Not there. It’s not safe here. We need to meet somewhere else.”  

My frown deepened while I sat up properly atop the bed. There was of course another option to meet up at, plenty actually, but for those that were actually safe?  Those were far few and between. Eyes glanced around the quaint little room, teeth gritting in uncertainty. Should I offer up the one place of a sanctuary that I’ve managed to find? One where my frantic heart could calm at, where I wouldn’t be judged endlessly?  

I really wanted to say no, that I’ve changed my mind. Besides, it wouldn’t be unreasonable of me, right? I did, after all, decide to leave behind the battlefield of shattered dreams and dark hopes. But this was Gabriel that we were talking about, the one man that, grumpily and secretly happy (I’m sure), took me in despite the war machine I was created into, gave me a place like home that – Sigh. 

“Genji?” 

“Meet me at my place. I’ll send you the address.” 

I couldn’t regret it even if I wanted to now. 

 ~*~*~ 

 A series of raps sounded on the door and my head whipped up to stare at it unhappily with the noodles in my mouth. Slurping the rest of it down, I stood up while a resigned sigh escaped.  

I came face to face with Gabriel’s haggard appearance upon unlocking the door, which brought forth a wave of confusion as it was a sight rarely seen on the man. He stepped into the room while the scent of food assaulted his nose, waking him just ever so slightly. Tired eyes scanned the minimal possessions that littered the place, before falling upon the unfinished cup of instant noodles by the table. 

Apologetically, he turned towards me when I walked past him and back to my dinner. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Genji.”  

“It’s alright. What happened?” I fought the urge to squirm under his watchful gaze. Had he noticed? Of slowing steps and ragged movements?  

“It’s Jack.”  

I paused mid-action, the slightly warm noodles caressing my open lips that curved into a frown. Jack. It’s Jack again. Exhaling the rising anger with a deep breath, I reluctantly put my food down when the atmosphere grew tense and breathing was a little hard. 

Gabriel took my stare and silence as a sign to continue. “On the day you resigned, Jack took it upon himself to complete a mission that was initially put aside for you.” 

“What kind of mission?” 

“An infiltration mission. Recent intel reports gathered that the real Slade is the real owner behind the Lumiere corporation that owns majority of the high-end hotels.” 

I nodded, indicating that I was following along in understanding the situation. With that much power and money, he could easily build up another underground drug ring, and with that kind of potential customer base, he could easily gain more profits. The only thing I couldn’t fathom was: “Why make the corpse poison then?”  

Gabriel bitterly laughed. “That... is probably related to us. We have reasons to believe that that poison was concocted to be used on us, the “scum of the earth” as Slade put not-so-subtly.”  

“Us? What did we do?”  

“Remember Blackwatch?” Gabriel sighed as he dropped onto the chair. “With the stories of assassination, coercion, kidnapping, torture, and others that went around, he was one of those extremists that believed Overwatch was a façade put up for our real identity: Blackwatch.” 

My lips tugged downwards at the distant memory. Blackwatch had been created and it was present at some point, but it was not exactly those rumours made it out to be. It was, to put it simply, the ones that did the dirty work for Overwatch, as the latter was made to maintain peace and fight against terrorism. It had to show up a ‘good’ front to the public, but there were scuffles that couldn’t be done in a ‘nice guy’ way, if you knew what I mean.  

“So, the mission was to infiltrate the company and take him out, and if possible, to destroy all sources of the corpse poison,” Gabriel finished with a dejected sigh.  

And I could see why it was originally left aside for me until I recovered. No one was stealthier than I was. This was easy for a ninja after all. I looked at Gabriel’s slumped form. Sure, I now understood the bigger picture, but something still nagged at me. Infiltration missions were fairly normal and we got them sometimes while at the bureau, but why the extreme secrecy? There shouldn’t be a reason that we couldn’t have met at the bureau, unless...  

Gabriel watched grimly as the realisation dawned upon my face. I returned it with a wide-eyed stare full of shock. Mouth slightly agape, fingers trembling.  

Unless, there was a mole. 

There must be something or someone that he was trying to avoid, a factor that could potentially jeopardise the entire mission that Jack was on, one that could endanger his life. Which could then explain how every Overwatch member was sent an envelope with the dinner party at Lumiere Hotel because I was pretty damn certain that our information was confidential (the invitation was a dead giveaway that it was a trap anyway).  

Gabriel nodded in agreement, as though he could hear my thoughts just from my changing expression alone. The man probably could. “We’ve already suspected that there was a mole in the bureau from the moment we received the envelope, but didn’t think they’d make another move so fast. Jack’s mission has already been compromised.”  

“What?” 

“We’ve already lost contact with him for,” he glanced at his watched with pursed lips, “by now, 13 hours. He was supposed to check in with us over an hour ago.”  

My expression was scrunched up as logic was playing in my mind. The lack of communication itself shouldn’t indicate a compromised mission, especially not if it’s only been less than 24 hours. The situation might have changed where Jack could not check in with the team, an occurrence that happened fairly often.  

The rustling of clothes caught my attention and I watched curiously as Gabriel slipped a hand into his trench coat, revealing a wrinkled white envelope that was lined with plastic from the sound of crinkles. He pushed it across the table and I took it into my hands, breath turning sharp and expression going grim at the chopped off phalanges. It seemed freshly cut as the blood still looked red and bright, with a little block of white from the bone sticking out at the end, and from the looks of it, it seemed to be Jack’s little finger.  

“This was sent an hour ago.”  

They’ve already got him, was what Gabriel didn’t say. Closing the envelope, I looked up to face him in the eye. “And you want me to go and save him?”  

Gabriel closed his eyes, face tight and lips straight. When I saw the dark gaze hidden beneath the eyelids, the light in them had dimmed. “Please? Could you?” 

“And at the same time, finish the mission,” I finished flatly. Holding my hand out, he dropped the USB flash drive fished out of his pocket, but before he dropped it into my palm, he turned to me seriously. 

“Are you sure that you’ll do this? You need to understand that you’ll be doing this as a hired assassin, rather than someone from within the bureau.” 

“And if I get into trouble, you and the bureau will pretend to not know me at all. My files will be wiped. I understand.” 

“Then why do this? You don’t have to.”  

I could only give him a wry smile. “I don’t. But I want to.” 

Gabriel sighed, feeling the heavy guilt weighing hard on his mind, and finally dropped the USB flash drive into my hand. “Have access to a computer?” 

“My phone should work.”  

The chair scrapped along the floor when Gabriel got to his feet. I followed suit.  

“Thank you, for doing this, Genji.” His voice sounded weary, vulnerable even.  

“It’s not a worry, Gabriel. The least I could do for you.” I’m sure he caught onto the specific words in my sentence but he smiled it off.  

“Good luck.” 

With the door now locked, I went back to my bed, pulling open the drawer by its side as I searched for a certain device. It was a small and black little connector that would connect his phone to the USB flash drive Gabriel left, and it wasn’t until he was about to insert the flash drive that his phone lit up with a new short message.  

Angela: Hey, are you asleep?  

I vaguely sensed the outlines of the phone in my fingers from gripping it tighter and tighter. I wanted to so badly reply that no, I’m not. And hopefully hear her voice, a sweet melodious tune dancing, with lips curved and soul at peace, but no. I couldn’t. It was enchanting, so much so that once I was drawn in, I fear I wouldn’t leave and if I didn’t, then the mission wouldn’t be completed and Jack. Jack would die.  

He’d die.  

Not like he was ever my problem.  

My thumb tapped and held against the glass screen, forcing it to stay lit as I stared at the words. Not daring to unlock it, afraid I’d be shown online for that brief passing in the messaging app, I dropped my tense shoulders and my hands onto the bed. 

Yes, I hadn’t wanted to leave. Staying and visiting her would be my priority for my remaining days here, tasting her food and drinking her coffee, and when the day was right, I’d bring her out for dinner. Not a day too late, but not a day too early either. A dangerous balance to tease, for the former would be risking it against my injuries and already failing limbs, but the latter would make me wish for more, want more, and that was dangerous. Having any desires was a hindrance to my already decided plans; I wouldn’t dare leave when I had to, I wouldn’t want to leave her.  

A heavy feeling had settled in my gut when I chose swipe her message aside and to plug in the USB flash drive, choosing to accept and allow the device permission in my phone, and also choosing to ignore her.  

Because it was one thing to live in blissful ignorance. Being with her would most definitely be the wasabi to my soy sauce and I know I would find joy in her presence, but choosing so would forsake Jack, and in turn, forsake knowing why Jack did what he did.  

I’m not out to seek comfort for his actions, not out to satisfy my humanly urges at wanting to know why. Seeking the truth was seeking liberation.  

It only took a couple of seconds for the phone to load everything that was in the USB flash drive and the icon of one folder appeared, so lonesome yet so frighteningly dreadful. And one tap on that folder sealed away any other wistful thoughts that I so endearingly held in this fleeting four days of freedom.  

 ~*~*~ 

 She blew at the long bangs before her eyes away exasperatedly with a huff. Her blonde locks were getting a little long now, the front bangs already reaching below her chin even with a slight wave. Groaning, she combed her hair with her fingers, bringing all of them up into a high ponytail and tying it tight with the hair tie she held between her lips.  

Fishing out her phone from her pocket, she stared at the time and grunted unhappily. With a small scowl and her phone stuffed back into the pocket, she turned around and left the kitchen to smile at any customers by the counter.  

It’s been four weeks since she last heard from Genji. Not a peep. Not a word.  

Her messages had been sending through at first, measured by the double ticks that appeared, but they’ve never been replied to, and his last seen was also a month ago. At first, it was worry and concern on her part when she didn’t hear a word from him, that something was wrong and something might have happened, but yesterday, on her day off, with her recovering memories, she took it upon herself to visit the one building she hadn’t been to in nearly six months: The Intelligence Bureau.  

The building was still grand, tall and wide in cream coloured walls and a dusty red roof. Tall evergreen trees on either side of the entrance and its steps lined up its perimeter. She remembered the nervousness she felt, staring up at such a place. Cladded in her long coat, standing in the late summer wind, she stood there by the entrance as waves and waves of memories flashed by, though some sweet, mostly were bitter.  

 “Hi, welcome! What can I do for you today?” Angela asked a new customer as they approached the counter.  

“Could I have the caramel slice cake, please? Takeaway.” 

“Sure thing.”  

Angela brought out the caramel slice cake and wished her goodbye, and reminisced.  

 It wasn’t until she saw the first person to exit the building, a familiar face indeed, that she snapped out of her thoughts. Tall and dark skinned, a chiselled jaw even more charming with the short stubble that he was sporting, and hands stuffed in the large pockets of his coat. Equally dark eyes widened in surprise upon catching sight of the blonde café owner. 

“Angela?” 

She managed a small smile at the old acquaintance. “Hi, Gabriel.” 

They had a small talk over lunch, catching up and sorting out any confusion that had bloomed. It was only when she touched upon the topic of Genji that the older man stiffened. 

“Genji... he’s on a mission.” Gabriel managed to utter as he set his drink down.  

With tight brows and a frown, she asked, “Didn’t he retire from the job?”  

And with a resigned sigh, he began to fill her in on the gaps, of how he requested Genji’s assistance, of Jack’s predicament and of the mole in the bureau. He watched her displeasure darken, only to crumble into shock.  

“Do you have the details on the missions?” she had asked. 

Gabriel’s lips had parted before he closed them again and took a gulp of his drink. “You know I can’t hand out the information. It’s confidential. And you’re no longer a member of the bureau.” 

Angela scoffed, averting her eyes from his when she opted to gulp down her annoyance with her tea. “And neither was Genji.” 

Gabriel refused her again, but she was persistent, stubborn once her mind was set to it. Following him back to the bureau, he was helpless against her and they tacitly agreed to ignore the weird looks colleagues and ex-colleagues alike gave. Murmured whispers floated into their ears, like incessant chatter of rats in a corn field.  

And like before, back to a little under six months ago, Angela ignored them all. She never paid any of them a single heed then, and she still wouldn’t now. 

Gabriel’s hand hovered above the doorknob to his office in mid-action of unlocking it just as her voice sounded behind him. “Is Jack’s office open?”  

“No,” his eyebrows were tightly knitted. What had she wanted now?  

“Do you have the keys?” 

Lifting his own set of keys, he turned to look at her with a serious expression. “I do, but why?” No matter what, she was still someone he trusted his life with, a bond forged through the blood, gore and guts of their enemies.  

“Are my things in his room?” It was a mere guess, but she had a gut feeling that the things they moved out from her office would naturally be in his. 

“It... is. Come.” 

And she obediently, wordlessly followed Gabriel to the office a few doors down from his, unlocking it with a resounding click. Stepping into the room, she noted the small layer of dust that covered the place. Neatly stacked papers sat at the side of his table with the desktop computer switched off. A couch and a coffee table in a corner of the room, a bookshelf with some books and files, and there, on the spot behind his table, were boxes arranged nicely. Boxes filled with her things. Her steps were resolute and Gabriel didn’t have the heart to stop her as he watched from the door. Beside those boxes filled with her research and papers, was a fairly large briefcase made of black leather. It was twice the size of the boxes, spanning a little over half a meter long, but she picked it up with ease.  

When he saw her pick it up, he sighed sadly in his heart. There was no turning back now. Angela wouldn’t take no for an answer.  

As she heaved herself up, an odd little object caught her attention from the corner of her eyes. Bending down, she rubbed away at the collected dust using her thumb, exposing the red velvet surface of the box smaller than her palm. She fiddled with it, wiggling her thumb by the crack and forcing it open with a nail, only to abruptly clasp it shut when a heavy memory speared through her mind without warning.  

“Agh!”  

Grimacing at the mere pain, her hand holding the box flew up to her head while Gabriel shot forward to steady her staggering steps. A short memory she recognised, now complete, when the remaining cracks pieced themselves together like a puzzle. She saw flowers – snapdragons – and smelled a fruity smell – orange juice – and somehow, she saw familiar silhouettes.  

A dark haired man and a blond one. 

The last memory. 

When the pain receded, she reassured Gabriel that everything was alright.  

He didn’t voice his concerns but something in her eyes shook his very core. Bright, vivid blue eyes stared dead into his, the spark dim. 

When he entered his office with a heavy heart, he gave her what she wanted: access to the mission details. No hardcopy, no softcopy. Just read it off the computer.  

Because she was going in as a rogue, someone unaffiliated with the bureau. It was a little different from Genji’s situation as he was still technically hired, but Angela? She was going in herself. For herself.  

And he couldn’t stop her no matter what or how he tried.  

 “That’s the last for today. Finally,” Mei cried out as she stretched her back, feeling a few pops along her spine. “Such a long day today.”  

“Yeah, it was,” Angela absentmindedly nodded.  

Mei turned towards her with a frown, dropping her arms to the side and flipped the open sign to close. “What’s wrong? You’ve been out of it today.” 

“It’s... nothing.” Memories were a funny thing, having both good and bad. Without them, she was lost and confused, yet she had to endure silently the humiliation and pain as though nothing was wrong. “When do you leave for your trip to the Arctic?” 

“I was planning to go in a month, so I’m thinking to quit after two weeks.” Mei didn’t comment on Angela’s sudden change in topics, believing that her friend would tell her when she wanted.  

A thoughtful hum from said friend. “I will be gone in the next two weeks. An emergency came up. I was hoping you’d watch over the café for me.”  

A series of impatient knocks cut off Mei’s words as a both ladies turned to the glass door. Scowling behind the glass was Junkrat with two ice creams in his hands, foot tapping on the ground and back slouched. Mei gave Angela an apologetic look and she repeated ‘sorry’ three times as she picked up her bag and rushed towards the door.  

“I’ll take care of the café for the time you’re going! Good night, Angela!” 

“Good -” the café owner smiled helplessly when the Asian woman had already dashed out of the doors, grabbing the strawberry and cream ice cream just as the door swung shut, “...night.” 

When the last of her employees had left for the night and she locked the door behind her, she went home. The summer sunset was warm, but underneath its glow were clouds tinged with dangerous foreboding. People on the sidewalk subconsciously avoided the expressionless blonde, chattering while they walked away. Shadows casted over her face while a deep rumble growled among the clouds. Voices grew louder, higher pitched at the first drop of rain and the women shrieked when the following downpour fell, but not Angela. Soaked to the bone with clothes getting heavier, she padded across the sidewalk silently without complaints, unbothered to remove even her convenient carry-on umbrella.  

Dark coloured patches discoloured the tiled flooring, leading up to her apartment door. The sounds of water sloshing echoed in the empty hallway.  

Click.  

Click. 

And the door shut behind her.  

A blinding white light flashed, lighting up her shadowed features. Like yesterday, the radiance in her eyes had dimmed, but what Gabriel couldn’t catch from the glimpse was the burning desire, one to save the men.  

Men needed to be saved sometimes too, just sometimes by a woman.  

 ~*~*~ 

 Just prior...  

In the dead of the night, a soft caress of the wind mercilessly plucked a few flowers off the trees, bringing them for a dance before selfishly dropping them onto the grassy grounds of the garden and drifting off again. I relished in the cool air upon my face and exposed skin. Stripped from my usual full body suit, I reverted back to something more minimal, but only because the outer shell of my suit had begun crumbling. I flexed my left arm, gripping at nothing but the dancing breeze skating across my bare arm and I couldn’t help the smile that flitted across my lips. My mask was swapped in favour of the old one as well, one that covered my head but retained a gap for my eyes, unlike the green visor that my latest suit had.  

A couple of voices wafted in the air and I immediately slunk back into the shadows of the leafy tree I was lying in, careful to mask any rustling alongside the wind’s path. With thick stems and lush green leaves, it served as the perfect cover for the night.  

I had been staking out the building for over the past three weeks, observing and watching the patterns of those going in and out, and those already inside. Not once in these three weeks that I’ve been here did I see hide nor hair of either Slade or Jack, though I was suspicious (and pretty confident) that the latter might be kept in a place more inconspicuous. The Lumiere Corporation’s headquarters kept a tight security of those that went in and out, requiring a key card and a body scan through the doors. The body scan I’m not too worried about, but the key card...  

The couple walked into the garden, giggling and chuckling. I went on alert when I clearly saw who walked in. Katy Campbell and Shawn Duncan, two of the more senior personnel in the company.  

Katy looked up at the darkening clouds with a frown. “It looks like it’s about to rain.” She let out a surprised shriek when Shawn snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close. 

“But we just only got on our break,” he grinned at her flushing cheeks.  

“Hey! We’re outside,” she chided him when his palm went a lot lower than her waist. “And it’s going to rain soon.” 

“No one can see us. Everyone’s too busy with the Chairman’s meeting. And it won’t rain yet.” Shawn pulled her closer to his chest and dipped his head to capture her lips in his, when a black silhouette crashed into the two of them.  

“What the fuck!” Shawn swore at the shadow as he pushed himself to a stand, pissed at being disturbed just as he was getting to the good part.  

“H-How did that thing get in here?” 

A growl rumbled from the dog’s throat and the couple jumped in fright. They paled at the bare fangs and hurriedly scrambled to their feet. In their distress, they failed to notice the black shadow that had been standing behind them, equally failing to note that the dog’s attention wasn’t on them all along.  

I tucked the key card away in my pocket and snarled at the dog, giving it only a silent apology for mistreating it. The poor canine yelped at the pair of crimson eyes gleaming in the dark and backpedalled in fear, crying inwardly at how victimised it was before running away. 

Dog: I’m innocent! I was thrown here by that man!  

I leapt away from my spot as lights flooded the garden and the couple from earlier returned with security. Grabbing onto the drain pipes, I swiftly scaled up the wall just as Katy cried out: “There was a dog in here!”  

The frantic shrieking and confusion gradually died down as I scaled higher and higher. Under the cover of the stormy clouds, I easily made my way to the rooftop undetected. Mentally, I brought up the blueprint designs of the building once I reached the top and quickly traced the path I had long prepared. With a quick swipe of the key card, I broke open the door leading to the roof and was immediately greeted with the long staircase spiralling down.  

After three long weeks of scouting and a hell lot more waiting, it was finally time to make my move. Even though it was partially thanks to Shawn for the extra information.  

Without batting an eyelid, I grabbed onto the railing and effortlessly swung myself over, allowing myself to begin the freefall down the sixty-storey building. Wind rushed past my face, bringing a stinging chill upon it. My expression remained unfazed at the possible death. The Chairman’s room was on the twentieth floor and with the meeting that they were having, most, if not all, of the board members were conveniently all in the same room.  

55... 

50... 

I counted down the floors as I free-fell, but upon gaining too much speed, I bent my knees and braced myself. Lightly tapping on the railings with my toes, I winced at the slight forceful change in the inertia shocking my nerves, but nevertheless bearable as the impact spread across my limbs and minimised the internal damage it could have done. I flexed my muscles, testing for any irreversible damages, but found none. For now, my body seemed to want to hold up. Once back on my toes, I tipped myself over the edge and fell once more.  

Time was clicking on the clock as I was sure by now that the surveillance team had noticed an anomaly, an intruder, in their midst.  

45... 

40... 

I slowed my descent again. 

When I approached the thirty first floor, the corresponding door was slammed open as a team of men rushed into the already narrow emergency escape stairway. Seeing the firearms in their possession, I pulled out my wakizashi, skilfully deflecting a few bullets back at them and tilted my body so that I landed on the railing.  

Clink! Clink! 

Easily hopping over the bullets, I dashed across the railing and brought my blade down towards the men, scoring first blood. Landing in a crouch, I sidestepped and palmed the knife-wielding arm away from inside, the blade spearing past my face. I brought my other hand up, the wakizashi firmly gripped within and pushed at the arm in the opposite direction. And I twisted.  

“Ahhh!”  

I smirked at the resounding, satisfying crack.  

The man dropped to his knees and cried out in pain at the breaking of his bones, while I ducked simultaneously, causing the punch to fly overhead.  

With muscles tensed, the strength in my calves exploded as I leapt up and spun around, landing a solid turning kick at my attacker and sending him barrelling towards the men behind him.  

And you’d think they’d know not to crowd a small space. 

With the small bubble that I created, I flipped my wakizashi around and darted forward, slicing at every man in the immediate vicinity. Crimson drops sprayed out of their necks like a broken fountain, splattering around the greyed white walls, painting an abstract art on the plain canvas.  

And everything only took roughly four minutes.  

When the last man was disposed, I pulled my arm back and held onto the railing before backflipping, and fell. Unlike before, I jumped off the edges, accelerating down the floors with ease and control now that there were only eleven floors left. On the way down, any enemy that appeared from the doors were met with my blade and shuriken instead, silently dropping dead by the same doors they opened.  

And it didn’t take long for me to reach the meeting room where all the higher ups were gathered. Disregarding the fact that it was too quiet, I charged right through the thick wooden doors with my katana as splinters bounded off my mask. I raised my blade in preparation to strike, yet all I saw was Slade’s smug smirk from the other end of the long room.  

They couldn’t have evacuated in less than ten minutes, could they?  

Irrespective of that, three shurikens flew with a flick of my wrist and I rushed forth with my blade back in its sheath, hand at ready on the hilt. A green halation began to pulse around the sword as I stirred the power lying dormant in my blood. Slade easily dodged the flying projectiles, but I was already near.  

“Ryūjin –” 

“No! Stop!” 

My body reflexively halted at the voice, so sweet and bewitching, yet so confusing. Distracted at the familiar voice, I failed to see the gun that Slade pulled out from behind, failed to catch the signs before I could move. All because I was wondering why, of all places, would I hear her voice here? Why would she be here? Until the grim realisation dawned that she wasn’t. That all I heard was a recording that sounded awfully close to her voice. 

That I should have protected myself against this tactic was a slight mistake on my part. Because why would Angela even be here at all?  

“Argh!” 

My body jerked when the bullet landed at close range, deeply lodging itself into my left shoulder. Growling at the infuriating smirk, I lunged forward with great difficulty while calling upon the dragon once more. The halation of my blade coloured the room with a green shine as it was unsheathed from its abode.  

“Ryūjin no ken wo kurae!” 

I couldn’t think. I didn’t want to think. And I sure as hell didn’t want to know why my blade felt the slightest of resistance as it sliced through Slade.  

I just wanted this done and over with.  

His maniacal cackles echoed in my ears even after my blade tore through his body in half. Wide amused eyes stared blankly up at me and I was further infuriated at the crescent shaped grin that split his face that I stabbed mercilessly at the skull with all the rage I could muster and flicked it aside. How dare he use her like that? How dare he get under my skin with the one reverse scale that I had?  

Steadying my emotions, I exhaled all my irritation. Now’s not the time for this.  

I scanned the room, a nagging feeling gnawing at my senses.  

Slade wouldn’t be here alone unless there was a damn good reason for it. And the missing board members were highly suspicious as well. Running through the blueprints in my head, I stared at the meeting room and roughly estimated its diameter.  

The dimensions did not match up.  

While the power was still channelling itself through my sword, I took a gamble and swung. The walls crumbled like tofu under my strength and instantaneously, I was assaulted with the smell of blood.  

 ~*~*~ 

 You have to understand that damaged women are the most dangerous kind.  

Not for any other reason but of already knowing they can survive.  

 She followed the smell of blood, a scent she couldn’t be more familiar with. Crimson liquid painted the walls and floors in the metallic tang of blood. Dead bodies littered atop each other like piles of thrown out rubbish.  

She continued making her way down.  

Judging from the rigor mortis and paleness of the bodies, they were dead only recently, which to her, meant that Genji had begun his mission not long before she arrived.  

Cladded in armor of blue and white, she hurriedly followed the trail, unperturbed by the sight of gore surrounding her. She came upon a pair of broken large doors. 

 Women are resilient. You may abuse them, break them, destroy them, but the strong ones will survive.  

And when they do, you will wish your mother gave you another pair of legs. 

 Rushing into the meeting room, the place was oddly clean except for the two halves of a man that was left on the carpeted floor, a hole pierced through his skull. Even she shuddered at the sight. Further down was a large gaping hole, a secret room. Cold air blasted at her face when she neared, and bringing with it the scent of warm fresh blood. Underneath the tips of her toes was a vibration she couldn’t pinpoint. Like the early signs of an earthquake.  

In a panic, she rushed headlong into danger.  

 ~*~*~ 

 “Damnit, Jack. Can’t you fucking move!” I snarled at the blond man in my arms, desperation clinging onto him and my words. A fog of mist temporarily hindered my vision as the hot breath chilled in the room. Jack had been beaten black and blue, bruised and battered like a punching bag, but even sandbags looked better than he did at the moment.  

“Urgh...” my ex-commander groaned as he tried to stand, but the broken limbs anchored him down heavier than the Earth’s gravity. “Just leave me. Why did you come and save me?” 

I’ll admit, my heart ached at the depressed tone of his voice. Lifeless. Hopeless. But damn him to hell if I was leaving without him! Bending down, I scooped the man up into my arms, disregarding the warts that were beginning to form on his face and skin, and pushed to a stand. Behind me was a large machine gurgling and violently shaking, the force enough to make even the ground quiver.  

I took a step forward, the ground splashing beneath it. Pools and pools of blood covered the place. The walls were made of metal and bolts, and the temperature was set well below zero degrees.  

I didn’t know why. And I don’t want to know why. 

When I had dashed into the secret room, I found the remaining board members surrounding Jack like coyotes, whipping and slicing at his skin in sheer madness. The gas masks they wore were indicators enough that this room was exactly the source.  

“W-Why are you even saving me... Just leave!” Jack groaned louder as I dragged his body with a limp across the dead bodies.  

My left leg was acting up once more, choosing the best time to malfunction as I couldn’t even bend it now. The bullet still lodged in my shoulder caused great pain when I moved my arm, but I had to hold on. I had to. 

“I can’t just leave you here!” I bit back harshly.  

Shrill screams were erupting from the machine behind us. Fuck, why was the secret room so long!  

“We’re not going to make it...”  

“Shut the fuck up. We’re going to leave here. Alive!” 

“N-No, Genji. Stop.” Jack gripped onto my arm with a hand. A last attempt. A last breath. “You deserve to know why I did what I did.” Jack cut me off with a stern look, one that I still reflexively clammed up patiently. “A little under six months ago, Angela had an accident in her apartment.” I knew that one. “I found her lying there on the floor and had her sent to the hospital. It was then that when she woke up from the short coma that she had forgotten her memories. It was painful, but I was also glad. Because I didn’t want her to suffer.” 

My eyebrows shot up in confusion. 

“You may not know this but she was ostracized while she was in the bureau.” Jack wheezed in a sharp breath as I fought to take another step forward. “Fellow colleagues were stabbing her in the back and dehumanising her.” 

“Why?” I bit out through gritted teeth. 

“Because of you.” I froze in place, pausing in my steps and turning my head slowly to stare at the half-dead man. He managed a bitter smile. “I didn’t want you to know because it’s not your fault. They spoke badly of her behind her back because she saved you, because she created a monster, quote unquote, like you.” He shook his head. “And when the two of you were seen together, it made everything worse. I tried to stop it. I tried to protect the two of you. But things kept getting out of hand. They simply refused to accept someone like you or her.”  

I watched, literally watched, as the life in his eyes dimmed. Blood began to flow from his orifices as warts began to break out faster on his skin.  

“And when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, she wanted to propose to you.”  

“Propose!?” 

That was the only word I could get out when the machine behind us exploded, blasting us through the air and across the room. I vaguely heard a scream, as though someone was calling my name, but I couldn’t tell with the ringing in my ears before Jack and I ate the blood on the ground.  

Everything was still for a while, when Jack’s lifeless voice floated over. 

“Part of me was selfish. When she lost her memory, I wished it stayed that way. Then at least I’ll have a chance of loving her too.” 

No, no, no. Stop talking. I’ll get us out of here.  

I felt his grip on me slacken as I tried to orientate myself right, but my head was still ringing and my back was burning. Probably from the poison. Maybe I shouldn’t have jammed the thing shut and cut off the supply.  

“Just leave, Genji. Go.” 

I got onto shaky feet and fought to stand upright on the quaking ground, one hand stubbornly clinging onto Jack’s sleeve and mustering all the willpower it took to not pass out from pain. “No. We’re leaving t-together.”  

Heavy pants. Screaming muscles.  

I pushed against the ground with my left foot, a little too much as I slipped and fell face first onto the blood puddle. I cried out in pain with a crack of my foot, bent back too much sideways, just like it was back in the hospital.  

No no no – We're not dying here. Noo! 

“And this whole mess? Started with me anyway,” Jack mumbled under his breath as he felt the darkness gradually closing in. The vibration was numb against his fingertips, the blood tasteless. “Slade was someone like you, a cyborg. Only thing was that he was incomplete. He wished he had someone like Angela to save him, but Overwatch turned him down when he asked for our help. He wouldn’t have started this whole crusade… I should have said yes... I should have said y-ye...s… ” 

I pushed up against the floor, gripping onto a motionless Jack with all my might. If only I was better, stronger, then I could get us both out of here. The ground began to shake even harder, the puddles rippling faster and more. Oh, Kami-sama. Please.  

 ~*~*~ 

 There is something about two people who find each other time and time again. No matter what situation they end up in, or how far apart they are – They come back to each other.  

 Genji... 

Genji... 

“Genji!” Angela screamed on top of her lungs when she spotted the man before her. In a swift glide towards him, she cradled his face in her arms, ignoring the blood that soaked the gloves. Dark crimson covered his scarred – beautiful – face, mixed with tears and snot. His eyes were glazed over until realisation rubbed at them.  

Angela. It was Angela Ziegler. Doctor Angela Zielger, fully decked out in her combat medic uniform.  

I lifted a shaky hand to gently caress her cheek, surprise and disbelief shocking my system. If this was a dream, then I never wanted to wake up.  

Oh, how I wish I could tell her how much I love her. That I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye. That I’m sorry I couldn’t spend the rest of my time with her.  

This was the end for me. And Jack.  

Oh, Angela... Please forgive me.  

 “There’s nothing to forgive, you idiot,” she cried out in desperation, but her hands were already moving faster than her words.  

She prayed she was also at least quicker than the explosion. The rumbles were getting stronger and a crack split the ground from where the machine was. The Caduceus Staff lit up with a warm yellow glow as the mechanical wings on her back unfurled. She could feel it rush through her blood, the same familiar power that she wielded all those months ago. At its peak, she felt the holy power surge like a rising tide, spreading out towards her wings and into her palms. 

A phrase, all so familiar yet foreign rolled off her tongue, as the power rushed towards the men in one swift gust. “Helden sterben nicht!” 

 Heroes never die!

 ~*~*~ 

 I suppose, you do remember that I would have married her if not for Jack Morrison, right?  

Without him hiding her away, keeping secrets, then yeah, I was supposed to get married to Angela Ziegler. Although I never knew we were dating, according to her, we already were. All those times we spent together eating dinner, drinking coffee, chatting by the window – Just us two? We had already been dating since the very first dinner I took her out (for constantly saving my life). We didn’t need to put a label on it. So, by technicality, we were already dating for years.  

Now I just feel dumb for wanting to ask her out. (She’d disagree, of course. Saying she found it cute.) 

Which she did, again, by the way. Saving my life. She single-handedly saved Jack and I from disaster, and single-handedly killed anyone that got in her way. The woman’s aim was pretty damn good, probably third to Ana and Jesse if I may say so. I heard from her later that she did find the mole, one of the few doctors that led the party against her. She found him on route to escape. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t be a mole for anyone else. Anymore.

In the end, I did kill Jack, if you think about it. If I was better, stronger, faster, and less entrenched in my preconceived views of him, I could have saved us both. And he would have wanted to live even more if I wasn't the cause of his heartbreak. 

But like she said, sometimes men did need saving, sometimes just by women.  

 “Does this mean you agree?”  

I looked up from the handmade book I gave Angela to quirk an eyebrow at said woman herself. “Agree with what? That men needed saving?” 

“That and if you’ll marry me.”  

I slowly blinked at her. She slowly blinked back. 

“If you’re worried about a ring, I do have one,” and she fished out the red velvet ring box that she had found in the box sitting in Jack’s office.  

My eyes widened in a pleasant surprise. No, no, I was not blushing. It was just a little warm, okay! “Aren’t I supposed to ask you out?”  

Angela innocently shrugged her shoulders as she leaned over the hospital bed. “You didn’t even take me out for dinner. I figured I should make a move first.” 

“But I didn’t know we were dating!” 

“So, that’s a yes.”  

“O-Of course, it’s a yes! Why would it be anything other than a – mmpfh!”  

 And of course, like all happy endings... we have the kiss.  

 Her fingers gently traced my jaws before sneaking around to my neck and pressing her lips against mine a little harder. It was only a momentary pause when I felt the sweetness upon mine, and I wholeheartedly responded when my brain booted up again, meshing my lips tightly against hers, fitting like two puzzle pieces. A bandaged hand curled around the back of her head, feeling the soft locks fall between my fingers as I deepened the kiss, this time taking the lead. Her hair had grown longer, much longer I realised, but it was nice. Still made her carry the charm of a beautiful and elegant mature woman. Her body melted against my touch as she matched my movements. My other hand worked its way to her waist, feeling every curve, every perfect line of her body while hers traced the muscles it could reach. 

We pulled apart when air was much needed, and I grinned proudly at the redness of her lips. I stared into her eyes, full of love and warmth, and couldn’t resist pulling her in again.  

 Remember the two people that somehow, constantly, keep finding each other no matter what?  

I believe that those are the people who have a little thing called ‘fate’ on their side.  

Such an enviable thing, hah, but it’s alright. 

Because dear readers, it’s almost as if the world is telling us: “Stop separating. You’re meant to be together.”  

[shewhowantsmouseears]

The Son Of Scheherazade, 14

Notes: As always, big thanks to my amazing editors Drucilla and BlueShifted!

Originally I planned to have the priest and the enemies of this chapter played by Mickey-world villains, but, after being unable to think of them, decided to have some fun with short-lived hits Wander Over Yonder and The 7D. Hope I got them right, or as right as they would be in the roles they need to play.

This chapter's ridiculous plot was thought of years in advance because I am so easily influenced by gag-romance tropes in manga and I have a silly sense of humor. "Madeline" Mouse is the name of Mickey's cousin in a comic from long ago.

When I was younger I was told my name means Honeybee in Greek, or something. IDK if that's true, but there you have it.

Summary: In order to get the first piece of the map, Mickey and his friends must enter a contest... but not win? Can they survive Daisy's tricks, or will a darker force steal more than just a victory?

It took several days to reach the borders of Rumansy, and their arrival was a great relief to everyone. No matter how hard Mickey and the others begged and pleaded to Daisy for further information about the task before them, she refused to speak of it “too early”, because what fun would that be? On this particular day, full of bright sunshine and hot winds, Mickey was standing in the crow's nest, the area littered with maps and pens. Ever since Daisy had revealed the truth behind his parents' kidnapping, he had devoted all of his free time to studying every inch of every map the ship had. If they couldn't find the fourth piece of the mysterious map they were searching for, they had an entire world to look through but not enough time to do so. Often he stayed up late at night to study, trying to memorize layouts of towns and deciding which maps filled in the holes the others were missing.

During those nights, Minnie would stay in her lamp, hearing nothing but the gentle scratching of pen against paper. It was soothing and frustrating at the same time – she couldn't help him at all. Or rather the only way she could help him, her wishes, he refused to use.. It made her question her place on the ship, since everyone had their own roles. Mickey had done so much for her and for everyone he met, and no doubt he would continue to put the needs of others before his own. The night before they arrived at the city's edge, Minnie heard a quiet “thunk” outside of her lamp, and poofed out to see what it was.

Mickey had been bent over his work table, studying long into the night until exhaustion finally took over, and he passed out. His head lay on the table, snoring loudly and drooling slightly. Pluto, who had been sleeping around his master's chair, jerked his head up at the noise, and whined to see what had happened. Minnie sighed, and began to tug the blanket from his bed. She knew if she tried to move him to the bed, he would wake up and insist on resuming his work. As she draped the blanket over his shoulders, she silently made a vow – she would find a way to help him in Rumansy, no matter what it took or what indignities she suffered. She would be useful in one form or another, to him and to the others. She would help him sleep peacefully again.

Now in the day's light, she had those same thoughts as she stood on deck, gazing up at the crow's nest where Mickey was standing. Minnie would not let him work alone and suffer for her sake. It was her turn to work for his freedom and happiness. Though he was very high up, she could make out his features, and watched him as if he was the most fascinating subject the world had ever created. What kind of life did he have to make him this way? So kind and caring and smart and clever and handsome and -

“If you start singing a mushy song, I am gunna hurl.”

Minnie felt she jumped a foot up in the air when she heard Daisy's mocking voice behind her. “Why can't you ever do anything normally?!” To her growing mortification, the rest of the crew was with Daisy, wall of them now looking in different directions, whistling, pretending they hadn't noticed Minnie's lovesick staring.

Daisy waved the question away. “It's time to start planning for the next part of the quest. But I'm going to need his help, and yours, and Donald's!”

“Me?” Donald asked, confused but happy to participate.

Minnie wanted to be happy about this, but given Daisy's nature, she was wary about what this would entail. Mickey, for his part, noticed the crowd below and began to climb down as fast as he could. “I can see the city!” he called out as he raced downwards. “Daisy, will you finally tell us how to get the first part of the map? Where is it in Rumansy?”

Once Mickey was on solid ground, Daisy flipped her hair and twirled her pipe, ready to go into another storytelling spiel. Her snake rested comfortably on her head, hissing out a hello. “The city of Rumansy began as a small town without anything to really notice about it. As a result, they were poor as dirt and lacked any tourists. But one day, a runaway couple entered the city, begging for help. They were from warring tribes, yet they were desperately in love and refused to part. The town was touched by their passion and allowed them to stay. The story became so famous that the town suddenly became known as a romantic destination for honeymooners!”

“I've got a bad feeling about this,” Horace groaned.

“In honor of this couple, the elders of Rumansy decided they would make their city the most romantic in all the land! And the best way to do it was to hold a contest every year to choose the most romantic couple in all the land! The prizes change each time, and people come from across the globe to prove they are the best couple to have ever...coupled! And one of those prizes is a piece of the map! They have no idea about its real origins. They just figure it's a collector's item.” She then held her pipe like a conductor's baton, getting into the final segments of the plan. “But we have to be precise! That prize only goes to the Runner-Up! Third place is a thousand gold pieces, second place is a paid vacation to the land of your choice, and first place is to star in a romance novel written by famed author Honeybee!”

Goofy raised his hand. “Who?”

“Eh, some hack author. Her editors do all the work, honestly. Bless them.”

Mickey was getting Horace's bad intuition. “Wait a minute...can't we just ask them for the piece of the map? You're not actually saying we have to enter this ridiculous contest?”

“They take this contest very seriously!” Daisy wagged a finger. “They won't hand it over just because you say 'pretty please'. No, the only way to get it is to enter and win! That's why you, Minnie, Donald and I are going to sign up and pretend to be couples.”

“What?” said Donald.

“What?” said Minnie.

“WHAT?!” said Mickey.

“Told you,” Horace added.

Clarabelle pushed her husband aside to get up front. “Now hold on a minute! Doesn't it make much more sense for me and Horace to enter? We're actually married!”

“Noooooooo, you and the others should stay behind in case we need help. Besides, the way you two argue so much, I doubt they'd even know you were a real couple in the first place.” But anyone looking at Daisy's face could see she was lying through her teeth. No doubt the real answer was, “This is much funnier.”

“Well, I guess we do kind of argue a lot,” Horace began to agree.

“Horace! We do NOT argue a lot!” Clarabelle disagreed very loudly.

“Yes we do, woman, why won't you listen to me?!”

“I'M TELLING YOU WE NEVER ARGUE!”

“Daisy!” Mickey barked, interrupting Clarabelle and Horace, already losing his patience. “This is nuts! We're not going to lie to these people and pretend to be something we're not! There has to be another way to get the map!”

Minnie crossed her arms, sticking her nose up. “I concur with my Master, I won't do it.”

Donald nervously tugged at his collar. “I gotta say, if we're pirates, why don't we just steal the thing?”

Daisy evenly looked at her three pawns, seeing all the resistance, and then dramatically exhaled, pressing the back of her head to her forehead and turning away. “I see how it is...Well, if that's how you really feel about it, I guess it can't be helped. What was I thinking? I mean, I can see how dreadfully uncomfortable it would be for you guys to be together...Having to cuddle and coo, whisper sweet nothings, exchange long, passionate, really deep kisses...”

If one person could be played like a fiddle, Daisy played the trio like an orchestra.

“HANG ON,” Mickey interjected loudly and abruptly, his cheeks burning as he thought about the possibility of cuddling Minnie in his arms like a loving husband, “I mean, if it's for the sake of my parents, we should pull out the stops, r-right?”

“I AGREE,” Minnie added on just as loudly, blushing as she thought about the idea of having tender words whispered into Mickey's ear, “That is, if it's what my Master wishes, I have to go along with it, d-don't I?”

“I WANNA DO IT,” Donald finished, determined not to faint this time if Daisy kissed him again and again and again and again. “All for one and one for all! AHAHAHA!”

The rest of the crew stared at Daisy in awe at how easily she wrapped the others around her figure – well, not so much awe as it was fear. Yikes.

“Aw, I'm so glad we're all in agreement!” Daisy chirped, clasping her hands together. “Once we lay anchor, I'll go on ahead and sign us up while you three pack! The contest takes about three days, so make sure to get everything you need! Remember, we have to be good, but not too good.”

“You are a devil woman,” Clarabelle muttered under her breath.

“Gotta go pack!” Mickey repeated, practically skipping with glee at this plan which was to absolutely to save his parents and had nothing to do with the fact that he could hold Minnie's hands and not feel guilty about it. Minnie flounced after him, pleased that she could be of use to the crew and not that she could be in Mickey's arms without any repercussions. Donald, still lost in kissing thoughts, had to be dragged away by Panchito and Jose since he couldn't find the strength in his feet.

Goofy glanced down at Daisy, scratching his noggin under his bandanna. “Daisy...you're not planning something this time, are you? We really do need that piece of the map.”

Daisy put one hand over her heart and raised the other. “I give you my word, I plan for the four of us to pretend to be two couples. Nothing more, nothing less. Why, if we didn't win the map, I'd stop having fun.”

“That is exactly the opposite of reassuring,” Horace rolled his eyes. “We'll stick around town and learn what we can about this contest...but you gotta keep an eye on them! Keep Donald's powers under check, and don't let anyone find out what Minnie really is and who Mickey really is! The less headaches we get, the better!”

Daisy just smiled, working her pipe into her ponytail. “Fiddle-de-dee, such faith you have in me.”

Horace, Clarabelle, and Goofy had no choice but to go along with whatever Daisy was cooking, laying the anchor down so she could climb off and sign the foursome up. Clarabelle insisted with her husband they should still try to enter to watch over the young ones, but of course Horace argued against this, and they continued fighting over it well long after the chosen ones had left. Goofy, at least, tried to be optimistic about the whole thing. On its surface, the plan was relatively simple – given the way Mickey and Minnie felt about each other, “pretending” to be a couple would be amazingly easy. So how could Daisy possibly use that as a trick for her own entertainment?

~*~

An hour later, Mickey, Minnie, and Donald walked into the city of Rumansy with their heads held high and songs in their hearts. Their excitement was diminished a smidgen when they realized how overboard the city went with its theme – the buildings were heart shaped, guitars were being played at every corner, and the streets had carvings of very sappy poetry. Everyone wore shades of reds and pinks, with men carrying bouquets and women spraying perfume from the windows.

“Everyone here needs to seriously take it down a notch,” Donald stated when the trio had to wait to cross a street due to several couples tango-ing at once.

“Daisy wasn't kidding about the romance deal,” Mickey mused, scratching his cheek. Here was an entire city that was just as embarrassing as his parents. “I mean, I don't really know much about it myself...”

“Same here,” Donald admitted. “Shoot, what with the way Uncle...” he winced, still in the habit of calling the cruel old man his relative, “...Flintheart raised me, I never thought any woman would want me. So I never bothered learning how to get a girl. But maybe if we just act natural, we should be okay?”

“Donald is right,” Minnie said, walking closer to Mickey than normal. “We can't think too hard about this, or it'll be obvious we're faking. We should just do... whatever...feels right.” She met Mickey's eyes, and the two held the gaze for a second before shyly breaking away.

“I don't think you two have much to worry about.” Donald held back a snicker. For him, he wasn't sure what his feelings about Daisy were – the woman could be graceful and intelligent one moment, devious and underhanded the next. But he was in this to help his friend – more importantly, he was in this to get another amazing kiss. Homina homina homina.

The trio found Daisy on the steps of a church so massive it could rival many a royal palace. It was covered in white lace, but instead of hideous gargoyles it was adorned with smooching couples and winged cherubs, the stained glass windows depicting previous winners of the contest. On the steps of the church, Daisy was talking to a short man who was covered in orange hair from head to foot – although he did it keep it smooth and trim. He was nodding along to whatever Daisy was saying, occasionally wiping a tear from his eye and adjusting the long green hat on his head. It was an easy guess that this man worked for the contest.

Mickey stopped, feeling his heart racing. He swallowed, and made himself look at Minnie. “B-Before we do this, I... um... well... I don't want to do... anything you're not... you know... comfortable with...” He began to fidget, the pack on his shoulders shifting back and forth – Donald had packed light, with Minnie not packing anything, as her magic kept her clothes springtime fresh, but Mickey wanted to continue his studies, so his pack was bursting with maps. “That is... you can always tell me to stop, or... The map is important, but, you, you're important too, and I want you to, to, to remember what I said about... being unable to tell what's real, and what you're doing because of what you are...”

With each stammer and stutter, Mickey accidentally wormed his way further into Minnie's heart. She smiled without realizing it, playing with the rings on her fingers. “I know, I remember. But, perhaps... I might be more... comfortable... with some things than you might realize...”

“There he is!” Daisy suddenly called out, jarring their attention. “My beloved husband, my one and only! I can't believe we were apart for so long!” Donald's face flushed, and he could feel Mickey lightly nudging his chest with an elbow. Daisy began to run down the stairs, arms out. “My sweetie, my darling, my...”

But instead of jumping into Donald's open arms, she latched onto Mickey. “Myyy Mortimer~!”

Donald froze where he was, arms still out, trying to comprehend what just happened. Minnie's jaw dropped, her body shaking like a thousand rattle-snake tails. Mickey slowly, rigidly, dug his fingers into Daisy's shoulders and pulled her off. “What... Did... You... Do?”

“I signed us up, hubby-wubby-boo~!” Daisy bopped Mickey on the nose, enjoying each dose of horror she got from her so-called friends. “I told Father Wander here all about us! And when he heard our story, he knew we would be surefire winners!”

“Of course I know it!” The orange-colored man felt ready to sob all over again. “To think that a pair of forbidden couples would show up at our door... It's like destiny!” It was a good thing he began to pantomime the story himself, so he could miss the murderous glares being bestowed upon Daisy, and the delighted raspberry she blew back. “You, Mortimer, were arranged to be married but on the day of the wedding, you fell for the bride's sister, Donna! And not only that, but your servants, Madeline and Gladstone, also fell for each other! How amazing is that?”

Donald wasn't sure which he found more offensive – being called a servant or being given such a stupid name. That's when the actual point of the story hit him, and he shakily pointed to Minnie. “So... me and her...?” He liked Minnie, yes, but as a sister! Minnie was equally distraught, but could not summon words, only gaping in dread as Daisy continued to snuggle up to Mickey.

Father Wander clapped. “You guys are all shoe-ins, and as our last entrants, we can finally begin the opening ceremony! Come on in!” He threw open the doors, revealing that within loud operatic music was being played, and headed inside.

Mickey spoke hotly through gritted teeth. “Daisy...Did you plan this from the start?”

“I said we'd be couples, I never said who'd be with who.” Daisy waggled her eyebrows, never losing the appearance of a venomous snake. “Why... is there someone you guys would rather be with?” She looked at them all, grinning.

Minnie made a choked noise in her throat, but that was all the answer Daisy would get. Mickey and Minnie were still way too emotionally compromised to actually admit what they felt, especially in front of the object of their desire, and Donald could feel his mortification rising at the thought of saying out loud, “Yes, I wanted you to kiss me again!” As such, no one said a word. “That's what I thought.” Daisy giggled, walking up the stairs with Mickey. “Cheer up, Mortimer! We're all happily in love!”

Mickey could feel his head throbbing. “And why, out of all names-”

“Oh, relax, the guy's still on the run from all those magical thefts, he's not going in public anytime soon. No way we'll get get any kind of mix-up.” It was difficult to tell if she knew this for a fact, given her All Seeing Eyes, or she was making an excuse for poking a hornet's nest. “Smiles, everyone!”

The only way Mickey could manage something close to a smile was imagining tying Daisy up and leaving her in the city while the crew made a getaway. As a result his smile was more demonic than charming. “I love you so much,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I don't think I've ever loved someone as much as I love you right now.” It was obvious what actual emotion Mickey was emphasizing.

With a sad exhale, Donald offered his hand to Minnie, unable to look at her for the moment due to embarrassment, which she did not find offensive. She weakly held his hand and followed their friends into the chapel, trying to put on struggling happy faces.

The interior of the entrance was filled to the brim with couples of all kinds. Some couldn't keep their hands off of each other, others were bickering loudly, and it occurred to Mickey then that perhaps some others would also be faking their romance. A thousand coins or a paid vacation were tempting prizes, after all. The inside of the church contained more silly statues of smooching and banners full of hearts. Father Wander's servants were prancing about, offering flower necklaces and singing poetry about each of the contestants. Mickey was finding it more difficult to keep on his smile, his anger still throbbing, and now growing into frustration. He had sworn to Minnie that he'd put his affections for her on hold until she was free, and he was going to keep his word. It had been the right thing to do, but also incredibly difficult – he wanted to treat her like a lover should be treated, to give life to the words in his head, to make her happy for every sad say she'd ever experienced. But now being in this place was like a belittling reminder of the lines he swore he wouldn't cross, no matter how much he wanted to.

Yet as he looked around at all the kissy faces and hearing silly pet names – this seemed almost to be more a mockery of romance than an actual celebration. As if these people knew what people in love were supposed to “look like”, but never bothered to try anything else. Mickey's parents were mushy, yes, but they didn't spend every waking moment babbling about each other. Sometimes their love could be felt with a simple smile when their spouse was having a bad day, or asking the chef to prepare their favorite food when one of them was ill.

Mickey's mind began to reel, somewhat cooling his anger without getting rid of it entirely – did he really know anything about love? He was certain about his feelings towards Minnie, but he'd been proven wrong about his instincts before. What a fine time to have doubts! Maybe if he hadn't been so busy daydreaming before he came to the chapel, he could've asked an actual expert on the subject, like Goofy or Horace. But in the end, did any of it matter?

Father Wander began clapping his hands, which stopped his servants so he could be heard. “Welcome, one and all, to the Annual Rumansy Romance Contest! It is such an honor to be here among so many loving people! Now that our last minute contestants have been signed up, we can finally get things rolling!” he then gestured to the foursome at the door, applauding wildly. “Give 'em a hand, everyone! Two pairs of forbidden lovers for the price of one! Aren't they just adorable?”

Daisy squeezed Mickey tightly, giggling like a shy schoolgirl. “Aw, honey, aren't they saying the nicest things about us?”

Mickey awkwardly patted Daisy on the head, trying to keep the real goal in mind. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.” He swallowed, feeling everyone's eyes on him. He could feel his insides trying to physically force down his anger, and ignore his worries, although both were proving to be difficult. Donald and Minnie were wearing a matching pair of nervous smiles, awkwardly waving. “I, uh... well! It's nice to meet all of you, sorta.” There was no reason to bad sport to his fellow contestants. Maybe some of them had been duped as well. “I hope we can all get along, and may the best couple win.”

“AND THAT WILL BE US!”

One of the small, wooden pews was knocked over, allowing the shouting enemies to use it as a makeshift pedestal for their greatness. A pair of humans stood side by side, copying each other's pose of a hand to their face. “There is simply no couple who love each other more than I, Hildy Gloom, and my fantastic husband, Grimwold Gloom, love each other!” She cackled and flipped her short, purple and pink hair around. The long-frilled dress around her neck and legs made her seem taller than she really was, like a violet lizard standing on its haunches.

“So the rest of you would be better off giving up and leaving here and now!” Her husband's laugh was no less devilish, though his contained a few extra honks, given his very large nose. His bright blue hair was nearly blinding, save for the white streak like a lightning bolt. He also dressed a bit more conservatively choosing a simple trench-coat with a pattern of stars in the corner. “We not only deserve first place, but second, third, and runner-up! You might as well save us all some time and hand them over now!”

The various couples uneasily looked at each other, unsure if they wanted to fight against a pair that was so downright rude. Father Wander held up his hands, chuckling nervously. “Now, now, let's not get ahead of ourselves...There's three days to prove who's the best, starting now! We have two assigned chambers, one for the men, and one for the women, so if you could all just-”

“Why should I have to share my room with a bunch of losers?” Hildy marched forward, leaning over Father Wander and making him back up. “I'll have all of these pathetic wanna-bes dropped out before you can say 'boo'! So hand over those prizes! I want them, I want them, I want them!”

Daisy whispered behind her hand, “See, there are people more annoying than I am.” This did not reassure Mickey about anything.

The murmur didn't go unnoticed, as Grimwold stomped his foot down. “You got something to say to us?” He then advanced toward Mickey and Daisy, sneering down at them. “You two think you could be more in love than we are? Get lost! The only ones winning are me and my Hildy-honey!”

Mickey's temper was reaching its limits for the day, fighting off the lid he'd so carefully placed on it minutes ago. “Look, we don't want any trouble. We all deserve a fair shot at winning the prizes, and it's not fair for you to push Father Wander around! We're not going anywhere, and you can't make us!”

“Who says I can't, pipsqueak?” Grim grabbed Mickey by the collar – Mickey felt a strange little pinch. “Do you even know who we are?”

“You literally just told us,” Daisy said under her breath, making no movement to help Mickey. But she didn't have to – a sudden, hard bolt of lightning struck the outside of the chapel, causing everyone to jump. After all, it'd been clear and sunny, so where did the lightning come from? Mickey glanced behind him, and saw Donald give a sheepish smile. He hadn't meant to summon it, but seeing his friend needlessly bullied had set him off. Minnie squeezed his hand in gratitude.

Grateful for the distraction, Father Wander tried to pick things up again. “As I was saying...we have rooms for men and women, so you can unpack and get yourselves psyched for the first part of the contest! Anyone who fails any part of the contest will kindly be asked to leave.” The “kindly” part was up to debate, seeing how his servants were holding up chains behind his back. If Mickey had to guess, the losers would be dragged away in them, which seemed extremely excessive. “We'll continue eliminating couples until we have our winners on day three! On that day, we have a super secret and super amazing way to tell who is the best couple in the whole wide world! Hurray for love!” He applauded, and this time everyone joined in, save for the sneering Glooms.

The frolicking servants began to lead the men and women away into separate, long red hallways. With the intense drama now over, Mickey put a hand to his chest, taking deep breaths. Now he could calm down, and get rid of that vicious temper. In, out, in, out, there was no reason to lose his cool. They would just play the game and try their best. As each pair began to be separated, Mickey shook Donald's hand. “Thanks for the save, pal.”

“You got it, Mickey,” he whispered, happy to have helped. “We're all in this together, all four of us. And don't you worry, Minnie and I have got this covered. We'll help you and each other.”

Minnie bowed her head respectfully. “I'll be in your hands, Donald, so I know I will be all right.”

“But right now, she's in my hands!” Daisy yanked Minnie away by the wrist, happy to ruin the tender moment. “See you boys later! You better prepare the sappiest lines you can imagine! I want to see maple syrup pouring out of your mouths!” With a harpy-like little laugh, she flounced away with a very reluctant Minnie.

“I'm afraid to say it can't get worse.” Mickey shook his head, following Donald to the men's chambers. He wondered what the first stage of the contest was, and how hard it would be to pass it. But until then, he could always study his maps.

The last couple to be separated were the Glooms, who had now taken to a corner and were watching their enemies disperse. Before they parted, Hildy held out her hand to her husband, smirking. “Did you get it, Grimmy-goo?”

“Easy as pie, Hildy-hoo.” He slipped it into her hand – a single black hair taken from Mickey's fur. “If what the Phantom Prince told us is right, this is our ticket to easy street. Work your magic. Literally.”

“Can do, babe.” She slid the hair into her neckline, hiding it underneath her clothes. “I'll need a day to perfect it, but before this contest is over, we'll know if he's the one we've been looking for. Then not only will we win, but we'll obtain ultimate power!”

“You are so pretty when you're evil.”

“You say the nicest things, sweetie!”

They exchanged a happy kiss before leaving their separate ways, determined to win in every sense of the word. No one suspected that this sappy yet bothersome pair was there for far more than coins and prizes. The Phantom Prince hadn't stopped with Pete in his search for suitable pawns. They wouldn't be the last obstacles in Mickey's way, but they were going to show him that there were things he could never hide no matter how hard he tried.

Grimwold stuck his hands in his pockets as he walked on with the rest of the men, his eyes staying on Mickey's back. He hadn't exactly been given all the details of the big plot at hand, but felt he didn't need them. What he had was enough. He was going to get his hands on the Son Of Scheherazade.

Or, as others called him, those who felt his mother was no hero and that his father was a monster... The Child Born Of Blood.

[spideyxchelle]

Peter's a freak because he was in band. You may leave the band but the band doesn't leave you. I don't make the rules (as in band kids being the freak in the sheets/ those kinky 👀)

OHHHHH MY GOOODNEEEESS. so, fam, fun fact. i work for an orchestra. love me some orchestra music. sorry if this is nerdy af. and like longer than I expected. it got out of control. nsfw.

also, the piece I included is loooong af and really weird but is an absolute masterpiece. if you have 30 minutes take a listen. be prepared that its got its moments of off-the-wall craziness but its beautifully balanced with some of the most melodic, gorgeous sections ever put to score. 

Peter Parker lived for band before he got bit by a spider and became a spandex-wearing superhero. lived for it. he spent the better part of middle school playing the violin poorly, learning how to read music and scratching out basic mozart like a dying animal. but in middle school he takes up the horn and its like his whole life shifts. its a bit of a struggle at first, he’s small and his lung capacity is only so much, but he can read music from the violin and the conductor at their middle school really spends individual time with each and every one of his students.

so when it came time to take electives in high school he didn’t even hesitate. he signed up for band. and freshman year is awesome. sure, carrying around his horn case between classes is a little bit like having a gigantic target LITERALLY on his back. but when he enters the music room seventh period to play its all worth it.

they’re not very good, lets be real. but its not about talent for Peter. its about community. feeling like a part of being something bigger.

there is one person who is in band that is actually good. and its Michelle Jones. his freshman year he doesn’t talk to her much because, she’s what the kids call, fucking terrifying. but she plays the oboe like a champ. he can’t take that from her.

and, he’s not gonna lie, her carving reeds with her knife in the middle of the cafeteria is the most badass thing he’s ever seen.

it’s the most lowkey threatening display of power he’s everwitnessed in his fourteen years but then, the story goes as follows: Peter gets bit by aradioactive spider just before Christmas his freshman year, his Uncle Ben getskilled because he refuses to act three weeks later, and by the new year he isthe fighting crime as the prototype-Spider-Man. he stays in band and roboticsbut, then, on the sixth month anniversary of him gaining his powers Tony Starkshows up in his living room and turns his life 5000% upside down. he’s in Berlinon mission like a REAL LIFE AVENGER….and then he’s dropped back in his lifelike it never happened. 

the two months of school are spent wishing for a phonecall that never comes. sophomore year starts and in one foul swoop he’sdropping band and robotics club….and decathlon. and he’s fighting Vulture andgetting his suit privileges revoked and it’s not even halfway through Octoberwhen homecoming happens and he gets his suit back and an Avenger offer fromTony

even though he decides to ultimately protect the little guya little bit longer….Peter doesn’t rejoin band or robotics club. 

he hasn’tpracticed his horn since June. he’s so out of practice that even their crappyorchestra would suffer from his playing. but he misses the familiar weight of his case on his back ashe dodges and weaves in the hallways. 

MJ, who has assumed the captain role in decathlon, alwayshas her parts on her for whatever they are working on in band. and that is howthey connect. over music.

she leaves her parts in the auditorium one day and he findsher the next day and hands her the music. “you left this,” hemumbles. she squints at him but takes her music, “you couldn’t have textedme? I would’ve grabbed it last night so I could practice.” he flushes,“sorry, I just…” the truth? he’d spent the night pouring over thepages and reading along to a recording of the piece. “don’t,” sherolls her eyes, “thanks for getting this to me, Parker.”

and that seems like that’s that. but she sits with him andNed at lunch. the latter seems mortified. but she looks right at Peter,“you put markings in my score.” he gulps, “I listened to Berlindo it. I like some of the tempos and markings better than what’s in that.”“so you just decided to write all over my music?” “yes,” heowns. she gives him a once over and takes a bite of her sandwich,“okay.“ 

that’s how it begins. she starts to purposefully leave hermusic behind at decathlon practice. and he takes it home, every night, and addshis own markings. it’s not like being in band, but it’s pretty damnclose. 

and then, his chem book goes missing. he’s certain he didn’tlose it with the latest backpack but he can’t find it. until the next day atschool it’s in his locker. he opens to the chapter they are reviewing in classand it’s got notes in it. ideas. in MJ’s hand writing.

it’s not the most orthodox friendship, their back and forthnote markings, but it’s how they communicate. and Peter looks forward toreading her thoughts on everything: science, English…especially history. hercommentary is gold. but sticks to her instrumental parts only. and he’s got ahunch that she knows he misses it. she’s freakin’ brilliant. of course shedoes.

but then….his Stark notebook goes missing. the notebookwith all of his webbing formulas and suit designs. it’s like his private diaryon all things Spider-man and she’s got it. no one else would take it. only MJ. he’s not sure what the fuck to do. like, MJ is a friend. butshe’s the weird, we-don’t-really-talk-just-share-notes kind of friend. ifthat’s even a kind. 

and he’s not sure if he trusts her with Spider-man. 

he spends the whole night warring with himself over whetheror not to call MJ, to text her, to put on the suit and go to her apartment. buthe resists.

and so, the next day at school, he takes a deep breath andopens his locker door. his notebook is propped up against the left wall of hislocker and when he opens it there is only one sentence written in MJ’s messyscrawl.

I like Black Panther better.

his face erupts into the most outrageous grin and that isthe first moment his chest tightens at the thought of her.at lunch, MJ joins, as per usual, what is notusual is her offhanded comment, “so I have some thoughts on improvements on thewebbing.” Ned chokes and Peter pales. Ned elbows Peter, “dude, whatthe hell?” “calm down,” MJ sips her tea, “I found hisdiary.” Peter huffs, “it’s my design journal. not a diary.”“It’s a diary,” she shrugs.

Ned puts his apple juice down and looks between them, “what’s going on?” “i want in to whatever superhero dumbness you’re both up to,” she shrugs, offering Ned some of her chips. he grins and steals a few. “i say we let her help,” Ned chomps on chips, “guy in the chair could have a sidekick.” “not anybody’s sidekick,” she drawls. and peter groans. 

but MJ on team Spider-man is kind of awesome. she’s around nearly every day after school and on the weekends. but because she’s around all the time, she stops stealing his books to put notes in and stops leaving her scores out for him to write in. he tries to reason that it shouldn’t sting. she’s around every day now. but it does. because their weird note ritual was just for them. he always felt really close to her doing that.

and….no markings means the last connection he has to band is severed. 

he misses the notes but by the end of sophomore year he has more pressing things on his mind. like he’s growing crush on MJ and Thanos. the second of the two rips him out of school and launches him into FUCKING space. without notice. without warning. 

there is no time. the end of the world doesn’t wait for him to leave a note behind to Aunt May. the Avengers call and Peter jumps. 

that means, for the entire month of May, Peter is one of those missing kids. one that is on the news and has posters. and May is inconsolable, Ned is worried sick and MJ feels wrong. like, she has this sinking feeling in her stomach that something very bad has happened. Tony Stark hasn’t been seen for a month either. but Stark Industry’s insists his on a retreat. 

MJ knows what that means. and she knows whatever retreat Tony is on, Peter is there, too. 

they’re on some freakin’ planet that Peter can’t even pronounce when he thinks he’s going to die. actually, he’s pretty certain. his chest is trapped under Thanos’ foot and his life begins to flash before his eyes. he knows its like a Peter Parker greatest hits reel. and so many of the memories he holds on to as he blacks out are of May, Ben, Ned….and MJ. she’s in more of them than he would have expected. and god. he doesn’t wanna die.

Tony saves him. at a cost. and the war is won. 

when they fly back into Earth’s orbit, Happy silently drives Peter home. neither of them know what to say to each other without Tony as a buffer. and Mr. Stark’s death lives in this car. 

when he knocks on his front door, a little worse for wear, May throws it open and sobs. she yanks him into her arms and squeezes. he clings back, “hiya May.” she slaps him on the top of his head, “don’t you hiya May me, young man. where have you been?” he hiccups, “Tony is dead.”

the two Parkers collapse in the doorway together and hold each other tight. 

he returns to school three days later and everyone looks at Peter like a ghost. he’s been gone for a month. his return is jarring. the teachers all looked thrilled to see him. but he knows he carries around his trauma like a cloud floating above him. everyone can see he’s fucked up. they just don’t know about what.

Ned doesn’t even care. he’s just so happy to see his friend, to have him back. and Ned’s voice makes Peter feel so normal. 

he avoids his locker all day, he doesn’t want his books or his notes or anything. he’ll just sit in class, thanks.

but at the end of the day, he needs to grab his history book to do homework. and when he opens his locker he’s shocked. 

there, pilled nearly to the top of his locker, is music. sheet music. hundreds of pages of it. music he’d never heard before, composers he’s unfamiliar with. and on every piece is a note from MJ. about why that specific piece reminds her of him. its like hundreds of pages of love letters. each one with music to echo her sentiments. 

he leaves his history book behind and drags all of the scores home. he grabs his computer and begins to listen to each one. some are as short as three minutes, others are as long as a half hour. one for every day he was missing. some pieces are sweeping and romantic, others are furious and angry like she was spitfire mad at him for being gone. 

the last score at the bottom makes him confused. it can’t quite decide if its romantic and longing or furious or devastated, it twinges like heartbreak. he turns it over to the back and reads her note: today was the first time I considered you might be dead. and I can’t forgive you for getting yourself killed. I really hope you’re not. come home. 

he suits up. 

he didn’t see MJ at school that day. and he finds he can’t wait until tomorrow. 

he slips into her window and yanks his mask off of his face. he tries to ignore the smell of the smoke from his unwashed suit. it still smells like war. 

but then, he sees her sleeping in the moonlight. MJ, he thinks, he yearns. he’s not how long he’s felt this strong. maybe it was the first time he had heard her play the flute, or that first day he felt his chest tighten, or maybe it had been something innocuous. like a day she wrote him something ridiculous and silly in her notes. he can’t be sure how it started. only that now, in this moment, she was here and he was alive. and that was enough. 

he gets on his knees beside her bed and touches her face, “MJ?” she stretches and mumbles. he smiles, and tries again, “MJ?” he grabs her hand and kisses the back of her hand, “MJ.” 

her eyes flutter open and, damn, how had he spent a month without her eyes? she looks at him like he’s a figment, a ghost. and maybe he is. that’s how he’s felt since he’s come back. until, really, he heard all of the music she had picked for him. it breathed some life into him. 

she sits up, possessed, and asks, “are you here?”

he kisses her hand again, nodding, “got back to school today. you weren’t there.” she stares at him, “couldn’t bring myself to go, 30 days. it was 30 days since you’d disappeared.” “yea,” he swallows, “i know. uh, Tony’s dead.” and he hates how his voice cracks. 

her face softens and she pulls him into the span of his arms. he finds a home there for a long while. until he feels the way that music had made him feel: alive. MJ was like music, he thinks. sometimes sharp and furious and brilliant but always beautiful and full of feeling. 

“i got your scores,” he says. MJ shakes her head, “i don’t want to talk about those fucking scores, Peter.” he flinches, “i’m not ready to talk abut Thanos.” 

she shakes her head, “I don’t want to talk at all.” she kisses him like its the best and worst idea. she can’t quite decide. his heart thuds like timpani, loud and significant. 

their first kiss is not sweet or tender, it is a lot like that last piece. a mix of all things. not one emotion. the breath of human emotion. he can taste in the span of a second all of her anger at him and all of her affection. 

its intoxicating. 

his hand hits the drone on his chest and his suit falls away. it pools on the floor and he joins her on the bed, his body covering hers like a blanket. “you idiot,” she bites his mouth and he hisses, “you don’t get to leave without saying goodbye.” “i was saving the world,” he grabs a handful of her breast over her clothes. she arches up into him, “the world can wait.” 

he tears off her night shirt because he wants access to her milky soft skin. she sleeps without her bra, he’s happy to report. and he can’t help but be the most curious teenage boy about it. his mouth lavishes the nipples and they pebble under his teeth. 

he has done this once before, at band camp, but getting a girl’s top off is the farthest he had ever managed. band camp is a lot of kinky fuckery. but he’d only gone one year. 

so beyond the belt, he’s a little lost. but he’s eager. and angry. he’s so angry. war took something from him. his therapist would later tell him it was his innocence. now it just feels like a raw and angry wound. 

he bites at MJ’s breast and she groans, hooking her leg around his waist. “we should talk about this,” he heaves, his roaming hands cupping at her ass. “or,” she counters, her tone harsh and put-out, “you could shut up and fuck me.” 

a feral, raw groan rips from him, “yea, or that.” 

left only in their underwear, Peter could feel the warmth of her core radiating against his boxers. lacking experience, he begins to rut against her. and if its meant to feel better without clothes between them he’s 100% sure he’s gonna die. like, straight up.

his wide hand cups the back of her head and his thumb tilts her head back so he can ravish her neck. kisses and bites accompany each roll of his hips. her breathing is so heavy and hot against the top of his head. “peter,” she keens and he sucks on a pulse point. something he learned at band camp. 

“i thought about you,” he shares, his voice thick was sex and emotion, “every day I was away. and when I thought I was gonna die…” his fingers slip between her panties and rub at her core. she sobs in pleasure. “….you were there in my thoughts. I might’ve help save the world, but you saved me.” a searching finger presses inside of her and she says his name. he echoes her name back.

she turns her face to hide in her pillow, the sensations building up in her and his finger moves in and out of her. “stop being romantic,” she chides, “i don’t want romantic.” and he knows what she really means is i wanna know you’re here, i’ve missed you, don’t leave. 

so he guides another finger inside of her and sucks at her chest. as he leaves little bruises on her skin, he tells her things. how beautiful she is. how wet she is for him. how he wants to taste her. how she’d like it. 

and she climaxes around his fingers. he feels the flutter of it around his hand and he almost tumbles after her, but he refrains. he makes certain to watch her face as she falls apart and when she catches her breath, he smothers her mouth with a kiss. and only pulls away to suck his fingers clean. his eyes blazing. 

she tugs on his hair and kisses him filthy as she shimmies out of her panties. she tries to edge him out of his boxers but he stops. he doesn’t even recognize his voice. its rough and low. “condom?” she nods, leans over to her bedside table and grabs the foil for him. 

he rips it open with his teeth, shucks his boxers off and slips the condom on. he props each of his hands on either side of her head. and gives her a significant look. she nods and he pushes into her slowly. she’s tight but wet enough from his earlier actions that he is able to bottom out in her without much effort of his part. her mouth falls open and he can tell its a bit of a stretch for her. “you okay?” he asks. she nods, “fine. just…different. more pressure than I’d have thought.” 

his strokes are hollow and small at first. warming her up. getting used to the feel of her warmth stretched around him. but it feels like murder to him. the little death, the french call it, and now he knows why.

and he tries to remain under control to be kind and sweet but one thrust is particularly hard and she arches off the bed and digs her nails into his back. so he tries it again, for science. and the same thing happens. 

he chuckles, low, “holy shit, you’re…” he thrusts and she moans “….into this.” MJ glares up at him with a lot of fury to which he responds with a pointed thrust and her eyes roll back in her head. “yea,” he affirms for himself, “you absolutely do.” his rhythm moves from experimental to paced and hard. “tell me I’m wrong,” he grabs her thigh. she can’t. she can barely speak. just little, soft noises. 

in an inspired moment, he pulls out and she whines. which is adorable, okay? he grabs the thigh he was holding and adjusts her one leg so its resting on his shoulder. spread open wider for him. so when he pushes back in, he goes deeper.

they both breathe together. and there is no time for idle chatter now. they are both chasing a finish line. they want to cross it. together.

this new position is rubbing against her deliciously and she falls over first. he follows moments after. their whole world’s white out. 

when he comes to, peter rolls off of her and MJ groans. the leg that was propped up she slowly lowers to the bed and she begins to hiss at the stretch. “fuck, Peter,” she rolls her eyes. he ducks his head in embarrassment, “sorry.” she thumps him on the arm, “it was good. just…a girl needs to stretch if you’re gonna do that.” “did I hurt you?” he worries. she shakes her head, “no…it was good. really good.” 

the moment after feels vulnerable and soft. he turns her over in his arms and she snuggles into him. which fuck. he could get used to. they lay in silence, basking. and then, peter heavy with sleep begins to tell her everything. Thanos, the war, Tony. all of it. 

they talk until the sun peaks into her bedroom to start the day. and its everything.

they eventually part, they both need to get ready for school, and as peter puts on his costume to exit through the window he has an inspired thought. he ducks his head back in the window, lifts his mask and kisses her. she looks shocked. this stuff is easier in darkness. but he wants more than just moments hidden in the night. he wants her in the light, too. 

without another word he leaves. to let her stew.

when they get to school, both looking exhausted for reasons, MJ rolls her eyes at him put slips her hand into his. 

and then, seventh period rolls around and Peter walks into the band room with his horn case strapped to his back. MJ is carving a reed and stares at him when he enters the room. he grins at her, even winks because he’s feeling bold, and shuffles his way past the winds to the brass.

their conductor smiles at him and welcomes him back to band. no one seems more shook than MJ. she is staring mouth open at him, like WTF PARKER. 

he takes his horn out and not much has changed except that he’s insanely rusty and any range he had is pretty much lost, but the band sucks. so its fine. its more that its fun. and he does have a ball. especially when he hears the oboe solo soar over all of the terrible teen playing. he smiles around his mouthpiece and misses his entrance. but, god, MJ.

after class, she catches up with him in the hall and slips her hand into his. “you gotta practice,” she informs him, “you suck bad.” he laughs and tugs her under his arm which is a bit challenging because she’s a touch taller, “wanna practice with me?” “no way,” she shakes her head, “you’ll distract me.” he grins and she continues, “besides, i only practice with people who don’t slide all over the place, Parker.” “hey, woah, its been a few months, be nice.” “nope,” she shrugs and kisses him quick before heading off to English. 

and band proves to be so much more fun when your girlfriend is at band camp with you. but that’s another story for another time. 

[sweetmaririn]

End of the year 2.5D Butai/Musical Asks!

Alright, I know this is really late since I finally got the chance to do this so let’s get it on to it~ 

Truth; I didn’t expect to be tagged along but I was. I have to say that I’m very happy that I got tagged. 

I was tagged by the lovely @allyyyyy0619

Once again, thank you for tagging me. My way of describing might be an odd way to describe a stage/musical/person and etc because in all honesty I actually don’t know what to say or how to describe it. And please, pardon my bad English!

Now let’s get to the questiosn! 

1. Firstly, how did you manage to find out about 2.5D butai/musical? Which butai/musical was your first and your impression of it?

I’m not sure which was exactly my first but it’s a Musical, it could be either Kuromyu (Musical 2) or Tenimyu. It’s either this two and my impression on both are somewhat the same? As it was something new for me because everyone is acting on stage, with wigs and full makeup on which I first find it quite funny but then I got used to it since it’s also fascinating. Hmm to say when it happened, I think it’s safer for me to say it was all in 2012, I was 14 at that time and only started using the internet fully. But it was a wild, fun ride for me. I like how I started from there to here.

2. Who was your first favourite 2.5D actor/actress? Why?

Hmm it should be Mizuta Kouki because of Tenimyu. I don’t remember how I got attracted to this guy but it was a love at a first sight. I find him very cool, especially when I saw his Kenya! It was awesome.. 

3. Top 3 (or more) favourite butai of the year?

1. Hyper Projection Engeki Haikyuu -Shousha to Haisha-

Since I’m also a fan of Haikyuu itself, I just love it when it comes to Seijoh since they are my favourite school after Karasuno. As this stage is the one when Karasuno lost to Seijoh during Interhigh, I get to see the touching scenes being acted out, putting me in tears. Of all thing is the music, I really like the orchestra theme going on, it gives you the bumps every single time and everything sounds so epic that it is as if there’s a strong wind swiping you along the way.  

2. Stage play Touken Ranbu -Akatsuki no Dokuganryu-

Hmmm what do I say for this one? Maybe because there’s Kasen Kanesada and Ookurikara. Kasen is my starter so I’m happy to see him on stage, besides Wada Takuma-san did an excellent job portraying him. I could stop fangirling over how elegant Kasen is? Besides that, it’s Tsurumaru. I totally love ‘Dark Tsurumaru’ , I was so shocked and that what a huge surprise for me. I’d always wonder how would a “ Dark version of Tsurumaru looked like” never thought it would really happen. Plot wise, everything is well written and well done. As usual Tousute has good music as well. 

3.  Joker Game

Okay this is quite unusual for me because I didn’t even watch the anime or read the manga to know the story but I definitely enjoyed the stage. It was very entertaining, everyone was so cool and despite it’s dark story, I actually really like it. The whole story isn’t my cup of tea but I watched it for Yamamoto Ikkei and didn’t thought it was be amazing.  

4. Top 3 (or more) least favourite butai of the year?

I don’t think I have one that I can list? Even if there’s some that didn’t fully caught my attention. . . . . . or maybe I didn’t watch much enough to actually have a least favourite. 

5. Top 3 (or more) favourite musical of the year?

1. Musical Touken Ranbu -Mihotose no Komoriuta- 

As usual, Touken Ranbu will win over everything. Anyways, for Mihotose’s storyline, I cried. I watched the musical and cried a lot. The acting was tip top, especially when I saw Yokota Ryugi’s real tears coming out, I couldn’t stop crying. Ishikirimaru’s suffering kills me, Nikkari’s observant kills me, Sengo’s uhhh self kills me, Tonbokiri kills me, Monoyoshi’s suffering kills me.. And the most would be because of Ookurikara, in this musical, we were shown the the softer side of him like when he said “that’s why I didn’t want to become friends” and how he actually cares. I love it.

2. Musical Star-Myu

I actually don’t have anything much to say about this musical since I can’t call myself much of a fan but I do like it and got hooked with the songs, and since I like Otori. (blame Suwabe Junichi for all of this) And since Kiyama Haruki did a good job as Otori.. 

6. Top 3 (or more) least favourite musical of the year?

I really do think I haven’t watch much so nothing to be listed.

7. Top 3 (or more) favourite actors/actress of the year?

1. Arisawa Shoutarou 

2. Mikata Ryosuke 

3. Ota Motohiro / Someya Toshiyuki

8. Top 3 (or more) rookie actors/rising actors whom you’ve high hopes for in the future?

1. Arisawa Shoutarou 

As we all can see, Shoutarou’s popularity is rising day by day now, from just an ensemble to an actual main character, that itself is a huge achievement and it doesn’t even take him that long to achieve that. I couldn’t be more proud of him, all I know is that he deserves all the love. And since Shoutarou is quite new, I want everyone to see Shoutarou’s true talent and he’ll prove the world that he is more than just “a rookie actor”. Shoutarou still has more years ahead but I know he’ll improve in no time, he already proved that to us from K Stage to now. And as I predicted, he’ll be in the new Toumyu next spring! I’m totally looking forward to that.

2. Kohatsu Allen

Allen has been around for a while now just like Shoutarou, and slowly I can see that he’s getting more better jobs now. But I still want to see even more for him. I was so happy when it was announced that he’ll be playing as “Shu” in Diabolik Lovers stage. Allen will totally be able to catch everyone’s attention once they see how he is on stage.

3. Shiraishi Judai 

I don’t know if Judai is considered popular or not but I know everyone really likes his Mattsun. I can’t say much since I haven’t seen other than his acting in Engeki Haikyuu or which stage was it with the one him being the villain(?) He was so cool in that stage, so I can say that he’s a great actor. Sooner or later, he’ll get something bigger that everyone can agree with me. I really do have my high hopes for him.

9. Top 3 (or more) favourite butai/musical related drama/movie of the year?

1. Yowamushi Pedal 

well since I love the manga, anime and the stage, of course I will love the drama as well especially when most of the actors in the drama were also in the previous stages. I get to see Pedal without seeing everyone running on stage, in a fixed position cameras I meant and with actual bikes. Pedal takes lots of stamina and energy so I admire all the actors that could bring us Pedal to live.

10. Top 3 (or more) actors/actress that you think have the best singing voice?

I’m bad at describing how beautiful someone’s voice may be so I’ll just rank it with a weird way of describing it?

1. Mikata Ryosuke

Ever since I’ve known him, I still think he’s the best of them all. I like it whenever he sings. I don’t know, his singing is just all dreamy for me. I love it. Mikatii;s singing isn’t the strong-windy type but he’s like the boyish type too. Easy for me to describe it, his vocals are like the when you went for a jog in the morning, the sun rise as you breathe in the fresh air. Or his vocals is like as if he’s pinning you to the wall. 

2. Ota Motohiro

Mokkun’s voice is the medium kind of strong. Most of the time I’ll hear him having to wave his voice and he did it perfectly. Mokkun’s voice is the kind that will melt your voice. It’s as if whenever he sings, he is trying to lure you into his honey trap and you’ll forever be captivated by him. Woooo goose bumps.

3. Yazaki Hiroshi 

I’m not even a fan of him but I really like it when he sings. This is due to Hakumyu where I’m exposed to his acting&singing. He has a very melodic voice and a gentle kind but strong voice? It’s like when you’re walking in a garden filled with roses. 

4. Spi

Spi’s vocals are the strongest and powerful but yet he could go softer when he has or wants to, depends on which song he’s singing. So Spi’s vocals are like the strong wind that will blow you away while you’re having your cup of tea during tea time, along with the table & chairs. His voice is that strong. 

Bonus: Unpopular Opinion (I think)

The person who I personally thinks has the best voice that could put me all over the world would be Arisawa Shoutarou. Maybe because I’m such a huge fan of him and I love him so much that I think that way. When I think about it, I really love his singing voice, his voice doesn’t sound so manly or strong. But people can improve. When Shoutarou sings, he sounded really boyish like when you’re having a moist chocolate cake. It’s sweet, concentrated and chocolatey. When I first heard him, I didn’t understand why I don’t see much people complimenting him? Like when I first heard him singing Heart to Heart in the Musicals, I could actually feel the song. Shoutarou’s voice is like he’s complimenting everyone. When he sings live or recording, both sounds excellent and I could tell straight away which voice belonged to him. It’s as if his voice has a personality on its own? I don’t know if this make sense but Shoutarou’s singing can make me teary too, it’s just too beautiful to me.. and I’ll say this, I got addicted to his voice. I really want to hear more, so I hope for Toumyu, next spring, he’ll get his solo. 

11. A (or more) butai/musical that you didn’t initially love, but has/have grown on you?

I’m not sure about this... hmm

12. Top 3 (or more) anime/manga/game that you would love to see being adapted into a butai/musical in the future?

1. Free! 

I’ve been wanting to see Free! to be adapt into a butai since who knows how long. Imagine how fun would it be....It would be a nice thing to see all characters, especially my favourite ones to be portrayed by an actor. I don’t expect it to come true any time soon. Let’s just hope it can happen but somehow I feel like it won’t happen because some would prefer for it to be left as it is.

13. Top 3 (or more) favourite fandom on the year?

I’ll be honest. I don’t really like fandom/s because sometimes fandom tend to ruin my mood and fun for something. However, most of the time, fandoms are fun especially when you see everyone goes crazy when productions dropped news onto them hahahahaha.

1. Toumyu / Tousute

This is obvious since I’m in TKRB hell so it would be obvious I’m in Toumyu hell too. I honestly don’t know how I got way too attached to Toumyu? maybe because of the Shinken Ranbu Sai that made me feel like Toumyu fandom is such a solid fandom. Like fans can keep expect new things and it’ll keep coming.. The production is alive and not a dead one. Like some you might not even know if there will be more musicals/stage ? Maybe that’s why I’m so attached because somehow I know it won’t end anytime soon and I can keep talking about it. And since most of the people I follow are in this fandom, it makes it hard not to love the fandom even though I’d never really get the chance to talk to anyone.....in the fandom..or becoming mutuals...Anyways, It’s just really fun to see everyone’s reaction.

Tousute is different than Toumyu, it’s two different franchise but it’s still tkrb. Tousute gives more of the serious kind and it kills us with the amount of angst they give out, that sharp pain in the heart and I like that. So, I like how everyone has to suffer the pain too. But in truth I don’t have much to say because it’s the same for me since I like both franchises. 

※there are some fans that likes Tousute but doesn’t like Toumyu (or vice versa). So I guess there’s why there’s separated fandoms?

3. Enstars 

I’m not in this fandom as I don’t even play the game nor do I’m a fan of it but 70% of people around me do & really love the stage. And since I always see it on my timeline, somehow I became to like the fandom without actually being in it or becoming a fan. I guess I just enjoy seeing everyone goes crazy in here. Great fandom.

14. How long have you been in the 2.5D fandom?

I started late, as it was in 2012 when I joined so it’s been 5 years. 

15. Lastly, what is your overall opinion of the 2.5D fandom so far?

Back then, everything was free, whatever was uploaded will be shared by everyone just like that but it wasn’t really that easy to look for something and the community was much smaller so everyone sticks together however nowadays, there’s stricter & stricter rules and such so it makes it harder but it’s easier to look for something now. I guess all these happens when the fandom started having toxic fans, as usual toxic fans ruins everything so I can’t really blame anyone. But I do miss those days when I first joined, all the fans seems more mature and everyone was more understanding. It’s like everyone looks after one another. Now? it seems like it’s lacking of those. I’ll stop it right here as I don’t want to say too much. 

But I will say that I am glad that more and more people know about the existence of 2.5D, so there’s more people to talk about it. The fandom itself is fun, especially when everyone is having fun & fangirl/boy-ing together.

[kiss-my-freckle]

I don’t think the entirety of episode 19 will take place in 1990/1991. I believe the episode will span Katarina’s life much like Requiem did for Kate. With incidents that affected her personally, showing how Katarina became Mr. Reddington just as Kate became Mr. Kaplan. But I think they'll do it in a way that doesn't reveal Rederina.

Given the tag on the photo, I believe Andrea will play Katarina’s mother, who I believe died when Katarina was young. At the very least, several years prior to the fire. Especially if Katarina is ballerina girl. When I view everything as a whole, it looks to me as if Katarina’s mother has been gone for some time. 

The dialogues start in S3, when Red met with Aram over an open grave. His mother was the first to die. He never said when that happened, nor did he say the Cabal killed her. People assume that to be the case based on Liz’s circumstance at the time, but a grave is a grave, regardless how they died. 

I’ve stood over the open grave of someone I’ve loved too often. Once for my mother. And then - the others. I needed to recall this feeling because I’d be staring at another body right now if not for you, Aram.

We got Dom’s dialogue in 3x20, which people can only assume even more, but there’s a lack of inclusion. Dom not speaking of Katarina’s mother, only of Katarina and Masha, leads me to believe that Katarina and Masha were the only family Dom had left. This being the reason he blamed Red for “killing” his entire family. Because his wife was already gone, and not at all Red’s fault. 

She’s gone because of choices you made for both of them. First Katarina and then Masha. As far as I’m concerned, you killed my entire family!

The statement he made while playing in Katarina’s glitter now leads me to believe he was speaking from experience, as if that glitter helped him through a difficult time before. As if a “young Katarina” covered herself in glitter to get her through darkness. Perhaps the darkness one would find themselves in after having lost their mother. 

As an adult, it’s easy to dismiss this stuff as girlish frivolity. You forget the wonder it creates, the light captured, secret wishes evoked. It renders even the darkest days sparkly.

Furthered by a recent statement he made in the courtroom about childhood anxiety. Something she’d experience after having lost her mother. 

I make a comment I might regret. It’s one of my biggest issues in therapy, along with some residual anxiety from childhood and a sexual fascination I’d prefer to discuss in chambers.

Especially if we were to parallel Katarina with Kirk and include Liz’s dialogue. A dialogue that could fit any number of people. Tom being one of them. 

You’re a classic narcissist. You were, what, abused as a child? Abandoned? Made to feel powerless? You must’ve suffered some sick, traumatic, dark event to believe that the sick, traumatic dark things you’ve done to me and everyone I care about could ever result in me loving you.

The absense of a mother would affect any child, whether it be through death or abandonment. So much so, it could affect them into adulthood. The death of her mother could explain why Katarina is the way she is when it comes to her cold, disconnected temperament. Telling Kate she cannot love Masha. Red himself saying he hasn’t loved many people in his life. Sure, Katarina’s KGB training could’ve made her that way, but so could the loss of her mother. Perhaps it was the loss of her mother that made her a better agent, what assisted her training. Because she’d already closed herself off to people emotionally. 

We get to Katarina’s journal, as well as Red’s character stories, and it appears even more that her father was all she had left in the world. Only one mention of Red’s mother, but at least five mentions of his father. 

Seeing Masha with Constantin makes me think of my own father. I wonder what he would say now about the choices I’ve made.

What is this? A ’78? My father loved Cadillacs.

That stuff you use in your hair - is that Brylcreem? My father used Brylcreem.

You know, as my father used to say to me, just because you’ve been bumped up to first chair in the orchestra doesn’t mean you can compose a symphony.

Please don’t make me return the car. I’ve always secretly wanted a Wagoneer. It smells like Dad’s car. Like peanut shells, gasoline.

The loss of her mother could’ve pushed Katarina to lean into her father more, looked to him for strength and support, even shaping what views she had of herself and what she wanted to do with her life. Her choice to be a KGB agent could stem from that. Dropping ballet, only to follow in Dom’s footsteps. Packing the glitter just to pick up a hammer. Katarina comes off as a tomboy to me. At least later in her life. I’m not talking about a full-fledged tomboy, but a leaning that way. Capable of putting on a dress when the moment suits, but dropping that dress to put on her combat boots. A daughter who mows lawns and lays carpet instead of babysitting, who tinkers in her father’s workshop to fix the piano key. The loss of her mother could also explain Red’s level of guilt. Taking Liz’s own mother from her by becoming Raymond Reddington while knowing what that felt like for herself. 

One thing that must be considered in all of Red’s scenes, are his dialogues. Whether he’s speaking from the real Red’s pov or from Katarina’s. Having two identities would require he speak from both, certainly in the company of the FBI. When it comes to Liz, I believe he speaks with 100% honesty, but from his own personal view. Telling her Katarina is dead means that she’s dead because that’s the way he views his former self. After swearing to God to tell the whole truth, suddenly Katarina’s not dead, but had disappeared. 

Kate and Red in the middle of the woods, no ears in sight, yet she speaks to Red about his daughter with continued disconnect. Not “your child” but “a child.” Same with Carla when Berlin had her kidnapped. Kate telling Red, “You will find your wife.” It’s hard to know which dialogues speak to the real Red and which ones speak to Katarina, so all must be considered when he speaks of his family. 

For instance, Red’s dialogue to Cowboy coupled with his dialogue to Aram. If we were to say they were from the real Red’s perspective, then we can assume the real Reddington’s parents are dead. With Red speaking of his father in past tense, “My father loved Cadillacs” and his mother’s open grave, “Once for my mother. And then - the others.” Or we could assume both are from Katarina’s perspective, with her mother having died and her father no longer considered her father because “Katarina” is now “Raymond.”

I could get behind Katarina being ballerina girl if she lost her mother at this age. It could explain Katarina giving up ballet and choosing to follow in her father’s footsteps. The look in Red’s eyes at the end speaks volumes, and it would’ve been her mother who came to watch her perform. I could picture this ballerina covering herself in glitter, trying to escape the pain of losing her mother.  

I could also picture her childhood drawings. The same as Masha’s. Whether the loss of both parents or just the mother, I could see Katarina having the same dream for the same reason. The Djinn fantasy completely focused on mother and daughter. “I’m holding her hand in mine and I never let go.”

What I can’t get behind, is the Takoma Park house belonging to Katarina’s mother and bubble girl being Katarina herself. I have far more reason to believe the Takoma Park house belonged to the real Reddington’s parents and bubble girl being Masha. 

Whether this childhood drawing is Masha’s or Katarina’s, it still puzzles me. Dom claiming to have moved to the U.S. after the Cold War, when it’s quite clear this drawing is of Dom’s house. Considering the fact that he was KGB and raising his child with American toys, I imagine he was already living on and off in America just as Katarina was. The blue door. The chimney spitting out smoke from the wood stove of a man who has piles of wood in his open shed in the back yard.  As well as Red’s familiarity of a house that he appears not to have stepped foot in for some time.

I believe Dom lived in this house long before the end of the Cold War. Perhaps a home the KGB wasn’t aware of. Perhaps a home away from home. Some people vacation at the beach, some vacation in the woods, and some (like Constantin Rostov) at a "Summer Palace” in Canada. They had to back out of Masha’s life after the fire to keep her safe, so the childhood drawing of this house - whether Masha’s or Katarina’s, tells me Dom was living in this house before 1990.

Consider this post part one. I’m going to map out all photographs of Liz. 

[herbalzee]

Get to know me tag!!!

Five Things You’ll Find In My Bag

   1. headphones (always!)    2. at least 50 hair ties    3. a full bottle of perfume    4. free pens from like everywhere    5. lots of tissues lmao

Five Things In My Bedroom:

a fish tank! i love my lil fishies

shoe cabinet

a Moriarty (from Sherlock BBC) calendar of him saying “Miss me?”. I love it

a small yellow chair!  

a color-coordinated bookshelf!!!

Five Things I’ve Always Wanted To Do In My Life:

learn sign language!

travel all over europe

write my own book

become a therapist

have kids!! and pets!!!

Five Things That Make Me Happy:

hanging with friends!!

listening to music, podcasts and ASMR

watching movies

doing artistic things?? idek what that means but like i love going to operas and theaters and taking aesthetic pictures and being creative, shit like that

talking, ranting, expressing my opinions comfortably, theorizing, brainstorming

Five Things On My To-Do List:

read books

hang with friends

write short stories- or write in general lmao

travel!!!

prepare for uni... i need to seriously do that

Five Things People May Not Know About Me:

i am passionate about psychology

i had an obsession with piercings and tattoos when i was younger

i had the yellow belt in karate when i was in practice

im very old school about silly things yet quite liberal about the serious stuff

im basically in love with malmo, sweden

Name?: zaina

Nicknames?: zee

Zodiac?: sagittarius

Sexual Orientation?: straight

Ethnicity?: middle eastern/ north african

Favorite Fruit?: mango!!!!

Favorite Season?: winter

Favorite Flower?: after a quick flower research, i found the soft pink spray roses and the blue hydrangea the most appealing to me

Favorite Scent?: vanilla! cocoa! banana-scented stuff (or generally fruit-scented stuff). old books!!! 

Favorite Animal?: bees!! or just any domesticated animals honestly (that can be kept at homes or farms)

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate?: tea

Cat or dog?: dogs

Dream Trip?: a boat travelling all around western europe!!!

Number of Followers?: i dont really care about this stuff

What do I post about?: any posts containing message worth-spreading, funny content or aesthetically-pleasing stuff..

Do I get asks on a regular basis?: nope! so famous that i had to close my ask box 

Favorite Band?: twentyone pilots, little mix, imagine dragons, coldplay, hey violet, abba (almost forgot them omg)

Aesthetic?: cinematography, animals and nature, books and libraries, literally anything vintage, multicultures, feminism and femininity. i cant think of other stuff but im majorly into art

Fictional Character I’d Date?: john bender from the breakfast club!!!!

Hogwarts House?: ravenclaw

Rules: BOLD the statements that are true for you!

APPEARANCE:

I am 5'7" or taller

I wear glasses

I have at least one tattoo

I have at least one piercing

I have blonde hair

I have brown eyes

I have short hair

My abs are at least somewhat defined

I have or have had braces

PERSONALITY:

I love meeting new people

People tell me that I’m funny

Helping others with their problems is a big priority for me

I enjoy physical challenges

I enjoy mental challenges

I’m playfully rude with people I know well

I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it

There is something I would change about my personality

ABILITY:

I can sing well

I can play an instrument

I can do over 30 pushups without stopping

I’m a fast runner

I can draw well

I have a good memory

I’m good at doing math in my head

I can hold my breath underwater for under a minute

I have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling

I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch

I know how to throw a proper punch

HOBBIES:

I enjoy playing sports

I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else

I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else

I have learned a new song in the past week

I work out at least once a week

I’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months

I have drawn something in the past month

I enjoy writing

FANDOMS ARE MY #1 PASSION

I do or have done martial arts

EXPERIENCES:

I have had my first kiss

I have had alcohol

I have scored the winning goal in a sports game

I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting

I have been at an overnight event

I have been in a taxi

I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year

I have beaten a video game in one day

I have visited another country

I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts

RELATIONSHIPS:

I’m in a relationship

I have a crush on a celebrity

I have a crush on someone I know

I have been in at least 3 relationships

I have never been in a relationship

I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them

I get crushes easily

I have had a crush on someone for over a year

I have been in a relationship for at least a year

I have had feelings for a friend

MY LIFE:

I have at least one person I consider a “best friend”

I live close at my school

My parents are still together

I have at least one sibling

I live in the united states

There is snow right now where I live

I have hung out with a friend in the past month

I have a smartphone

I have at least 15 CD’s

I share my room with someone

RANDOM SHIT:

I have breakdanced

I know a person named Jamie

I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce

I have dyed my hair

I’m listening to one song on repeat right now

I have punched someone in the past week

I know someone who has gone to jail

I have broken a bone

I have eaten a waffle today

I know what I want to do with my life

I speak at least 2 languages

I have made a new friend in the past year

Relationship status: single

Favorite color: purple, blue, green

Lipstick or Chapstick: lipstick!!

Last song I listened to: hard times by paramore

Last movie I watched: The Boss Baby

Top three TV shows:

(btw these three tv shows are the only shows ive ever watched and actually finished lmao)

BBC Sherlock

Clique

Yuri! on ice

Top three characters:

These are the ones that came to mind first, not top favorites

Sherlock (Sherlock BBC)

Todd Anderson (Dead poets society)

Savannah Karlsen (Girl, interrupted)

rules: copy/paste and replace my answers with yours and tag people :^)

a - age: 17 
b - biggest fear: my actual biggest fear is too personal so im gonna say my second biggest fear: not achieving anything valuable in my life  
c - current time: 3 am lmao 
d - drink you last had: a peach detox lmao 
e - every day starts with: checking phone  f - favorite song: of all time or currently? ive never had an all time favorite but right now my favorite song is hard times by paramore (mainly the chorus bc its awesome) 
g - ghosts, are they real: only the ones in our heads 
h - hometown: a.d. 
i - in love with: psychology 
j - jealous of: productive people 
k - killed someone: ... 
l - last time you cried: literally yesterday..  m - middle name: dont have one  
n - number of siblings: eins (one) 
o - one wish: to be satisfied with who i am and what i have p - person you last called/texted: im talking to my friend on the phone right now as im doing this.. shes the one who so kindly guided me to these fun questions q - questions you’re always asked: “why are you so quiet?” “what major are you getting into and at which university?”  
r - reasons to smile: youre very much well and alive!!

s - song last sang: i was having a fetus 1d songs marathon at like 2 am the other day so... definitely the entire up all night album

t - time you woke up: these days.. 12 pm, bc im tired and its my holiday 
u - underwear color: ohhhh boi v - vacation destination: anywhere cold filled with warm people 
w - worst habit: procrastination 
x - x-rays you’ve had: the most recent one i remember is a chest x ray y - your favorite food: pasta 
z - zodiac sign: sagittarius

post a screenshot of my lock screen, home screen, and last song played

RULES: Choose any three fandoms (in random order) and answer the questions. Then tag some friends.

I choose:

bbc sherlock

clique

yuri! on ice

The first character you loved:

ohhh, first was sherlock! then john almost 0.001 secs later

im pretty sure it was elizabeth. shes the cutest and i relate to her the most

probably Minako Okukawa, because shes so charming and funny

The character you never expected to love so much:

mrs hudson!!!!

louise!!! shes so smart and gorgeous and the least involved in the drama

yurio!!! i used to dislike him lmao but now hes my son

The character you relate to most:

molly hooper

like i said above, elizabeth!

ohh definitely yuri

The character you’d slap

john because sherlock suffered sooo much for him and opened his heart only to be abandoned because john is a naive idiot who still cant tell sherlock’s NOT a sociopath

SO MANY bc almost all of them did shitty things.. but the ones id slap right on sight are Alistair and the Steiner dude

ohmygod no, theyre all pure!! probably yurio bc that kid needs to love himself (but id immediately hug him right after)

Three favorite characters (these are in order of preference):

sherlock & john (one answer), mrs hudson, WIGGINS

holly, rachel, and fay (elizabeth and jude too)

the obvious trio: yuri, victor and yurio

A character you liked at first but not so much anymore:

mary lmao

alistair. i was a little suspicious of him but i liked him at the beginning bc he was cute and innocent. i HATE him now obviously

i love them all.. theres not a single one i dislike

A character you did not like at first, but they’ve grown on you:

ahahah mycroft

 uh georgia

christopher and JJ (but now i love them both so much)

[thecoliverlibrary]

Truth or Dare

Gift Type: Fan Fiction Title: Truth or Dare Author: @ramblesandreblogs Recipient: @tonystarkjpg Rating: Teen Warnings: References to Underage Drinking (is that a warning? it’s late. i’m sorry. all these parenthesis are stupid) Word Count: 5.4k Summary: Certain truths about Connor and Oliver come to light during a New Year’s Eve game of Truth or Dare. Author’s Note: Hi Nive! You requested a high school AU and I tried my best! :) Hope you enjoy it. Happy Holidays and Happy New Year to all!! xoxo

~~~

“I can’t believe you are making me do this.”

Laurel rolled her eyes as she and Oliver made their way down the sidewalk. “Come on, Oliver. Don’t be like that. It’s gonna be fun.”

He glared at her and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You and I have very different definitions of fun.”

She smiled beautifully at him and tucked a hand around his arm. “We do,” she agreed. “I think things like New Year’s Eve parties are fun—”

“Torture.”

“And you think things like staying home and ringing in the New Year working on college applications is fun.”

“A productive use of a night off.”

Laurel laughed and the sound echoed in the still night, bouncing off snow covered roofs and sparkling holiday lights. “God. I love you.” She squeezed his arm close and tilted her head on his shoulder. “‘Productive use of a night off.’”

Oliver bristled a that. “What?” What was the matter with that?

What was the matter with spending a night in to get ahead on his applications? His mom was out with her boyfriend (presumably doing things Oliver didn’t want to think about) and his dad was spending the holiday skiing with his new family in Colorado. Instead of feeling bummed about the idea of spending New Year’s Eve alone, Oliver had been a little excited about having the condo to himself for a few hours. Ordering in whatever food he wanted (regardless of Jeremy’s newfound veganism), working on polishing up his application essays, and maybe catching up on Netflix. The whole evening had sounded perfect until Laurel had begun relentlessly messaging him and dragged him out of his warm nest of solitude.

“Those application dates are going be here faster than you know,” he reminded her.

“I know.” Laurel rolled her eyes again but with affection this time. “But they aren’t tomorrow.”

Oliver let her lead him up the driveway and down the walk until they were almost there, Michaela Pratt’s front door.

“She didn’t invite me,” he whispered to Laurel, fast and a touch frantic. They were almost at the front door; his window of bailing was getting smaller and smaller.

“Who? Michaela?” Laurel stopped and turned, blinking at him with wide eyes. “Yes she did.” And she had. Laurel had been standing at Oliver’s side at the time, witness to the whole thing.

Oliver shook his head. “No. She—” He thought back onto that scene just a few days ago.

It had been the last day of school before break and they’d been at their lockers. Laurel was hanging back, waiting for him finish collecting his stuff before she drove them both home, when Michaela approached. The Homecoming Queen had been radiant as she told Laurel that her parents had decided at the last minute to visit an aunt for New Year’s and how she was going to have the house to herself.

“It’s gonna be small,” Michaela had explained to Laurel. “Just a couple of us on New Year’s. Connor and Wes. Maybe Asher. I’m thinking Sarah and Nat but then I’d have to invite Chelsea and I don’t know if I want to get into all that and—Oh!” Michaela had spotted Oliver lingering a few feet away. “You too, of course!” she had said with a smile.

“She did it just to be polite,” Oliver said to Laurel now as they were paused in front of Michaela’s house. “She didn’t really mean it. It was just not to be rude.”

Laurel snorted. “You really don’t know Michaela at all, do you?”

“Laur—”

“Michaela doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to,” she told him. “If she didn’t want you here, she would have ignored you. Believe me. I’ve seen it before.”

That didn’t make Oliver feel any better. He tugged at his sleeves, refusing to touch his hair. He’d actually spent time on it, okay? He didn’t need to walk in with it looking mussed. “It’s just—”

She put a hand on his arm. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be there.”

But Laurel was able to move in this circle and Oliver would never be able to fully explain to her that he just couldn’t. She had the uncanny ability to jump social strata, move from clique to clique without a second thought and he just didn’t. He didn’t belong here. He wasn’t built for spending New Year’s Eve at the home of the Homecoming Queen and her friends. He’d make a fool out of himself. A total fool. This group starred in the musicals and were on the starting line of the football team and ran the school paper and all already had full rides to the Ivy League. Oliver was a second-tier nerd who ran the tech booth during plays and never set a toe out of line.

He opened his mouth to tell all this to Laurel but she beat him to it.

“You’ll be fine. We’re going in.” Tugging on his arm, she rang the bell. “Just try to loosen up a little,” she said. “Just…Have some fun. What’s the worst that could happen?”

~~~

He was going to kill her.

“You did what?”

Michaela’s smile was a picture of innocence. “I invited Oliver Hampton,” she repeated. “Why? Is that a problem?”

Connor’s eyes narrowed as Michaela kept smiling. He was going to kill her. And he was going to enjoy it.

He’d known confessing his stupid crush had been a mistake. He’d known letting her in on the secret was dangerous. She’d just caught him during a moment of weakness is all.

Connor’d been distracted all those weeks ago as they walked to class. Oliver had been a few feet ahead of them — navigating the crowded halls on his own way to the next class — and Connor just hadn’t been able to look away.

“Connor?”

He’d hummed in answer to Michaela, too caught up in his own ridiculous fantasy to properly acknowledge her.

“God,” she had huffed. “What’s so fascinating?”

“Oliver’s ass,” Connor had answered absently, still not looking away from the beauty before him. Then his mind caught up to his mouth. “Oh fuck!” When he’d turned to look at her, Michaela’s eyes were wide and dancing with glee. “You didn’t—”

“I did!” The hand on his arm had been immediate, the grip fierce. “You have to tell me everything!”

“Mic—”

“Everything!!”

And so Connor had, reluctantly at first but quickly losing the hesitation when he realized how good it felt to actually talk about it with someone. Putting the feelings he’d been harboring for…Christ, for months now into words had been freeing.

But freedom came with price and apparently tonight was the night Connor paid up.

“I can’t believe you did this,” he said to Michaela. Then, turning to Wes. “Can you believe she did this?”

“What? Inviting Oliver?” Wes asked without looking up from his phone. “What’s the big deal? Oliver’s cool. He’s coming with Laurel, right?”

Michaela’s smile was indulgent. She had a soft spot for those two but knew they’d get there eventually. “She’ll be here. Don’t you worry.”

Wes shot Michaela a pointed look. “I’m not worried.” He turned back to his phone. “Besides, thought you’d be happy Oliver’s coming,” he said to Connor.

“I’m not unhappy,” Connor was quick to say. “It’s just—I’m—Why should I be happy?”

That made Wes glance up. “Well, you like the guy, right?”

Connor’s eyes found Michaela’s instantly. She told—She told Wes! Connor’d told her that in confidence. He couldn’t believe— “You told him!”

She held her hands up. “I didn’t. Connor, I swear I didn’t.”

“I can’t believe this, Mic. You—”

“She didn’t tell me,” Wes said.

“Then who did?” Connor demanded.

“No one. I just…” He gave a shrug. “Just figured it out.”

“How?” Connor demanded, louder this time. “How did you figure it out?”

“How’d who figure what out?” a new voice asked from the entryway.

Three heads turned to see Asher enter. He tugged off his hat and tucked it into the sleeve of his jacket as Michaela rounded on him.

“I don’t know about you but guests normally use the bell here.”

Asher’s smile held a secret and it was all for here. “Aww, Michaela. I figured I’d moved beyond guest status.”

Micheala’s only answer was a telling blush and Connor made a note to interrogate her about that later.

“What are we talking about?” Asher asked, tossing his coat over the back of a chair. “Who’s figuring what out?”

Connor started to answer, “Nothing,” but Wes was quicker.

“I figured out Connor’s hung up on Oliver.”

Connor’s eyes widened and his heart nearly stopped. What the hell was Wes doing just blurting things out like that? What did—

“Oh. That,” Asher said dismissively. “What else is new?”

“Wha—” Connor couldn’t form words, couldn’t think.

“How did you—I didn’t even know!” Michaela nearly shouted. “How did you two know when I didn’t know?”

“Well, how’d you find out?” Wes asked.

“He told me,” she said, gesturing to Connor. “He told me everything, made me swear to keep it secret, and I didn’t tell a soul.” She said it casually but Connor knew it to be true. Michaela may be one of the school’s biggest gossips but she knew how to keep her mouth shut when it mattered. “I’m the best friend. I’m supposed to know these things first.”

“Well, you didn’t have bio with them,” Asher said. “I didn’t even know you could make heart eyes at someone during an enzyme lab but our boy Walsh here pulled it off.”

The comment made Connor pause. He and Oliver had shared a bio class freshman year, two years ago. He hadn’t liked Oliver then…had he?

“What about you?” Asher asked Wes.

“Orchestra,” he answered with a shudder. “Connor was third chair, Oliver was first, and I was the sucker stuck between them. Longest year of my life.”

Okay. Connor knew that was bullshit because he hadn’t been in orchestra in years. He’d dropped it during junior high because it hadn’t been fun anymore.

“Then, Oliver dropped it and things got worse,” Wes went on. “Had to suffer on for one more semester with this guy’s—” he pointed to Connor, “dark cloud hanging over my head before he dropped out too.”

Connor opened his mouth to explain to Wes that, No, he hadn’t dropped orchestra because Oliver dropped it too. He’d dropped it because he hadn’t enjoyed it anymore. It’d had nothing to do with Oliver…or had it?

“Awww.” Asher slapped Connor on the shoulder. “You miss your boo, Boo?”

“Fuck you.” Connor slapped his hand away.

Fuck all of them actually. This was such crap. Wes and Asher were wrong. They…they were just wrong. He and Oliver had started to hang out a little more over the summer and his stupid little crush thing had just sort of appeared from that. He hadn’t been crushing on Oliver in fucking junior high. He hadn’t had some ridiculous crush on the guy for all these years. That was just ridiculous. No, they were ridiculous.

“You both are so full of shit,” Connor started. Then the doorbell pealed and the words died on his lips. He was here. Oliver was here. “I—”

“No one says anything.” Michaela pointed a finger at Wes and then Asher. Wes nodded immediately but Asher…

“I mean it,” she said, finger still locked on Asher. The words were whispered with such venom that Connor found himself swallowing reflexively even though they were clearly directed at Asher and Asher alone.

“Ash—” she began in warning.

“I got it,” he answered quickly, his voice breaking a little. He coughed to cover it but they all heard. “Not a word. I swear.”

She gave him one more warning glance. “Okay. Good.” Then, Michaela clapped her hands together once and headed for the door. “Let’s get this party started!”

~~~

Have some fun. What’s the worst that could happen?

Laurel’s voice echoed in Oliver’s head as he looked around the room.

The ‘small’ party Michaela had promised didn’t seem all that small to him. Dozens of people littered the couches and chairs of her parent’s living rooms (rooms! plural!) and even more spilled down into the basement.

Somewhere in the midst of them all, Oliver had lost Laurel. He’d turned to ask if she wanted a refill only to find her gone. It had only taken a moment to spot her again, her smile and laugh tended to catch the eye. She was standing next to Wes across the way and, looking at them, watching them smile at each other, Oliver hadn’t had the heart to walk over and burst their bubble.

So he’d set about the party on his own. He wasn’t a child that needed to cling to Laurel’s apron strings. He went to school with all these people; he spent at least a class with nearly all of them. He didn’t need her to make introductions or hold his hand. By some stroke of luck, he, Oliver Hampton, was at what was turning out to be a pretty great New Year’s Eve party and he was going to try and have some fun. 

What was the worst that could happen?

“Oliver!”

He automatically turned at his name and found his host waving him over.

“Come here,” Michaela called. “Come on.”

Dodging the drinks and gesturing hands of others, Oliver cut through the crowd to Michaela’s side. “Hey. Great party. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Of course! I’m so glad you came!” She said it with such enthusiasm that Oliver was pretty sure she was being sincere. Then, “Have you seen Laurel?”

Oliver gestured back at the kitchen where he’d seen her last. “She was with Wes.”

Michaela smiled but she didn’t move. “Figures.” Then, “We’re getting a game together.”

Something about the look in her eyes made the hair on the back of Oliver’s head stand on edge. “What kind of game?”

“A secret game,” she answered with a wink. “Come on. It’ll be fun.” She took his wrist and started tugging him along into the more formal living room.

“I don’t know, Michaela…”

“Don’t even worry about it.” She waved at the couch. “Just take a seat.”

Giving her one final, wary look, Oliver crossed the room to nab the last open seat on the couch, the seat right next to Connor Walsh. Trying not to draw attention to himself, Oliver settled in his seat and focused on breathing.

He hadn’t been fully honesty before, with himself or with Laurel. His reservations about coming tonight had nothing to do with the way Michaela had asked him or a general concern about the people who were going to be here. Oliver hadn’t been nervous about having fun or making conversation with others from school; yes he was a little shy but, under normal circumstances, he wasn’t completely inept. No, all of Oliver’s reasons for not wanting to come tonight were sharing a couch cushion with him.

Connor Walsh.

It wasn’t that Oliver didn’t like Connor, quite the opposite really. Oliver had been holding onto the most ridiculous crush on Connor for…well he wasn’t exactly sure when it had started but it’d been going on for too long now. It was embarrassing really.

Before realizing his feelings, Oliver’d always felt at ease with Connor in a way he didn’t with anyone else. It was like being around Connor somehow made Oliver forget that he was shy and a little nerdy and that he’d been told not to smile so big because it made his teeth look funny. Connor didn’t make Oliver feel as self-conscious as he normally did. Connor made him feel funny and fun and more like himself than he did with other people. That was it. Connor made Oliver feel like the best version of himself. It had been wonderful and freeing.

Then Oliver had gone and ruined it all be realizing he liked Connor.

Just like that it all went away. The easy communication and carefree friendship were gone overnight. All they were left with was awkward exchanges in the hall and stilted conversation the few times Laurel convinced Oliver to join her and the others at lunch.

It was horrible. And no matter how many pep-talks he gave himself or the countless times he played out conversations in his head, Oliver could never seem to find his tongue around Connor anymore.

It was horrible and humiliating and now they were stuck sitting next to each other at a New Year’s Eve party, waiting for Michaela Pratt to begin some mysterious game.

“She give you any hints?”

Connor’s voice in his ear nearly made Oliver jump and he turned. “What?”

The other man nodded at Michaela. “She give you anything?”

Oliver shook his head. “No. Why?” He risked a glance at Michaela. “Should we be worried or something?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Connor said ominously. “I—”

“Alright, everyone! Listen up.” Michaela’s voice silenced all chatter in the room. “I know you’re all wondering about tonight’s game, which is…” She said the words slowly, heightening the suspense until Asher broke the silence with, “Just tell us already, Mic!”

“…Truth or Dare.”

~~~

He was going to kill her.

He’d been lying when he thought it before, thinking dramatically and in hyperbole, but Connor wasn’t lying this time.

He was going to kill her and he was really going to enjoy it. Really really enjoy it.

He’d bet every cent in his bank account that she’d arranged this whole little thing to torture him. The party, the game, sitting Oliver down next to him, close enough that Connor kept catching whiffs of the man’s cologne when he turned his head, all of it had been arranged to torture him.

And — damn it all to hell — it was working.

Connor couldn’t think straight, couldn’t breathe. Every sinew of his body was attuned to Oliver. Oliver’s scent in his nose. The brush of Oliver’s skin when their arms touched. The way Oliver’s laugh shook his whole frame. The ghost of Oliver’s breath whispering over his cheek. Throw in a middle school party game and Connor Walsh was in the middle of his own personal hell.

The game itself was fun; the waiting for Michaela to drop the other shoe was not.

Sure. He’d laughed when Wes was dared to tickle Asher until the man couldn’t breathe. He winced when Katherine had been made to tell her most embarrassing story. He watched in awe and disgust when Laurel’d downed a shot of hot sauce like was water to fulfill her a dare.

Then, without cause or warning, she did it.

The game had swung around and it was her turn to pick a victim. “I pick…” She tapped a manicured finger against his chin and Connor held his breath. “Paxton!”

The way she said his name made Connor’s spine snap to attention. He’d been expecting Mic to pick him or Oliver but both of them were too obvious. Paxton though…

“Dare!” The man said with a wolfish grin.

“Dare, huh?” Michaela pretended to think for a beat then her eyes latched on Connor’s and she shot him an evil grin, a grin Connor was coming to despite. “Do a body shot off Oliver.”

For the briefest of moments, the room fell silent, then exploded into noise. Under all the shouting and hollering, Connor picked up the quietest voice.

“I—I’m not sure if—”

His eyes found Oliver’s and his gaze never wavered. “You don’t have to.” Connor didn’t dare blink or breathe. It was vital Oliver knew this. No one in this room would make him do anything he didn’t want to and, if they tried, Connor would deal with them.

“No. That’s not it,” Oliver said softly. He tugged at the hem of his shirt. “It…it’s just—”

Seeing his would-be-partner’s obvious hesitation, Paxton was quick to cut in. “Don’t worry, Ollie.” He crossed the room and took a seat on the edge of the couch, between Oliver and Connor. “I’ll be gentle.”

More than one person snorted and Pax threw a glare over his shoulder.

“How?” Connor demanded. He didn’t care if his tone was too harsh, too telling.

Pax’s answering smirk was knowing. Great. Yet another person who’d figured out his stupid crush. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

At that moment, Michaela reentered the room. Connor hadn’t noticed she left but she returned with a salt shaker, shot glasses, and tequila.

“We don’t have any limes,” she said apologetically to Pax as she poured him a shot.

“Pity.” He took the glass and smiled at Oliver. “We’ll just have to do without, won’t we.”

For his part, Oliver looked like he’d lost a bit the nervousness from moments ago. “I guess so,” he murmured quietly and accepted the shot glass from Pax.  

“You just hold that,” Pax said absently as he looked away to grab the salt shaker from Michaela’s outstretched hand. Turning back, he plastered on a smile Connor imagined Pax thought of as gentle before speaking directly to Oliver. “Now, I’m going to lick right along here.” He trailed a light fingertip down the side of Oliver’s neck and Connor was sitting close enough to small goosebumps rise up in wake of the touch. “Is that okay?”

Oliver licked his lips. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

Pax leaned in and Oliver tilted his head to the side, allowing Pax access. Connor’s hands curled into fists as he watched Pax’s tongue lick Oliver’s neck until the damp spot shone in the light. Connor watched Pax’s lips ghost of Oliver’s skin. He watched that tongue press again, lingering and tasting, savoring just a touch. Connor couldn’t bring himself to look away; he watched it all.

“That’s good enough I think,” Pax said as he sat back. He lifted the salt shaker up and raised an eyebrow, silently asking Oliver if it was okay. When Oliver gave a small nod, he sprinkled some salt over the wet patch on Oliver’s neck. “Now, to get all that off you.”

He didn’t ask permission this time but Oliver was quick to tilt his head to the side again, freely offering, and Pax’s answering grin was wicked. As he leaned down, Pax shifted just a touch so he could catch Connor’s eye. The bastard had the audacity to wink at him just before his lips touched Oliver’s skin.

Again, Connor watched as Pax kissed Oliver’s neck. He watched the movement of the man’s tongue and lips. He watched and wanted until he couldn’t look anymore; he couldn’t watch Pax do what he himself wanted to do.

So Connor stopped looking at Pax and looked at Oliver instead, which was so much worse. He glanced up in time to see Oliver’s eyelids flutter once then close. He watched as Oliver’s face went slightly lax with pleasure, his lips falling open just a touch, his breath catching just a bit. Glancing down, Connor saw Oliver’s hands twitch, begin to lift before he caught himself and locked his fingers together, keeping the joined fist firmly in his lap. Oliver had almost reached out. He’d almost lifted his hands so he could tangle fingers in Pax’s hair. What would that feel like? Oliver’s skin under his lips, Oliver’s scent in his nose, and then Oliver’s hands in treading through his hair and holding him close.

The thought made Connor nearly growl. Paxton shouldn’t be the one with his lips on Oliver’s neck; Connor should. Connor should be the one with his lips drinking in Oliver’s skin. And he certainly wouldn’t do it like this, in a room full of people as part of a fucking game. They would be alone, him and Oliver in a room that was quiet and warm. The bed would be soft beneath them. No one would be looking for them. No one would interrupt. He would have time in that room, all the time in the world to kiss Oliver, hold him close, watch as Oliver’s whole being melted with pleasure. He wouldn’t linger so much on Oliver’s neck. It’s a great spot Connor’s sure but there are so many other places to explore. Like Oliver’s hands. Connor’s spent many a class watching Oliver’s hands hold a pencil or type on a keyboard or tap at his phone. He wonders what those hands feel like. Are they soft or rough? Are Oliver’s fingers calloused? What would Oliver’s palm feel like under his lips, against his cheek, palm-to-palm? He’d answer all those questions and come up with dozens more in that room. Then, his curiosity sated for the moment, he would move on and there would be Oliver’s collarbone, the nape of his neck, that spot right there behind his ear, his shoulder, his chest, the run of his back. There were so many hidden places on Oliver that Connor would have time to explore in that room.

So no, Paxton shouldn’t be the one with his lips on Oliver’s. Connor should.

Pax sat back up then. Licking the salt off his lips, he winked at Oliver as he took the shot and downed it. The liquid must have burned as he went down because he winced. “See, this is why you need the lime,” he said. “Well…that and…” He placed a thumb on Oliver’s lower lip, pressing it down just a touch.Connor didn’t manage to hold back his small growl this time.

Knowing smirk firmly in place, Pax turned to Connor. “See? Gentle.”

Unsure what he was planning to do, Connor sat up, his hands curling into fists. “Really? You—”

“Alright! Let’s get back to the game.” Michaela’s voice held a hint of warning. “There isn’t much time till midnight. Let’s keep going. Pax. It’s your pick.”

“Well. I don’t there’s much choice for me.” He put a hand on Oliver’s leg, well above the knee, and squeezed. “Truth or dare, Ollie?”

With a quick glance at Connor, Oliver swallowed and blurted out, “Dare.”

“Dare. Really?” Pax stood and crossed the room, once again taking his seat on the opposite couch. “Dare. Dare. Dare.” The man gave Connor a pointed look and then said to Oliver, “Kiss Connor.”

Once again, the room was silent. This time, however, the silence wasn’t broken by shouts and laughter. It was broken by a single, vicious word.

“No.”

~~~

Oliver couldn’t breathe.

When Michaela had announced they were playing Truth or Dare, Oliver had groaned inwardly. He had one very important secret he wanted to keep from a very important person in this room but he’d still gone along with the game anyway, keeping Laurel’s advice to have fun in the back of his mind.

And, to his own surprise, he was having fun. It was fun to laugh and tease with his classmates, fun to be a part of something that was going to be a story others only heard about.

He’d even gone along with Michaela’s body shot dare. Sure he’d been a bit nervous at first but Pax had been more understanding that Oliver would have expected and Oliver himself hadn’t objected. In truth, he’d kind of enjoyed it a little. Yeah, it hadn’t really been a body shot in the ‘traditional’ sense of the word but it had been enough for him and no one had complained.

Oliver had been a good sport about it all. He’d gone along with it. He had been having fun.

What’s the worst that could happen?

This.

He turned to Connor. “No?”

Connor’s eyes never left Pax’s. “No,” he said again.

Oliver’s mouth twisted into a nervous smile. It was a reflex, trying to smile through embarrassing situations, and he had never hated it more than he did in this moment. “Come on, Connor,” he tried. “It’s not a big deal.”

“No, I—” Connor turned, blinked, and couldn’t take his eyes off Oliver’s lips. “We aren’t doing that.”

“It’s just a little kiss,” Pax said, his tone taunting. “What’s the big deal?”

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed even though something in Pax’s tone made him pause. Something else was going on here but he couldn’t worry about that now. “It’ll be just a little kiss.”

“It can’t. Not with—”

Connor didn’t finish the thought but he didn’t have too. Not with you.

Connor’s face fell as his mind caught up to his mouth and heard back what he’d said. Then he saw the look on Oliver’s face. “No. Oliver, I—”

But Oliver had heard enough. Not with you. His face hot with mortification, he stood and stormed from the room.

“Oliver! Wait!”

Being unfamiliar with the house, he made a few wrong turns in his escape and somehow ended up in the garage but it was quiet and he was alone so Oliver decided to count the move as a win.

He only had a moment to appreciate the solitude of the garage, however, before the door opened and Connor burst through.

“Listen. I can explain—”

“Why couldn’t you just kiss me?” Oliver demanded. The shock and embarrassment melted away the nerves that were normally present in Connor’s company. When Connor simply stared at him in shock, Oliver demanded again. “Why? It wouldn’t have been a big deal if you had just kissed me. Simple kiss. It would have been over and done in a moment but you couldn’t just do it. Why?”

Connor hesitated. “Be…because—”

“Because why?” He waited a beat for Connor to respond but the other man stayed silent. “Why couldn’t you kiss me? You said you couldn’t have a simple kiss with me and I want to know why. What’s so terrible about me?”

“Jesus.” Connor’s eyes raised to the ceiling. “It wasn’t you—”

“Really? Because you were talking about me. It feels like it was about me to me.“ Oliver pulled a hand through his hair. He couldn’t believe they were doing this, having this conversation, and in Michaela Pratt’s garage of all places. "It would have been simple. It would have been just a simple press—”

“Because it wouldn’t be simple!” Connor nearly yelled. “There can’t be a simple kiss with you, Oliver!”

“Why? Why not?”

“Because…Because you are you, Ollie. You’re you and I—” Connor stopped then, catching his breath. Their eyes met and held.

“You are you,” Connor repeated, quiet and true. “And…and there’s nothing simple about what I feel about you.”

~~~

Connor decided that he was maybe going to let Michaela live.

“You…” Oliver let out a noise that was half laugh and have giggle; Connor wondered what he could say to get Oliver to make it again. “You have feelings for me?”

Connor nodded and Oliver did too. “Okay,” he said, mostly to himself. “That’s…that’s good to know.”

Waiting a moment and then one more, Connor opened his mouth. “Do…” He trailed off though; he didn’t know how to ask this question. He didn’t know if he could take the answer, either answer, any answer.

Answering a question that hadn't’ been asked, Oliver said, “I do. I…I really do.”

The breath caught in his chest at the look on Oliver’s face.

Connor was going to let Michaela live because, through her meddling, she helped put that look on Oliver’s face.

“I didn’t want to kiss you in front of them,” Connor explained as he took a step closer. “I didn’t want to have our first…first—”

“Kiss,” Oliver supplied.

“Yeah.” Connor coughed, distracted by how Oliver’s lips curved as they formed the word ‘kiss.’ “I didn’t want it to be in front of all of them. I didn’t want it to be…to be like your and Pax’s thing.“

“I appreciate the concern but…” Reaching out and twining their fingers together, Oliver confessed, “I don’t think our first kiss is going to be like anything like anything else.”

Connor couldn’t help the confused quirk of his eyebrow. “What makes you think that?”

The other man shrugged. “I don’t know. Just a feeling I guess.”

“Well, do you think that maybe we should—”

Connor was interrupted by a shout inside the house. “It’s happening!” “The ball’s dropping!” “It’s almost time.”

Keeping their eyes locked on each other, they listened to those inside the house scream along with the countdown.

10…9…8…

Oliver licked his lips.

7…6…5…

Connor brushed a thumb over the back of Oliver’s hand.

4…3…2…

They squeezed each other’s hands.

1!!

A cry went up from inside, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!”, along with confetti poppers and noisemakers and the faint sound of Auld Lang Syne playing over the speakers.

“Happy New Year, Connor,” Oliver whispered.

“Happy New Year, Ollie.”

They leaned in then. Lips brushing, hands reaching, tongues tentatively touching.

And Oliver was right. Their first kiss was nothing like anything that had come before.

Connor was definitely letting Michaela live.

[etraytin]

Emergency Backup Fic of the Day

I am finally home from my protracted holiday travel (Since December 16, for those of you playing along at home), after ten hours in the car and a morning full of packing before that. I am still sick. I am completely and utterly exhausted and there is no fic in me today. Blargh. 

Luckily, Past Etraytin, in all her wisdom, foresaw such a moment might occur sometime before the the end of the Fic A Day! Way back in October, I wrote an extra fic and saved it back against the day that something bad happened or writer’s block hit or I was just too damn tired. Now, with one day left in the 100-Day Fic-a-Day, I am pulling the cord and deploying the Emergency Fic. 

Today’s fic is actually the start of a multipart story (the other reason I held off on posting it!) that focuses on the East Wing during the Santos Administration. How does Donna adjust to being Chief of Staff? More importantly, how does Helen Santos adjust to being First Lady? What has to get lost or adjusted along the way? Here’s Chapter One. 

...

“Okay, so Annabeth will be coordinating with Lou in the Communications Office to come up with a joint strategy for publicizing the youth music initiative, but right now we've got feelers out to symphony orchestras in DC, New York City, Chicago and Los Angeles to expand their field trip programs with underserved youths and to promote instrumental music in schools.” Donna checked off that item on her list and glanced around at the other staffers in the East Wing sitting room. “I think that's all on the agenda right now. Has anybody got anything else?”

Sandy, the First Lady's personal secretary, opened her mouth to add something. She was preempted by Helen Santos herself, who'd been watching the entire meeting in near silence from her perch in one of the uncomfortable wingback chairs. “So what y'all are telling me,” Helen drawled, “is that my agenda this week consists of dinner with the prime minister of Belgium and his wife, six appearances for photo-ops at various school summer programs, a really horrible party in Chicago to help Matt talk up the budget bill, three dressy luncheons to do the same thing, and a visit to church on Sunday where we're the last ones in and the first ones out?”

“Miranda also has a dentist appointment on Tuesday,” Sandy said in a small voice, “and you're meeting with the historic preservation office on Friday morning to get an update on mold remediation efforts under the press room and the third floor bedroom rehab project.”

“Of course,” Helen said crisply, “I wouldn't want to forget any of that. Good job everybody, keep on truckin'!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Santos,” Donna said as all the staffers rose to their feet. Helen gave her a somewhat cool look, then swept out towards the living quarters. Donna frowned for just a second, then turned to her team. Besides Sandy, there was Otto, the gifted young speechwriter she'd shamelessly poached from Josh during transition, Miri, who'd been Donna's favorite assistant deputy chief of staff in the last administration, and Annabeth, who'd been offered Deputy Press Secretary but didn't want that side of the building anymore. Not exactly the most experienced team, but running the East Wing was a lot different than running the West Wing. They'd made it through the first six months in office with no major disasters, knock on wood.

“All right everybody, we've got plenty of work to do this week. Otto, get me drafts on the school speeches by the end of the day, then start working ahead for the Congressional Women's Dinner in two weeks,” she instructed crisply. “Annabeth, you're with Lou, Miri, you're harassing Sam and/or Congress till they give that extra ten million for music programs.” She thought a second. “Sandy, can you see about freeing up another two or three days for the Santos' trip to Houston next month? Even if the President can't come, maybe we can get the family a few extra days.” They all walked out of the sitting room together, heading back to the East Wing office block. Normally Donna held staff meetings in her office, which was more than big enough, but it got awkward trying to sit at her desk with the First Lady sitting in.

As everyone broke off to their various jobs, Annabeth followed Donna into her office and sat down neatly on the edge of her chair, looking like a pixie in squared-off glasses and a neatly pressed business suit. “Something's wrong with the First Lady,” she announced without preamble.

Donna took her own seat and began looking through a pile of folders. Her own assistant, Jacelyn, still had a long way to go in terms of mastering index cards and post-it notes. “It's allergies,” she agreed without looking up. “The White House doctor prescribed Claritin and silk flowers.”

“That's not what I meant,” Annabeth countered, “though my sinuses are already singing a tiny little hallelujah chorus about the flowers.” She side-eyed the large bouquet on Donna's side table, one of dozens in the East Wing at any given time. “I think she's about to start a prison riot.”

“Do what?” Donna looked up, furrowed her brow. “We're not going to any prisons, and we haven't got anything on our agenda.” Her eyes widened a little. “You don't think she's going to want to go after sufferage for felons again, do you?”

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “There was a time,” she told Donna, “long, long ago in the days when you got enough sleep, that you were able to understand figurative language.”

Donna glared at her without any real anger. “That's a lie. I've never gotten enough sleep.” She considered Annabeth's words a little harder, finally putting down the pile of folders. “You think she's feeling trapped in the White House,” she surmised. “And that's what the little thing in staff today was about.”

“I think she's ready to find herself a tin cup and start banging it against the windows,” Annabeth said dryly. “And I don't really blame her. She had a life back in Houston. She had friends and she was on the PTA, and she probably had a book club or one of those groups where they pretend to sew or knit and just drink wine and gossip all evening. What's she got now? This place is just a big ol' white cage for the First Family, and she hasn't even got days at school or the weight of the free world to distract her. Not everyone's built for the monklike lives of austerity that staff members around here seem to prefer. Present company excepted,” she added, tongue-in-cheek.

Donna flushed, her alabaster skin going pink all the way down her neck. “I wouldn't exactly call it monastic,” she said with great delicacy.

“You had a hickey last week,” Annabeth reminded her gleefully.

Donna gave Annabeth a slightly more pointed glare, but inwardly she was feeling rather pleased. Not just because of the hickey thing, which had been fun enough to make the embarrassment nearly worth it, but because Annabeth was joking about relationships again. Optics were Annabeth's stock in trade and she covered her emotions very well most of the time, but Donna had seen how undone she'd been after Leo's death. It hadn't taken too long to suss out why. At this point there was nothing to be said about whether a relationship would've been wise or appropriate, what did it even matter?  

Annabeth was completely unwilling to talk about it, so all Donna had was her own speculation, but if she and Leo had been a thing, it couldn't have been for very long. That really didn't matter either, she supposed. She wondered, when she could bear to think about it, what she herself might have done if something had happened to Josh at the end of the campaign trail, back in late 1998. She'd have been devastated by the loss, of course, but not completely destroyed the way she would've been a few years later at Rosslyn, or any time after that. Today seemed like a good sign that maybe Annabeth was starting to bounce back. “Aren't we talking about the First Lady here?”

“She hasn't had many hickies lately,” Annabeth commented, raising a quelling hand at Donna's sputter. “What I mean to say, she doesn't seem very satisfied on any level lately, and that's not usual for her. And you know what they say, if Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. If the President's not happy, the entire country suffers. We have an obligation.”

Donna massaged her temples delicately, suspecting she was about to have a headache. “I'm not sure there's anything we can do about the fact that her friends and her life are all back in Houston and this place is secured like a bunker most of the time. But at least she's got the trip coming up.”

“Which will probably make things worse,” Annabeth pointed out, swinging her legs idly off the edge of the desk. “She's just starting to get strung out now, craving her old life. Let her go to Houston and give her a quick hit of what she's missing, then send her back to the methadone clinic of blue-hair luncheons and boring fundraisers with professional brown-nosers, all she's going to be thinking about is what she doesn't have.”

“I think you rode that metaphor way out of the pasture there, but I see what you mean.” Donna replied dryly. “What do you suggest we do about it?”

“She needs friends here. People, ideally women, close to her own age, who she doesn't have to be so formal with all the time,” Annabeth said decisively.

Donna cocked her head. “Are you suggesting we set up a playdate for the First Lady?”

“If by playdate you mean 'you and I take her a bottle of wine and try to remember to call her Helen for a couple of hours,' it's not a bad place to start,” Annabeth offered. “I don't know about you, but I don't have any friends in DC who don't work here. And vetting anybody is going to be a serious hassle. At least if we can get her to open up a little, maybe we can find out some of what she'd like to do.”

“That could work,” Donna agreed, resting her chin on her fist thoughtfully. “The president is out of town Thursday night and the nanny's on duty. I'll ask her about it tomorrow and see if she's interested.”

“DAR's Thurday lunch,” Annabeth pointed out. “We might need a couple bottles.”

(This fic is also archived, along with any new chapters I may write, at AO3, same author name, under the title “Iron Bars A Cage.” 

[fluxuslaphil]

La Monte Young and Jung Hee Choi in conversation with Fluxus Festival Curator Christopher Rountree

"We all know that you have to go to the grocery store. But don’t make it into a life structure that allows you to do it without letting it interfere with the greater goal, which indeed is musical euphoria.”

Chris Rountree: My first question is about the West Coast. I know your work doesn’t often happen in Los Angeles. I wanted to ask how your early experiences, in music in Los Angeles, aimed you where you’ve gotten now?

La Monte Young: Yeah. Basically I grew up in LA. I started playing jazz in high school. I went to John Marshall High. Right away, I fell in with a group of guys who were really into Charlie Parker and the New Sound. That’s what I listened to high school. I then was playing in sessions as soon as I got out of high school. I went to a club called The Big Top. I played there almost every night from about 8PM until 4 in the morning. Billy Higgins would say “Hey, man. I know a place that opens at 4. It’s an after-hour place. Why don’t we go there?” You know who Billy Higgins is, right?

CR: Oh yeah.

LMY: Well, he was my drummer. Probably one of the greatest drummers that ever played. He was just incredible. Yeah, I wasn’t surprised that he died, but I was regretful. He was quite a wonderful person. He was very, very interested in my playing. He went all over LA getting us arrangements to play. So, gradually, I was composing.

CR: Were you composing while you were playing jazz as well? And were the compositions different then too?

LMY: A little bit. Yeah, I was composing some tunes. There was a composition called “Annod.” Which was Donna backwards. She was my high school girlfriend. She had perfect pitch. She was a very good musician. It’s quite a good composition, I think. Maybe my very first one that counts. I was always also in school, I went to LA City College. I studied with Leonard Stein. Leonard Stein was Schoenberg’s teacher disciple really. He did as much for Schoenberg than any of the others. Even though Webern was probably the most important composer in my mind, Leonard really promoted Schoenberg’s work.

CR: Why was Webern the most important for you?

LMY: For me, he was the most original composer who ever lived. He did things in music that were just unimaginable. For me, creativity has always been very important. His untimely death was very unfortunate, but he grew up in that tradition with Mahler and Schoenberg. He listened to Mahler concerts and Schoenberg. He was always there. He had a very traditional upbringing. What he did in music had never been done before. You can hear it coming out of, certain parts of Five Pieces for Orchestra. But he gave us something that has never been in music before. I followed it. I elaborated on it. I went further.

CR: We were talking about LA City College.

LMY: Yeah. I was studying with Leonard Stein. He was really a remarkable person. He knew everything about music. So it seemed. I went directly from LA City College to UCLA, where I studied with Dr. Robert Stevenson. These two individuals, Leonard Stein and Dr. Robert Stevenson, were very important to me as formal teachers. I was also studying saxophone with William Green at the L.A. Conservatory. He was a saxophonist saxophone player. He could play classical, he could also play some jazz. He really was almost like a father to me. I was leaving home and getting out in the world. Probably needed a father figure at that point.

In the Mormon church, where I started, authority is very strong. You grow up with authority around you at all times. I was considered an outstanding member of the Mormon church when I left. I was 17 years old. It was a big shock to my entire family.

CR: How did you make that choice to leave? That must have been really hard.

LMY: There’s an interview that everybody has. After you’ve been in the Aaronic priesthood for a few years, they want to advance you to the Melchizedek priesthood. One of the questions, I knew this question was coming, “Do you believe the Mormon church is the only true church?” I said no. I think it’s true, but I said “I think a lot of them or all of them are probably true.” They wouldn't buy it. So I was unattached and basically left the church right there and then.

CR: It sounds like, when you were in the interview itself, that was the moment you decided to leave?

LMY: I knew what was happening. I had already been in school. So I’d been part of the Mormon church for my entire life. I had absorbed a lot of information to realize that the Mormon point of view is very beautiful, but it was very limited to a certain way of thinking. It evolved from the Mormons coming across the plains. They had nothing and they were eating their shoes because they just didn’t have anything to eat. It was a rough existence. When they got to Utah Valley, Brigham Young says “This is the place.” So they settled there and things got better because they settled in a beautiful valley.

You know, I just saw a movie on the Donner Party yesterday, a documentary. Those early people going across the plains, they had some vision of something they hoped for, but they didn’t realize what they had to go through to get there. They suffered tremendously and sometimes ended up using cannibalism to survive. It was a rough situation. They didn’t realize what they were getting themselves into when they said “We’re going to go west.” It was holy hell. Anyway, that’s how I grew up. That kind of heritage was all around me.

CR: Amazing. You were talking about composition at UCLA and your teachers. And then about looking for a father figure.

LMY: It was Leonard Stein. Then I went to UCLA where there was Dr. Robert Stevenson. Dr. Robert Stevenson grabbed me as soon as he saw me and heard me. He took me all around the music department, said “This is guy is really good. He’s a genius.” I was the only one who could get straight A’s in his classes. All the other kids wouldn’t even take his classes. He was really a very great scholar. He had no patience with anybody who wasn’t really outstanding. He gave them grades that were so low that they wouldn’t take his classes.

CR: Were you still writing jazz at that time?

Jung Hee Choi: The most important early works were written in LA, were Poem for Chairs, Tables and Benches; Trio of Strings; and The Four Dreams of China.

LMY: The Trio for Strings, I wrote in 1958. It was very inspired by nature, but it was all walks of day tones and there’s nothing like that in music before, really. Some people thought it was really far out but Leonard Stein and Dr. Robert Stevenson thought I was the best there ever was and ever had been and ever will be.

CR: I wonder what the moment was when you departed from jazz and moved into the style that you then developed. Was that at UCLA?

LMY: I don’t know. You know, the Trio of Strings, 1958 is very, very profound. It’s all one sustained tones, and it’s the precursor for The Four Dreams of China. With The Four Dreams of China, I simplified the idea.

There’s a very important chord, CFF#G, in one key. I used that chord in all four inversions, F sharp is the bass, F above it, then G, then C. And I used these four chords in the Four Dreams of China. Each of the dreams is based on only one chord. In the Subsequent Dreams of China, I began to combine dreams. That was very complex so I had to have more players. So, Charles Curtis and Ben Neill, we had early on. I was teaching Ben rather early on and then Charles Curtis discovered me and he became the only person in the world who could really lead the Trio for Strings.

I was fighting, over my head and one great friend and he said, “Well, you know man, it's unplayable.” But he played it. And people worked hard at it.

CR: And unplayable in what way, do you think?

LMY: Unplayable in what way? You have to come down to his own way, there were long silences and then play it for record tune or complex intervals. You know it’s not melodic. A long silences, long tones—

it gets very hard to bring that in, perfectly in tune. Even like Charles and later Steven Burns, they just specialized in it. They were amazing, how much they could play a tune out of a blue sky.

CR: What’s your approach to making work with a collaborator like Charles?

LMY: Well, for one thing, they frequently studied Raga with me. Raga is a very profound musical system that’s thousands years old. They worked out all of the details. If you can learn Raga, which most people could never do, you’re ready to become a great musician, or you are a great musician. I teach all of my students Raga. Ben and Charles were the very advanced, and they could learn Raga and they could play. You had to do it to approach the Trio for Strings. The Four Dreams of China is more playable, because it’s just one chord, and you can start to get it really in tune. The problem would be the Trio for Strings, because you’re moving from one chord to another, time to time. It’s much harder to have perfect intonation that way.

CR: Would you say that intonation is the most important thing in your work?

LMY: If you’re not perfectly in tune, you’re not doing anything. You’ve got to be perfectly in tune or you’ll never send the message. It’s something you learn to do the more you work on it. You just take it for granted after a while. Certainly it took me time to realize that. That’s what I was doing, but I was. Jung Hee, say something about it. You know, Jung Hee’s very in tune, and she’s very advanced. Say something Jung Hee, anything.

JCH: The tuning system is the most important aspect of La Monte’s work. The Well-Tuned Piano, is a good example of how he transformed the traditional Western intervals in those two instruments, that created a new acoustical phenomenon that he calls Clouds. In which on experiences all the harmonics, sustained harmonics, they all form in the air. It’s something you’ve never experienced before, by tuning all the strings in a piano with the grammatical ratios that he finds. One of the difficulties that musicians found when they performed The Second Dream from the Four Dreams of China, was they had never heard certain musical intervals.

LMY: Neither had I! I imagined them, then made them happen, and there they were, and they were a model for mankind.

CR: Can you describe that a little more?

JCH: Musical ratios, four notes in the secondary: 12, 16, 17, 18. So 16, 18, and 12 are very well known intervals. They can be reduced to 8 and 9, and 3 to 2. So it’s a very simple intervals that we’ve been using. But 17 is very, very unique. It only can be achieved by gifted musicians, and even very perfect musicians can only hear the interval, after many years. Charles found his. He remembered that moment: when he first met La Monte and rehearsed it then—he was a child prodigy and was already a professional musician—La Monte asked him to hold a perfect fifth.

LMY: I asked what?

JCH: You asked Charles  to hold the perfect fifth, without accenting the 5th harmonic. Meaning the 5, the vector 5, the third harmonic, in one exercise.

CR: Wow.

JCH: Charles was very, very impressed, because no other composer, no other musician had ever asked him to emphasize the harmonics. That is the first memory Charles has of working with La Monte.

LMY: See this is a whole new world were you have to worry about which harmonics were made louder than others. In order to create a certain mood, you wanted some louder than others, and some softer than others. I think I was the only person who took this path. Various band musicians like Jung Hee and Ben Neill, and Charles Curtis took it very seriously and worked on it.

CR: It’s something so many musicians never think about at all actually. Do you think, that when you encourage musicians to think like that, it fundamentally ... clearly it changes them, but does it put them in a different space when they perform the music?

LMY: Oh yeah. It changes their lives. We all grew up playing melodies. Gradually, we heard various guys in music, Mahler and Schoenberg and Webern and Debussy. I was crazy about Debussy. But, all of these different musics exposed us to a different way of thinking.

CR: Would say that way of thinking is spiritual in nature? Or is it about mindfulness? Or?

LMY: Well, you know, listen, what is spirituality? We all grew up in various spiritual systems and ... we have to first define spirituality, before we can say whether something is or isn’t. What does it mean? What does spiritual mean?

CR: What is it for you?

LMY: Well, I think that it’s something real, it’s a life devoted in music. Music is extraordinary ability and fulfills a spiritual need. So that when a musician is involved with the music that fulfills that need, it takes them into, what to him or her is a spiritual state. Eventually, some people wanted to stay in that state all of the time. That’s a lifestyle. Many of us participate. It’s just, we do it to different degrees.

CR: When you feel inspired to make music, where does that inspiration come from? Does it come from, as you’re saying, just the experience of being in music every day?

LMY: Many musicians eventually just devoted every of moment of their life to music. Some have found a way, like Marian [Zazeela] and Jung Hee to combine visual reality with audio reality. Eventually you try to give up all of the elements of your environment and to create a world that is totally self-supportive and fulfilling. So that everything supports everything else and you don't get sidetracked. Because we all know that life has to do with going to the store and buying a quart of milk. But try to set things up in such a way, that it’s not a distraction. You want to make your life so totally organized it’s always fulfilling itself and fulfilling the goals of the particular recipient.

CR: You said recipient, do you mean your own personal goals?

LMY: Yes. You have to deal with: being in a state of doing what you’re supposed to do with your life. To some degree, you find out what you’re supposed to be doing, by doing it. So, if you get off the track, you’ll know right away. We all know that you have to go to the grocery store. But don’t make it into a life structure that allows you to do it without letting it interfere with the greater goal, which indeed is musical euphoria.

La Monte Young and Marian Zazeela’s The Melodic Version (1984) of The Second Dream of The High-Tension Line Stepdown Transformer from The Four Dreams of China (1962) in Dream Light, directed by Jung Hee Choi, will be performed at the Nov 17 Fluxconcert at Walt Disney Concert Hall, part of the LA Phil’s season-long Fluxus Festival.

La Monte Young’s Piano Piece for David Tudor #1 will be performed in conjunction with the May 2, 2019 Emanuel Ax plays Mozart concert. A post-performance, archival installation will be on view in the Walt Disney Concert Hall lobby through May 5, 2019.

[senior70]

On the Slippery Problem of “Lap-slope”

After much thought I have come to the conclusion that I must have been born with a deformity which, in itself, is not a serious one, but has over the years been the source of much grief to me. The length of my thigh bones adequately provides me with a wide enough lap for all normal purposes, but the length of my shin bones is such that, with my feet flat on the ground, my lap is not horizontal but slopes towards my knees. 

I realize that of all the awful deformities with which one can be born, this is truly a mild one about which to be complaining, so I really should be seeking a less severe sounding word than “deformity”, so perhaps I should settle on a ”disproportion” as being more appropriate.

I have not actually measured nor calculated my “lap-slope” in terms of degrees of declination, ratio of rise over run or percentage gradient, but in practical terms, it is sufficient to involve the effects of gravity.  That is, put simply, anything placed on my lap tends to slide off.

One could at this point enter the field of applied geomorphology and discuss matters of the “angle of repose” and the “angle of sliding friction”, both significant factors in determining slope stability, but I would agree with you that such an engineering approach to my ‘problem’ is probably going overboard. 

On occasion one is asked about one’s “most embarrassing moments” in life and since I have more than several that immediately come to mind, I have to pick and choose carefully. But one moment I recall with shuddering embarrassment, to this day, concerns exactly the affliction being discussed here.

I was about 17 and had for some time been my girlfriend Jenny’s partner in her dance lessons, the two of us becoming quite accomplished dancers. My father, a family doctor, did not have the financial status of the social circles of the ‘nouveau riche’, but the doctor was a much respected member of the community and was occasionally invited to events because of this respect rather than his financial/social station. Sometimes this extended to the doctor’s son, who was assumed, quite without cause, to also be respectable. So it was, known to be a good dancer and holding the position of the ‘the doctor’s son’ that I was invited to be the partner of the daughter of a well-to-do family at a dinner dance they were attending. I did know the girl through playing tennis at the local swimming pool cum tennis club, but had no particular liking or disliking for her, though, if asked, I might have described her as a bit “toffee-nosed”. 

On the evening in question, dressed in a formal black dinner suit and patent leather shoes (which, being a dancer, I owned already), my Dad dropped me off at the large house of my host, situated in a nicer part of the town in which we lived, our house being one of a sea of semi-detached, rather similar-looking, inter-war houses. The father, whom I had seen playing tennis, was very cordial and, himself armed with a glass of sherry, poured me a shandy, a mix of ginger ale and beer, while we waited for the ladies to come downstairs. Ladies, it seems, take a long time to dress, and, in seemly circles, must be patiently waited for. 

In due course, the ladies descended, my partner dressed in a ball gown, looking very elegant, but nonetheless not effectively concealing the fact that she was a little on the plump side, certainly as compared to my long-legged, trim figured girlfriend. I was switched to my ‘best behaviour mode’, and though secretly feeling out of my depth, managed to do and say all the right things, which was, I’m sure, a relief to my partner’s parents, whom I suspect, had at first questioned their daughter’s choice of dance partner.

Father drove us into the hills of the Surrey countryside along narrow lanes, and ultimately up a long private driveway to the forecourt of a very grand looking mansion, hidden in a coombe of the chalk North Downs. A number of vehicles were already there, and guiding my partner with an arm lightly linked through hers, we entered through the imposing front door. The young people were congregated in a side room, leaving the adults to mingle with their cocktails and discuss the stock exchange, politics and sport. Most of the young people were already destined for expensive private schools, and I had, of course, not met any of them, but as partner of this well known girl, I was received hospitably enough by them. I was introduced to many, but was quickly made aware that one girl was the best friend of my partner, and we would be sharing a table for four with her and her partner for dinner.

Dinner was served in a large room, the adults seated at larger tables with wine glasses at each place, and the younger set were seated at smaller, card-table sized tables around the perimeter of the room, without the wine glasses. I was already familiar with the order in which to use the multiple silverware at the table, but nonetheless was apprehensive and focussed on my getting every step correct. We sat and were served a very good series of courses, presumably catered by a company hired for the occasion. The two girls yattered away endlessly, so her partner and I chatted amiably about common interests, of which, some we fortunately shared. All was going swimmingly when the awful thing happened.

I had placed my napkin, a large heavy linen one, on my lap, but knew that it would be unacceptable to tuck the end under my belt, so left it loose. At some point during the meal, I realized that my napkin was sliding off my lap. Trying to make it as indiscernible as possible, I reached under the table, found the edge of the napkin and pulled it back towards my lap. But, what I pulled stealthily was not my napkin but the edge of the taffeta crinoline of the best friend sitting opposite me. She uttered a shriek of surprise, gave me a look which would have shrivelled a prune and yanked her underskirt back. It was a memorable look, one which I can all too easily relive in my dreams. Needless to say, though she had hardly spoken to me, from that point on I became persona non grata in her eyes and her partner obediently ceased to speak with me. I wished with my whole being that the ground would open up and swallow me, but it didn’t. 

Fortunately, my partner saw the lighter side of the incident, and the dance portion of the event went well enough with her, a small orchestra playing all the favourite tunes of the day. There were dances in which everyone changed partners, but thankfully, her best friend was on the far side of the room and we never met again. I managed, with concentrated effort, to meet the behavioural standards of my hosts but was never relaxed enough to actually enjoy the sumptuous occasion. On the way home, father took a diversion to drop me outside my own house. Perhaps significantly, his daughter never again invited me to partner her, for which I have to admit some relief, fearing that the story of my grabbing her best friend’s petticoats would quickly be spread, to everyone’s amusement.

Returning to the matter of the science of  “lap slope” I conclude that friction certainly has to be considered as a major contributor to the issue.

I do not own silk pyjamas, possibly because of some fear of sliding out of bed while fast asleep, but I know for certain that should I ever be in the unlikely situation of being expected to have a breakfast tray placed on my lap when wearing said pyjamas, disaster would swiftly follow, and morning tea or coffee would soak my bed-socks (though, since I do not wear bed socks, I would instead have wet, squelchy toes) and egg would irremovably sink into the carpet. 

Friction, or the lack thereof, certainly plays a role. The nearest I have come to a raw demonstration of this property of physics, was at an academic conference and was but a very brief episode in fact, though a memorable one. I and three male colleagues, suitably dressed for the Annual Banquet, were sitting around a low table in the faculty lounge of the university hosting the conference, when two female colleagues arrived. Not waiting for us to rise and offer them a seat, they promptly sat down on the nearest laps, mine being one. My lap-lady was a well respected climatologist whom I had only met briefly, but I recall, even now, that she had a long, solid dark green dress made of a shiny material. As she sat on my lap, she reached around my shoulder with one arm, but before she could get a grip, she was sliding off my lap. Whatever she was wearing beneath her dress had no property of friction with the lining of her dress, nor the dress with my suit trousers, and she only just saved herself from landing unceremoniously on the floor at my feet by bracing her legs at the last second. Brushing off the near disaster with a laugh she plumped down on the next lap along, where, to my chagrin, she remained comfortably perched for the few minutes remaining prior to the call to take our places for the dinner. 

Sadly, it seems, that is the story of my life. My “lap-slope” is such that it holds neither napkins, trays nor lovely ladies, unless I sit in a low chair or brace my feet on tippy-toes. Ah me, what an affliction to suffer.

senior70

“Reflections on an Ordinary Life”.

[aeltonhqapps-blog]

Bab.a | 20 | EST | She/Her/They  

Desired Character: Gaara Suno The Series They Are From: Naruto

THEIR AGE: 21 LOCATION: Pearl District, Avalon Hill ARTIFICIAL OR NATURAL: Natural IDOL CLASS: Epsilon BRANCH NAME/PROFESSION: (FORMER)Political and music branch, training for position of ambassador in the future, pianist PUPIL SHAPE: Barely visible diamonds, since the white pattern clashes with his eye color.

WHAT TECHNIQUE DO THEY RESPOND TO?: Though it doesn’t seem that way, Gaara is actually eager to please the authority figure in front of him, and if spoken to in the right way, then it will only encourage him further on. But don’t let that curve you from taking the necessary steps of disciplining him when he does happen to step out of line, no matter how rare the occurrence is.

PERSONALITY:                      

 Quiet | Socially Inept | Efficient | Loyal | Intimidating | Insecure

If you’re waiting for him to break the ice and strike up a conversation, then you’ll be waiting for a long time so kick up a chair and bust out the joke book, because the moment Gaara actually contributes to the conversation is the day hell freezes over. He’s a QUIET soul, the true definition of a ‘man of few words’, and while it’s not necessarily a bad thing, his silence is often confused for him being ‘stuck-up’ or standoff-ish. Do not take his silence to heart, especially during conversations, I assure you he is listening to you.

Gaara is, when it comes to the average social standards, SOCIALLY INEPT. While his default setting is set to ‘always polite’ and is constantly on his best behavior, Gaara does not understand all of the social cues and points when it comes to private interactions that are not business based. He is self-aware of this, which, if the wrong thing is said, will cause him to become nervous and tempted to flee the scene before he embarrasses himself any further.

He’s rather dedicated to what he does when he puts himself into it, which makes him EFFICIENT at his job. This trait ties in with his need to be valued, mainly by those who he deems he needs to impress; his managers and higher ups are all good examples of who he wants attention from. But, if he finds himself feeling that particular way to a fellow peer, then he will most definitely try to gain their attention (and possibly their affection) through his hard work.

He is LOYAL to a T, but his loyalty isn’t cheap, it has to be earned through persistence and dedication. Gaara is not easily trusting, but if you somehow manage to prove yourself to him, then he will stand by your side through thick and thin. But God forbid that you betray his trust, because if you do, then you have automatically lost yourself an ally. Gaara greatly values his trust, and who he gives it to.

More often than not he wears a blank expression that can come off as unfeeling or INTIMIDATING. But I promise you he will not hurt a fly, he raises cacti after all. Gaara has a very stern and indifferent air about him, mainly because his expression rarely changes from its default and his stance sometimes does not come off as friendly. Him being quiet, also does not help his case, and just adds on to the visual illusion.

Though Gaara appears strong, he does not hold himself in high regards, in fact, his opinion of himself is rather low. Gaara is very INSECURE, and will go even as far as to loathe himself because of how he views himself, but will not cross that line into self-pity. It’s not so much his appearance, but rather his personality and events that happened prior to his life. He feels as if he could mess up at any moment, leaving him to want constant confirmation by trusted sources.

BIOGRAPHY:

Ripped from her womb, brand new and unprepared, he was not supposed to make it through the birth.

They did not expect him to take his first breath, to open his tiny mouth and let go a chilling wail that would rattle their bones and shake them to their very core. He was pale, smaller than average newborns, and he was loved the moment he was placed into her hands. He fit there perfectly. To her he was perfect, but to her husband; the father of her children, and a retired diplomat who believed appearance was everything, thought otherwise. In fact, he was disappointed in the outcome of what they had paid Adamas for in the first place; what he had expected was to have an Alpha– or at the very least a Gamma. What he wanted was a strong, capable child with a respectable class, not something so frail that it passed the bar of being a health risk.

‘Weak' was the first word that came to mind, pitiful and sad– this was no child of his and he had no problem making this clear. His declaration of distaste only strengthened when his wife passed away soon after the birth.

A confession here is to be made; Gaara was fully aware that he was not well liked by his father.

That to this man he was but a burden and a selfish mistake, and if you thought about it the way Gaara did, it made sense. In a way, it was Gaara who had taken his mother’s life and ruined whatever it was that kept his father stable. It was Gaara, who is as selfish as his name, who decided to defy the doctor's predictions and live through the odds; and traded his mother’s life for his. It was his fault, he knows this and has already come to terms with this fact.

His early life wasn’t that bad, in fact, it’s the only moment in his life where he can confidently say he had felt at peace. His nanny was nice enough to be considered a proper parental figure, and he wasn’t smacked around or treated poorly, and his biological relatives weren’t cold-hearted monsters either. Yes, they avoided him, or rather, they were kept from him, thanks to his father’s influence, so he can’t say anything ill towards them.

The only person who was brave enough to ignore Rasa, Gaara’s father, and his words of warning, was Gaara’s uncle; Yashamaru, who was the only one who’d take the time out of his schedule to go and visit his sister’s child. He would always play with Gaara and made sure to give him the attention that his caretaker would sometimes forget to give. To this day, though he has grown older and there are some parts of his childhood he’d like to forget, Gaara cannot help himself but look back on those days with that man with such fondness. Gaara’s uncle, his mother’s brother, was a kind and gentle person, and it was no secret to anyone that was quite attached to this man.

So you could only imagine his surprise when he woke in the middle of the night to find the man who he trusted more than anyone, with his hands firmly wrapped around his neck and his knees pressing into his thighs and working as weights.

It took Gaara a moment to register what was going on, but once he realized the situation he could slowly feel the panic set in. But the odd part; he didn’t make a fuss- or rather, he couldn’t. The thought crossed his mind, sure, to scream, kick and plead for help but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Maybe it was because he didn’t feel threatened, or maybe because he knew that his uncle would get in serious trouble if he were caught. He had silently accepted death.

But it didn’t come.

One, two, three minutes had passed and nothing happened, the silence in the room was just as suffocating as the tension between them and it was only getting heavier by the second. Yashamaru, the man who was usually so calm and would never let Gaara catch him without a smile, was hovering above him with his hands on his nephew’s neck and a look that screamed he was suffering from mixed emotions. The sound of heavy breathing could be heard after a while, and soon after, the tears started to fall and a broken voice after that.

“My sister would still be alive if it weren’t for you. You’re nothing but a poor reminder of her regrets.”

There was a sharp, bitter tone in his voice when he said this; like he regretted the fact he couldn’t physically bring himself to strangle the last connection to his sister who just so happened to be the reason why she had died and was angry at himself because despite everything he still felt something towards the mistake that took his sister away. The moment Yashamaru let go of the small child, he slipped from his bed, out his room door, and out of the house.

Gaara has not spoken to, nor seen his uncle since then. He hasn’t spoken of this incident to anyone else but his caretaker.

Growing up, Gaara has not seen much of his father; in fact, he’s not even sure if the man is even alive, which wouldn’t be much of a surprise considering how long he’s been absent from Gaara’s life. He might as well have been dead. Gaara has been brought up by both his caretaker and the political figures that, out of the kindness of their hearts, and the sour request of Rasa (As well as their own obscene curiosity), had taken him under their wing in order to prepare him to try and live up to his father’s name.

STATS:  

Popularity 76% | A lot of Gaara’s performance songs were featured in a lot of television dramas and movies, he’s won an award for the soundtrack of two big hit dramas | Gaara is one of the very few Idols to attend important meetings with political figures from America, Britain, France, Japan, and Russia | Gaara has performed in concerts as both a solo act and as a part of orchestras every year in New York