#at least i have money for polish next semester so long as i get a job like soon lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nazyalenskyism · 3 years

Text

Alone Together

Summary: After observing the same mysterious stranger from afar at party after party, Zoya finds herself swept into a familiar sort of dance, but for the first time in her life she finds herself faced with an equally capable partner. A/N: This fic is based on song, if you send me an ask with a prompt and your guess, I'll write a short fic for whoever gets it right first! This has been sitting in my drafts for a very long time, I really hope you like it! Ao3: Alone Together There he was again, a flash of gold on the edge of the dance floor, a smile as bright as his hair illuminating the room. Keeping an eye on him over the rim of her glass she pondered for a moment, she had been coming to Morozova Foundation events since she was a child, at one point she’d been the belle of the ball, a prodigy touted around by the great entrepreneur himself. ‘ My talented pupil,’ was what he used to boast, well as much as his stoicism would allow. Zoya had once let herself be examined by a ballroom full of strangers, all clamoring for a look at her, trying to see what set her apart. At least until someone shinier had come along, that was. Then she’d been discarded as easily as yesterday’s paper and slowly she’d begun to see what he really was. A master manipulator, he’d played her for the fool she was, taking the only things she ever truly loved.

This stranger had begun making appearances at not just Morozova Foundation events, but at every event with even the slightest connection to the man. Usually this wouldn’t set off her alarm bells, many familiar faces would make the rounds at multiple parties but they were all Morozova’s mother’s age, usually none were as young as her and if they were then they belonged to a big name family. This man had no name she knew of, yet, and the way he worked the room, charmed the guests left and right was in a way not unlike her own. Zoya was entranced by the way he worked each table he sat down at, turning the grumpiest people she had ever encountered into putty in his hands. As intrigued as she was, she wasn’t going to let a pretty boy in a fancy jacket distract her from the task at hand. The man she had been conversing with all night, Mr.Kirigin had come back from a phone call and said nothing as she smiled sweetly, leading him to the quiet hall just outside the main ballroom. Kirigin was supposed to have information as to why Morozova had cancelled his appearance tonight at the last second, and lucky for her, from the second she stepped foot into the ballroom, the fool’s eyes had been transfixed on her.

Zoya pulled him towards an alcove in the wall between two ornate paintings, the gold of their frames reminding her just how gaudy this place was, how rich Kirigin was, he was throwing this party for Morozova’s foundation and money was clearly not an object. Yes, she was here to get information, but she wasn’t opposed to leaving with a little bit of financial compensation for her time either. She leaned back against the wall, watching Kirigin move towards her, fully enthralled by her and she nearly laughed, all men were really the same.

“What a beautiful time tonight has been, Mr.Kirigin.”

“Thank you, it took many endless nights of planning, or so my assistants tell me,” Zoya resisted the urge to smash his toes under her heel, what an ass.

“I would really like to thank whoever made it possible,” she slipped closer to him batting her eyelashes demurely, “I was looking forward to meeting the legendary Morozova too, why wasn’t he in attendance?”

“He said he had urgent business,” Kirigin moved as if to touch her hair, but Zoya grabbed his wrist instinctively.

“Where did he go?” she said abruptly, forgetting herself for a split second, just as someone coughed nearby. This hallway was supposed to be empty.

“I-- I don’t…” Kirigin took a step back, the trance quickly washing away. Shit, she couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” She made her voice honey sweet but the man still shook his head, taking another dazed step back from her when his phone buzzed, as if it fully snapped him out of it. He vanished back into the main ballroom as Zoya cursed to herself, how could she have let him get away so easily, she had been so close.

“Get it together,” she hissed. “Stop making rookie mistakes.”

“Talking to ourselves, are we now?” She whirled on her heel, she’d recognize that lilting voice anywhere, that bastard.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing, I’m just admiring the view.”

“That’s the best line you can come up with? How do you get the ladies to fall for that?”

“It works just fine, it doesn’t hurt when it comes from a mouth as pretty as this.”

“Trust me, it’s not pretty.”

“How long did you spend staring at my lips before arriving at that incorrect conclusion?”

Zoya scowled, “I don’t need to stare, I just assume every part of you is as insufferable as your personality.”

“How would you know my personality if I’ve never had the pleasure of talking to you?” He was next to her now, perfectly polished and dashing except for one stubborn strand of curled hair that only added to his boyish looks. She refused to think about how it made him all the more endearing, instantly understanding why all the rich women fawned over him. He was young, handsome, charming, witty and handed out compliments and praise in a way that was so sincere, no one could ever doubt his intentions. She had been watching him, not that she’d admit it but she was no fool, she couldn’t let some stranger waltz in under her nose and steal what she’d worked so hard for.

“I can sense inanities from miles away, and it seems your head is full of them.”

He pulled a face and she thought she’d finally wounded him into leaving her alone but the next thing she knew he was offering her his elbow with a gallant smile, “shall we take a walk?”

The estate was decorated lavishly for the party, not a single thing looked out of place. The gardens were strung with lights, even the tennis courts hadn’t been spared, with large outdoor tents concealing them from the French doors of the ballroom. Neither of them spoke as they made their way to the dancefloor, the guests had all moved back inside, the night being too chilly for their expensive fashions. Zoya let her mind wander as she kept up with the stranger's long strides— she’d refused to take his arm, she didn’t get that intimate until a man was giving her something worth more than a law school’s semester’s tuition. Then of course in the days following, he would never hear from her again. This man was clearly wealthy, though he spent time catering his attention to rich folk he evidently didn’t need it. You could often tell someone’s status based on the way they handled themselves. Most people didn’t practice as much as she had, from age 9 learning to carry herself as a queen would so that no one would ever doubt that she was anything less. The stranger had the posture and pose of a rich man’s son but there was something more to it— a light swagger-- as if he knew something no one else did, but he was perfectly fine being alone in that knowledge. A type of confidence she saw the partygoers try to emulate but something that they never could quite live up to. It was the ease of a man who had learned how to be free but a bird who was trapped in a cage again, desperately trying to get back to the skies.

“Can I have this dance?” The hall was packed, but most people were seated at the moment, only a few couples hurrying to the dancefloor before the next song started. She really didn’t want to dance with him, but she had lost her best chances tonight due to her own impatience and there was nothing left for her here. A woman the stranger had been chattering away with earlier in the night waved them over from a nearby table before she had a chance to respond, however.

“Mr.Lantsov, why haven’t I seen you on the dance floor yet, you said you were an excellent dancer, yet…” she trailed off as she finally noticed Zoya standing next to her precious, Mr.Lantsov, now where did she remember that name from?

“Yes ma’am my partner and I were just on our way there, as long as she agrees to dance?”

“Why wouldn’t she?” The woman glared at Zoya in a way that communicated that this man was the most desirable person at the party and she’d be a fool to turn him down. As stubborn as she was, she did not want to come across as a fool tonight.

“Dancing is a dangerous game, Mr. Lantsov,” she said, her eyes flicking to him to make sure he understood what she was saying. All he did was wink coyly at her before nodding to the woman and leading Zoya to the dancefloor. Fantastic.

“So, Miss…?” he began, taking her hand in his while the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her in close. She tried to repress the slight shudder as his fingers brushed against her exposed back. If she had planned on dancing today she definitely wouldn't have worn a backless dress. Although she couldn’t deny that he was handsome, at least she was dancing with the best looking person in the room… well, second best . She was showstopping and that was why all eyes were on them as she slipped her free hand onto his shoulder, curling against the smooth material of his jacket. Saints, his suit was at least three thousand dollars, his watch at least two thousand, and she didn’t even want to look at his shoes but she knew they probably cost more than her car.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Well, Miss ‘None of my Business’, what brings you here tonight?”

“Ooh, none of your business.”

“Are you having fun?”

“None of your business.”

“Intriguing! Is there anything that is my business?”

“No. Aren’t you tired yet?”

“No,” he grinned roguishly, “I don’t tire that easily.” Zoya turned her face quickly so he didn’t catch the blush colouring her cheeks. Thankfully he just kept talking. “Since you insist on being so mysterious, why don’t you ask me about myself?”

“Okay,” she looked up at him, how was he so tall? Even in her heels she had to look up into his eyes, eyes that were a brilliant emerald green with flecks of bronze. Before she forgot herself, she managed to grind out, “why are you here?”

“My family is expected to attend functions like this.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He let out a laugh as he spun her, gracefully catching her against him before they resumed their steps. They were nearly flush now, she could feel the heat radiating from him as he leaned in, “ let’s say, an old friend usually attends these sorts of things and I’m hoping to run into him.”

Zoya tried to bite back her surprise, could she be thinking of the same person? “And what did the old friend do to you to earn your visits? I’ve seen you at every event I’ve been to this month.”

He paused for a second as if weighing just how much he wanted to reveal to her. Good, at least he seemed to have a brain in that big head of his. “ I’ve been at university for the past few years and I came back once I heard he was planning on taking something of mine.”

“Oh, so not so much a friend, more like an enemy?”

“I don’t have enemies, Miss None of My—“

“Nazyalensky,” she supplied absentmindedly, she wanted to hear more of his story.

“ Nazyalensky… I don’t recall hearing that name before.”

“You probably forgot,” she said hurriedly, “I’m at every party and you’ve only just come back to town.” He didn’t need to know that she had only started using her last name again after her aunt died, hearing people associate her with her aunt’s maiden name had hurt too much. It helped that Morozova had only ever known her with that surname, it helped her disappear into crowds that had once marvelled at her and her skills. She’d stayed away from the social scene for a few years, watching from the outside, learning and perfecting her craft so that she would one day be ready to take him down.

“I remember most names and faces,” he mused, “and I would definitely remember someone as beautiful as you.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, she wasn’t that easy to woo. “I’ve been away from the scene for a while too, I’m also looking for an old friend, but he’s never here.”

“Who’s your friend?”

“You wouldn’t—“

“Trust me, he interrupted, “I would.”

“Morozova,” she blurted out, biting her tongue at how easily she’d let him uncover her secret. She needed to know if that’s who he meant too, and there was something about him that made him seem so sincere.

A shadow passed over his face and Zoya realized he hadn’t been expecting her to say that name. “Funny, he’s my ‘friend’ too.”

“Oh,” she mouthed softly, trying to step back as the music ended, but Mr. Lantsov kept a firm hand on her waist, his other hand slipping up to brush a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

“Perhaps we could speak outside?”

Zoya shook out her head, he may have dazed her for a second but she needed to call the shots again. She took his elbow as he released her tentatively, “lead the way, Mr. Lantsov.”

They had found their way back outside and Nazyalensky had yet to let go of him, her warm fingers pressed into his arm. He was fully aware of what she was doing, she had realized that since they had the same enemy, she could put on an act like she did with the people inside and get the information she needed from him. He admired her skill, most others didn’t get this far on tricks alone which meant that she had to hide something else as well. He also knew that as adept as she was, she hadn’t quite pinned him down yet. For one, he had seen her assess his worth, scanning him and figuring out the price tag of each item, but unfortunately for her, at the moment he was only worth a little more than the clothes on his back. From observing her at the last few events and staying at her side this night he found that he quite enjoyed being in her company. She was quick and clever, not unlike himself, and she knew just how to move, just what to say to get people to give her what she wanted, but as they conversed he found himself believing that she wasn’t putting up as much of a front with him. Perhaps it was a tactic to lower his guard, or maybe he only wanted to think she was being truthful for his own sake. He’d been at this game for a very, very long time and he was beginning to wonder what it would be like to not have to run alone for once.

“What did you think of tonight’s party? Even if you didn’t get exactly what you came for?”

“Maybe I didn’t get what I came for,” she said slowly, turning to face him, “but maybe I found what I needed.” Nikolai had to admit that she was very good at that, and had he been anyone but himself he would’ve gladly thrown himself into the grand fountains if she asked. Unfortunately for her, well maybe both of them, that’s not what he was looking for tonight. He simply smiled at her, taking the second before Nazyalensky spoke again to admire the way the silver moonlight illuminated her dress, creating a shimmering aura around her. She did look even more ethereal in the moonlight and even he was beginning to question his own ability to resist her.

“Well,” she drawled, finger running down his chest, “what do you think?” She looked up at him through thick lashes, the endless blue of her eyes threatening to drown him if he didn’t pull himself away.

Instead, he leaned in further, “I think,” he breathed, “that you’re playing a game I’m used to winning.” A genuine gasp flew from her lips as he grasped her wrist pulling it out from behind his back to reveal his wallet between her fingers.

“Nice try,” he smiled, “but I’m not that easy.”

“Oh yeah?” she scoffed, pulling at his lapel unceremoniously, her ornate sapphire hairpin tumbling into her awaiting palm. “You’re not the only one with tricks up your sleeve.”

“I figured,” he pulled a large ruby tie pin from her inside her sleeve, each of them pulled out hidden treasures from the other, stumbling a step back when they realized they were both equally good at their game of choice.

“Have you ever considered a partnership, Nazyalensky?”

“In your dreams, Lantsov,” she leaned in, “you couldn’t keep up with me.” Her lips brushed against his skin with each word, slowly trailing down to the corner of his mouth, “even if you tried.” Turning on her heel, she was gone in a flash of silver leaving him alone in the tennis court, with nothing but the feeling of her lips grazing his skin.��

“Hello?” The phone calls had begun a few weeks ago, the morning after he had been marked with red lipstick over his cheeks and a truth stamped over his heart. Nazyalensky’s calls had only been a minute long and every other day at first but now they were sporadic, more than five times a day at all hours of the night. Nikolai tried to ask what she was up to, all he ever wanted was to know more about the alluring woman who wouldn’t leave his mind. But to his dismay, every time he surrendered a story of his own she repaid him with a sentence or two at most, and it was usually about what she’d eaten for breakfast. As much as he enjoyed hearing himself talk he was captivated by the images the calls planted in his head, Nazyalensky soaring down a coastal highway in her convertible, the top down and her hair caught in the everpresent wind that seemed to cocoon her every movement. All he could think about was himself in the passenger seat, her sharp words cutting him before her soft lips healed them with a kiss. He was a mess.

“Are you going tonight?”

“I RSVP’ed but I’m not sure, I heard Morozova won’t be attending.”

“Get your suit pressed,” she snapped, “you’re picking me up at 7 and you better not be late.”

“I’m picking you up, oh however did I get so lucky? But he’s not going to be there tonight, we should spend the evening strategizing instead.”

“First off, there is no, ‘we,’ Lantsov, get that through your big head. Secondly, he will be there tonight.”

“My sources are never wrong, Nazyalensky, if they say he’s not coming--”

“He’ll be there,” she jutted in. “He’ll be there because I’ll be there.”

He froze, an uncomfortable weight setting in his chest. What was that supposed to mean?

“ Seven, Lantsov.”

“Seven,” Nikolai agreed.

The glimmer of streetlights danced against her hair, illuminating the shimmer of Nazyalensky’s vibrant orange dress, the fabric catching her every movement and he swore his heart had stopped when she first stepped out to get into his car. She had been quiet the entire car ride until now, “are you done staring yet?”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Sure you weren’t, and I don’t look magnificent tonight,” she replied, tossing her hair over her shoulder, the tension easing between them as they fell into the easy back and forth that had become nearly natural. “Your car isn’t what I was expecting.”

Nikolai raised a brow, “what were you expecting?”

“Something flashy and obnoxious, I don’t know, a Bugatti?”

“If I had a Bugatti do you really think you would’ve found me with your hairpins up my sleeve?”

She cut him a disbelieving glance, “I don’t know what to make of you. You say so much about yourself and yet I feel like I hardly know a thing about you.”

He let out a measured breath, she already knew more than anyone else did, she was wrong about that, yet this tale stuck in his throat unlike all others. “I wanted something with as much character as me,” he began, “after my issues with Morozova, this was one of the few possessions I still owned.”

“What do you mean?”

Nikolai drew in a breath, if he had any hope of understanding what she’d meant on the phone earlier, he had to be willing to show her his hand, as much as the stubborn, lonely part of him protested, he knew he wanted to do this. “My family is wealthy. They have traditional values like the rest of their friends, ideas about passing their dynasty down to their eldest son, that type of thing. Or it was. I’ve always known that the people who rely on my family’s services deserve more than them, they don’t care about helping them, not really. I’ve spent years, since I was a boy trying to be better, trying to make myself into someone who could take care of the legacy properly. It was working, I thought they were going to agree. I went away to university for a few years, tried to help in new ways, from a distance, but when I came back, there was nothing left.” He glanced at Nazyalensky and she only cocked her head at him, waiting for him to continue. He’d never told anyone this story before, and he still wasn’t sure why he was telling her, someone whose name he didn’t even know.

“Morozova, an old consultant slithered his way back into their lives the moment that I left. He knew my older brother wasn’t clever, was easily manipulated, and so that’s what he did. He and my brother turned the favour his way, cheated me out of everything I had fought to earn, and convinced the board that Vasily should get to take over, with Morozova pulling all the strings of course. When I heard word of it, I came back immediately, but it was too late, they had written me out of almost everything. I was left with no money, no power, nothing. All the plans I had came crashing down and now, I know that if I can get rid of Morozova’s influence, my family might see sense.”

They sat in silence until Nazyalensky spoke again, “that’s more… noble than I was expecting.”

“I might look like a feckless rogue but I’d like to think that I possess an endearing quality or two.”

“You seem like you’re anything but feckless, a rogue, however? That seems much more likely.”

He winked, “for you, Nazyalensky, I could be as roguish as they come.”

She turned away quickly but Nikolai didn’t miss the pink flush in her cheeks at his words, grinning to himself. Although he had just revealed his biggest secret, he didn’t find himself particularly regretting it.

They continued in a comfortable silence until a loud ring cut through, a few blocks from their destination. “What’s up, Tamar?” he asked, accepting his friend’s call on the car’s display. Yes it was an old car with character, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t spruced up the technology to his liking.

“He’s not here,” she replied, Nazyalensky’s head snapping towards him at this, her eyes darkening.

“What do you mean? I thought he was supposed to be there?”

“He’s in Italy, he’s not coming.”

Nikolai let out a sigh as his partner’s head fell back against her seat, her fingers curled tightly into her palms. “Thanks, Tamar, I’ll talk to you later.” Another wasted opportunity, and he had believed Nazyalensky when she had insisted on Morozova being there. He knew there would be other chances, but it felt like he was running out of time, that if he didn’t hurry Morozova would find him out and try to finish him for good.

A sharp hiss from Nazyalensky drew his focus to her, and he saw that her unfurling palms were scored with crescent shaped indentations, the result of her nails pressing into skin. As she began to curl her fingers inwards again, his hand shot out, stopping her with the press of his palm against hers. The red light before them allowed him the briefest second to realize what he’d done, pulling his hand back to the wheel. “I—” he began, only to be cut off before he could apologize.

“Morozova, he had this school that he started when he was young, barely older than the students himself. He cultivated talent. Pitted students against one another and chose the best ones-- the ones most useful to him, and would take them under his wing.” She was staring straight out the windshield, her gaze distant, her eyes hollow. “Can you guess what I was?” She let out a humourless laugh. “I was talented and would do anything he asked without hesitation. He used that and when someone who suited his needs better came along, I was thrown aside, as if I’d never mattered. Not just me, it happened to us all. I don’t want to ruin him for my own hurt, but for theirs too.”

Her eyes met his in the front mirror and he nodded at her to continue. They had been driving in circles as they’d shared their stories, and he wasn’t going to stop until he heard the rest of hers.

“The reason I stopped being his favourite was because a new student came along. And whenever she called, he would come. Maybe a small part of me thought that since my name was on the list, he would come tonight. Is that foolish?”

“No,” Nikolai returned with quiet honesty. “It’s not.”

Her eyes seemed troubled as they met his again, but her tone was cool when she spoke. “Zoya. Zoya Nazyalensky.”

“Nikolai. Nikolai Lantsov.”

“Nikolai,” she hummed, pulling out the syllables, as if testing the feeling of his name against her tongue. “ Nikolai .” Saints, he didn’t think that his own name had ever sounded sweeter. “What do we do now, Nikolai?”

“We wait, and we try again. Now that we’re working together we can come up with a better plan and make this work.”

“Okay,” she nodded slowly, “but what about tonight?”

“I could drop you back off at home? There’s not much use going if Morozova isn’t there.”

“I share a too-small apartment with a couple who is disgustingly in love and it’s date night, I think I’d rather not.”

“And I share a too-small houseboat with a set of twins who wake up at 4am to do combat training in the living room.”

“We could keep driving,” she suggested, her voice low, fingers dancing over the dashboard as she awaited his reply.

“We could keep driving,” he agreed, trying to keep his focus on the road as Zoya’s head came to rest gently against his shoulder. Nikolai knew this particular luxury would cost him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

“Zoya Nazyalensky and Nikolai Lantsov.” His voice was filled with a quality she’d never heard before but found that she quite liked. It was a mixture of indolent arrogance and jauntyness, a rare combination, but she supposed nothing was too out there for Nikolai, the last few months had been filled with him surprising her daily. Whether it was stories of his past, or his friendships or exploits, she found herself listening raptly, as if she couldn’t turn away. And she didn’t want to. His stories painted the world in a way that made her hunger for more. In a way that made her believe, for a few silly seconds, that she could get on his boat and sail away from it all. And then he would drop her off at her apartment and the second she walked through the door, the magic was shattered and she remembered that she existed, not in the textured fantasy world spun by Nikolai’s silver tongue.

With a quick glance at their invitations and a wave, they were making their way to table 2 as instructed. Zoya’s arm was looped lazily through Nikolai’s, but they were both on high alert tonight. They had received personal invites to tonight’s function, and while they were planning a much longer game than springing on Morozova today, they had ultimately decided that their strategy would be to convince Morozova that they didn’t want to strangle him on the spot. Easier said than done, her fingers were itching to wrap around his greasy throat, and they’d only just gotten here.

Whether he would buy it or not was a whole other question, but their plan relied on him being cocky enough to underestimate them or to want to keep his enemies close. Drifting through the crowd, Zoya was able to pick up more than a few of the whispers at tables, each one making her want to roll her eyes a little bit more than the last.

"She’s the girl who locked Nikolai Lantsov down.”

"I heard she blackmailed him into taking her to parties.”

“I heard her parents are forigen millionaires and the Lantsovs who are in crushing debt want to be bailed out.”

“I heard she’s the lost twin to the princess of some country or the other and they need his money to keep up their lifestyle.

“I heard that she knows black magic and seduced him into being devoted to her, that he spends his weekends feeding her grapes like she’s a queen.

Zoya leaned up, her lips brushing his ear, “that’s my favourite one.”

She watched him hold back a laugh, “if you wanted me to feed you grapes, you could’ve just asked.”

“Who cares about grapes, are you or are you not going to fund my jewelry-hungry long-lost twin sister?”

He gave her an incredulous look, “with what money?”

Biting back a smile of her own, they settled at their table, Nikolai’s knee brushing hers as it jounced underneath the table, more whispers flooding over them now.

“Nikolai Lantsov used to ask every single lady to dance with him before the party was over, even the old ones.”

“Nikolai Lantsov used to come over and sit at our table for hours and listen to our stories.”

“Nikolai Lantsov used to be the most eligible bachelor in town before she came around and locked it down.”

“Did you hear that, Lantsov?” she mused, leaning over to adjust his crooked bow tie. “Apparently I’ve locked it down.”

He let out a huff, “apparently?”

Zoya rolled her eyes, tilting his mouth down to hers, smiling at the glint in his eyes as she murmured, “definitely.” Definitely locked it down.”

Nikolai awoke to a hand flopping against his abdomen halfheartedly, what on Earth?

“Come closer,” a tired voice groaned, “what good are you if you can’t warm the bed.”

He shuffled closer, “you’re sure there’s no other reason I’m here?” he questioned.

“No.”

“An interesting way of getting me into bed but who am I to question your methods?” Nikolai teased, grinning at Zoya’s look of annoyance. It was first thing in the morning and he considered himself nothing if not a man of routine, and a part of that sacred routine involved annoying Zoya into affection as soon as she woke up.

“As if I’d ever let you into my bed,” she growled, flipping her back towards him.

“That’s interesting considering how I’m in your bed right now.”

“Oh that can be easily fixed,” she nudged him off the edge of the bed, relishing the groan of impact as he hit the floor.

Nikolai sighed, figuring that he very well couldn’t spend the day lazing in bed with Zoya anyways, as much as he wanted to. He found his clothes flung in opposite sides of the room, putting on a piece at a time until it came to his shoes.

“Have you seen my loafers?”

“You’re so annoying,” Zoya replied, her voice muffled from the pillow she’d thrown over her head in an attempt to drown him out.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen them?”

“Your shoes sound as pretentious as you.”

“That’s not helping,” he muttered, spotting a wagging tail with a familiar looking shoe in his mouth. Nikolai couldn’t believe that this was his life now, half dressed , trying to extract his ridiculously expensive shoes from his girlfriends’ dog’s mouth while she laughed from above.

“Give it back.” The puppy refused to relent, disappearing back under Zoya’s bed, undoubtedly gnawing on Nikolai’s leather shoes even more now that he’d dissented. “Well, I guess I can’t leave now that the dog’s got my shoes.”

“Goodbye Nikolai.”

“Zoya, your dog has fully destroyed my shoes.”

“Oh no,” she groaned, “his taste is as shit as yours.”

“Good thing I keep another pair here,” he sighed, glaring at the dog. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he murmured, kissing a chaste kiss to her hair. This was their routine now, nights spent planning and talking, falling asleep on the sofa, waking up to the cold, Zoya back in her bed, with Nikolai’s arms wrapped around her.

He had already reached the doorway when he heard her speak. “Or,” Zoya’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “You don’t have to leave.”

Nikolai paused, “what are you asking?”

“I’m asking you to stay.”

The words were sweet music to his ears, but he wanted to check she was certain. “Are you sure, Nazyalensky?”

Zoya turned onto her side to face him, her midnight waves cascading over her shoulder, her bronze skin glowing in the lazy late morning light. Nikolai was sure that he must have died and been taken to paradise. How else would he be fortunate enough to have woken up entangled with the sight before him?

“Stop staring and get in,” she grumbled, “before I change my mind.”

Nikolai slipped back into bed, letting out a sigh as the covers enveloped him again. He would much rather spend the day here, like this.

“Get your frozen toes off of mine!” Zoya hissed, cutting through his moment of quiet.

“They’re not that cold,” he groaned, pressing his nose to her cheek as she tried to squirm out of his grip.

“Why is your nose cold too?”

“That’s what you get for hogging the covers.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously, “I don't hog the covers!”

“Of course you don’t,” Nikolai soothed, pulling her to him as she rested her head against his chest. “You’re an equitable bedmate.”

“Damn right.” she huffed, her eyes starting to sink closed already. “I’m the best.”

“How long am I allowed to stay this time?” Nikolai murmured against her hair, unsure if the response would be the same as always, the usual until the morning. Something had changed, and he didn’t want to shatter the precarious nature of today’s agreement, but he had to know.

“How about forever?” Zoya mumbled, half asleep. “Forever.”

Nikolai’s heart had likely come to the conclusion months ago, but it was then that his head caught up. This was it for him, he didn’t think he would ever love again, not after this. Forever sounded like the perfect amount of time.

“Forever,” he agreed, slipping into sleep after her.

#zoyalai #zoyalai fic #my writings #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky #kos #king of scars #tgt fic #kos fic

21 notes · View notes

lily-onher-grave · 4 years

Text

prompt for @thatwickedozian and Glo--thank you both so much for your donation!

also from Learn Me Right, senior year

---

Elphaba shut the car door behind her and instinctively went to stuff her hands in her pockets. Instead of the warm, bunched up material of her letter jacket, however, her fingers slid against the smooth outside of her gray tuxedo. Unable to fidget that way, she shifted her weight and kicked her foot, scuffing her toe a bit against the gravel.

She winced, remembering Nanny digging out the shoe polish just last night, warning her to be careful with these. She shook her head and leaned against the car, bringing her foot up to rub out the mark she’d just made.

A giggle came from the other side of the car. Elphaba dropped her foot and looked over. Glinda was there, leaning against the closed driver side door, eyes sparkling at her. Elphaba flattened her palms against her jacket and let out a breath. She started making her way toward Glinda, glancing around for any sign of Crope or Boq’s cars. But the parking lot was already mostly full, making them hard to find.

The parking lot was already mostly empty. A few clusters of people dotted the area, either parting ways or lingering at each other’s vehicles. For the most part, though, everyone had scattered for the afternoon, making it easy for her eyes to find her own truck and—sitting on the lowered tailgate—Glinda.

Even in the cold, cloudy afternoon, she seemed to shine. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, with little wisps falling out around her ears. She wore one of Elphaba’s dark flannels and Elphaba’s class ring around her neck. Her feet dangled from the truck bed, kicking back and forth in excitement when she saw Elphaba coming.

But what really caught Elphaba’s attention was the single red rose that she held in her hands. Glinda twisted the stem between her fingers, letting it twirl back and forth as Elphaba approached.

Looking back, it was obvious. This is why Crope and Tibbett disappeared halfway through study hall, and why Boq was squeaking and stammering as he tried to talk to her at her locker, and why Fiyero had given her a smug smile before nudging her down the hall and saying, “Just go outside, Elphie.”

Elphaba reached her truck and looked up at Glinda.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Elphie.”

“It’s weird. I thought I was going to be the one to do this.”

Glinda smiled sweetly. “You were taking too long.”

“Prom is still two months away!”

“Besides,” Glinda went on, ignoring that, “you asked last year, so it’s my turn anyway.”

Elphaba raised an eyebrow. “Well? Ask away, then.”

Glinda pushed herself off the truck bed, practically landing in her arms.

“Elphaba?” She stepped even closer, and Elphaba felt heat creep up her neck and across her cheeks as their bodies pressed together. “Will you go to prom with me?”

As she asked, Glinda grabbed Elphaba’s hand and slipped the rose into it. She pressed Elphaba’s fingers around the stem, then lifted her hand so she could kiss her knuckles.

It took Elphaba a moment to find her voice. Once she did, she breathed out, “You know I’m not really a flower kind of girl.”

“It’s fake.”

Elphaba looked down at the rose. She ran the thumb of her free hand along a petal. So it was.

“So?” Glinda asked.

“So?” Glinda asked, reaching for her hand. “Are you ready?”

“What happens if I say no?”

“We’re already late, you know.”

Elphaba grinned. “Are you worried they’re gonna think we stopped to make out?”

“Well. That is what we did.”

“Oh. Right.” She squeezed Glinda’s fingers, pulling her a little closer. A blush spread across Glinda’s cheeks, making both of them smile wider.

“There you two are!”

They jumped and looked over. Crope was a few parking spaces away, arms crossed over his chest. He tapped his foot against the ground and frowned. “You’re late.”

“Isn’t that the fashionable thing to do?” Elphaba asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. You took a wrong turn.”

“Sorry, we took a wrong turn,” Glinda said, dropping into the booth opposite Crope and Tibbett.

“Riiiiiight.” Crope narrowed his eyes at her and Elphaba. Beside him, Tibbett just grinned.

Glinda leaned into Elphaba’s side, giving them her best wide-eyed, innocent stare.

“Don’t worry,” said Tibbett. “We already ordered your usual.”

“With fries?” Glinda asked.

“Of course.”

“I love you, Tibbs.”

“Sorry, darling. I’m happily taken.”

Crope perked up. “Speaking of! I believe we owe you money.”

“It’s really alright, Crope—”

“Nope! You dealt with Morrible. The least we can do is pay you back.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

Glinda shook her head, but she reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope. From it she retrieved a slip of thick, slightly glittery paper. As Crope slid a couple bills across the table, Glinda handed the paper to him. Elphaba caught a glimpse of the front:

—are cordially invited to Shiz High School’s annual—

Elphaba dug her ticket out of her pocket and held it carefully between her fingers as they walked over toward the others.

Crope’s teasing impatience dropped. He skipped over and hooked his arm in Glinda’s.

“My lady.”

Glinda giggled and patted his elbow. “Thank you, kind sir.”

Tibbett walked over to Elphaba, less bouncy than Crope, but smiling just as much. “May I?”

“Fine, but I’m not dancing with you.”

“Not even once?”

Elphaba took his arm. “Okay. Maybe once.”

“And we even get to dance more than once this year!” Glinda flopped back onto the bed, bouncing a little as she landed next to Elphaba.

Elphaba propped herself up on her elbow and stared down at her. She had the thought to reach out and run her fingers through the hair that had fallen over Glinda’s face, or trace the lines that crinkled at the corner of her eyes as she smiled. Instead, she found herself held in place, too entranced to even move.

Glinda met her eyes, her smile deepening. “But you know what the best part is?”

“What’s that, my sweet?” Elphaba’s words came out in a breath.

“I’ll get to be with you, the whole night long.”

She smiled back. “You know, that’s not really unlike any other night.”

“I know. That’s why it’s the best part.”

“C’mon Elphie! This is the best part!”

Elphaba clung to Glinda’s hand and resisted the urge to take a step backward. “I disagree with you vehemently.”

“Just one picture?” Fiyero asked. “If we all promise not to post it anywhere?”

Glinda giggled. “I think that one only works when it’s coming from me, Yero.”

“Besides,” said Elphaba, “I’m not sure I trust all of you with that promise.”

Her eyes flicked over to Crope, who pressed his hand to his chest.

“Elphaba, you injure me.”

“I’m sure I do.”

He walked up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Look. I’ll even sneak into yearbook club and delete it from their files if you want. Just—one picture. Please?”

Elphaba rolled her eyes. She took a deep breath, already feeling herself giving in.

“Come on, Elphie. It’s our senior year.”

She let the breath out in a laugh. “How many times are you going to use that excuse this semester?”

“As many times as it works,” Crope said with a shrug. “So?”

“Alright, fine. One picture.”

Crope cheered, bouncing on his toes in front of her. He leaned in, kissed her cheek, then dragged her off to the photo stage before she could take it back. Glinda—still holding Elphaba’s hand—ran with them. The others followed closely, crowding around Elphaba so everyone could fit into frame.

The boys crowded around, leaning over the table to get a better look at the corsage around Glinda’s wrist.

“That’s gorgeous,” Boq said. He glanced up at Elphaba. “Nicely done.”

She shifted in her seat. “Nanny and Shell helped.”

Glinda pulled her hand away from Crope so she could push herself up and kiss Elphaba’s cheek. While she was close, she whispered, “Shell told me the truth. I know you picked it out.”

Elphaba shrugged, ignoring the way heat crept into her cheeks.

A whistle sounded from across the room. Elphaba turned around, scanning the restaurant for—

A few tables over, Milla and Nami were setting their bags down at their own table. Nami met Elphaba’s eyes, grinning widely.

“Hey, Elphaba!”

“Elphaba!”

Elphaba looked up at the sound of her name. Her classmates moved around in the darkness, and the pulsing, dancing lights from the DJ booth made it hard to make anyone out at first.

Eventually, though, her eyes landed on Nami, standing across the room and waving at their group. Beside her, Milla spun around to look at them. A smile split across her face as she grabbed Nami’s arm and dragged her over.

“Milla!” Glinda called. She let go of Elphaba’s hand and ran over. When they were close enough, Milla let go of Nami and launched herself at Glinda, hugging her hard.

Nami walked over—much more calmly—to Elphaba. She held out her fist. “Sup, Elphie?”

“Hey, Nami.” Elphaba fist-bumped her. “I like the jumpsuit. It’s nice not being the only one without a dress.”

“Thanks. You clean up well yourself.”

“Blame Glinda for that.”

Nami grinned. “Trust me, I know the feeling.”

Together, they turned to look at Glinda and Milla, who were in the middle of gushing over each other’s dresses. Milla said something, and Glinda held out her skirt and gave a little twirl. The fabric—a delicate, sky blue in the daylight—was pale enough that it seemed to change color with every new flash of the dance lights. Elphaba spared a glance down at herself, wondering if her light blue vest was doing the same thing, but she quickly decided watching Glinda was more important.

She really does look beautiful, Elphaba thought.

“You really do look beautiful.” The words caught, and Elphaba had to clear her throat. But when she looked out of the corner of her eyes, Glinda was blushing.

“So do you,” she said. “I told you the gray suits you.”

“Thank Oz I have you and the boys dressing me.”

“Oh please. You could wear your cross country uniform and still be the most stunning person there.”

Elphaba snorted.

“Are you doubting me, Elphie?”

“There’s no doubt in my mind. That title belongs to you.”

Glinda’s blush deepened. She smiled, almost shyly. “Stop complimenting me, or else we’ll never make it to prom.”

“How do you know that’s not secretly my intention?”

Glinda’s smile widened as she looked sideways at Elphaba. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

“What—” Elphaba shut up as Glinda hit her blinker and swung into a parking lot.

It was just some cluster of businesses along the strip, but Glinda drove around to the back of the building, out of view of the road. She stopped, the car idling, and turned toward Elphaba.

Elphaba stared. “Well, shit. I didn’t think that’d work.”

“We’re still going, Elphie. Just…in a minute.”

“Sure. And what are we doing in that minute?”

“Take a wild guess.” Glinda was already lifting the center console, clearing the way for her to scoot across. Elphaba reached for her, hands finding her waist, and pulled her close.

Elphaba pulled Glinda closer, out of the way of a group of junior girls rushing past. Glinda spun with the momentum and fell into her. All at once, Elphaba became aware of the heat radiating from Glinda’s body, and her hands on Glinda’s waist, holding most of her weight, and the way Glinda pressed her chin against Elphaba’s chest to grin up at her.

“Hi.”

“Something tells me that wasn’t you being clumsy.”

“What can I say? I’m opportunistic.” The song faded, its last beat slipping into silence for a split second before a few slow chords played. Glinda’s eyes lit up. “And incredibly lucky. Dance with me?”

Elphaba pretended to consider. “Do we get to stay like this?”

“Of course.”

She adjusted, pulling Glinda upright so they could stand more comfortably—but not further apart.

“In that case, you don’t even have to ask.”

Glinda slid her hands between Elphaba’s jacket and vest, rubbing long, slow circles up her sides. Elphaba couldn’t quite fight off the shiver that came with her touch. She gripped Glinda’s waist a little tighter. It took a moment, but she eventually remembered that they should be dancing, not just standing there. She swayed with the next chord that hit, gently pulling Glinda along, delighting at the small, pleased smile that played across her lips as they eased into the rhythm.

“Hey,” Glinda whispered, drawing back just long enough to move her hands to Elphaba’s neck. “Did you know I’m in love with you?”

Elphaba ducked her head to press a kiss to Glinda’s hairline. “I’ve heard it a time or two.”

“Like, really in love with you.”

“That’s good,” Elphaba said, spinning them around just to see Glinda’s dress twirl with the movement. Glinda tucked her face into Elphaba’s collar. “I’d hate for this to be a one-sided thing.”

“Elphaba?”

“Yes, my sweet?”

Glinda pulled herself back so she could meet Elphaba’s gaze. Her eyes darted from Elphaba’s, down to her lips, and back up again.

The song was fading, anyway. Elphaba brought a hand to Glinda’s cheek. She felt a tiny thrill as Glinda’s eyes fluttered shut.

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of Glinda’s mouth. She couldn’t quite hold back her chuckle as Glinda’s fingers pressed impatiently on her neck.

“I’m in love with you, too, you know,” she whispered.

“I know.”

The entire room disappeared, but she could still hear the faint, moving chords of the tail end of a song. Elphaba smiled, and she kissed her.

#under a cut bc jfc this one got long #fun fact it took me two and a half weeks to figure out how i was going to write this #and approximately an hour and a half to actually write it #anyway i hope you like it! and thank you again!#fics for donation #wicked fanfiction #asks #i suppose #thatwickedozian #prompts #gelphie #high school au #cross your fingers the formatting works y'all it's been so long since i posted something long on tumblr

57 notes · View notes

void-knights · 4 years

Text

The Coffee Shop and Students

Square Filled: Coffee Shop AU Pairing: Loki / Sigyn, Tags: coffee shop AU, Modern AU, Music Student Loki, Art Student Sigyn, Odin's A+ Parenting, Bisexual Loki, Bisexual Sigyn, Customers being terrible, Casual misogyny Summary: Since Odin cut him off Loki (a music student) needed a job while attending Uni, this is how he becomes an exhausted Barista and how he meets Sigyn a sunny art student. Word Count: 7630 Written/Created for @lokibingo

AO3 Link

Loki had never understood Odin, Odin had been boasting to all his friends and associates that Loki had got into the best university. Loki was going to be standing amongst the elites of their country, it would open so many opportunities for him, especially amongst the government. It delighted Odin to no end.

“I’m studying music,” had been the words that made Odin give up on that one instance of pride and instead he went back to praising Thor who was heading off to get himself killed in the military, just like Odin wanted. As if that had gone so well for the PTSD riddled Hela who now worked in a wolf sanctuary up north somewhere.

Sometimes Loki thought Hela had the right idea. Give up and go to live in the wilds with a pack of wolves and a bunch of people who just understood you instead of trying to please everyone.

Still, Loki attended university, he had won this chance and was not about to give up on his dreams. But Odin made an ultimatum, while he would pay for Loki’s education no matter what (no child of his would be in debt) he was not supporting Loki any further if he continued to study music instead of politics.

Loki took the money for his courses and didn’t look back, until he blew through his savings at the age of nineteen and found himself in need of a job. How hard could it being a Batista be?

He was now twenty-one and understood just how fucking difficult it was. The job in of itself was easy, once he memorized the prices, the way to make the teas, coffees and hot sandwiches he was set. What was difficult was the dammed customers. Some he liked, some he dreaded, some he hated and some he forgot because they were either unremarkable or never ever returned.

His previous coffee shop had been two hours away from his dorms, this new one was twenty minutes on foot and ten on a bike. He preferred the manager, a stout cheerful red haired man who was understanding and didn’t make rude remarks about anyone who deviated from the norm. His previous manager had been a nightmare to work with, he was never happy.

The routine was fairly similar, the manager let the students do their work so long as it didn’t interfere with their jobs and the running of this place. For students like Loki there was not much practical work he could be doing, unlike Steve and his constant drawing, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make a dent in his research.

(Steve Rogers also happened to be one of his roommates which is how he found this job in the first place, the other two being Anthony Stark – slumming it with other students much to the delight of Odin who wanted Loki to be the billionaire’s best friend – and Natasha Romanov, she spoke Russian when angry or exhausted and somehow knew everyone. Loki was fairly certain she was either in a dance, theatre or art course.)

One bitterly cold autumnal day she arrived, the woman with the golden-red curly hair and tan freckled skin. He’d never seen freckles on lips before, he thought it just lipstick until he realized the exhausted woman wasn’t wearing any make up. Understandable given it was currently six in the morning on a Friday.

She was exhausted but lovely, it was as though someone had given both autumn and summer physical form and blessed her with a cute smile and odd taste in jumpers.

Steve looked up from his sketchbook, “Siggy, you’re back?”

“No I’m haunting you, whooooo,” she said waving her hands about, Loki stared, her mittens (that turned into gloves when folded back) were snake mouths. It was like having a pair of Kermit the frog heads for hands but yellow with red eyes.

“You promised to haunt Nat first,” Steve said pushing himself away from the counter half amused.

“Nobody living or dead has the balls for that,” ‘Siggy’ half shouted watching the blonde vanish into the back office. Loki heard Steve laugh, he had to agree with the pair of them, there was nobody could handle that. At least being dead was an advantage.

Steve returned slapping a pair of keys into the woman’s hand, “Now you have to buy something,” he said pointing to the menu, “Two items please.”

“It’s blackmail then?” the woman laughed, “Give me my usual.”

“No, that will kill you this early in the morning, try green tea instead, it’s good for you,”

“Such a mother hen, I know what I’m about and I want an eight shot espresso,”

“One large Coffee pitch black and a sandwich,” Steve countered.

“Deal,” the woman sighed dramatically folding back her mittens and digging out change from her jeans pocket. She got her order and left, her umbrella was also yellow, a bright yellow stood out in the grey gloom of the rainy morning.

“Who was that?” Loki asked Steve.

“Oh that, that’s Sigyn,” Steve answered sounding bored as though she was not the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. Steve was boring, Steve needed better eyes or glasses or everything, how could he not see what an attractive delightful woman Sigyn was? “We’re looking at houses together, so she’s borrowing my car.”

Loki’s mind skidded to a halt, what? They were only twenty-one, Steve didn’t come from money, he got into this very exclusive university through his exceptional talents, grants and only one loan. Which meant Sigyn-

“-Oh,” Steve looked up from his sketchbook, “You should join us,” it was half six in the morning nobody could blame Loki’s brain for conjuring images of sharing a bed with Steve and Sigyn, both were gorgeous.

Sense came back to him, Steve was dating Bucky, so why was Steve looking at houses with Sigyn?

“So we don’t have to spend the next couple of years in uni dorms, Sigyn is going for her masters and doctorate like me,” Steve answered Loki’s unasked question, he was rather good at that, Loki blinked, “It’s cheaper than the university dorms, so you’ll be saving money.”

“Who else have you asked?” Loki asked interested in the idea, anything to save money would help and the university dorms weren’t the best place to keep on living. They had rats inspecting the property.

“Natasha, Sam, Bucky and Tony, Tony asked Rhodey and I’m asking you, that should make up the numbers,” Steve said.

“Eight people?” Loki frowned.

“Bucky and I will be sharing a room, I think Rhodey’s happy to share with Tony and if they need to Sigyn will share with Natasha,” Steve said.

Loki considered it carefully, while more expensive Loki had his roommates had signed up for short term leases, by the semester in case they ever wanted to move out for any reasons. They had quickly learned by the first year that the dorms were not ideal but living on their own was impossible, this seemed an ideal solution.

“Well we have until the end of the first semester, let me know a week before I have other people interested,” Steve said and Loki nodded, thinking it over and not just because of the potential of getting to know Sigyn more.

A customer walked in, she carried a snotty toddler on her hip, a second kid walked alongside her and an exhausted teenager followed her decked out in every single awful thing Loki used to wear as an aspiring goth with delusions of what constituted good taste. It was nice to know some things never changed.

Loki played rock paper scissors with Steve, he won, until the snotty three-year-old was let loose and put his snotty hands all over the glass display unit. Steve smugly grinned at him as Loki went to retrieve the cleaning supplies, it didn’t help that the kid was now coughing and sneezing over everything.

“Ma’am please can you keep your child by your side,” Steve said, Steve was bright-eyed and bushy tailed even after years in retail, how? How was that possible, Loki’s charity towards customers had been chipped away within a month.

Of course the woman ignored him and let her kid do what they want, Loki couldn’t help it if the toddler tripped over his foot and crashed into its other sibling. He couldn’t help it if the mother carried the pair off embarrassed, but not as embarrassed as the teenager who paid for their order and carried it out for their mother.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that,” Steve said.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Loki grinned pleased with himself.

*****

Loki decided he hated customers when one cold evening one customer loudly decided to shout at Loki for having his long hair pulled into a ponytail and did he dare wear nail polish how dare he!

Steve of course stood up for Loki, because that was who Steve was, he wasn’t like his family who would happily laugh alongside the customer about how stupid Loki looked. Steve pointed out that this was a free country and that Loki tied his hair back for hygiene reasons, anyone with long hair had to do that regardless of gender.

Because Steve believed in things like freedom of speech, expression and so didn’t give a shit about your gender or sex. The woman shamed by Steve and his righteous speech took her coffee and slunk out of the coffee shop her tail between her legs.

“My hero,” Loki drawled causing Steve’s cheeks to pink, “So confident, I can feel the righteous surging!” Steve shook his head, “Hey want a rousing discussion about truth? Honour, patriotism, god bless-”

“I get it, you love me, lets move on,” Steve sighed completely resigned to Loki’s way of thanking him.

“Aww,” Both Steve and Loki turned to see Sigyn standing there, “Personally I’ve been on the end of Steve’s speeches, great as they are they tend to amp you up, you could lead an army with Steve’s speeches.”

“Take your heart attack juice and leave,” Steve said already filling a cup with eight espressos.

“That’s no way to speak to a customer!” Loki faked shock.

“Yes, how dare you!” Sigyn grinned, this is why Steve didn’t want Sigyn and Loki meeting, it would either be amazing or terrible, “I have rights as a customer!”

“I would demand compensation, a cheese and bacon toastie for instance,” Loki smirked at Sigyn.

“I – I wait what… excuse… what, Steeeeeeve, you did-”

“-No you, Sig are not allowed any more cheese at night,” Mother Hen Steve warned her, “Cheese gives you weird nightmares remember.”

“But it tastes so good! And that’s where the best ideas come from,” Sigyn said.

“It’s her right as a free patriot to eat cheese whenever she wants,” Loki said, yep Steve regretted them meeting. He decided it was worse than introducing Tony to Bruce and Jane Foster, the science trio were mad bastards doing crazy shit.

“Yes,” Sigyn nodded, “It is my democratic right to eat cheese and have weird nightmares. Now gimmie.”

“Even the nightmare about the tap dancing pig?” Steve asked, how he did that with a straight face baffled Loki, but he did.

“There were sooo many nipples,” Sigyn whispered haunted by some weird idea that did not seem that horrific until Loki noticed her frightened expression. “I change my mind,” She relented as Steve slid her order to her, “What time does your shift end?”

“Ten thirty why?” Steve asked checking the clock, an hour to go.

“I need your friend, the crazy bloke that talks to things?” that could only be one person.

“Tony,” Steve said

“Yeah, him, I need him to look at my laptop, it’s being a right old bastard, I think he might me on his last legs,” Sigyn sighed dramatically.

“Well you can wait here and walk back with us if you want,” Steve offered, Sigyn nodded and smiled thanking Steve as she claimed a peaceful corner all to herself.

The majority of the shift was spent dealing with people who were just starting out on their night out. Their manager closed up the shop after everything was done and kicked them out was he was sure everything was done for a second time.

The walk back to their dorms was a short walk filled with brief conversation and many yawns.

As soon as they were inside their dorm they were greeted by Tony and Natasha debating which was the best way to enjoy popcorn. Steve being the gentleman he was offered to take Sigyn’s black military coat, it hung alongside the other coats, her mittens stashed away in the pockets.

“Bacon popcorn is my go to,” Sigyn admitted pulling her bag to the side to take out her laptop.

“A woman after my heart,” Tony grinned at her.

“Good, fix my laptop genius,” Sigyn said handing it to him, “I got stuff I need protecting.”

“Like your porn stash?” Tony snickered.

“No, who keeps porn on their laptop in this day and age, get a pornhub account,” Sigyn said without any shame, Steve rolled his eyes while Tony laughed, “Fix him, he’s got my research and digital works, he’s not giving them up.”

“Greedy bastard,” Tony laughed with her.

Loki didn’t have much opportunity to spend time with Sigyn beyond handing her a bottle of water, she was too busy hovering over Tony and her laptop like a mamma duck waiting for her duckling to return. Of course the old as fuck (it didn’t take a genius to see how old her laptop was) laptop was on it’s last legs.

But Tony being Tony backed everything up on a portable SSD drive for Sigyn and told her not to worry about the cost of the thing, he recommended Laptops within her budget but said she couldn’t really expect to do much artwork beyond them, especially 3D stuff.

Sigyn thanked him and went along her way, Tony being Tony bought Sigyn a laptop. Steve said that she had beat him half to death trying to get him to send it back, Tony stuck an unreasonable amount of stickers on the laptop so no. He couldn't send it back.

Apparently Sigyn was pleased but annoyed that he had been so nice, whatever she got him in return made the young man giggle and blush. They never told anyone what it was.

*****

Sigyn returned to the coffee shop one warmer autumnal afternoon wearing a faded white band shirt with holes around the V-neck, jeans worn and weathered with time and patched with embroidery with paint stained army boots and bracelets around her wrists. Her curly hair was braided, half cornrows on her left side and half box braids on the right with beads and charms hanging from the braids.

Today Steve had the day off leaving Loki to suffer with Jane, well no that was a lie. He liked Jane, he didn’t like her dating his brother (who was four years older than her) and neither of them had the warmth and cheer that Steve had, that cheer and warmth kept them going. Instead, Jane and Loki wallowed in their misery as customers made their lives hell.

One in particular seemed to think slapping Jane’s arse was a good idea, he of course was equally horrified when he slapped Loki’s arse only to find out Loki was a dude.

“Usual?” Loki asked a little amused when she seemed surprised he would remember.

“Actually no, it’s pumpkin spice season,” Sigyn patted out a beat, “Give me a large pumpkin spice latte.”

“You can pay for it like anyone else,” Loki grinned, it took a few seconds to realize what Loki meant before she laughed a little ducking her head. Several beads clicked against one another.

It was thanks to the lack of customers at this hour (either Sigyn was a pro at avoiding customers – which if the case, she needed to teach him that skill – or she worked weird hours. Being an art student he couldn’t decide which was the right choice,) that he was able to continue talking to her.

Sigyn sipped her latte pleased with the taste, there was a reason it was so dammed popular and it wasn’t because it was famous – or infamous. She savoured the spices as studied Loki closely.

He wasn’t what she had expected when Steve first talked about him, she was expecting some posh guy who wore jumpers and talked on a diamond encrusted I-Phone. Loki was quite… normal, well terms of fashion, in terms of looks he was pleasing on the eye.

“So Steve tells me you’re a music student?” She asked thinking given his background he would be some sort of classical music star someday. She had no idea what went into music, she liked what she liked and that was that.

“I am,” was all Loki added much to her frustration, until he laughed and added, “I have always had the talent, since I first played the piano.”

“Ah, so you are a classical musician?” she asked, he looked more like he belonged in a Scandinavian heavy metal or folk band, she couldn’t get a good grasp on him.

“Not classical no,” He smirked, and she was left annoyed once again, the tease. She had to leave due to her classes starting soon, that and a new line of customers arrived, she bid Loki a fond goodbye and walked away.

Jane stared at Loki, “You like Sigyn huh?”

“What’s not to like about her?” Loki asked.

“She does have a nice arse,” Jane agreed, that wasn’t her only ‘nice’ feature but Loki didn’t say it out loud and instead set to work getting the next round of orders in.

*****

It was one of those weeks, Loki was battling with a mental block, papers were due, he had run out of shampoo and resorted to Natasha’s so now he had to deal with frizzy hair and worst of all the customers.

The company had decided in their eternal wisdom to release a complicated new creation to beat their competition, this bastard of a concoction was named the ‘Halloween Unicorn’ it was a nightmarish creation of a kid that had been fed too much sugar.

Yet apparently the customers all loved it, it was an over glorified pumpkin spice latte with extras that came with its own Halloween themed cup. But it was popular, so popular that they had sold out on day two after Instagram stars starting peddling it.

Now everyone needed a picture with one, most frustrating were the people who tossed their drinks after getting the pictures. Having to empty rubbish bins that were half filled with coffee was no pleasant task. Thankfully they had heavy-duty bags that did not leak (after years of experimentation) the downside, they were heavy.

God forbid they run out of the special cups or the unicorn horns and unicorn shaped biscuit and sprinkles that the dammed drinks came with. What was wrong with a basic pumpkin latte?

Sigyn was the next customer not that Loki noticed in his exhausted state, not until she smiled at him, customers did not usually smile at him.

“Pumpkin Latte please,” she requested and Loki almost wept with joy, no overly fancy orders, just a simple god fearing pumpkin spice latte. She dropped her usual tip in the tip jar and took her order with no fuss or additional stress.

She was seated by the window perched on her bar stool making use of the Wi-Fi as she typed away on her brand-new laptop. It was a garish yellow colour that somehow suited Sigyn completely. He took the next order, things were looking up, this woman asked for a completely normal black coffee.

Then the new wave of unicorn lattes started pouring in, rush hour meant all hands on deck. Steve and Jane were manning the coffee orders, their manager took care of the food and Loki was left to deal with the customers, he rang up the orders and passed them on. He barely noticed Sigyn leaving, he couldn’t call out to her which annoyed him.

It was five in the evening when things started to die down, the students had been dealt with and the customers were thinning.

“Back again?” Steve asked sounding amused by something.

There stood Sigyn, her curly hair pulled back and held by a piece of cloth, her left cheek smeared with a blackish paint. She wore blue painters overalls with yellow wellington boots.

“Only because I get a freebie,” she said presenting the stamp card.

“Pumpkin spice?” Steve didn’t need to ask, he was already making the drink.

“Yes, feed me,” Sigyn whispered.

“Have you spent your weekly budget already?” Steve asked.

“It’s Saturday be in awe that I lasted this long,” She said as Steve went to check with their manager that it was fine giving his friend free food.

Their manager being nice and Steve being the best worker he had meant that Sigyn got her food. “So how’s your project going?” Steve asked delivering the food to Sigyn’s stable by the window.

As Sigyn took her first bite of the bacon and egg grilled sandwich the moan she uttered did things to Loki, things that he should not be experiencing in a coffee shop, “Ah uh,” Sigyn wiped the bit of egg off her bottom lip, Loki struggled to tear his eyes away from her, “Well, I completed it.”

Steve looked up annoyed, “You… of course you did,” He sighed resigned to his fate it seemed.

He couldn’t listen in on the rest of the conversation because a customer came up to the counter, the woman had an expression that screamed she could either be a sane and nice customer or about to make their lives hell for the next ten minutes.

She chose hell.

“It’s not very professional to have your hair like that ,” she said to Loki, his hair was in a ponytail for sanitary, health and safety reasons, not for fashion purposes.

He was used to it, “May I take your order, please?” he asked she would need to do better than that to get through the thick skin retail and service work had endowed him with.

“You shouldn’t have your nails painted,” she said, he was wearing gloves again for sanitary and health reasons, they all did.

Loki simply met her stare which made her uncomfortable, “Ma’am may I take your order please, there are other customers waiting,” he pointed out to her politely.

The woman huffed and puffed, was she somehow expecting to magically summon the manager from his office? Loki waited, the customers were telling her to hurry up and that just would not do. She broke down completely, shouting at Loki.

It was oddly nostalgic. Like Yuletide with the family. Until her words struck a particularly raw nerve, the string of homophobic slurs she spewed left the few people that did not have their phones pulling out their phones to film what was happening.

That summoned the manager, who being ex-army took no shit. The woman left without her unicorn latte (thank fuck for small mercies) and a polite banning by the manager.

Loki tried not to let such things affect him, after all she was just a nameless woman, one of many that passed through this store. But that did not mean her words did not sting. Steve took over the counter allowing Loki to make the coffee’s in peace, the woman’s tirade made people overly generous with their tips, which was nice at least.

Sigyn was sat at her usual spot, when he looked up he caught her eye she offered him a smile before returning to her work. It was an hour later when they had no customers that Loki went to sit with her, to learn what she was working on.

She had pulled off the top half off her overalls, wrapping the sleeves around her waist to prevent the rest falling down as she worked on her essay. For an art student she was muscular and very freckled, there didn’t seem to be an inch free of freckles.

“I’ve got to write an essay on Edmund Dulac,” She said he had no idea who that was, so she turned her screen to him, he nodded still having no clue who he was. “Are you okay?” she asked him which for a few moments baffled him completely.

He realized she was talking about the incident with the woman, “Yes, it is something you have to get used to,” he said she looked annoyed on his behalf.

Fiddling with a leather bracelet Sigyn smiled at him, “It’s not the most ideal time but I can’t keep faffing about with this, do you uh, well not coffee how about uh drinks sometime, with me?” she asked him.

It took him a moment to get over how adorable she was when she was flustered, that blush warming her warm brown skin beautifully. “You are asking me out?”

“Y-yep,” She nodded, “I mean, if you want to?” she was fascinated to know what he looked like outside the coffee shop.

“Okay,” he nodded.

“Wait really?” She asked surprised why? She was gorgeous, she was the beauty that most people on social aspired to be. “Oh, alright, um, my phone number,” she said.

He slid his phone in her direction, so she could type it in, “Why are you so surprised?” Loki asked her really wanting to know.

“Oh you know, because your hot and I thought you might already be dating someone and well It’s uh been a while since I’ve dated anyone,” She admitted handing him his phone back.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been in an actual relationship with anyone, he had taken to one-night stands, mostly to experiment with his sexuality and try to pin it down. Sigyn smiled at him, and he believed her at that moment, she really was attracted to him for some reason.

Wasn’t that interesting?

*****

It was near the end of autumn by the time Sigyn and Loki could find the time to just spend a day together, what with their conflicting schedules, work and deadlines. But in the meantime they texted, messaged, phoned one another even taking a few moments to talk and get to know each other in the coffee shop.

It wasn’t as though they were strangers when they finally met up then, but they didn’t really know each other that well either. It helped calm him down as he stood waiting for her in the meeting spot.

Perhaps it had not been the greatest idea to come dressed in his usual blacks, with dashes of green and gold here and here. Some older folks were certainly disapproving of the way he dressed making him double guess his choices.

There was a part of him that wondered if Bruce was right, and he should have toned down his wardrobe for first impressions outside the coffee shop. The longer he waited (he cursed himself for needing to be early) the further he spiralled into panic and misery until finally a soft “Hey!” made him look up from his phone.

Sigyn stood there smiling wearing a knee-length mustard yellow jumper dress, thick black tights and black thigh high boots. Her knitted green and yellow scarf was ridiculously long with her usual brown backpack hung over one shoulder. Her hair had been freed from any restraints and now it was determined to be noticed the golden-red curls and coils framing her face seemed almost dazzling.

“Hello,” he greeted standing up, this was a little strange. Did they need to be in a coffee shop to feel normal? She laughed softly to herself, “What’s so funny?” for a dreadful second he imagined her laughing at him or something he chose to wear.

“Sorry, I was just thinking it’s a little weird seeing you in people cloths,” she smiled at him.

“I wear people cloths when I’m working,” He said.

“Your uniform is not people cloths, it’s the opposite, devoid of personality, this , feels like you,” she said grinning at him. She always seemed to be smiling or grinning. “How does this even work?” she asked him running her finger along the diagonal line of the zip on his leather jacket.

“Well you take the zip,” he began showing her the zip beneath his own black and green scarf and grinning when she rolled her eyes amused.

“Smart arse,” She said slapping him playfully on the arm. He did his best not to flinch, she noticed and thankfully said nothing, years of putting up with Thor and his friends had left their mark on him. She still smiled, pretending for his sake, or comfort that she had not noticed, something he appreciated. “So what now?”

“Has it that long for you?” He teased her she blushed an overly pleasant shade of pink as she walked alongside him.

“If I say yes would you be put off?” she asked him, hoping that he would not, some people were odd about people not dating, like it was a part of the curriculum for students.

“Of course not, I am more surprised you actually showed up,” he confessed though with a teasing tone as to not appear genuine. He did not wish to come across as needy or desperate.

“I wanted to see what you looked like in leather and skin tight jeans,” she waggled her eyebrows at him, like two charming caterpillars they danced, she was weirdly good at manipulating her eyebrows he thought transfixed for enough time to make Sigyn laugh.

“And?” he asked, he should have toned it down! It was ridiculous to think someone as warm, soft and pleasant as Sigyn would like this. Stark’s offer of a shirt suddenly seemed appealing.

“I approve,” She grinned at him, his whole body sagged in relief, she must have felt it because somehow that sunny smile seemed to grow a lot brighter. “So… what do people do on dates these days?”

He didn’t know, again dating had not been something he’d been overly interested in up until meeting Sigyn. Sigyn grinned at him, she knew he didn’t know either!

“People usually go for coffee,” He said lamely.

“ You want to go for coffee?” She asked him sounding amused, “That’s like asking me to spend my free time in a garage.”

“You work I a garage?” Loki asked suddenly he remembered something Tony had said about having Sigyn look at his car, he assumed he meant in the ‘I want to ask someone out’ way and not the actual practical way.

“Yep,” she said leading him through the streets with an idea, “My dad was the type that made his kids learn all the skills they would need in later life. He didn’t want me being ripped off if I ever managed to buy a car.”

Funny all his father gave him was self-esteem issues and anxiety, this was not something you said on a date, Loki knew that at least instead he said “My father just tossed money at people to solve whatever little problems he had.”

“Ah, you see that’s no good, I don’t care how rich you are everyone should know basic home maintenance,” Sigyn said, which sounded like good sound practical advice, the sort of ‘advice’ that Odin would shout at his children when telling them to pull themselves up by the bootstraps.

Instead, he answered, “Well my mother did teach me how to maintain a healthy garden, I know how to keep a vegetable patch and herb garden,” he said thinking it silly.

Sigyn turned to him awed like he had just said the greatest thing anyone could think of, “Really!? I’m useless with plants, well aside from Frank and Hudson.”

“Frank and Hudson?”

“Frank’s this spider-plant that just refuses to die, seriously I forgot to water him, and he just keeps on living and Hudson’s this Jade plant, I got him when he was a wee sprout as a kid, the bastard won’t die,”

“You make it sound like they are making your life an inconvenience!” he laughed.

“They grow Loki, they grow!”

“That’s what a plant is supposed to do,”

“Yes, but do you know how big twenty-year-old jade plants can be and how many babies a spider plant produces, lots!” She flapped her hand about.

He couldn’t help but laugh at the mental image of Sigyn on her one woman crusade to defeat two rather average houseplants that refused to die. She puffed out her cheeks pretending to be annoyed as he laughed, in truth she was delighted to see him so relaxed. This was nice.

Sigyn had taken him to the natural history museum, some place he had yet to visit despite living in the city for two years already. It was fascinating and much better than visiting a coffee shop. Even if suddenly he was craving a cup of coffee, his work had cursed or conditioned him!

The date went well, he did think it odd that they had not kissed on the first date, was that normal? He wasn’t sure but there was plenty of hand holding and laughter. Natasha said that was a good sign when he mentioned the date to her later that evening.

“The issue you got right now,” Natasha said stretching with Loki, they both attended evening dance classes together, pole dancing to be exact. It was a great way to keep in shape, “Is whether she’s aware of your sexuality?”

He had neglected to mention that, usually wasn’t something he needed to mention, “It might have slipped my memory,” Loki admitted mirroring Natasha as they went into the next stretch.

“Hmm, well you should get on that,” he would have done had dance classes had not left him close to breaking. Natasha and Loki staggered home looking as though they had been through hell and back and nobody had allowed them to collect the t-shirts on the way out.

So it wasn’t until he saw Sigyn the next day with Steve in the coffee shop that he suddenly remembered. Mostly it was the girl very obviously checking out Sigyn that helped him remember what Natasha suggested.

He knew from watching others that it could be a make or break thing, apparently some people weren’t comfortable with their partners being bisexual go figure! He didn’t want to mess things up with Sigyn, things seemed to be going good, nice even.

“Isn’t this supposed to be Jane’s shift?” Steve asked him, not as a co-worker but a customer today. The man had bland coffee tastes, Sigyn got her usual pumpkin spice latte, she was determined to fill up before they were replaced with the peppermint drinks come winter.

“Yeah but I have extra classes this afternoon, she had extra classes this morning, so we switched places,” Loki rattled off.

“Oh okay,” Steve said grabbing his boring coffee and adding no sugar or milk, he was just that type that liked his drinks simple. Sigyn was halfway finished with her latte before Steve could even dare attempt drinking his scalding drink.

“Sigyn can I have a word?” he asked, there were no other customers waiting for a drink at the moment so now was a good time.

“Sure,” Sigyn nodded, Steve pretended to make himself scarce by reading a book at Sigyn’s usual spot by the window, clearly he was waiting for Sigyn. Right! They were classmates. He’d almost forgotten. “What’s up?” she asked looking a little worried.

“Ah uh, I should have mentioned before,” Loki said thinking it was a little weird to mention this here and now, he should have waited, damn it, but now he couldn’t just not say it could he? “I,” he hesitated, Sigyn nervously began downing her coffee like a mad woman, “I’m bi?”

“Oh… that’s all?” She breathed a heavy sigh of relief, a nervous giggle escaped her, “I uh, mean no offence or anything Loki but it was kinda obvious?”

“You can’t tell if someone is bisexual by the way they dress and act,” Loki pointed out, well Sigyn was amazing maybe she could?

“True,” She nodded radiating cheer and warmth as she pulled out her phone and showed him the screen, “But meddling billionaire’s have no filter when you ply them with whisky.”

It was a photo of Loki and Tony kissing… well no Loki’s hand was quite clearly down Tony’s pants. It had been a rather strange night of drinking and more drinking, apparently Loki decided that night he was Bi and being a scientist needing to test this theory out. Loki had of course been happy to have an attractive guy make out with him, apparently Tony had a thing for potential rock stars? It didn’t matter, Tony got his answer and Loki got a half remembered fuck, it was a good half remembered fuck.

“I am going to murder him,” Loki threatened, it was a lie of course and Sigyn laughed, clearly not offended at all and used to Tony’s antics.

“If it helps,” She said quite calmly, “It doesn’t bother me that you’re bi Loki, we have that in common.”

“Oh, ah, I see,” Loki smiled, “Well good?”

“Good,” Sigyn grinned, “Does this mean we’re still going to meet up this weekend?” she asked.

“Of course, I want to see how you react to plants,” he smirked.

“Why plants?” Sigyn asked caught off guard, but Loki refused to reveal his plot to show her around the plant exhibition. It wasn’t just about plants, there was also some arts and crafts sections and something about home-made wine. “I knew it, you’re on their side, plotting against me.”

“Ah yes, me and my legion of hydrangeas,” Loki smirked.

“That’ll be a good band name,” They both jumped, there was Natasha… in daylight hours looking as though she hadn’t slept a week. By her side Tony, who had not slept in a week, “Legion of hydrangeas.”

“Nah you want something more badass, Legion of Cacti,” Tony said waking up now he was within arms reach of coffee. Sigyn pulled her coffee cup away from him.

“Wouldn’t you be more badass with Legion of Wolfs bane?” Sigyn countered.

“Wolfs bane legion?” Steve countered.

“Just take your coffee and go, all of you," he said filling up the various cups. Natasha liked Mocha, Steve was happy with his still scalding coffee, Sigyn got her refill of Pumpkin Spice while Tony had what Steve called heart attack juice.

“You’re supposed to smile when-” Steve grabbed Tony by the shoulder and gently steered him out of the building.

“Thanks,” Natasha nodded, that was all he was going to get out of the exhausted… possible dance student. There was some speculation she might be a classics student.

Before Loki could say goodbye to Sigyn she brought him into a kiss, it was a soft quick thing, nothing but a fond goodbye but it managed to turn his legs to jelly and leave him with a dopey smile as she pulled away grinning. He was to busy mooning over Sigyn as she left, especially the way her hips swayed that he forgot to mention the traces of black lipstick.

The girl that had been checking Sigyn out glared at him, ‘ Yeah she’s mine! ’ she stuck out his tongue, she surprised him by returning the gesture.

Their second date went well until Sigyn lost a fight with a prickly pair cactus, Tony laughed and laughed, the fact that they had to buy said cactus because it now had her blood on it made Tony laugh even harder. He bought the cactus and crown and sash, crowning it the vanquisher of Sigyn.

“I told you,” Sigyn groused poking her bandaged forearm, “Wait till Fred and Hudson hear about this, it’ll make them bold!”

Loki kissed her, she smiled at him in a very silly way that made his insides squirm and wiggle in delight. Her feathery touches, her patience all made him light up, he was certain others were mocking him for becoming so sappy, but he didn’t care.

She responded to him with affection and kindness, something he had not really had in a relationship before. At least not on this sort of level. Sigyn was never ashamed about hugging him, or just gently brushing her fingers through his hair. Why did that one feel so good? He liked her braiding his hair or just running her nails along his scalp.

“Next you’ll be writing love songs and giving each other promise rings,” Tony fluttered his eyes at Loki the next morning. Ah so the mad bastard had finally got some sleep.

That… might be a little true, he had begun to write one (just one!) Song for Sigyn, he couldn’t help it, when inspiration struck he had got it down on paper. But he would not admit that Tony, not when he was operating at full brain capacity while Loki was struggling to remember what day of the week it was.

Instead, he sent Sigyn a text ‘ Stark is annoying me, send help! ’

Her response was instant ‘ Mention Justin Hammer ’ why? Who was that? She sent him a list of conversation starters that included that name.

“Did you notice the university newspaper this morning Natasha?” Loki said.

“We have a newspaper?” Tony asked.

“Apparently someone called Justin Hammer-” Tony hissed like a feral cat and zoomed off shouting something about cheap copy cats.

“Tell Sigyn that was mean,” Natasha said holding up her mug to be filled with heart attack juice.

Loki later learnt that Tony had been the originator but Sigyn had perfected this particular blend of coffee so strong it could fuel rockets. Loki stuck with natural coffee, coffee that did not make people stay awake for days on end.

Loki on pure instinct refilled her mug, then looked horrified when he realized what he had done! The corporations had conditioned him! Natasha smirked, “Serves you right,” she said sliding off the plastic barstool Bucky had fished out from a dumpster.

*****

Usually it wasn’t a good idea to move into somewhere with a girlfriend of a couple of months, but the rent was cheap and the house was decent enough. Much better than the university dorms anyway. They had plenty of space in spite of the fact eight people lived here, there was even a small garden.

It wasn’t a good idea to share a bedroom either, but nobody could blame Loki and if their relationship ended suddenly for some weird reason Sigyn could share or swap with someone else. But Loki didn’t like thinking about that.

He liked his relationship with Sigyn, she made him feel loved, special, like he could do anything he wanted and that was okay. She supported him, coming to the café’s and clubs he played at never anything short of happy grins and warm affection.

Whenever he felt those pangs of ‘I’ve fucked up and should have listened to Odin’ moments she was there holding his hand reminding him it was okay to follow his dreams. He could not understand why someone as loving and kind as Sigyn would want him, but he could not imagine his life without her now.

In turn, he supported her art shows, Sigyn it turned out was a talented painter, both with traditional and digital mediums. She was already building a regular client base and looking to publish some books, which featured her work, there was also talks of a graphic novel that she and Steve were working on together. Something about an Atalantian prince.

She liked to draw him, he didn’t mind, he was in fact flattered she found him that interesting. He was always happy to spend time with her regardless of what they were doing, especially when the Uni classes became more serious. It was nice to just share a comfortable space with someone, someone who warmed him and reminded him to carry on. That everything was okay.

Finally, Loki got to meet Fred and Hudson, Hudson was huge, Sigyn had grossly undersold just how big he was. He became the Christmas tree that year he was so big. But Fred, the spider plant who hung from the ceiling was almost as long as Loki was tall, clearly Sigyn had given up dealing with the babies and just let him grow thinking it would kill off the plant.

“Maybe you have a secret superpower-” Loki began to suggest as he placed them in the most ideal locations.

“-Plants are spiteful,” Sigyn hissed threatening the plant who did not respond.

“Maybe that’s what feeding, all that hate?” Loki suggested.

“Oooh that’s sneaky, so typical of-” Sigyn paused looking at Loki who was struggling not to laugh, he blinked not understanding why she had suddenly become so serious, “You have pretty eyes.”

He blushed always caught off guard by her compliments he couldn’t help it, she smiled taking hold of his hand and kissing him. His entire being fluttered as she slowly deepened the kiss forgetting for a moment that they were in the process of decorating the house when Bucky walked in complaining about the new coffee machine.

“Loki!” Bucky yelled, “You're the coffee expert-” Loki groaned pulling away from Sigyn who giggled, her whole body rocked against him.

“-I should have worked in the bakery,” He pinched his nose, though he could not regret his choice of work now, it had led him to meeting Sigyn.

“You know… I need help with our bed,” Sigyn offered him an escape, and he took it with a grin, our bed did sound rather lovely.

#Loki Bingo 2020 #Loki/Sigyn #Logyn #Coffee Shop AU #loki x sigyn #Loki fic #Loki Fanfic #steve rogers #bucky barnes #jane foster #Tony Stark #Student!Loki #Student!Sigyn #Modern AU

6 notes · View notes

letterstothemidnightsociety · 4 years

Text

THURSDAY OCTOBER 8, one of the longest running television shows of our time begins airing the final episodes of it’s final season. Guys, Supernatural is 15. FIFTEEN. It can practically drive a car now. As one friend put it, “that show had a Quinceañera.” And if you don’t know how significant that is, think of the last show you know of that made it to season 10. Take your time, I’ll wait.

Whoever I stole this birthday invite from, they are probably older than this show.

I started watching Supernatural in 2008. I was 19, I had just begun my journey towards Over-Worked, Under-Slept Millennial, and my best friend recommended it. I can’t really remember how the conversation went, but I’m sure at some point it was “It’s scary, and it’s got these two brothers, I’ll send you a link!” cuz we were trash and we were broke and Netflix...existed? Hulu existed, but not in the way that either of those sites work now, so we watched by...ahem...other means. It is probably why my first laptop stopped working after 3 semesters of college.

And damn, I was hooked. I don’t do scary movies and honestly, I was legit creeped out by a lot of these episodes, but it had two hot dudes who took down a monster every week and then (the real kicker) had a bigger, season-long mystery they were trying to solve. And occasionally, they got punched in their big dumb beautiful faces. If I had known what a kink was at the time, I would have said that someone was reading my dream diary.

Over the next 12 years - Let me say that again for those of you in the back - TWELVE YEARS - I had an on-again-off-again relationship with the Winchesters. It was pretty hot and heavy in the beginning. I was jumping on the back of this 67 Chevy Impala 3 years in, so I had three seasons that I bought on DVD that I binged and was caught up with season 4 by the time the midseason started to air in late January of 2009. I was introducing all my friends to Supernatural, I made several people watch the entire first disc of season 1 with me, irregardless of whether they’d asked or not. Things started to cool down towards the end of season 4 as life started picking up and I know...I caught...the tail end of season 5? I think? I distinctly remember the final scene of the final episode, but honestly, I can’t remember how much of that season I actually watched.

At that point, I considered Supernatural to be a weird pseudoaddiction. I’d be clean for a while, years even, and then Netflix caught up with consumers and I could binge whole seasons in a weekend. It’d be, oh, I could just watch an episode. Just one episode. Maybe two. And then the weekend is gone in a blaze of classic rock and rock salt and I’m left with something like but not necessarily a hangover where my feelings live. I think I did this for seasons 6 through, like, 8? Eventually, Netflix stopped putting it at the top of my dashboard and it was easier to avoid. And I said to myself, well, when they finally get to the last season, THEN I’ll go on one last run, one last big score, and watch the whole series again in one go.

But the seasons kept coming?? And they?? Didn’t stop?? Guys, I don’t know how many of you care about this but, Friends, one of the most popular sitcoms of all time that defined an entire generation had ten seasons. TEN. Supernatural is ending with fifteen! For an industry where most shows don’t make it past a pilot, let alone a season 1, this is INSANE.

But now it’s ending. Even though a pandemic halted production just two episodes away from the finale, Supernatural is finally outta cassette tapes. The Wayward Sons may finally (??) be laying their wearied heads to rest (?? lol, I know).

And frankly, 2020’s been a real sh*tshow so I thought “Why not?”

And if I’m doing this and I’m not interacting with anyone on a human level, I might as well chronicle this epic dive into a time capsule of television because frankly, what the hell else am I doing?

Cuz that’s what this is guys. 15 years in TV time is multiple lifespans. Shows are born, grow into something Emmy-worthy, and die in less time than Supernatural has been on the air. You know what else aired their pilot episode in 2005? The American version of The Office. You know when The Office ended? 2013.

So let’s talk about pilots because that in and of itself may be a thing of the past not too far from now.

Guys, I love pilots. I will probably say this a lot over the next, uhhhh...many months, but I love pilots and I love season ones, especially for a sci-fi and fantasy shows because that’s where your characters are at their most vulnerable, their most unsure. The writers and producers are really digging around, trying to figure out what the groundwork for this world is and there’s something so exciting about exploring it with them, as an audience.

Pilot’s are great, pilots on spec are even better, and that’s a lot of what the Supernatural Pilot feels like. It’s got a real indie/guerilla-style horror movie vibe, like the crew scraped together just enough cash for that one special effect scene but had to skimp out on a lot of the other production stuff, and still managed to turn something around that is totally, 100% watchable and somehow more charming than if they’d had the budget to make something really polished? Go watch Night of the Living Dead (1968) and tell me that movie would have been better if they’d had a bigger budget. You could, but I won’t agree.

Ok so a quick break down of technical terms. A television pilot is basically the first episode of a TV show. Well, that’s not exactly true. A pilot is kind of like making a sample or a blueprint of your show that you hand over to the television networks and say, here! This is what my TV show will look like. Will you pay me money to continue making it? And the networks (think ABC, NBC, CBS, FOX and The CW - remember, this is Network, not cable) will spend January through April of every year reviewing pilots and deciding if they want to pay you money to make more episodes. Well, every year except 2020. See: sh*tshow. Sometimes the network comes to you with an idea, or maybe, you’ve pitched your script/show to some executives and they buy in for that first pilot episode to see where things will go. Neither of these scenarios are a sure thing, and pilot season is always rife with will-they-won’t-they tension. In fact, if you’re working on the show, there’s a real possibility that pilot will get re-shot after studio notes, you’ll lose your job to someone the studio liked better, and then the show still may not get picked up. A pilot shot on spec is in even more of a limbo scenario because nobody asked for this! And just to follow through on Pilot Season - after the networks decide to buy your pilot, they then air the pilot at Upfronts (usually in May) where their many ad companies decide if they will pay money to air their ads during those shows. This is where we get things like prime time and key demographics - if you thought TV was all about the art, you are very wrong. TV, like most other industries, is still a business that’s about making money.

Back to the Supernatural pilot. Now, from my research, series creator Eric Kripke had been working on the concept for 10 years. He was big into classic rock, big into urban legends and big into cowboys and all those things get married ever so neatly in this show. A lot of his initial ideas remain unchanged, at least for the first season - he wants two brothers, traveling across the country, facing off with America’s Spookiest Myths and legends. A lot of it did change. I honestly feel like I remember reading an early draft of the pilot where Sam and Dean are cowboys? But I’m also pretty sure I’m imaging that. What I’m not imagining is this ridiculous early draft where John’s been locked in an insane asylum, dies before the first episode starts, and Sam’s been living with an aunt and uncle his whole life and knows nothing. They still use something close enough to the La Llorona legend as the catalyst for the episode, but a lot of other things are changed. This is not the Sam and Dean we come to know and love. This is also a good example of when you SHOULD listen to notes, because this draft was rewritten after executive producer McG and his Wonderland Sound and Vision production company signed on, but before they actually shot the script.

Now from what I’ve read, the WB picked the show up for (4) episodes initially, and ultimately picked it up for a full season of (22) episodes. This was, at the time, a pretty standard season and a pretty standard way to get it. They had a better deal than The Office, anyway, which only got picked up for (6) episodes in their first season, then got picked up four episodes at a time for season 2.

Now let’s go over that paragraph one more time and talk about what a hecking DINOSAUR this show is -

FIRST off - Supernatural premiered on THE WB. It PREDATES The CW!!

Man guys, you remember they had a frog as a mascot? Oof, that would not work today.

Secondly, it got 22 EPISODES. We’ll get into this some more when we talk about that evil bugs filler ep, but think about how many episodes were in the last show that you binged on Netflix? 8? Maybe 10?

Welcome to the exciting world of GRAPHS brought to you buy https://www.theringer.com/tv/2017/8/4/16094348/inefficiency-week-mourning-the-lost-long-tv-season

OH! And SPEAKING of Netflix and streaming services like them, they’re kind of killing pilot season AND upfronts. They pick up shows when they want to. They “air” them when they feel like. There are no ads because you pay for that content on a monthly basis and also they don’t even have commercial breaks. I am slowly seeing the passage of time in one (1) episode of television and I think I’ve aged 100 years.

Here is just one of MANY articles about the death of Pilot Season

Finally, and most importantly, this show got a better deal than The Office. And that show was an NBC primetime show.

This show was nominated for 193 awards and won 50. And it ended when my nephew was still in kindergarten. He’s gonna be in high school next year.

So what about this Supernatural Pilot? Was it any good? Honestly, I’m gonna say yeah. This is some very solid Hero’s Journey here. I think the only weird thing about it is that Sam is our Hero, our point of contact character that gets us into this world. And I only say that because I’ll be real up front and say that I’m a Dean girl through and through. I don’t hate Sam, but because we live in a world where we have to choose, it’s Dean 4Eva.

From that early script draft, we learn the plan was for Sam to be in the dark and essentially be our audience stand in so that Dean can explain all the backstory. I think the decision to make John Winchester raise his kids as a weird fringe paramilitary outfit and establish Sam as the brother that tried to get away is a good one. It’s a very “Arrive Late” (or if you’re fancy, in media res,) sort of attitude and it works and you’ve already started building in the Atonement with the Father. There’s still some pretty excellent exposition dialogue, but what are ya gonna do. Sam, did you really need to explain to Dean that your collective father “raised you like warriors”? Or that you “kill everything we CAN find?” It’s fine. You’re beautiful and I love you. But also, he knows all that.

You have the Call to Adventure - Dean showing up and saying “Dad hasn’t been home in a few days.” You have the refusal of the call (“He’ll sleep it off”). You have your supernatural aid (hah!) giving Sam a push out the door - that’s Dean. You have your famous line that I quoted along with the TV - Dad’s on a hunting trip. And he hasn’t been home in a few days.

The dead mom backstory seems pretty on the nose, but the “burned on the ceiling” concept was new and unique enough that I was intrigued to find out more. Listen, I’ve already admitted I don’t watch a lot of horror so if this has been done before, don’t @ me.

La Llorona or Woman in White or Weeping Woman was a new trope to me at the time, so it too seemed fresh. I see that myth show up in a lot more Supernatural-type shows now, but in 2008, at 19, I was like, oh this is different. Not to mention - this definitely leaned in to the horror aspect. I know I’m a baby, but it aired at 9pm, which is the more adult side of Prime Time, so the WB thought it was too spooky for kids who had early bedtimes. So there.

I HATE when they do this cuz it freaks me out EVERY TIME and THAT’S NOT EVEN HOW THESE MIRRORS WORK??? SHE’S NOT EVEN IN THE BACK SEAT IN THIS SHOT!

And then at the END, when Sam STILL refuses the call to adventure, you have the real Crossing of the Threshold - Jess is ALSO stuck on the ceiling, dead, and on fire. Spoiler alert, but they had to fridge her early to make the rest of the season work and so it shouldn’t be a big surprise. Sam’s all in and we get 21 more episodes of him and Dean and that car.

Is it technically fridging if she’s lit on fire?

And let’s talk about Jess for a second cuz actress Adrianne Palicki is giving a LOT more in this performance than a fridged girlfriend should be required to. She’s likeable, she’s down to earth, she’s crushing it and and all this with only, like, two scenes of dialogue. I say this even though we meet her in a slutty nurse costume - COME on WB.

WB what the hell is this wardrobe. What the HELL is THIS.

In fact, all of the extras in this show are crushing it? Louis is instantly likeable and he disappears after his first scene, never to grace our TV’s again. And these extras in the town in Jericho, California - I kind of love them. As CW (or I guess, WB) as Jessica is, these extras look like they found them at the local highschool and I LOVE THEM FOR IT. They probably came to set already in makeup and wardrobe! They POSSIBLY brought their own jewelry! They’re weirdos and they are GREAT. I’m pretty sure this will NEVER happen again on this show because once the $$ came in, so did the more polished-looking one-off characters.

Lookit these magnificent goth weirdos! And great news, both these actresses have very full, non-goth careers after this.

Also, heckin’ Joseph Welch is just crushing it. This man has NOTHING CW about him and that’s maybe why I like him so much? Everything about the scene with him and Sam is pretty heartbreaking, from his rundown car graveyard to his rundown physique with his rundown accent to the fact that we never actually see his face. Seriously, really LOOK at this scene - WHAT is going on with this cinematography? Is this a reference to something? It’s SO bleached out and SO stark and WHAT is going on???

WHAT is this lighting? And also this guy was played by Steve Railsback was on X-Files!

You can’t talk about Supernatural without talking about the chemistry between Sam and Dean and that’s probably the real hook here? I mean a) very beautiful. I will probably talk about this a lot. Let’s call it what it is here, they’re beefcakes and they’re made for me and people like me. It is weird that this show is so macho but their primary audience was mostly there for the babes. And by babes I mean Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki. And b) they REALLY sell the whole brothers thing. They’re both from Austin, TX which feels like a weird coincidence. They were both already on WB shows before this one, also a weird coincidence. And they just click. They just do. It’s impressive, and occasionally creepy when we start to get into the Wincest of it all, but lets not talk about that.

Oh, and the MUSIC! The music just makes it. If you don’t believe me, watch the Netflix version of the first season and then find yourself a DVD version. See, TV shows need to acquire a license to play popular music during the show. Nowadays, the CW actually tags their songs in the episode so you can find and presumably buy it later, but they still have to pay royalties for using those pop songs. When Netflix acquired Supernatural, they did NOT acquire the licensing to use the classic rock songs from ACDC, Metallica, etc. and so you’re left with some pretty bland and generic production music that’s something like but not necessarily Back in Black. More like, Back in...Grey? This pun didn't work how I wanted it to.

And the show just...doesn’t work? Like, who knew BACKINBLAAAAACK! Was so instrumental to whether I thought this was quality programming or not. Side note - it ruins my favorite piece of dialogue of maybe the entire series -

Sam: I swear, man, you gotta update your cassette tape collection.

Dean: Why?

Sam: Well, for one, they're cassette tapes.

Do the young people even know what a cassette tape is? I AM the CRYPTKEEPER.

So yeah, you got a lot of ingredients to make something pretty great. Did we know then that it would launch a juggernaut of a television program that would still be on the air in the Year of Our Reckoning, 2020? I was a big fan of Firefly, so I was 99.99% sure this show was gonna get canceled at any second. In fact, I was thrilled, in 2008, to find there were two more seasons after the one I was currently watching. Of course, season 3 aired around the time of the great Writer’s Strike of ‘07, where nothing looked good and few programs survived, but we’ll get there.

In a final, kind of spooky, almost premonition-type decision the WB actually decided to air this pilot episode a whole week early on Yahoo!. Yeah, you remember Yahoo!, right? The search engine that briefly tried to have its own original streaming content and then we all abandoned it in favor of the monster that is Google? Yeah. This episode premiered online. I haven’t done enough research, but I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say this was probably one of the first ever TV shows to start on the internet? Weird to think that was a novel and innovative concept at one time.

So this is it. This is the end of the era. Are we gonna get any more shows that last as long as this one did? Who knows. Are we as a culture gonna care at that point? I don’t know. Our TV habits have changed so much in the last few years that it’s hard to say how we’ll watch TV in the future. But credit where it’s due, boys. Nice huntin’.

#Supernatural #season 1 #pilot #season 15 #Sam #Dean #Winchester #Television #Quarantine Binging #CW #WB

2 notes · View notes

mollymauk-teafleak · 5 years

Text

A Little Bit in Love

Whitestone Academy is the most prestigious boarding college in all of Exandria, welcoming young men from high society families across the continent.

And, this year, Caleb Widogast.

Caleb is determined to prove himself amongst his classmates and show them, and himself, that he deserves to be here.

Percy de Rolo just wants to feel normal for a change, hard when your family owns the ground the school sits on.

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

I shouldn’t be here.

Caleb had hoped to feel something more than that, the very first time he crossed the gates of the Whitestone Academy. After how hard he worked to get here, everything he’d been through, everything he’d endured just to have the right to study here, he’d wanted something more than the crushing realisation that maybe everyone who’d doubted him had been right.

I don’t belong here. I shouldn’t be here.

The uniforms were a combination of slate and heather grey, as if to match the cold exterior of the building itself, the only colour being the ivy growing up along the turrets and the slight gold edging on the school’s crest adorning every blazer in sight. The school simply looked ancient, the kind of structure that had stood here amongst the hills of north east Tal’Dorei for millenia and would stand for millenia more, defying all kinds of change. Standing in the courtyard was like standing in another time, a time much further in the past.

But it wasn’t that making Caleb Widogast feel out of place. It was the other students.

Though it would be hard to describe the difference between him and them with words, it was so obvious that they could be different species. It was in the way they carried themselves, the way their eyes passed over everything as if it had been all set there for them, all of it a backdrop to their performance. Their uniforms fit perfectly, they held their bags over their shoulders carelessly, they stood tall and confident. Most were human, some elven, some poised between the two. There were even some drow, few and far between, though that was where the variety ended.

They came from money, they came from old families. They’d known since they could walk that this school, the most prestigious school in Exandria, with the most renowned magic department outside of the Solstryce itself, was the place they would be attending.

I really don’t belong here.

Caleb knew he was staring but he couldn’t help it.

He’d sat all of the entrance exams and interviews in Rexxantrum, the closest city to his village, this was the first time he’d actually been to the academy. It had taken ages to get here, hopping on and off trains across half the continent and in that time he’d thought he’d imagined every possible combination of plush carpets, brass sconces and dark wood panelling, leaving him nothing to be impressed by. But in the flesh it was still astounding, like places he’d only ever read about in books.

He took his acceptance letter out of his pocket and read it for what had to be the hundredth time. It was well folded, grime gathering in the creases from his pocket, from how many times he’d read it just to make sure this was all real.

Due to your unique circumstances, please join the Headmaster for a meeting upon your arrival at the start of term.

That last sentence, before the polite farewell, made his chest pinch a little. Unique circumstances. Caleb hadn’t been able to figure out exactly what aspect of him that referred to. Probably all of him, if he was honest.

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew he’d only been allowed to attend this school because of their need to at least be seen acquiescing to changing times. He knew he was a trophy. He knew he was a performance, designed so the people who ran the school could point and say look, our admission policies are perfectly fair. How else could you explain him?

They’d probably pause before allowing Caleb the designation of ‘him’, of course. But still.

Caleb told himself he didn’t care. He was here, after scoring the highest grades in the entrance exams in decades. And he was going to do great things.

The thought entered his head just as he took a corner and collided into someone.

People came from all over the world to attend Whitestone Academy.

Percy de Rolo could have walked.

He didn’t of course, he took the car. That was his compromise with Father who would probably have sent him in the family carriage with a full accompaniment of trumpets to announce his arrival if he had his way. Behold, the next of my line.

Instead he’d been able to look at least a little bit normal. Pretty much all the other boys had shown up in similar ways, a fleet of ridiculously fancy cars with personal drivers, enormous for reasons of showboating rather than to hold all of their stuff for a full semester away from home.

Those golden words, as magical as anything taught within these walls. Away from home. Percy clung to that like a talisman, the idea of most of the year out of the mansion, away from his siblings irritating him like sand in his eyes, away from the eyes of his parents scrutinising everything he did for flaws. A chance to be himself, to go to lessons and join the rugby team and sleep in on Saturdays and eat in a hall full of rowdy teenage boys. A chance to be a rowdy teenage boy.

Percy couldn’t wait. He’d been counting down to this day for years.

He’d just come out of a meeting with the Headteacher, a man he’d already met at plenty of parties at Whitestone. His face when Percy had explained that, despite the requests of his father, he didn’t want one of the handful private tower rooms over one of the two person dorm rooms most of the students would be staying in, had been a picture. But he’d gotten his way in the end.

Percy had a suspicion that would always be easy while he was here. The school was named after his bloody house. But he was determined that this would be the last time he’d do it, the last time he’d use his surname to change the course of things.

He let the heavy oak door shut behind him and started down the corridor, eager to find his room and meet his roommate.

He was already blissfully imagining the mess he’d allow to build on the floor when he collided hard with someone.

Caleb gave a very undignified yelp, his rucksack tumbling to the floor. It burst open on impact, scattering his meagre possessions across the hardwood, his clothes, his books, his toiletries.

“Oh gods, I’m so sorry,” he stammered, throwing himself to his knees and trying to claw it all back together, hoping it would give him an excuse not to look up and never know the face of the person he’d just embarrassed himself in front of, “I just… I wasn’t looking…”

“It was my fault,” a nicely accented voice answered and, oh no, he was bending down and helping him, please no.

Panic surging up like bile in the back of his throat, Caleb snatched his binder from an inch away from the stranger’s hand, desperately hiding it under some books.

Not that it wasn’t going to be around the school soon, he’d had that depressing realisation long ago. But he couldn’t have that conversation with someone he’d just ploughed into in a random corridor five minutes after he’d arrived.

“You can, um… I’m sure you’re busy, I’ve got this… “ Caleb tried to get out, in between chasing down his balled up socks.

“It’s no trouble. I’m Percy by the way, are you just starting today too?”

Realising the general rules of politeness meant he couldn’t avoid looking at him any longer, Caleb gave in. The word that instantly slapped him across the face was gorgeous.

He felt himself sigh on the inside. Was he going to fall into a hopeless crush with every single one of his schoolmates?

Well hopefully they wouldn’t all have such angular jaws, sharp blue eyes and soft brown hair falling into said eyes.

Though, even if they did, they’d probably be bullying him within the first half term. Which should make the crush wilt somewhat.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, after too long a pause, “Yeah, we must be in the same year. I’m Caleb Widogast.”

“Well, I’m glad to meet you,” Percy nodded politely, flashing a smile that Caleb was sure he was going to be seeing in his more hormone fuelled dreams.

“Good to meet you too,” he mumbled, the way he always mumbled when he was nervous, “I’m sorry it has to be...like this.”

Percy laughed softly, finally passing over the items he’d managed to gather up, “I’ll pretend not to know you when I see you next and we can try again.”

Caleb gave a nervous little laugh in return, following his lead, though he was more focused on getting his underwear out of the guy’s hand as fast as physically possible, “Sure. Sounds good.”

As soon as everything was stuffed back into his bag, he took off down the hall, mumbling something indistinct about having a meeting to get to which was, in fairness, true. He left handsome Percy looking bemused under the gaze of the portraits of former headmasters.

Percy watched the red haired boy go, blinking in confusion.

His accent was different to his own, softer around the edges, an upward inflection. Less polished, less sculpted than the peers he’d grown up with. It stayed snagged in Percy’s mind for a long time after the boy himself had turned the corner.

He seemed younger than Percy somehow, even though they were apparently in the same year. His uniform seemed to sit too large on his skinny shoulders, tie done up a little too tight to anchor it in place, blazer sleeves coming a shade too far down his arms. He’d given the overall impression of some nocturnal animal startled awake in the middle of the morning.

His first classmate. Percy had been hoping to make a better impression but still, he seemed nice, if scared stiff of him. He winced internally, hoping that wasn’t going to be how everyone would react to him. He needed to get in ahead of his surname, try and seem normal and make friends before they could get weird about the fact that his father owned pretty much everything that surrounded the school grounds.

He hoped there was still a chance to do that. He hoped his family hadn’t ruined yet another thing for him.

Percy exhaled and checked the freshly printed welcome letter in his hand, with his amended room number. All of the dorms were on the second and third floors and it looked like he was in the very corner of the west wing, amongst the other first years. He mentally orientated himself and strode off to unpack and settle in, hoping idly in the back of his mind that the boy with the unusual accent wasn’t too embarrassed.

If anything, Percy was a little impressed at how many books he’d had for so early in the term.

Caleb still felt a little itchy even after he’d closed the door to the headmaster’s office and hurried in the direction of his new room. It was as if he could still feel those eyes on him, studying him like some kind of specimen, like a stray cat that had wandered in from outside and was a hair’s breadth away from being firmly ejected.

He was told flatly, emotionlessly, that he would change in a separate room to the rest of his PE class and that the only reason he wasn’t in his own room was because the school was at capacity, as if Caleb had some kind of contagious disease. He was told any drop in his grades, at any point in the year, not just around finals, would put his scholarship under immediate review. He was told if there was any trouble with any of the other students that the administration became aware of, that threatened the reputation of the school as a whole, there would no longer be a place for him at the academy.

And that he would be immediately placed in the advanced magic classes with the upper students.

The last part had been said somewhat grudgingly, Caleb felt.

He wasn’t quite sure what sort of trouble the administration was expecting, he thought bitterly as he headed towards the west wing, or how he was going to cause it. Probably by existing.

He chanted his room number in his head over and over so he didn’t forget it. Already, he could feel his palms start to sweat in his blazer pockets at the thought of meeting the boy he’d be sharing a room with for the rest of the year. He had a sinking feeling he’d cycle through quite a few, surely no one in their right mind would want to room with the scholarship boy from the back end of nowhere.

Good thing he didn’t have many possessions to move. Maybe he wouldn’t even bother unpacking.

Room 2.04 was the one on the end of the corridor, sort of tucked away on its own. Caleb could already hear voices behind most of the doors, laughing and cheering and chanting, the general celebratory air of the start of the school year and many boys’ first taste of freedom away from home.

Swallowing hard, he hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. Maybe his roommate would be somewhere else, off with the boys he probably already knew from a childhood of high society parties. Maybe he’d have a little lucky break.

Either way, the journey and the grilling from the headmaster had exhausted him. He wanted a bed and the only way to get one was to open the door and pray for a little luck.

He didn’t get it.

Someone was already sat on the left hand bed. Someone with sharp blue eyes, soft brown hair, neat circular glasses. Someone gorgeous. Caleb’s heart hit the bottom of his shoes with a thud.

Percy gave a slight, nervous smile, clearly trying to make the best of the situation, “Uh...have we met before?”

#here it is!#Percy de rolo #caleb widogast #trans caleb #percy/caleb #please consider leaving a comment on ao3 #boarding school au #critical role #cr fic

38 notes · View notes

versuswhitescar · 5 years

Text

Malam Manor

We all grow up with that once upon a time, crap. When you're little, you believe it. Who believes it as an adult? I mean, really? We have smartphones, rumbas, and clap on lights. No one meets a 17-year-old vampire who supposed to be 52. But I have, and I found his tapes by accident. Now I'm living a filliping ounce upon a time that Anne Rice would drool over. If I don't find the f-ing cave his sister is trapped in, I'm going to be enjoying a lot less sunlight for damn sure.

I know if I could figure out the details, I'll find the cave. And the murderer and maybe be spared, or I fail, and I'm the next Elena Gilbert. I sure hope not.

I'm just a damn tutor who needs money for her master's degree. Why did I even think that posting a flyer online was a good idea? Hell, my only tinder date turned out to be a 300 lb guy catfishing for a date to his sister's wedding. I stupidly, no innocently thought I'd get some pimply high school sophomore struggling through R and J and Shakespeare word salad.

Man, was I wrong? Mr. Cain Haywater answered my ad. Normal name for an average guy, right? Well, who the hell names their kid after the first murder in the Bible, but I'm getting off track. My ancient 98 jeep with more rust than metal is not going up the hill to the "Malam Manor." Later I Google it and turns out the word is Latin for bad. I should have asked Siri sooner. Too late, Cain Haywater a ward of the state. Because he's 17 and wicked rich is paying me 50 bucks an hour to help write his family's history.

This house is unusual in ways I can't even begin to describe. Its windows seem to follow you like eyes while I rev up the circle drive. The brick looks like it's from out of the Hogwarts rejection pile. The height makes it at least three floors, and there's a damn covered entry that carriages pulled under in the 19th century. Besides the semi-creepy outsides, even though it looks well maintained, I'm coming here close to 9 pm. Ounce, the sun is down on the hottest July night in history. I should have done a business major instead of English lit. Follow your bliss, my mom said. What does she know she's a nail tech for the last 12 years. She probably has brain damage from the polish fumes.

I can't imagine anyone hears my lame knock at the gigantic door. But I swear to God it seems like a cat or something opened the door. I thought maybe the heat melted my brain, but it looked like a fuzzy ken doll. It darted behind a curtain. Before I could investigate Cain, hold my breath beautiful, Haywater stands ten feet in front of me in his large foyer in black jeans, skin-tight grey shirt with a badass blue tattoo that seems to have a deep center that radiates over his forearm. I'm shook in so many ways I can barely speak "Nyx, Nyx Jackson?" My name never sounded so smooth coming out of any humans mouth ever. That was when my brain should have clicked over to reality that he wasn't human. He hadn't been human since 1989.

Sadly only 2 hours into my best tutoring gig ever, I discovered Cain Haywater was indeed a real vampire. And his beloved twin sister Danielle, Dani, as he referred to her, was just as dead only traped in a watery caved transformed into a rusalka for the last 34 years. I was Cains's last chance at finding her cave and the wort boyfriend a girl could ask for. Jefferson Granton. A 200-year-old vampire that he needed to kill. My life wasn't fair and only made worse by the fact that I'm sure I'm going to fail, and my last meal was crappy ramen.

It was my stomach and too much curiosity that made me start playing with the vintage tape recorder Cain had on the black walnut desk. He heard my growling belly and while he searched for food. I pressed play. Big mistake, I'm not sure where he went to kill the food, but I listened to almost one side of a cassette tape. The quick spark notes, once he came back with cheese, apples, and fancy crackers to catch me, went fast.

Back in May of 1986, he and his twin sister were graduating from Xaiver highschool. Somehow she latched on to an older college guy that wandered into town on a semester off to find himself. Jefferson Granton was mesmerizing, according to Cain, tall blond lovely to look at and even more interesting to listen to. He swept naive Danni off her feet on a cross country trip. He had a long term plan. One he had been cooking up for at least 100 years when Cain's family made a fortune in lumber and now stocks.

Jeffy boy started life as Jacarde Gulomar in the Brittany region of France. He accepted the gift of eternal life from a Norse vampire who wanted a mate. Jeff never entirely made his fortune and became a bad luck symbol for the covens all over Europe. Eyes on the new country to the west, he hopped a ship and arrived to wonder the grandness of the US just after the civil war. Comming upon early decedents of the Haywater clan. William Percy Haywater knew the deal equipped each member of the family with a hawthorn stake, holy water, and a warning against a freshly minted newly named Jefferson Granton.

No one fell for him until Danni, with all her beauty and openness, fell in love, and became a target for her trust fund. By the time the twins were 17, their parents were dead at the fate of a drunk driver, and a deaf Aunt looks after them. Danni fell under Jefferson's spell forgetting all caution to follow to the whispering cave. Now oddly in the middle of the mind-melting story, a flash caught my eye, and I met the grandfather like ken doll Cain shared his mansion with.

Pere was a domavoy who kept Cain and Malan safe as much as he could. Cain respects and adored him, so I was polite. Over the next three weeks, I moved in search their land every day when Cain joins me and feasts on Pere's cooking skills. His little face sparkled at each new dish he made for me after decades of blood bags. On steamy Saturday, July 31st, I finally found, or more fell into the mouth of the cave. Much of Cain's memory was erased on the night he watched Jefferson murder Danni while he hogtied in the corner of the damp cave. Only to meet a fate worse than Danni by forcefully being turned and compelled to kill and drain his Aunt of all her blood. Jefferson helps smooth it all over with some compulsion and tricks, but Cain secured his wealth in the next few days only to vanish. He picked a small fishing village in Maine, where he met Gabriel 100-year-old vampire who taught him to live and gave him advice on how to avenge Danni. Gabriel's plan centered on Cain coming home as his namesake's son Cain Haywater II. The mansion and his tie to Danni or Cain's greatest strength. It was clear why Jefferson failed to control them.

The night I stumbled into the cave, I wore my Danni look-alike costume Pere helped me pull together. I looked like a backup dancer on a Wham video. It was. It was to trick Jefferson, but oddly I caught the attention of another creepy creature a leshii in the woods. I thought it was Cain because the voice fit, and I felt drawn to the being. Only when it had led me halfway across the land did I catch a glimpse of its eyes. Pure white scalaris was not a hint of iris or pupil. Taking off back towards the cave, I felt two forces moving me one I can now sense with Cain, and the other I was damn sure was Jefferson. He'd been down a rough road probably because, in life, he was a bit of a narcissist. Only to have that enhanced by his Vampire Life, he thought I was Danni, and he'd Follow Me to Hell to get that money. Once we made it to the rippling silver pond within the cave, I laid eyes on Daniella. My wham costume was a joke compared to her beauty.

She swept as close to us as possible, shouting silently in my brain to turn now. Cain stands between me and Jefferson stake in hand slowly I fell to the wash of a cool breeze flowing over us which I knew mixed with my warm body temp to engulf Cain it was in that moment I saw the vague outline of a man just like he left a speakeasy in 1926. He became more gas-like to almost solid, yet I could still see right through him. He is handsome except for that visible gunshot wound to his right Temple. Why was I surprised that we now have a ghost to add to the mix. Pere spoke of the cave as whispered he claimed someone took their life after the 1920 stock crash here he was with eyes for Danni.

The extraordinary power Cain had wasn't just his home or his connection to his twin. It was that he could feel loved. He survived and lived by keeping his Humanity. I saw beautiful sparkling Jefferson with his flowing blonde hair realize it too. Cains power made the cave hum Jefferson was cocky, and that was very clear. He charged expecting to deflect the steak easily, but with Danni's strength and God help me my feelings for Cain. He drove the stake straight and true into Jefferson's lean chest.

Before I can blink Cain without a blade from his boot and with incredible strength severed the head like clockwork Cain without a new Zippo lighter and flicked it on to Jeffy. Making a roaring vampire candle. Can quickly turn to glance behind making a connection with Danni. "find your bliss" I heard in my head, and I knew Cain heard it too. The 1920s gentleman back into Danni as they drifted further back into the cave. We're only water held the floor we stood still. "Nyx?" his velvet voice floated over me. I can only gape open mouth, watery eyes, and some snot beginning to flow. At that moment, my stomach rumbled loudly. He smiled a genuinely genuine smile with all the years that he waited. I knew without any doubt Cain Haywater would be in my future Tech probably my whole life, and I smiled too.

Let me know what you think and If you want more

#vampire #love #death #teen drama

1 note · View note

iamliberalartsgt · 7 years

Text

Elizabeth Osman - 26 hours in D.C.

Before I dive in let me say hi. If you haven’t been following this blog closely, I’m Elizabeth, and I will be studying in Warsaw, Poland this spring. However, my semester does not begin until late February, so I’m still in the process of pulling my life together before heading overseas.

To be able to stay in a country for an extended period of time, you need to get a visa. Which I knew going into this, but I guess I didn’t realize how involved it really is. Let me preface this with: it is VERY involved.

For starters, I thought I could go to the Consulate in Atlanta to apply for a visa. But, to my surprise, I could not do that. I had to go to Washington, D.C. You also can’t apply for the visa more than 3 months before you leave the United States, but it takes about 2 weeks to process the visa, and, of course, they were closed over Christmas and Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Also, let it be known, when you choose your appointment time, you only have an hour to fill in a long document or your appointment will be cancelled.

I originally made my appointment for the Thursday after MLK Day, but if you remember, that Wednesday night we received a crap ton of snow (ok fine, an inch or two), which effectively shut down Hartsfield-Jackson. So, I had to move my appointment to the following Monday. And when I say “move my appointment,” I mean cancel my original appointment and just go as a walk-in on Monday. Thankfully, I was able to change my flights without much fuss (thanks Delta) to arrive Sunday and leave Monday afternoon after I, hopefully, had applied for a visa.

My dad grew up in the D.C. area, and one of my uncles still lives there so I got to spend Sunday with them, which was honestly pretty great. Monday morning I rose early (because his family went to sleep at 9:30pm) and prepped for the long day ahead. I checked for the umpteenth time that I had all of the documents necessary, ate breakfast with the fam, and then took the Metro into town.

We parked across the water from the Jefferson Memorial so we could visit the US Holocaust Memorial Museum.

I departed from the dimly lit Metro at DuPont Circle and walked 20 minutes to the Polish Consulate (not Embassy, because D.C. has both). On my way to the Consulate I saw many other Embassies/Consulates, but surprisingly the Polish Consulate was the only one with a gate. I know - it’s pretty fancy. I was escorted into a small sunroom on the side of what was obviously once a home, which seemed to be the office for passports and visas. After handing all of my documents through the slot in the plexi-glass, the man behind it stated that my photos were not clear enough and would need to be redone. And it was at that moment that I began to panic. What does he mean? They look fine to me? Is he just going to send me away?? Will I have to go back to Atlanta without having applied for my visa?? Thankfully the man was prepared (I guess they reject people’s photos often) and handed me a sheet from a stack of print-outs from Google Maps. I wish I was joking. It stated at the top that it was a 15 minute walk to the photo place. He cheerfully said he would see me in 30 minutes. I already knew that I would not be back by then, because the photo place was next to the Metro station I had arrived at, and it had taken me 20 minutes to walk from there. With no other options, I run (ok, fast walk) to the photo place.

And this is where the real fun begins. For starters, the place was in a basement so it was quite difficult to locate, there was a tiny dog sitting in the woman’s lap, and she obviously did not know how to work the camera. After she changed the ink and loaded new paper, she printed out the photos in black and white. Then she printed them out using the wrong dimensions. And then she printed them out in color and with the correct dimensions. With ugly photos of a sweaty Elizabeth in hand, I frantically call an Uber. So yes, I ubered for a distance of around 1.5 miles, which, yes, is like ubering from East to West campus, but I was desperate.

I scurry up to the gate and try to buzz in. The guard is taking his time walking to the gate to unlock while talking on the phone in Polish. I don’t know a lot of Polish, but he was quite obviously making plans for the next Friday. I sprint (actually this time) to the sunroom, and the man ISN’T EVEN THERE. So at least I get some time to regain my composure. He saunters back in and looks at the photos. They pass! I slide him the money for the visa and viola! My visa is being processed. I step out of the sunroom and happily walk out of the stupid gate and down the road until I find the bagel shop I have already walked past twice. I duck in to rest my weary bones and fuel up. For the rest of the afternoon I poke around the sites I hadn’t gotten to see with my family the day before.

Taken while trying to find D.C.’s Einstein statue

Found him :)

To summarize: make plans to apply for your visa as early as possible and make sure your photos are SUPER SHARP. I would not have been able to figure out any of this without the help of the student who did it before me and who is currently enjoying the end of his semester in Poland. Remember that the Office of International Education is busy and can’t always give you detailed instructions about every step on the way to an amazing semester abroad, so reach out to those that have done it before you!

Note: All of the details given were specific to the Polish government and my experience. This is not meant to say that I had a bad experience applying for my visa; it was just quite overwhelming for this anxious girl.

#xs #Poland #study abroad #gt liberal arts #travel #europe #lots to do

2 notes · View notes

basicnerdblr · 7 years

Text

Minimalistic school glow up

Glow up for the studyblr minimalist. Tips on how to stay pretty, healthy and on top of your school work while being clutter free!

Skin - Glycerin attracts moisture and works as a primer. ACV restores skin ph. Salicilic acid (aspirin) and vitamin c (oranges lol) make your skin glow. Don’t use products with bad alcohol or any kind of fragrances.

Teeth - brush teeth with a powdered tooth paste. It’s better for your health (no additives to make it liquid) and better for the environment (more transportable). Add in baking soda or activated charcoal to give a whitening effect.

Makeup remover - taking off your makeup with oil is fine.

Nails - Most nail polishes are toxic.

Hair - Sleep on a satin pillow case, only wash your hair with shampoo 2 times a week. Don’t brush, detangle with your fingers. Protect the ends of your hair with an oil. For shiny hair, rinse with ACV.

Shaving - first scrub with sugar and olive oil then use coconut oil for shaving. Mens razors are better and cheaper.

Sun protection - most sun screens are toxic. Zinc cream doubles as an UVA filter. Products like shea butter have a low SPF, carrot oil has a high SPF and you can actually make it yourself.

Health - Heal your gut. Start with taking probiotics and eating at least 500 grams of (raw) vegetables a day. Like eat a bag of carrots every day.

Vitamins - Wake up with the sun and go outside at least half an hour a day to get your vitamin D. Other supplements you should considerate are vitamin b12, magnesium and zinc.

Exercise - Work out everyday.

Cheap diner ideas - wraps with beans and lettuce; coconut milk, curry paste, vegetables and rice with nuts; zucchini noodles with carrot and (white) beans; chili with tortilla chips. Lots of herbs.

Garden - growing your own herbs and vegetables like radish is cheaper and healthier than things from the super market.

Frozen - buy frozen food, it’s is cheaper and healthier.

Stationary - All you need for college is a your planner/bullet journal, markers, a pen and one notebook for all your subjects. Just start an index so you have a place where you can find exactly what you need.

Digital - Type up your notes every day on your laptop.

Apps - Use OneNote, pocket and Mendeley.

Desk - only put stuff on your desk you actually need. I have all my stuff in a transportable cart so I can place it near my desk and when I go to sleep I put it next to my bed.

Take five to ten minutes before studying to go through everything on your desk and take off anything that you are not immediately using to study.

Don’t keep stuff from previous semesters - you don’t need it! “I should look up that paper from three semesters ago...” said NO ONE EVER.

Clothes - 10 t-shirts, 2 jeans, 2 shorts, 2 jumpers, 1 cardigan is enough. Use the time you needed to pick your clothes

Shoes - one pair of boots, one pair of sandles, high heels and sneakers is more than enough.

Socks - buy the same pairs of socks, you don’t have to roll them up. Just toss ‘em in the drawer.

Shopping clothes - don’t buy anything. Only if you love it. And if you love it, buy more of it. Like if you love a t-shirt, buy it in another colour. And whenever you buy a bra, buy more than one piece of panties that match.

Shopping in general - don’t buy stuff. Spend your money on experiences like getting drunk, thank me later lol. If you don’t drink just go to the zoo or something like that.

Washing - just wash your clothes by hand they’ll look better in the long run. Also buy one bowl, one glass, one... you name it.

Social media - don’t use it. Don’t browse on your phone. Delete every account you don’t necesserily need, except your tumblr.

Dorm - If you’re moving, get one bed (or just a mattress), a desk, a lamp and a chair and some place to store your clothes. And a plant or two. Everything else is extra. If you want to decorate, just change your wallpaper.

Clutter - makes you stressed. College is already stressful enough. Declutter. Throw away duplicates.

Selfies - clutter your phone. They don’t have any purpose. Take photos of special moments with your friends instead.

Good luck xx

#minimalist #studyblr #study advice #self care #college tips #mine #advice

413 notes · View notes

bubbleteajuseyo · 5 years

Text

I Quit My Job for Ateez and I'm Moving to Korea?| Bubble Tea Talk Thursdays | Bubbleteajuseyo

안녕하세요 여러분! (*＾▽＾)／

How are you guys?

Have you had water? Have you been resting well? Taking your vitamins? Ate something delicious? Staying warm? Smiled or Jopped yet? Did you Yeosang ponytail dance today?

Anyways~ let's just jump straight into it.

Am I officially moving?

Well...not exactly. Not just yet.

Did I really quit my job for Ateez?

Again...not exactly. I quit for content creation, and some (not all) of my content does involve Kpop, more specifically Ateez.

The plan and goal is to move by Summer 2021, but attend KU's intensive language program in August 2020.

Remember My First Video?

If you guys watched my very first Youtube video, which was tragic, so if you go to watch...I'm sorry.

*Side note: I have to say though, I've come a long way with actually learning how to use my camera, mic, and ring light.

Anyways, if you saw that video then you probably remember my original study plan.

Well, things of course have changed since after uploading that video. And I even made an updated video that goes with this blog post discussing everything.

The past several months have been a complete rollercoaster and along the way I've grown to truly figure out my 'why' when it comes to what I'm doing with my life and figuring out a plan. Well.....trying to at least.

My 'Why' And Updated Plan.

Not much has changed with my original plan. But there are a few minor changes.

I'm going to be taking the CLEP Exam since I only need one math course worth 3 credits to graduate. This will help me save a lot of time and money, and I can graduate in May 2020.

My next step is saving and attending Korea University's intensive language program this summer. Especially since I discovered it will bring my bank statement of $20,000, that I have to present at admissions, down to $10,000. Which is what I will ultimately need to get my student visa approved for when I do my international transfer.

Hopefully, if everything goes well, I'll be applying to Korea University in March of 2021. Their application usually opens up around the time of my birthday. So for my birthday in 2021, I'll treat myself to applying to KU for my bachelors degree.

My plan is to major in media communications and minor in Korean language and graduate with my Bachelor's and Master's degree. And my overall goal is to obtain my F-2 Visa so I can continue to live and work in Korea, but not as just an English teacher. Instead I would love to work behind the scences in entertainment as a social media manager or still as a content creator.

With all that said, why?

Why do I want to move to Korea?

Why am I doing all of this?

The main reason why I want to move to Korea so bad is because I felt so comfortable and content. As weird as it may sound and even though my last two trips were short, I feel more comfortable in Korea than I do here in the states. And during my two (soon to be three) experiences there, I could see myself living there, starting a new life, and being happy.

Another reason is, 6 years ago when I started my Korean language journey and dove deeper into learning about Korean language and culture, I told myself that I would move to Korea. But a lot of things have been holding me back.

Which we’ll discuss what's holding me back soon.

With so many concerns and fears eating me alive, I kept truly forgetting my 'why' and losing sight of the vision and goals I created for myself. And that made me so frustrated the past several months to over a year.

And while I was slowly forgetting my 'why,' I kept changing my plans on how I was going to get to Korea and just kept pushing everything back. I was getting upset and disappointed in myself.

I was even struggling with my 'why' for being a content creator.

Why do I want to be a content creator so bad?

Why am I trying to monetize my content?

Why am I doing any of this and why do I want to?

I had to figure out the answers to those questions too. I had way too many thoughts going through my head.

Until recently, I forced myself to sit down and organize my thoughts and really get a clear vision as to why I really want to do all of this.

I've gotten inspired by people like Vanessa Lau, Jade Darmawangsa, The Bucketlist Bombshells, and Yoon Sun who all quit their 'traditional' jobs to pursue doing what they're passionate about.

I know I'm capable of so much more than just a regular full or part time job that I truly have no interest in. I want to create content and provide value to those who may feel the same way as me.

I'm also trying so hard to monetize my content in order to, not only pay my bills, but to save up finally go back/eventually move to Korea.

I even discussed this in a recent twitter thread because for so long I have been torn with making the decision to go full-time as a creator. Constantly on this rollercoaster of self doubt and really questioning if I can even do this.

But I truly feel deep down that 2020 is my year, not just for my channel, but in general.

Which is why I've decided to take this leap of faith with focusing my energy into growing my channel and blog. And this is why I've been pushing myself more lately and will continue to work harder than before.

This is only just the beginning.

So let's move on to what I mentioned shortly before...

What's Holding Me Back? Concerns? Fears?

Just like I mentioned before in my video, there are things that have held me back with trying to move to Korea.

As of right now, the fear of getting rejected during the admissions process and the financial part are my biggest concerns.

And after even more research. The one thing I feel like that's going to truly hold me back is the financial part. More specifically, the bank statement that is required to prove I can survive for at least one year on my own as a student.

Which basically is, the visa is what is holding me back. Which goes hand-in-hand with the bank deposit.

Someone can correct me if I'm wrong, but during admissions and applying for a visa, you basically have to provide a bank statement in this packet of documents that you create and submit. Now, visas are very complicated and complex to explain. Which, I can do a whole post/video on this if anyone is interested since I discovered some new information recently and some helpful sources.

But, this bank deposit is typically a large sum of money to display that you can survive for one year (two semesters) or half the year (one semester). As of right now, I believe I have to have a deposit of $20,000 in my bank account to get my visa approved. However, if I take a Korean language program at the university, they will make the deposit $10,000.

Now, that could remain the same, but it could also increase within the next year. It's very unpredictable... and stressful.

But that is probably my biggest concern and the one thing I'm stressing at the moment. While also being anxious of getting rejected in general when I apply.

Truthfully, after seeing the bank deposit requirement, I almost completely gave up on everything. Saving less than $2,000 in about a year to go for a simple trip seems a little easier. However, $10-20k seems impossible, even if I waited another year or two.

I'm even stressed for saving for the language program this summer.

That's why I decided to hustle doing something I actually enjoy doing in order to attempt raising money. But I also want to do more than just raise money and give back along the way.

How I Plan To Save/Raise Money Through Content Creation:

Let me take some time to explain how I plan to save/raise money in order to make my dreams a reality.

Simply put, using mostly Ko-fi.

I feel like if I'm trying to monetize while being a content creator, Ko-fi is probably my best source.

Until I figure out how I can do even more and exclusive monthly content on Patreon for people who are trying to support me during this process.

Ko-fi allows you to buy creators a "cup of coffee” for $3/cup, but its not really cups of coffee. The $3 automatically goes to my paypal and will then go into my savings.

Also, Ko-fi has this super cute feature that if you "buy a cup of coffee," you can leave a message every time (even anonymously).

Also, I like to think of Ko-fi as a way of "tipping" creators. So it's like tipping $3 or "buying my a cup of coffee" if my content bring you any sort of value, brightened your day, motivated, or moved you in away.

I've even decided that if I raise more than my savings goal, I want to donate it to charity.

So, if I raise more than my savings goal for both the intensive language and undergraduate programs, I will donate the rest to a charity that I will be having you guys vote on.

I have four charities in mind ( Polished Man, Shiny Foundation, Unicef, or Reborn Center ).

I really want to give back to those who do support me along this journey in any way I can.

So, I have also decided to do a huge giveaway.

Therefore, if I reach my savings goal for both programs, not only will I donate to charity, I will choose one lucky supporter each for both goals to receive a gift box as a massive thank you.

I'll announce more in detail what is within the giftboxes, but I want to give back more than I receive and a much as I can to those who are helping to support me in any way they can.

What If I Don't Save Enough In Time?

Now if I can't raise enough in time for both programs, what will I do then?

Well, just continue saving until I reach my goal to do so.

It's been 6 years since I started learning Korean and having this dream, and I refuse to give up.

If I have to push it back one or two more years, then so be it, but I will make it to Korea no matter what.

Even if I get accepted into Korea University, but can't attend due to not meeting the bank statement requirement, what's great is I can always re-apply again when I do have enough.

It may be a major bummer if I can't reach my goal in time, but I know that I’ll get there eventually.... I hope ��ㅜ;

I want to thank you all for reading this blog post. I really hope that as this journey continues, I can inspire many of you to chase after your dreams as well.

This isn't really about me, this is about how many people can I bring with me on this adventure to motivate to take the leap themselves.

Whether it be moving to another country like Korea or just doing what they love, if I can spark the passion within at least one person, then I won regardless.

Thank you so much again for reading this post and if you haven’t already, make sure you join the #BOBASquad to receive exclusive newsletters regarding my channel, blog and my journey to finally move to Korea.

And make sure to subscribe and hit that notification bell to my channel for videos that will possibly go with blogs posts like this one.

I want to add again, if anyone wishes to donate and support this adventure I'm on, please check out my Ko-fi page!

All earnings will be going into my savings account for future projects I have planned for my blog/channel as a full-time creator, to save and back to Korea in Summer 2020, and to save and move to Seoul by 2021.

As I embark on this journey, I want to create a community that I can provide value to, especially if they want to follow their heart and move/travel to Korea in the near future.

I really hope you all enjoyed this post and thank you so much for taking the time to read this!

Until next time~

감사합니다!

나중에 봐요! 💕

#Korea #korean language #korean university #korea university #ateez #atiny #kpop #youtube #buy me a kofi #ko fi donations #kofi #bubbleteajuseyo #bubble tea talk thursdays #south korea #seoul

0 notes

izanyas · 7 years

Text

Hundred-Dollar Rum (Part I)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @scarlet-blossoms 💖

Plot inspired by this comic by @federtanz, Vorona’s design based on this art by @apetunias! Thank you @weirdpine for the quick beta!

Rating: T Length: 7,700 words Warnings: family death, grief/mourning, drinking, reckless driving.

Hundred-Dollar Rum Part I

"Bad," Vorona announced when Shizuo got home.

He didn't have time to close the door behind himself. He could only see half of the living-room from where he was, but it was the half she was occupying—sitting at his desk—and she was hunched over in her chair, nail polish in one hand and the other atop the thick economics book she had borrowed the night before. Only half of her toenails were orange, but more than two thirds of the book had been read.

"Brush's gonna dry," he muttered, leaning down to untie his shoes. "And what do you mean, bad?"

He heard the sound of her body moving and a bottle being screwed shut. Then she said: "Your Modern History grade."

He straightened up too fast and knocked the side of his cranium against the wall. Vorona didn't laugh, though she was looking at him, but he knew better than to think she didn't derive any humor from the situation. "How bad—wait, did you log on to my email again?"

She shrugged. The foot she had perched on the edge of Shizuo's chair came back to the floor, and she pushed herself back to make room for him. She liked that his desk chair had wheels.

Shizuo walked to the desk and leaned over her laptop. Yagiri had sent over everyone's notes for the first assignment of the semester—and, indeed, his was terrible.

"That makes no fucking sense," he said out loud.

He was exhausted. He had helped Celty at the library for hours, stamping new books for her because her boss was a poor excuse for a librarian—and he'd been inhaling coffee and skimming every article he could find for the essay he was already late in handing back. He still had a shift at work afterward.

And he knew he'd done a correct job for the Modern History thing.

"Stop logging onto my account," he barked in Vorona's direction. "I keep having to change my password because of you."

"Better passwords needed."

"F—" Shizuo stopped himself. He didn't like insulting girls, but Vorona really pushed his buttons sometimes. "Damn it. I'm late for work, I'll deal with this later."

Vorona's expression didn't change. It rarely did. She shook the bottle of varnish and opened it again, and then leaned over her own feet and ignored him.

Shizuo's throat tightened a little in guilt, but he didn't have time to stay and ask what was wrong with her. He made his way to the mezzanine over the living-room, where his bed was—the only separate bedroom was inhabited by Vorona. He quickly changed into different clothes and came back down, murmuring his goodbyes, before getting back outside.

The air was warm. It was almost eight in the evening, but this far into spring the sky was bright blue still. The only way to truly feel the night was for the color of light itself against the building façades around, pink and orange. Shizuo ran most of the way to the pizza parlor, with the setting sun at his back. It would've been pleasant if he weren't so tired.

"You're late," Tom said. He was smoking by the entrance, and Shizuo shook his head when he offered him a cigarette. "The boss isn't going to be happy."

"I've never been late before."

"Once is enough," Tom replied, looking at him gently. His words came out alongside blue smoke.

Kaztano wasn't happy. He lectured Shizuo in his loud voice and with his loud accent for almost fifteen minutes, gesturing wildly with his hands, ignoring the patrons around them who kept looking at him in discomfort. Shizuo stood still as a statue and tried not to count the many phone calls Manami was picking up in the pack—the many notes she was putting in for deliveries that Kaztano was giving Shizuo an even later start for.

If this kept going he'd have to lose more time apologizing to each client, and he'd finish at four in the morning instead of two.

Kaztano took a big, wheezing breath. He wiped the edge of his chin of grease from the kitchen and said, "Get to work."

"Sir," Shizuo replied complacently. He wasn't angrier only because he knew this was his fault.

He was reckless on the road for the first hour and a half. He pushed the tiny moped the restaurant owned for all its worth, crossed the entire district ten kilometers above the speed limit to get there within twenty minutes late of his first delivery. The woman who opened the door to him was kind, but he wasn't so lucky with the rest of his clients. The second man he saw had him bow there and apologize for a good ten minutes, and by that time the route Shizuo tried to take to go back to the restaurant was crowded with cars, forcing him to slow down.

He had to repeat to himself that this job was the best paid one around for most of the evening. That the only reason he and Tom and Manami were laboring as they were—Manami as a receptionist and cook, Tom as a waiter, Shizuo as the delivery boy—was because Kaztano was the fairest boss around, and because Kadota himself had gotten him a job there after he left it for construction gigs.

Clients were rarely a perk of his evenings. Shizuo took to them as calmly as he could and wasted all his pent-up energy going as fast as he could from one side of the city to another. The helmet he wore didn't cover his entire face. When he could find a strip of street devoid of traffic he rode fast, and let the wind hit his skin and drown every other sound.

The evening this night dragged by especially slow. For most of it Shizuo kept half of his mind occupied with the essay he had to hand back the following day at midnight. He still hadn't actually written any of it. He could feel his limbs sag with fatigue but he was still planning on staying up most of the night to finish it. Especially since Yagiri had decided to give him an unfair grade, again.

He probably could've wept in joy by the time his last delivery of the night came around.

The sky was grey now. Not black. The lights from the city gave the clouds a milky, blurry shine, the same color as dusty drapes. It made the air feel unbreathable. Shizuo got off the sputtering bike with only one pizza box left and his ass and back aching, and then he came into the shining lobby of the apartment building where his client lived and discovered that the elevator wasn't working.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," he growled out loud.

From the corner of the room the guardian sent him a sympathetic look. He made himself smile at her despite his irritation, and then he started his ascension to the eighth floor.

Usually he wouldn't have minded the climb. He liked to exercise. But he'd done nothing but miss sleep and miss meals for at least two weeks now, and it was three in the morning already, and he could feel aches in parts of his body that he hadn't known he possessed. His forehead was abuzz with the need to sleep.

There was only one occupied apartment on the eighth floor. Shizuo knocked on the door and tried to read the name on the paper stuck just above the alarm button he didn't want to use. It wasn't a name he had ever seen before. Nozomu? he thought, blinking the blur of sleep out of his eyes. No… maybe Rinya?

The door opened brusquely. Shizuo didn't jump back only because he didn't think he could've have made a quick move if his life depended on it.

The man standing in front of him looked disheveled. His clothes were rumpled and his shoelaces were untied, and his hair looked to be sticky with something—his face sweaty and his lips trembling.

And then he spoke, and Shizuo got hit in the face with the smell of alcohol, stronger than he had smelled on another person for a very long time. "What do you want?"

His words slurred together, but it sounded like he was trying to seem sharp and composed. With as wasted as he looked, maybe he believed he was.

Whatever. It wasn't any of Shizuo's business. "I'm here with your pizza," he said. He held the box up a little high with both hands.

The man—he was young, probably around Shizuo's age—took a long moment to focus on it. Judging by his frown he was struggling to make sense of the word pizza alone, never mind Shizuo's presence on his doorstep.

"It'll be seventeen hundred yen," Shizuo added hopelessly.

No need to wait for a tip from this guy.

The other made a move, at last. He dragged his hand to the back pocket of his jeans and made a faintly surprised face when it came out empty. "Sorry," he said, after another moment of heavy silence. "I'll just—"

In the second that followed, Shizuo made the hardest decision of his day yet.

He saw the guy turn around too quickly and his foot hit the edge of the step separating the entrance from the rest of his place. It didn't drag itself up to step on it properly. Instead the man's body toppled forward and sideways, in the direction of the polished wood cabinet full of sharp and solid angles.

Shizuo could leave him to it. He doubted this client would be able to see long enough to count the money and pay him anyway. He could just let the man fall and possibly hurt himself and decide not to care, just leave the pizza next to him and go away and get home and spend what was left of his night trying to make up for Yagiri's grudge against the entire student body.

Shizuo always had a distaste for letting himself do the easy thing, however. So he dropped the pizza box and lunged forward to catch his stumbling client around the middle and prevent him from giving himself a concussion.

Apparently he could make a quick move. Only not if his own life depended on it.

The man was very thin. Very light. Shizuo hadn't completely stepped into the entrance, so he was leaning forward quite a bit—it made his forehead level with the other's nape as he held him, and from this close he could smell alcohol in his hair too. Oversweet and heady. He must've spilled a drink on his own head or something.

"Easy," he mumbled, awkward.

The man didn't squirm. When he managed to slightly turn his head to the side it was with a few seconds of delay, as if the situation had taken that long to reach his brain. "What…"

"Just—hang on. I'll get you to your couch."

He squeezed his feet out of his sneakers without letting go of him. Despite his light weight he was leaning heavily on Shizuo, his entire energy dependent on Shizuo's ability to hold him upright. Once he was in his socks, Shizuo dragged the other to his side and lifted one of the guy's arms above his shoulders, sneaking one of his own around his waist. He practically dragged the man further inside the apartment, with zero protest. It was a neat place, which Shizuo wouldn't have expected for someone who looked as out of it as this guy was. If anything he was ready to see a bunch of other college kids passed out everywhere.

But it was empty. Clean and dustless. Except for one sticky-wet spot on the floor where a bottle of rum had been upended—probably when its owner fell—the living-room was sleek and lifeless. Tidy unopened books around the walls and a brand new laptop on the glass desk.

Shizuo laid the man down on his side on the grey couch. The other blinked at him blearily, mouth opening and closing in turn, as if he knew he wanted to speak but couldn't remember how anymore.

Shizuo took a moment to really look at him. He didn't look in danger of anything except accidentally stabbing himself with a corner of the coffee table. As long as he didn't drink anymore there wouldn't be a need to call an ambulance, he thought, uneasy.

He hesitated before asking, "Are you gonna drink more?"

The man's unfocused eyes stayed on him. "No," he replied, at last. "Maybe."

"Right."

He really didn't want to have to call an ambulance on a stranger. Maybe there was someone else he could call, though.

Shizuo retreated to the desk, keeping an eye on its owner. There was a notebook on top of it which he thought might contain addresses and phone numbers, and it did. But he couldn't figure out if any of them belonged to personal relations, a girlfriend or boyfriend or parents or siblings. They were just names, none of which matched the strange one on the door.

When he turned back to look at his client, the man had fallen asleep.

Shizuo stared at the soft, unhappy turn of his mouth for a second longer. He would probably wake up in his own drool and with a raging headache, but it didn't look as if he was going to endanger himself.

Still, he picked up the bottle of rum. A lot of it was still inside. He screwed the lid back on and, after a moment of hesitation, rummaged through the guy's fridge to make sure there was nothing else there that he could drink.

It seemed he had gone straight for the rum and nothing else.

Shizuo put the bottle inside his backpack. He swallowed back his discomfort and opened the last two doors of the apartment—one leading to a bathroom, the other to the bedroom. It was as cold-looking as the rest of the place. There wasn't even a poster up on the walls. He took the comforter off the bed and brought it back to the living-room, laying it on top of the passed out Orihara Rinya. Or Nozomu.

He ripped a page out of the notebook and wrote a quick note on it, adding his phone number and the address of Kaztano's pizzeria, just in case. And then he put it on the coffee table, on top of the cooling pizza, and he left.

He was already an hour and a half late in reporting to Kaztano. He knew the man wouldn't yell at him for making sure someone didn't die of alcohol poisoning or their own stupidity—Kaztano was, according to Kadota, someone who had depended on the goodwill of strangers many times in his life—but he felt guilty for making him stay up so late. Kaztano always said good night to every single one of them before closing the shop by himself.

The night air was cold on his face now. No pink sun to keep it warm.

Kaztano was sitting in front of the shop when he arrived. He had a cigarette in hand and at least three more in the ashtray placed on the stairs next to him. He smiled in Shizuo's direction.

"I'm so sorry," Shizuo said, but Kaztano waved a big hand at him.

"I'll let you take care of the register," was all he said.

Shizuo nodded. He went back inside the empty restaurant and opened the cash register, placing the money out and adding to it everything he got for deliveries. He used part of his tips from the night to pay for Orihara's pizza.

When he came back out, Kaztano handed him a cigarette. "Thank you," Shizuo said.

The first breath of smoke raged inside him, sending sparks into his tired body and easing the stress out of his head.

His eyelids were drooping. He knew if he thought about it too long he would panic at the thought that he had driven in this state, unaware of how dangerous he was to himself and other, so he resolved not to think about it. It would be four soon, and though the city was always awake, he wished he weren't.

Shizuo left Kaztano's company as soon as he politely could. The old man let him go without a word, watching him walk the length the of the street. The traffic only ever let off at this hour of the night. In an hour, people would be driving their cars and bikes getting to work early.

It was five past four in the morning when Shizuo arrived home. He dragged his feet out of his shoes and let himself fall onto the couch in the living-room, and for a long second, he considered taking a sip of the rum he had confiscated from the drunken client earlier. A fleeting noise from above made him look up.

Vorona was leaning over the edge of the mezzanine and looking down at him.

"What are you doing up?" Shizuo asked.

She didn't answer. Her face looked the same kind of sulky as it had before—irritated, negative, malicious. He couldn't tell exactly.

Her toenails still weren't done being painted. The economics book, however, was closed on top of the desk.

"Get out of my room," Shizuo grumbled tiredly. "I have—"

"Father passed away."

Her voice was as matter-of-fact as ever. Shizuo looked at her sharply; there were no traces of tears on her face. No outward sign of grief of discomfort.

"Damn, Vorona," he murmured. "You should've said."

"I just did."

She swung her legs back and forth into the empty space above him. Shizuo caught one of her feet with his hands and squeezed it gently. "D'you wanna talk about it?"

"Negative."

He frowned. Let go of her. "What do you want, then?"

She rested her arms on top of the wooden barrier separating the side of his bed from the imminent fall right after, and she put her chin on top of them, so that the bottom half of her face was hidden from him, but she could still observe him.

"Request zombie movie," she said softly. "And alcoholic drinks."

Shizuo pushed his backpack under the low table with his foot. He picked up the books he had left on the couch before leaving with the goal of sitting down and immediately starting to work, and he stood up, patting the side of her calf as he walked toward his stash of DVDs.

"Sure."

Vorona was still asleep the following day at two in the afternoon. Shizuo had been awake for an hour and cleaning up the mess they'd made of the kitchen. Despite the thorough brushing he gave his teeth he still had a faint beery taste on his tongue from the off-brand Kriek Vorona always bought him. He didn't even like it as much as he pretended to, but it was the only beer he could drink at all.

He was writing an email to Yagiri. His essay was due in ten hours and still as unwritten as it had been the day before; Shizuo asked her for an extension, again, with a heavy chest and no hope whatsoever. It didn't matter how meticulously polite he was in his message.

She answered five minutes later: No.

He heard Vorona move from her bedroom. Wordlessly, he stood up from his seat and put water to boil for tea. Neither of them liked coffee that much.

"Consequences not worth it," Vorona groaned at him when she emerged into the hallway. Her hair was in disarray and her shirt was stained with the cheap mojito she'd drank half of by herself around five in the morning.

"Why do you keep buying this shit anyway?" Shizuo replied.

"Interesting taste. Nothing close to the real deal." She took a seat at the kitchen table and stared at the kettle as if she could make it go faster with the strength of will alone. If left to her own devices she'd probably try to drink boiling water just to get the taste to disappear.

Shizuo snorted unappealingly. "I'll never get your obsession with bad drinks and food. You have money to buy yourself anything you want."

Vorona dragged the leather jacket she'd left on the back of her chair above her head, hiding herself from him and his words.

She had to leave, eventually, to take care of paperwork at the hospital where they kept her father's body. The funeral would be held some time the following week, she had said, drunk out of her mind. Those were the only words he'd managed to get out of her on the topic.

Shizuo drank two cups of sweet tea and sat down at his desk, grimly resolved to write this essay in the nine and a half hours he had left to do it.

He spent most of the day like this, his lower back aching from riding on Kaztano's crappy moped all night and then falling asleep on the couch, drunk out of his mind. From time to time his cellphone buzzed with an incoming text from Celty asking how he was doing or Shinra reminding him he needed to put in some money for the preparations for Kadota's new semester party.

I don't want to pay for Karisawa's shit, he replied to him.

If you don't she'll probably literally rob your place, Shinra texted back, quick and unbothered. And then, I've got a childhood friend coming, so try to make a good impression at least.

I never make a good impression, Shizuo said.

You know, for someone with instincts as good as yours, you can be really oblivious.

Shizuo stared at the text for a moment before deciding to ignore it.

Vorona came back around six in the evening, wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket and looking amazingly composed. Shizuo's outline was starting to take shape and his organization was becoming clearer. He could probably actually hope to finish in time, even if the final product would be less than stellar. It wasn't as if Yagiri would mark him fairly anyway. Vorona leaned over his shoulder and huffed quietly, so he batted her away, saying, "No need to gloat," before she could start telling him everything he'd written in mistake.

"Should have worked on schedule," she commented, opening the fridge.

"We can't all just not have a part time job."

Around eight, when Shizuo was almost done with the outline and getting started on writing out the essay proper, he received a phone call. "Heiwajima," he answered curtly.

For a moment all he heard was breathing. He rubbed ink-stained fingers over his eyelids and said, "I'm busy, so—"

"I'd like my rum back," said a familiar voice. "If you don't mind."

Shizuo leaned back in his chair. "Oh."

"'Oh', Indeed." The no-longer-inebriated man took a slow breath and asked: "Would you be free to come over and hand it back tonight? I'd like to avoid going out if possible."

Orihara didn't sound anything like he had the night previous. His voice was sweet but unfriendly, sharp, haughty. Something you could only consider pleasant in low doses. "You've got a lot of nerve," Shizuo said, irritated despite himself. "I even let you off without paying, you could at least thank me."

Orihara replied instantly: "How terribly kind of you, to pay for my pizza, which I had to eat cold, by the way. It's not like you took off with a hundred-dollar bottle on your way out."

Shizuo's eyes flew to the bottle he had set on top of the kitchen counter this morning. The glass—or maybe crystal—reflected the light around and into the amber liquid inside, turning it gold and red.

"Uh," he said. "I didn't know."

"I figured. You wouldn't have left your phone number if you did."

"I didn't drink any of it," he added, suddenly anxious. "No one's touched it. There's not a lot left, though, because you—"

"I'm aware," Orihara cut in coldly. "Are you free tonight?"

Shizuo looked at the half-finished essay shining off his laptop's screen. "Not before midnight."

"Fine by me. Come whenever you can." He hung up.

Shizuo didn't move the phone from his ear for a while after that. He looked at the bright, shiny bottle sitting on his counter, and wonder what would've happened if he had drunk from it the night before like he had considered.

Orihara didn't seem like a very forgiving guy. He gave off rich youth vibes. Not the good, selfless kind.

Time went by achingly slow. It had to do with how hard Shizuo found it to focus on so much text for hours on end while keeping his thoughts in line. In the end he did use the coffee machine Vorona owned but never touched. He poured as much sugar into his cup as he could without making himself sick and swallowed the drink as fast and hot as possible. The caffeine helped him through the last hour of his work.

He submitted the essay thirteen minutes before the deadline. He was pretty sure Yagiri had already prepared her failing email for him, and for a good twenty minutes, he sat on his chair, idly watching videos and thinking about her disappointment.

Then he pushed himself upright with trembling arms and grabbed an energy bar in the kitchen. Vorona was sitting on his bed again, legs dangling from the gap between fence and mezzanine floor. She was was filling paperwork.

"I'm going out," Shizuo called.

She looked down. "Nonsense. No work tonight."

"Unsatisfied client," he shrugged.

She didn't reply, but he could read the incredulity on her.

Shizuo took more care with the bottle of rum this time. It was heavier in his hands than it should be, probably confirming that it was made of crystal rather glass. When he moved it the rum splashed around and left tiny golden drops hanging to the sides. He put it in his bag carefully, sandwiching it between books and a scarf, and then he took off for the subway station nearest their apartment.

The ride itself was uneventful. The trains weren't too crowded this late into the night. Most of the other passengers were drunk men in work clothes and women with tension running in their shoulders who avoided eye-contact. It took half an hour for Shizuo to figure out where to go to Orihara's apartment via public transportation rather than his own vehicle and actually get there, but by the time he did, it was just before one.

Once again he climbed eight floors to get there. The guardian in the lobby looked at him with curiosity, probably remembering him as the pizza guy from the night before, but she didn't say anything to him. Shizuo walked up the clean staircase and through the corridor on the eighth floor. It was carpeted in red, and there was a potted plant on a wooden table in the middle, with a mirror on the wall behind. It looked like a hotel hallway.

Orihara took his time to answer after he knocked. Shizuo looked at the alarm button in consideration for a moment but decided against it—he hated when people rang instead of knocking—raising his hand to touch his knuckles to the door again.

Orihara opened right this moment, as if he had been waiting for it.

"Good evening," he said, a fleeting smile on his lips.

"Evening," Shizuo replied.

They stood still for a moment, looking at each other.

Orihara looked way better now. His hair was clean and his skin was a healthier color. The bags under his eyes weren't as pronounced as they had been almost twenty-four hours earlier. He was wearing different clothes too, better-fitter pants and a black, clean, pressed shirt, the collar of which was brushed by soft strands of hair at his nape. He had sharp eyes and thin features and a poise that Shizuo wouldn't have expected of someone he had met for the first time bordering alcoholic coma.

Shizuo had to drag himself back to reality. "Right," he said. "Your bottle."

"If you don't mind," Orihara murmured dryly.

It made anger spark up in him, but Shizuo kept it in check. He slid one arm out of the handle of his backpack and opened it close to his side, taking out the rum.

It was unscratched, but Orihara made a face all the same. "You've been carrying it like this?"

"I didn't exactly know I was dragging expensive shit around," Shizuo replied, handing it over. Orihara took it from his hand with a brush of his fingers against Shizuo's knuckles, tingling and warm. "I was tired too. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't go back to drinking it and kill yourself by accident."

Orihara observed him intently. He wasn't frowning. If anything he looked a little baffled, Shizuo thought. "Are you like this with everyone?"

"Like what?"

Orihara slipped his free hand into his pocket and took something out of it. He unfurled the crumpled piece of paper and read: "I apologize for intruding. I opened your fridge and displaced a blanket from your room, but I did not steal anything. I'm only taking the bottle away so you don't put yourself in danger. Thank you for ordering from Kaztano Pizza." When he lifted his head, his eyes were mocking, and Shizuo could feel the burn of blood in his cheeks. "I didn't know pizzerias offered nurse services as well."

"You were fucking smashed," Shizuo replied in a growl. "Don't tell me you would've preferred to wake up with a concussion."

"I wouldn't have," Orihara said, lids flickering low over his eyes. "If you're this thoughtful with every client, your work must get you riches in tips."

"Says the guy who couldn't even pay."

Orihara waved a hand to the side, like a character in a play. "I'll give you the money I owe you, if that's such an issue. I know times are tough, but I didn't think missing out on fifteen hundred yen would make such an indent in your savings."

"Do you ever get tired of the sound of your own voice?" Shizuo replied. "Because I'm exhausted."

He meant it. Orihara had the sort of sweetness to him that only gave cavities on the long run. Yet Orihara smiled at his words, and his face colored with more energy than before, and his eyes never left Shizuo's. And Shizuo found that his cheeks were still warm. "Whatever," he said between his teeth. "Why were you getting drunk off fifteen-thousand-yen rum on your own anyway?"

Orihara's hand fell back at his side, his fingers still clutching the note Shizuo had written the night before. "I was celebrating," he said.

"Celebrating what?"

"Star Wars Day," Orihara said dryly. Then, seeing the way Shizuo's face twisted: "My birthday."

Shizuo swallowed mechanically. His throat felt a sudden tightness, like a diluted version of the kind that he had felt when Vorona had said her dad was dead without shedding a single tear. Mostly discomfort and a little bit of pity.

Orihara himself closed his mouth tightly after that, face pale and frustrated. He plucked a wallet out of the back pocket of his pants and took out a few bills. "There," he said, handing them over. "For the pizza."

There were only fifteen hundred rather than the seventeen Kaztano's tuna pizza was worth, but Shizuo didn't have the heart to tell him his count was wrong. "Thanks," he said in a low voice, pocketing the money.

"Don't worry your sweet head about me," Orihara continued. "I only get this drunk once a year."

"I'm not worried," Shizuo replied tersely.

Orihara smiled. He took another bill out of his wallet and stepped forward, into Shizuo's space and out of his apartment, bare feet quiet on the carpeted floor; Shizuo stood still as he lifted his hand and slid the bill into the breast pocket of Shizuo's jacket.

"See you around, pizza boy," he said. Shizuo looked down at him and at his lips, and Orihara's smile widened, showing sharp, white teeth.

Shizuo's essay came back with a barely-passing grade. Not enough to make up for the gigantic hole into his average scores that the first assignment was. Yagiri smiled nastily when she gave it back to him, and only the fact that every other student in the room was looking at their copy with a pale face restrained Shizuo's anger.

"I fucking hate her," he told Celty during lunch. She had to at the library for two more hours before she could catch her own break. "God damn it."

Celty typed something on her laptop. She turned the screen toward him when she was done. It's worrying that this has been going on for years, and no one's fired her yet, it read.

"Her father is a big contributor to the pharmacy lab or something," Shizuo muttered. "And she's written a bunch of famous books. Somehow that's enough to overlook the fact that she hasn't passed a single student in ten years."

That's what we get for being in this college.

He laughed, despite everything.

He was sitting on a corner of her work desk and helping to put magnets inside newly shipped books. It was brainless work, good enough that they could both do it and still talk at the same time. Outside, spring had bloomed warm and colorful. Rows of flower trees made students sneeze on their way back and forth. Light poured in through the large library windows and dyed every table it touched a rich brown, making the kids sat around them blink tears from their tired eyes.

Celty tapped his elbow lightly. He turned his head to look at her monitor and saw that she had written: When is the funeral?

"Monday," he replied softly. It was Friday now. A work day for him, with a working weekend ahead.

Do you think Vorona would want us to come? Celty asked.

He hesitated, but thought it would be better to tell the truth. "I don't think so." He winced at her. "It's not against you or anything. It's just…"

Vorona didn't have a good relationship with her father when he was alive. The man had been absent, had let her grow up on her own in their home in Russia and then strung her along on his way to Japan without asking for what she wanted. Vorona had lived as isolated in Tokyo as she had before that, until she moved in with Shizuo at the age of nineteen.

And Shizuo wasn't even sure that he would be invited to the funeral. Vorona was a private person who disliked showing her emotions and especially her grief; if anything, he thought she would go alone, and go through every stage of mourning in a meticulous, calculated way, and come out of it the exact way she had come in.

He didn't know if that was a good thing. And he didn't have a right to tell Celty anything more than Vorona chose to.

"Sorry," he said.

Celty squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

Shizuo's afternoon lecture went by slow and easy. He had plans to swing by Kadota's place after that, so he took off by foot, with more than a half-hour to spare. The walk did him good. Despite the mediocre mark, the relief he had felt since handing in the essay hadn't left. He breathed in deeply, thankful to be free of the allergies plaguing half of his friends, and even as he crawled deeper into Ikebukuro, it was with the smell of flowers in his nostrils.

"Hey," Kadota welcomed him when he arrived, opening his door wide. Behind him there was only Togusa, sitting at the bar and playing app games on his phone.

Kadota's place was the biggest out of everyone they knew. It was also the favorite, because Kadota had done most of the construction work inside by himself, with the help of Simon who worked at the Russian sushi place.

It had been his project since they got into high school together. To buy the biggest place he could find at the lowest price, no matter how decrepit, and to turn it into something livable.

"Karisawa and Yumasaki aren't here?"

"Cosplay group for Karisawa," Togusa replied from the bar. "Who knows what Yumasaki's doing."

"There's a new maid café near your folks' apartment building," Kadota said.

Shizuo and Togusa nodded somberly.

Togusa offered Shizuo a drink, which Shizuo refused. He didn't think there was anything sweet enough here that didn't belong to Karisawa, and he knew better than to dig into her stash. He did accept a can of lukewarm coke, however. Kadota and him took a seat on either side of Togusa, and Kadota asked, without much ado, "How's Vorona?"

"Fine," Shizuo answered. "I think."

"You never know, with this chick," Togusa said between his teeth.

Kadota kicked his shin lightly.

Shizuo shrugged. "She's probably not fine," he said. "But she's holding up. Going through every day. I don't know if it's better than if she let me see that something's wrong, but at least she's doing what she needs to and attending class and everything. She even took care of the groceries yesterday."

Togusa lifted his eyes from the idol game in his hands and grimaced pityingly. "I can't believe you're living with her without dating her." Kadota rolled his eyes ostentatiously, and Togusa added, louder: "What! Vorona is one of the hottest girls we know, and she's not seeing anyone. It's not like Heiwajima isn't into girls."

"You're living with a hot girl," Kadota pointed.

"The weird outweighs the hot in Karisawa's case."

Shizuo tapped the can in his hands with his index, and took a sip of warm soda, and thought idly about the red-haired woman Vorona sometimes brought home and who only left in the morning, looking flushed and satisfied.

"Well," Kadota sighed, "it's good that she's not in bed all day and crying, I guess. Though I wouldn't expect that from her anyway."

"She's pretty solid," Shizuo said with a smile.

Kadota bowed his head in serious acquiescence. When he lifted it, there was humor on his face. "Now," he continued. "Erika said you owe us a little something for the party."

Shizuo groaned.

Later, at work, when Shizuo was back from his third round of deliveries and stacking the following—and last—ones onto the back of the moped, Manami stopped him with a curt call of his name.

"What is it?" he asked.

She looked unhappy, but it wasn't a very good indicator of her mood. She always looked unhappy. "This guy asked to be your last delivery," she said, giving him a slip of paper. "Orihara Izaya."

Shizuo felt a rush through his limb and into his hands. It tingled in his fingers when he took the paper. "Oh."

She squinted at him in suspicion and then turned on her heels and walked back into the restaurant. Shizuo saw Tom wave at him from inside, two plates on one hand and walking between tables. He waved back half-heartedly.

Time seemed to speed up on this last round. The city was a blur around his head, white lines drawn onto endless black, as if someone had pressed fast forward onto the life around him. He turned around Ikebukuro three times, slid between cars on the road and avoided running on stray cats in the alleys. He didn't remember the faces of the people who paid and tipped him. Before he knew it he was standing in the lobby of Orihara's apartment building, and the woman at the counter was smiling with familiarity and whispering, "Good evening."

The elevator had been fixed. Shizuo took the stairs anyway, despite the cooling pizza in his hand and the unnecessary effort of climbing all those floors. He stepped into the red-carpeted hallway and walked past the plant and table and mirror and he knocked on Orihara's door. Orihara himself opened a few seconds later, looking tired but clean and alert, and his smile this time was a lot less sweet.

It was also a lot of more honest.

"Pizza boy," he greeted him. His eyes trailed down, stopping by Shizuo's mouth and then chest before landing on the box in his hands. "And my order."

"Shouldn't it be the other way around?" Shizuo asked before he could stop himself.

And Orihara smiled wide and gleeful, taking the box from his hands, slipping not enough money into the front pocket of Shizuo's jacket again. His fingers lingered for a second too much.

The encounter left Shizuo shaken until he managed to fall asleep, hours later, fitful and restless.

Orihara pulled the same thing the following day. He told Manami to write him down as Shizuo's last delivery of the night, and Manami did with thin lips and an irritated face. The conversation they had didn't last more than five minutes, like the times before.

"I have a name," he told Orihara after the man called him pizza boy again. "If you're going to keep bothering me during my work time you might as well start using it."

"Heiwajima Shizuo, right?" Orihara said immediately.

Shizuo tensed. "I never introduced myself to you."

"No, but the lovely receptionist at your workplace tells me everything when I ask nicely enough." Orihara slid him the money, more this time—almost enough to pay for the full pizza. "She also said you live with your girlfriend, whom she called a 'literal Russian babe'."

"She's not my girlfriend," Shizuo replied tiredly.

Orihara smiled at him darkly. "Good."

On Sunday Shizuo thought about taking the day off. Vorona didn't show any change in her behavior, but she spent most of the day confined in her room and using every bit of their shared Wi-Fi to find which place sold appropriate black dresses for a funeral and was open on a Sunday at all. Shizuo didn't comment on it. He wanted to stay and insist that she talk, because he feared that this might be the one time he should; but Vorona had been handling things fine. She hadn't denied him the right to come to the funeral yet. When he had seen her at noon she had been on the phone, presumably with Sharaku, and she hadn't seemed any different than usual.

He left her some tea before he left, prepared as black as she liked it.

Orihara had his door open this time. He was sitting on the step leading to the inside of his apartment proper, with his bare feet next to his shoes and slippers.

"Is the tuna pizza really that good?" Shizuo asked warily. "You haven't ordered anything else."

Orihara pushed himself to his feet. "It seems I can't get enough of it," he replied, giving Shizuo a once-over and pushing the money toward him. Seventeen hundred yen.

Shizuo's face burned, and he wanted to reply with something—he didn't know if he wanted to encourage or discourage the other—but all Orihara did was step back, taking the box from Shizuo's hands, and slam the door close between them.

"Damn it," Shizuo snapped. "At least tip me, you asshole!"

There was no answer from inside the apartment. Shizuo stood there for a minute longer, trying to reign in the irritation and embarrassment making his blood boil through his every vein. In the end he stomped away after kicking the wall—and he noticed with a mix of shame and satisfaction that his shoe had left a stain behind, grey on red.

Vorona was awake when he got home. She was sitting on the couch rather than on any of his possessions, which was rarely. The mug full of tea that he had left her was sitting, empty, on the coffee table.

"Hey," he said.

She lifted her head from the magazine she had spread over her crossed legs. That was when he noticed.

She had cut her hair while he was out. It was shorter, completely shaven on one side even, while on the other, longer bangs framed her face, without the ability to hide it like it always had before.

He stared at her in silence for a while. She didn't seem too upset at him for it, and she didn't move at all until he was done taking in the change. Ultimately, all he did was sit on the couch next to her and say, "Looks good."

"Affirmative."

"You can just say yes, you know."

She hit him with the magazine, very lightly. It made him smile through his worries and his chest tighten with the knowledge that this wasn't like her. Vorona was never that playful.

So he decided to do what he had refrained from doing this entire time, and he asked: "Are you alright?"

She didn't immediately answer. Rather, she watched the muted TV in front of her with empty eyes, and with her hands, she took something wrapped in plastic that had been sitting on the other side of her body and gave it to him.

It was a dress, from what he could see. Brand new, unworn, cleanly folded. She probably hadn't even tried it on before buying it.

"I'm sure you'll look good in it," he offered, because he didn't know what else to say. Vorona never wore dresses, and he never questioned it, but he knew it would be another awkward thing for her. Another detail to work through on her own.

She looked at him again. "Extending invitation," she said in a small voice. "To the funeral. Tomorrow."

Shizuo's heart pulsed in his throat. He blinked the blur out of his eyes. "Yes," he replied. "Of course I'll be there."

She nodded her assent, and turned back to the silent TV. He couldn't see any trace of sleeplessness or anxiety on her. She was as solid a presence as she had ever been, unreadable but not emotionless, someone he cared about and found comfort around. Shizuo didn't think he had ever met someone as tough as she was.

And yet, when she lifted a hand to touch the shaved side of her scalp, her painted fingers were trembling.

[NEXT]

#durarara!!#shizaya #heiwajima shizuo #orihara izaya #vorona #fic: hundred dollar rum

66 notes · View notes

jacksoninblogform · 8 years

Text

That Weird Little Hill Outside the Engineering Center

Class ends and everyone starts putting away their stuff. I sit there for a few moments even though my stuff is already put away, because I don’t want to be the first person to get up and leave the room because I feel guilty because I hadn’t been paying any attention. I would say that it’s funny, that I’m distracted by my phone even though the things in class are more interesting, at this point, than the things on my phone. Except it’s not that funny, but more importantly it’s kind of a fake comparison. It would be a fun little morality play to tell myself, to notice again how this desire for distraction becomes so extreme, so desperate, that it somehow becomes far more boring, at least in a sense, than it would be to just do the right thing. But that wouldn’t really be true, because the simpler explanation is just that I’m a little behind in class and I can’t really understand today’s lecture so of course I’m distracted.

Finally I pick up my backpack and put on my jacket and head through the door at the back of the classroom. I’m walking through the hallways and now looking again at my phone. It’s interesting, in fairness, I mean better-than-usual but also actually interesting. You see Blue Origin is a space company that wants to make reusable rockets – you’re thinking of SpaceX but they’re different, SpaceX makes the Falcon 9 and flies missions to orbit with real payloads but Blue Origin hasn’t done any of that yet, they’re still all research-and-development. They can afford to play the long game because the company is owned by Jeff Bezos, same guy who owns Amazon, and while they might both look like rich tech billionaires to the rest of us, Bezos has something like ten or twenty times more money than Elon, so he can fund all these rocket engines and test vehicles and all that just straight out-of-pocket, and doesn’t have to worry about closing the business case until later. Anyways Blue Origin has just announced some more details for their big new rocket, meaning like I mentioned the one that’s intended to start doing real business. It’s huge, of course, which is awesome, like half or two-thirds the size of a Saturn V, but everything is huge these days, it’s exciting. I can’t imagine how awful it must have been to be an aerospace engineer twenty or thirty years ago, when everything was always the same and if you were lucky you got to help shuffle shuttles around while you waited for the internet to get invented. But what’s really interesting about this new rocket, New Glenn they want to call it, isn’t the size, it’s the design. And what’s more interesting than the design is the approach. SpaceX like I said is already flying real missions, they made the rocket first – which for the record was a great rocket even before it could come back and land on a boat – and then they added everything else later, the reentry burns, the grid fins, the landing legs, very iterative, test test test. But perhaps as a side effect there was just a little a bit of opportunity cost there, because looking at New Glenn you can just tell, it just feels more polished, more cohesive, so obviously designed from the ground-up to be A Reusable Rocket, the way they have that aerodynamic shield around the engine and the landing legs that tuck so nicely into the body of the rocket and like wings, like huge fricking wings actually, with which apparently they’re going to glide for a really long time through the upper atmosphere, bleed off velocity, avoid a hot reentry that might damage the engines, plus no need for a boostback or reentry burn so that’s a massive amount of fuel saved which equals a whole lot more delta-V for the payload. Clever stuff, certainly, really interesting, but maybe it’s not all quite so great as it looks on paper. The Falcon 9 is already flying right now, for starters, and that means they’ve got all kinds of experience and they’ve had opportunities to work out all the bugs and they’ve been able to change the design of their rocket as they fly it, for instance to make it easier to manufacture or help it have a faster turn-around time for reusability, and you don’t get those advantages with the more secretive pre-planned Blue Origin approach.

I’ve just stepped outside the engineering center now and I switch to wondering whether I should walk home or try waiting for the bus. I think about this almost every time I leave the engineering center despite the fact that I almost invariably walk home instead of waiting for the bus. It’s odd because when I’m leaving my house and going to the engineering center, I take the bus pretty often, maybe even a little more than half of times. Why do my preferences change just because I’m coming versus going? Probably the main reason is that I’m rushing when I head to class but I’m not really in any rush when I’m going back the other way, and if you happen to catch it then the bus is obviously much faster than walking. Another thing that’s definitely true is that the bus to school always has room, wheras the bus from school is sometimes full with all the students who just got out of class, and of course the times when it’s mostly likely to be full are exactly the times when you most want to take the bus because so does everyone else, for instance when it’s snowy or icy or just cold and windy, and then you’ve waited all that time in the cold for nothing and you still have to walk. There are other factors, too, like when I leave from my apartment I can look down the road for a long way and see if the bus is coming, and pretty often if I see it’s coming I can run to make it to the stop in time, so there’s a bit of flexibility there, in a sense, I can also see how many people are at the stop and judge whether the bus just passed by and picked everyone else. It’s kind of hard to explain but having that information about where the bus is allows me to either wait for it or not wait for it in a more intelligent way than I can at school, where it’s more random and so on average I’ll end up waiting more. And then there’s other things, like there’s a big hill on the way to school and maybe secretly I hate going up the hill and that’s why I take the bus on the way there even though as far as I can tell I’m pretty sure I don’t mind going up the hill. Or maybe psychologically it’s easier to walk home and feels like a shorter trip but walking to school makes it a slog. But no matter how many good reasons I think of, the asymmetry still bothers me.

While I’m thinking about the bus I’m still looking at my phone; I never like having stuff running down the battery in the background so I tap to close the couple of tabs I was maybe gonna read and then double-click the home button and start swiping apps to close them. I click the screen off and put it in my pocket and then I pull my hood on and kind of jerk my shoulders to heft up my backpack so it’s more comfortable, and then I look up and up standing on the top of that one little grassy hill is just this girl.

It’s also night. The sky is dark deep-blue. The buildings around the college look very different at night, more like a city, a warm glow shining out through the little windows on the dormitories, streetlamps here and there full of sodium light. In front of the engineering center there’s this wacky little hill, maybe four feet high, very round, very green, all by itself, surrounded by like at least twenty feet of concrete on all sides. In the daytime when everyone’s going to class there are always tons of people walking around on the concrete, walking and parking their bikes and standing around talking to one another. But now it’s night and nobody’s here, there’s just one or two people walking across the campus, listening to music with their headphones in, and then this girl standing on top of the hill, looking kinda towards where the mountains would be, although for the most part you can’t see them behind the dormitory.

She’s a pure silhouette in the dark, but nevertheless I recognize the girl as Lakshmi, who I know from a group project we both worked on when we were in Fluid Dynamics last semester. She is the only person I know in the aerospace program who is Indian but not actually an international student, although she’s visited the country often enough to have fond childhood memories of Diwali in Udaipur where her aunt and uncle and grandparents live. I know this because it was around Halloween last semester when we were working on the group project, which was a bunch of Matlab code to simulate the motions of some weather balloons released inside a thunderstorm, and I mentioned how it’s funny that holidays from around the world can end up having some of the same qualities, and I wondered if maybe it had to do with being in the same part of the year, or possibly it’s coincidence because maybe there aren’t enough ways for holidays to be different from each other so they always end up sharing a couple of things. We talked about honeyed sweets from street vendors and firecracker celebrations in the little alleyways, and warm little candle flames glowing everywhere at night, like in a church.

I walk up on top of the hill next to her, and say “hi”. She says “hi” back. The grass is pretty soft; I can’t remember if I have actually walked on this hill before but I have definitely never stood on top of it. The whole engineering-center plaza looks the tiniest bit strange now, even though I’m only four feet higher up than normal.

Lakshmi is wearing a medium-length black dress; she must have been at that Lockheed Martin event earlier. I think, that must be cold, but then I realize that actually the night isn’t very cold. I take off my hood. There’s just the tiniest breeze that I can feel, and now in the corner of my eye I can see some trees, and their branches sway a little in the air, making a nice sound.

“Isn’t it funny,” she says, “how when you’re looking straight ahead, almost half of what you can see is sky, but nothing ever really happens in the sky? It’s very beautiful sometimes, but it’s almost never relevant to anything humans do. Half the world is just sky, and the other half is just the ground, and everything we think is interesting lives in a tiny little strip near the horizon.”

“That is funny,” I say.

“Even when it rains,” Lakshmi continues, “Even when it rains, you don’t look up to see that it’s raining. You can already tell by looking at the ground. So, there’s really no reason at all.”

I look up at the sky. The brighter stars are out by now. Venus is the brightest, low over the mountains, following the sun. Its gold light feels even more beautiful contrasted against the rich, deep blue of the western sky. Jupiter is higher up, its bright beige-pink light adding an extra jewel to the colorful reds and blues of the winter stars near Orion. There are no clouds. It’s dark and very quiet, except for the sway of the trees and the sound of the cars, far away.

“Isn’t it funny that there are all these dorms,” I start, “and there are all these undergraduate students who live in the dorms, and they have meal plans and eat at the cafeterias, and they go to class each day and in the evenings they go to all these campus events or go to parties, or maybe just sit in the common room with their friends and play videogames? And I’ve never once been inside any of these dorms, or eaten in any of the cafeterias, or any of that. It’s a whole different college.”

“Yes,” she responded, “They have all these Centers. Like the athletic center, the theater center, the music conservatory. Or that thing with the big flat roof they’re building over there.”

Lakshmi is pointing north, towards the stadium and, beyond it, downtown Boulder. I am intimately familiar with the dark outline of the gigantic building she is referring to, since I walk by it every day on the way home from class, but I have no idea what it contains.

“Sometimes I think I should go to some of those things, you know, all the college things. Just out of curiosity.” I say to her. “...But then I just start thinking about everything else I want to do, in the same way, just to see what’s there. Like, have you ever been for a hike in the flatirons?”

I point to some of the mountains peeking out from behind the left side of the dormitory. Even though it’s night, they are illuminated by a faint grey light. I can’t see the moon in the sky, but it must be up, probably hidden behind the engineering center.

“Do you mean those ones in particular, or..?”

“No, just in general.”

“Then yes, I’ve been.”

“When I was at Colorado College, which is in the Springs, it was a lot like here with a nice view of the mountains,” I say. “So every day, walking to class or eating dinner at one of the on-campus places, I would always be looking at these mountains. By senior year I’ve been looking at this beautiful vista for four years, and I know that Pikes Peak is one of the easiest mountains to climb – people literally drive to the top, there’s this dumb train and everything. So I’m like, obviously I have to climb it, how crazy would it be to look at something for four years and never be able to go there and look back? So I set off one weekend, and for the next two days everything I see is just completely unbelievable. Like, first off, once you climb the first little hill out of the town, there’s this massive valley before you get to the mountain. You spend the entire first day just walking through the forest – it’s high altitude but it’s not really part of the mountain, it’s not sloping upwards. It’s just, like, secret land. And I had had no idea it even existed, and there’s nothing there but forest, like it had been folded up. When I had always figured the mountain was more or less right there after the foothills. Then on the second day you actually climb the mountain, and in addition to being huge of course, it’s just so incredibly, like... three-dimensional.”

Lakshmi laughs. “Yes! Yes, I know what you mean,” she says. “Like that statue in Chicago.”

“Yeah! I just couldn’t believe my eyes, this thing I had stared at every day for four years had suddenly become totally curved and warped out, so in a way I had a better understanding of the real shape, of course, but it was also so gigantic, and so different, that I felt disoriented. And the view kept changing, of course, so eventually it felt like they were all, not wrong, but like... equidistant.”

“It’s so funny,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“You know what else is funny,” said Lakshmi, “There are so many things that we can’t think about. Or can-but-don’t, or maybe we can think about them, but not in a way that we can notice or not in a way that feels like thinking. And I don’t mean the sky, or the mountains, or anything even close to those things, because clearly we can think about those things, and in fact they are perfectly ordinary thoughts.”

As she said this, Lakshmi ran a hand through her hair, which was dark and straight and long, and then started doing some intricate thing, gathering up her hair into sections and passing them one over another. I watched her as she did this, and she continued with what she was saying:

“But it’s like those things. It’s like the sky and the horizon, and everything we can think about is on the horizon. Sometimes the horizon is really narrow, even more than usual, like... those glasses that are worn by the Inuit, in the snow. And then you can forget about almost everything else in the world, and all your thoughts are these loud, discrete things, like digital signals. Other times it’s better and the horizon opens up, and you can see much more and it feels like you can have all kinds of thoughts, all together. But it’s never, for instance... I mean, the whole sky is there the entire time. But even though it’s always there, it’s never the whole sky. There are so many parts of my life that I can’t say –”

“Yeah, and it’s not like they’re inaccessible,” I offer, “or like they’re out of reach...”

“No, certainly. It’s like – the whole concept is that we’re not wearing the snow-glasses, the whole sky is always there, it’s a part of me, but it’s as if it’s a part of me that isn’t part of me. Or something. It’s very strange. It makes me sad, when I think about it.”

Lakshmi summons a hair-tie and tilts her head sideways for a moment as she fixes the bun in place. I look down at the ground, and notice that I can see our two shadows stretched onto the plaza below the hill. I wheel around to catch sight of a nearly-full moon, which has just emerged from behind the engineering center. I watch the moon for a while, and I must not have heard the click of her shoes against the concrete, because when I turn back around she’s gone.

1 note · View note

nickgerlich · 5 years

Text

What We Have Learned So Far

I remember back to the 1970s, when I was a mere teenager. My Dad the Accountant was also the purchasing agent for our family. It was a task in which he prided himself and his squeezing-blood-out-of-turnips ways. He shopped with ruthless cunning and laser precision. This explained why our basement had metal shelves lined with enough canned goods to get us through a nuclear fallout, because Dad was the kind of guy who would find corn on sale, and then buy the whole case.

My friends used to make fun of me. “Are you guys planning on World War III?” they would ask. Nope. Dad was just being a good shopper, so we shut up and ate corn.

But suddenly I realize that Dad was ahead of his time, while at the same time, a product of his times. He grew up during the Great Depression, so he knew the value of a nickel saved, a paper clip, piece of string, even an empty beer can with its top removed to use as a pencil holder. This is not just quaint nostalgic yearnings, it’s the new survival strategy. I suspect if you went into many American pantries these days, you would think my Dad had paid them a visit.

While the first documented US case of coronavirus happened on 20 January 2020, it wasn’t until the last two weeks that we really stood up and paid much attention here. In that short time, we have learned many things, about ourselves, about our society. Here are a few:

No one is happy right now. We are filled with anxiety. We’re stress-filled, and easily provoked by the littlest thing someone might do to us in public. I get it. When your world is turned upside down, it’s easy to take it out on others. Even though only a tiny tiny fraction of our 330 million people will contract COVID-19, there is still the chance it could happen. Given the fact that we are all told to stay home, one has to wonder what the social outcomes will be down the road. Will there be a baby boom next winter, as some chirpy people suggest? Or will the added stress lead to divorces? Worse yet, not if, but when, will there be shopping cart rage and shootings in shops as people fight over scarce commodities?

What we once took for granted, we may never do so again. Remember when we could go to a supermarket and they would have everything we needed? Yeah, me too…about two weeks ago. I remember my first semester at WT, when I had a young Polish emigre in my Principles of Marketing class. She told of life in the mother country, still reeling under years of an oppressive regime. She spoke of being overwhelmed by all the choices we had in America, because in Poland, it wasn’t about which bread, it was about whether there was any bread at all. If you saw a queue forming outside a store, you got in line without even knowing why you were there, under the assumption that someone knew something you did not, and you better not miss whatever was available.

How sad that we now think the same thing. We blindly get in line before opening hours in hopes that shelves have been restocked during the night. And for that matter, every other aspect of our lives, from dining out to movie theatres, concerts, sporting events, and more, are all out the window right now. We have our Netflix, as long as they don’t cut the bandwidth to save the internet for everyone now engaged in online learning. 

Cheap gas is nice, but if you can’t go anywhere, it is worthless. With a barrel of oil around $24, dealers are practically giving gas away. Today, you can get gas for $1.69 a gallon in Amarillo. The only problem is that, with so many people sent home to work, shops closed, and everyone hunkering down, there’s really nowhere to go other than the grocery. Oh, for fuel this cheap when we are able to take road trips. This is nothing but a false positive externality of the coronavirus crisis.

Agile companies and organizations will survive, while the others will be weeded out quickly. We will definitely lose a lot of businesses during this pandemic, especially mom-and-pop businesses. There are more businesses than we realize that are only one or two months away from bankruptcy, mirroring the condition of many citizens who are similarly skating by, month-to-month. Are you in the restaurant business? Why haven’t you considered takeaway before? Have a retail shop? Why haven’t you gone online yet with a commerce-driven website and/or mobile app? Teach at a university? Why haven’t you pushed yourself a little the last two decades by developing at least one online course?

Furthermore, this will cause many businesses, organizations, and even governments to reconsider how business is done, but only among those that survive. Does it necessarily have to be face-to-face? Why can’t it be done electronically? Does it have to be done the old way forever?

I do not need to eat out anywhere near as much as I once did. I have been moving in this direction for the last few months anyway in an effort to eat more healthily, as well as because I am enjoying teaching myself to cook. But with restaurants off-limits in most areas, and everyone my age being urged to have a month’s worth of provisions on hand, my pantry runneth over. And you know what? I am enjoying it. Even with my beginner’s skills and tools, I can put together a mighty tasty dinner. My oldest daughter often joins me in this endeavor, and she, better than I, produce some amazing meals. Guess what? We are saving money. We are eating very healthily. And I am losing weight. Lots of it. Yay, us! Of course, that’s bad news for the restaurants if they are able to survive this tragedy, because I may not return there as frequently as I once did.

Many more people are now getting exposure to e-commerce, curbside pick-up, and home delivery. This could forever change the way we buy things, making it difficult for those unable or unwilling to evolve. This goes far beyond the native convenience of it all, and even the social distancing aspect. I, for one, do not want to purchase items that have been handled, tried on, manipulated, etc., by others.

What people purchase during times of panic reflects their worst fears. Panic is irrationality at its worst. It causes us to do things completely out of character, and when it comes to purchasing, it causes us to buy things that make no sense whatsoever. The elephant in the living room right now is toilet paper. The coronavirus does not even cause diarrhea, so there’s no worry in that department, yet Americans and others worldwide have gobbled up virtually every available roll. One report I read said that we bought 60 days’ worth of toilet paper in three days. A standard 18-roll pack should last a minimum of one month, and quite possibly two months, in a two-person household.

So why did everyone hoard this most basic commodity? Simple. Because everyone fears having to take a dump and not having paper with which to wipe. Never mind starvation or more important matters; we just want to be clean down there. I want to be clean, too, but I’m not going to go crazy on inventorying it. A second fear is bottled water. Really? Unless our public utilities also break down, we’re going to have tap water. So picture this: We are a bunch of defecation dehydrophobes. I don’t like that mental picture.

The food people are buying reflects our rather pedestrian American cuisine, which also turns out to be our comfort foods. The American diet is a mash-up of various international influences and regionalized adaptations, along with some items of our own making. To be honest, I don’t think it is all that good. It is rather bland, favors sauces that happens to red, and probably puts more emphasis on the centerpiece—meat—than is healthy. But that’s a discussion for another time.

Folks are buying the things they know how to prepare, because going out to eat is out of the question unless you can live with takeaway, and people are buying the things that will provide comfort and hope during a time of discomfort and seeming hopelessness. If pounded steak and potatoes make you feel good, then by all means, eat it. It also means that my rather esoteric tastes and dietary preferences are pretty safe. This is one time that being in the minority has its benefits. All of my stuff is still abundant.

People will rearrange their schedules to go shopping if there is hope that a scarce item has been replenished overnight. When was the last time you went grocery shopping at 7:00am? I did it this week, and was not the least bit surprised to see about two dozen others out there, milling about in the pre-dawn moonlight. Many stores have now trimmed their operating hours to allow more time for thorough overnight cleanings and restocking, as well as to accommodate seniors-only shopping hours, but the long and the short of it is simple: We’ll do whatever it takes if we think we might find a roll of toilet paper or canister of Lysol. Think about this. Aside from Black Friday, when was the last time you engaged in cart-to-cart contact for a limited supply of products?

We are social animals, and we are already starting to miss each other. I can see it on social media already. We want…no, we need…human interactions, whether it is at church, the pub, the workplace, the classroom. All of those have been taken from us in short order, and it did not take long for us to feel that immense loss. Thankfully, we have social media to stay in touch, and inexpensive calling plans to just say hello. Reach out and touch your loved ones, maybe not physically, but at least electronically. It may be a while before we can hug, kiss, even shake hands. But we can still communicate.

There will always be defiant, belligerent people among us. This is the scariest part. There are many folks taking to social media trying to downplay the importance of this matter, dissing the statistics that shows this to be a highly communicable disease with a much higher mortality rate than the common flu. Worst yet, I have seen some of my former students echoing these refrains online. Now more than ever we must use reasoning and logic to filter through the news, all of it, from real to fake. This is a very real contagion that can grow exponentially if left unabated. Interventions of the highest order are necessary to throw speed bumps in its growth. This is not a conspiracy from any political party; it is a global pandemic that knows no borders nor ideologies. Don’t blow off the truth; don’t dig your heels in the dirt and embrace nonsense claptrap that ignores the magnitude of this situation.

We use social media to vent our frustrations and anxieties. And argue. It is sadly ironic that the very tool intended to bring people together has also made it possible for oceans of discontent to rage between us. Give someone a microphone, and suddenly they feel like they are back in high school debate. But more than that, I see raw emotions in people’s posts…the empty shelves, the shuttered stores, the empty parking lots. The mere act of photographing, composing a caption, and posting them is cathartic in that it lets us release those pent up emotions. My advice going forward: skip the arguing, but keep posting your photos and words. If anything, we are all now citizen journalists documenting history in the making. Can you imagine nearly everyone in 1918 had a decent camera in their pocket or purse, and snapped hundreds of photos of the pandemic that year? We would have a much better record had this all been available. We do, so keep shooting and posting.

Finally, we need to love our educators. They have all been forced to do things they may or may not know anything about as they transition to online. For some, it has been easy. For others, it is like being thrust from knowing miles, pounds, and quarts, and suddenly having to use kilometers, kilograms, and liters. We are doing our best to make sure the learning continues, with or without the comforts of the classroom. We all have to make the best of the situation. And I offer encouragement to students for whom online learning is unfamiliar. It’s not perfect, but neither is the classroom. Keep an open mind, and trust your educator. We’re not doing this for ourselves.

I know that I could go on, and there is certainly much more we will learn in the days and weeks ahead. And that’s right—weeks. I am not hopeful that we will return to what we consider to be normal for quite some time. This is the new normal. All I know is that my dad was right. Life could get tough again, maybe not quite like it was in the 1930s, but certainly a far cry from what we all know as the American way. In the end, though, it will make us tougher. Our steely resolve will help us get through this, and prepare us for whatever the future may hold.   

Now who wants some corn?

Dr “Going The Distance“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

0 notes

the-four-ds-blog · 7 years

Text

I hope you like metatextuality, We-Care

INT. CLASSIC DORM ROOM - NIGHT

Two young women sit on their beds, both working on laptops. EMMA - 21, proud Slytherin, the kindest person on their floor and also the sneakiest- browses Facebook. Her roommate ADDIE - 20, reluctant Gryffindor, wants to be Tumblr famous but never posts anything- stares at her screen. She starts out of bed suddenly and groans.

EMMA

What’s wrong?

ADDIE

This application. It’s like it’s specifically designed to send me into an existential crisis.

EMMA

Oh?

ADDIE

And I quote- “Out of the avalanche of applicants, why should we choose you?”

EMMA

Oh boy.

ADDIE:

I know!

Addie walks over to Emma’s desk and opens a tin of chocolate covered espresso beans. Through their conversation, she paces back and forth, tossing them individually high into the air and attempting to catch them with her mouth. She’s not excellent at this.

EMMA:

I wouldn’t know how to answer that.

ADDIE

I’m thinking of listing a bunch reasons and explanations. And I kind of want them all to start with D. You know, Dedicated, Disciplined, Delightful...

EMMA

-Dutiful!

Emma looks sheepish. Addie laughs.

ADDIE

Desperate. And like yeah, it’s a gimmick, but it gives me room to play around. Like after ‘Delightful’ I’m gonna be all “Okay this one’s a bit of a stretch, but I can be funny! I’m pretty nice! You’ll like having me around the office!”

EMMA

I like having you as a roommate.

ADDIE (CONT’D)

(halfway under Emma’s bed, searching for a dropped bean)

We should write each other testimonials.

EMMA

Dear random company- I hereby guarantee that Margaret Adaline is cool and you should hire her.

ADDIE

Perfect. And for Dedicated I can be like- Yo, I’m just looking for a job that will let me do what I’m good at (marketing and communications) while letting me feel like I’m not making the world a worse place. And this org is about actively making the world better. I’d feel so lucky to be there I’d work my ass off.

EMMA

What type of thing are they?

ADDIE

I think they’re about connecting big businesses with non-profits. So shopping big brands can send some of their money to the non-profits who do their saving-the-world thing. I’m underselling it. They’ve helped keep kids out of the slave trade.

EMMA

That’s good!

ADDIE

I know!

Addie’s attempts at throwing and catching the beans are becoming increasingly desperate.

ADDIE (CONT’D)

I’ve been thinking again about whether the impact I leave is net positive or negative. I mean environmentally alone it’s probably the latter.

EMMA

Isn’t that why you started using your Divacup instead of tampons?

ADDIE

Yeet. And now I get to go this company and be like ‘Will my work on this planet be worth the damage I do just by existing? You decide!’

EMMA

I think you have a good impact. I mean, at least you’re not considering going into the oil industry.

ADDIE

You’re not gonna go into oil, Emma. You’re like the most environmentally conscious person I know.

EMMA

Addie, I’m a GEOS major. It’s kinda what we do.

ADDIE

Ok, sure, but if you do it’s gonna be about promoting new, less shitty alternatives. You’re gonna be on that team PR points to to be like ‘See! We’re not all bad!’

EMMA

...I do get really excited when I think about fracking...

Addie can’t resist.

ADDIE

Well. I mean, who doesn’t love fracking.

EMMA (playing along)

It’s like, invigorating to imagine.

ADDIE

And so dirty.

Emma falls into laughter.

ADDIE (CONT’D)

How could that place not hire me? Look at the complex high-brow humor they’d be missing out on.

EMMA

Of course they’ll hire you. You know non-profits- you did Grubstreet!

ADDIE

You and your optimism. Hold on-

Addie looks to her computer.

ADDIE (CONT’D)

They want me to know business stuff- I can spin Grubstreet finance into that... Research- Grubstreet and Boston Lit District... Writing skills- English major... Independent projects and strategy- did a lot of that making those videos at Cape Ann... Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat, Insta- I’m a millennial; I know these. Ok wait guess I’ll need to learn how to Pinterest. Linkedin? Fuck yeah.

EMMA

See? You’re qualified.

ADDIE

So is everyone else. Ha! I like this one though. “Bonus points if comfortable on the phone.” I can do that. Grubstreet’s front desk drilled any phone anxiety out of me. I’m great at phones. I’m clear, I’m friendly, I don’t stutter. I’m Excellent.

EMMA

Well you know what that means.

ADDIE

What?

EMMA

Next time we want delivery, you get to place the order.

Addie stares at Emma, amazed.

ADDIE

Oh my god. Wow. WOW. I walked right into that!

She glances back at the application. Looks away quickly. Tosses another bean into the air and catches it. Chewing, she says-

ADDIE (CONT’D)

Yo, I think I got it figured out. Watch-

She tosses another bean. This one bounces off her tooth.

ADDIE (CONT’D)

Ow! Fuck!

EMMA

Ahh! Are you okay?

ADDIE

I’m fine. See?

She picks up the same bean and tosses it. Misses again.

ADDIE (CONT’D)

Fuck!

EMMA

You know my heartrate speeds up a little every time you do that.

ADDIE

Why?

EMMA

What if you choke!

ADDIE

(tossing and catching/missing throughout) I’m not gonna choke! Though like, I thought they would make me feel more awake, and, like, they totally are! But I also think that they might, like, be making me a little more anxious? Which is kind of, like, the opposite of what I need right now? Can I have a cider?

EMMA

Addie I’m cutting you off.

ADDIE

No!

EMMA

From the beans I mean. Have a cider.

ADDIE

Ok wait last one.

She presses an espresso bean into Emma’s hand.

EMMA

Ohh, I don’t think that’s a great idea... I don’t really want to...

ADDIE

No dude I meant for you to toss it to me.

EMMA

Oh! Thank God! Yeah, I can do that! I thought you wanted me to try to catch it and I was like Hell No. Okay, you ready?

Addie crouches closer to bed-level. She opens her mouth wide and grunts an affirmative. Emma throws the bean overhand- it misses wildly. The two laugh.

EMMA (CONT’D)

That was really bad!

ADDIE

Well maybe you should try throwing underhand. Here-

Addie picks up the bean and gives it back to Emma. Emma tosses it in a gentle underhand- right into Addie’s mouth.

ADDIE (CONT’D)

Mmm! Fuck yeah!

They high five. Addie retrieves a hard cider from their closet and cracks it open using a bottle opener off of Emma’s desk. She takes a long sip and sighs.

ADDIE (CONT’D)

Oh my god that’s so much better already. Day three of the semester and I’m already turning to drink.

EMMA

Whatever will become of you?

Addie’s face scrunches up at the joke. She finishes her cider, crawls into Emma’s bed, and rests against Emma’s thigh. She takes Emma’s non-scrolling hand and places it on her head. Emma cards her fingers through Addie’s hair.

ADDIE

Why do they have to be so stressful?

EMMA

Applications?

Addie nods.

ADDIE

I just wanna not have to worry anymore. But then again I guess worrying is human. Maybe I wanna be a dog.

EMMA

I saw this thing online that was like- imagine being a golden retriever. You’re living on a farm in Maine and you’ve got a family that looks after you and feeds you... you can just hang out all day...

ADDIE

Okay like I feel that? But also- you’re bordering on furry talk there Emma.

EMMA

You’re the one demanding to be petted.

ADDIE

Touché. Being a Golden Retriever is the dog ideal though.

EMMA

Everybody loves them!

ADDIE

It’s cause they don’t have resting bitch face.

Addie realizes her pun, then plays herself a ‘badum ts’ on an imaginary drum set.

ADDIE (CONT’D)

They’re always smiling! They look like:

ADDIE (CONT’D)

EMMA

The pair laugh. Addie becomes fixated with a tipsy intensity.

ADDIE

Okay I got a plan.

EMMA

Plans are good! Plans ward off existential dread!

ADDIE

My thoughts exactly. I’m gonna work on application between classes tomorrow. After that I’ll do homework with free time til Friday night. We can have fun then- that’ll be my incentive to do work. Then I’m donating blood on Saturday morning because it will make me feel better.

EMMA

That’s a good plan!

ADDIE

Thank you! I think I might include that in the app. About why I donate blood. Because yeah, sometimes I only do good things to feel better about myself, but that’s not a bad thing. It means that as humans, helping other people makes us feel good. Altruism is overrated. Humans evolved so that it makes us happy to help other humans. That’s awesome! It means that if you give someone the opportunity to do good, they’re gonna take it! Even if it’s a company- that’s just a bunch of humans! And this org- it gets that, and it’s making those opportunities, and that’s good! Doing good is beneficial to me, and that’s good! Because it says something amazing about humans in general.

EMMA

I think you should include that. It’s honest. I like it.

ADDIE

Yeah, they’ll love that. Dear sir or madam, I know there are people more qualified than me applying, but I’m honest.

EMMA

You’re unique!

ADDIE

Ugh, don’t say that to a theatre kid- you’ll unleash the monster. I spent most of my high school years convincing myself that I’m no better or worse than anybody else. And now this application comes in like ‘why should we hire you?’ The beast rears its ugly head- “BECAUSE I’M SPECIAL!!!”

Addie mouths ‘I’m not’ to Emma, who smiles.

EMMA

Hm. Well you’re not afraid to present the less polished sides of yourself-

Emma starts giggling.

ADDIE

What?

EMMA

And that makes you-

Emma laughs harder.

ADDIE

Am I missing something?

EMMA