#that reminds me i did look for some singing models for my ocs

[maxverstappensflatbrim]

Show Me Yours | Matty Healy [1]

chapter one, act one: antichrist

~first chapter of my Matty Healy x bandmate!OC, more coming soon

January 3rd 2010

"No."

"Please?"

Tommie groans twirling around on her cousin's bed so she's lying on her stomach instead of her back and looks over to where he's sitting at his desk chair.

"No, Adam, I don't want to."

"No," He says, in his usual 'I know better than you' tone, tilting his head in a way that reminds her exactly of her aunt, "You're afraid."

She gives him an unimpressed look and goes back to looking over the back of the old Radiohead vinyl she'd pinched from his little shelf of records that's tucked away in one corner of his bedroom.

"I don't wanna be in your stupid X-Factor wannabe band with your junkie friends."

"Please," A sarcastic voice comes from the bedroom door as it's pushed open, the self-made 'please knock' sign obviously meaning nothing to the intruder. The vinyl is snatched from her hands and the single bed dips with the newly added weight, "We're at least BGT worthy."

She rolls her eyes sitting up as he moves the record out of her reach, "Don't mess with me today, Healy."

"Aw," He pouts looking over at her, lashes fluttering in mock flattery, "But it's my favourite thing to do."

"Why do you always have to piss me off on my first day here?" She questions, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

He flashes his smile, wild curly hair falling in his eyes, "Because it's my favourite pastime."

Adam snatches the record back, putting it onto his pile on the floor as he raises a brow, "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Day off to welcome Miss Thomas."

"Day wasted." She mutters from behind him.

Matty mimics her in a high-pitched voice and she rolls her eyes. He grabs one of her ankles and pulls it down to his lap, tickling at her socked foot causing her to squeal and grip one of Adam's plain white pillows as her defence.

Matty flinches as the pillow is brought down upon his head, he dramatically grips his shirt and flops onto his back to look up as he gives his dramatic act of a death scene.

"Tommie!"

She sighs and goes to the door, "Yeah?"

"Your mother's on the phone, she's been calling you. Come down here."

She inwardly groans but forces herself down the stairs. Matty turns to Adam as soon as she's gone. Listening to the footsteps pause at the bottom of the stairs, a faint 'hello?' coming a few seconds later.

"Did she agree?"

"No."

He groans, flopping back on the bed again, curly hair creating a large painting upon the plain sheets. "Why?"

"Said she wants to do A Levels, go to university and- I quote, 'have a chance of making a name for herself'."

"That's what we're doing, making a name for ourselves."

"In a band about driving?"

Matty sighs, "I have a vision."

Adam sighs, muttering under his breath as he twists his chair around to look at the wall behind his desk. Focusing on a picture of him and Tommie when they were kids, back when he still lived in Wales before his dad got the job in Manchester.

"And the vision," Matty continues, lifting his hands in the air in front of him, "Has me upfront, some super hot models on each arm," Adam laughs at that part, and Matty lets out what can be described as a giggle, "Then you on guitar, George drumming away, Ross with his bass... and Tommie, right there with us, strumming her guitar and singing our songs."

"She's not into that stuff, you know that. She's too shy."

"She is not shy."

"Matty, it took her six years to speak to any of you."

He shrugs, "She was younger then."

"The stage isn't the place she should be, she's not comfortable with it, don't force her."

He sighs, "Do you think she'll help us on the album? If this thing goes through and we get the deal, do you think she'll help?"

"Of course she will, she's been with us since the start-"

The door reopens and she walks in quickly, grabbing the hoodie she had left on side before leaving again. Matty and Adam share a look before following after her as she charges down the stairs and out the front door.

"Hey, Tommie, wait."

Adam runs out barefoot as Matty shoves on Mrs Hann's heels, stumbling after them, "Tommie, wait."

Adam catches her arm, brow-raising, "Where are you going? What's wrong?"

She sighs, taking in a deep stuttering breath to try and regain her own thoughts. Everything is a jumbled mess and she shakes her head quickly to focus her eyes.

"My father-"

"What happened?" Matty asks from behind them.

Tommie's voice catches in her throat when she sees him standing there and Adam turns around to him, "Go back inside, Matty."

"What's happened?"

"Just- go inside, Matty."

Adam turns back to Tommie, gripping her hand a little tighter, "What's he done?"

"He's threatening court," She shakes her head and scoffs, "He's not wanted nothing to do with me for fifteen years, Adam, why does he want me now? It seems like when I've stopped trying to have a dad is when he's wanted to be one."

She pulls away to step back, "I'm uh, going down the shop."

"Tommie, come back inside, we'll chuck a film on-"

"No, no, I want some sweets, be back in a bit."

"Tom..."

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

"Hey."

She sighs slowly looking away from him as she hears his boots crunch on the gravel, "Go away, Healy."

He drops himself down beside her, looking out over the rugby pitch in front of them, the fence restricting the view of the local Wilmslow team trains.

They sit in silence, he doesn't say a thing after his initial greeting, just rests his elbows on his knees and keeps his gaze forward.

She taps her foot impatiently, kicking up dust and rocks as she plays with the strings of her hoodie.

"My dad, he never really stuck around," Tommie says suddenly, "He was there you know, picked me up every Wednesday, dropped me with my grandparents then went out, took me to football games on Sundays. But, it was more like a chore than him doing parent stuff."

"I uh, didn't know."

"I never realised he was a bad dad to me until my little sister turned three, two years ago. I was sitting in their living room. He came in from work, kissed his wife on the head, kissed my sister on the cheek, then sat at the table with my step-brother to help him with his homework before making dinner."

Matty doesn't open his mouth to say anything, which she's shocked by, he just listens, "I just sat there watching, and the entire time all I could think was that I wasn't worth the effort. He does everything for those kids, and I feel so bad because he's an absolutely amazing father to them. But then it makes me wonder, why couldn't he be that for me? Why couldn't he be there? Pick me up, make me dinner, help with my homework?"

She rubs at her nose with her sleeve and then shakes her head as she chuckles through the rising tears, "It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," He says quietly, his hand lifts and he hesitates to pat her back but settles on brushing some hair back from her face, "You have a right to feel that way."

She buries her head into her folded arms and grips her elbows as she breathes in deeply, breathing in the scent of the grass and dirt, focusing on the yells of the rugby players in the distance.

"Tommie, look at me please."

She sighs and lifts her head slowly, "I didn't know that. You don't," He pauses, not sure if he should say what he's thinking, not wanting to make the situation worse but he does anyway, "You don't talk about your family much. Just Adam and your grandparents."

She sighs, "You wanna know?"

"I-" He does, he really does. He wants to know everything.

"My single working mother and I live with my grandparents because we can't afford our own place. I'm the oldest sibling, by six years, of four, two brothers, one half, one step, and a half-sister. Don't talk to my dad much anymore, only once a month when he argues with his wife and remembers I exist, my youngest brother, JJ, he has a different mother too, dad speaks to him more than me but not much. He's the only sibling I speak to."

"Why don't you just move up here? For good?"

She sighs, "This is my last holiday up here, Healy."

"What?"

"I've got a job now, retail, it's awful but it's money, and I'm about to do my A levels-"

"You can still come up for the summer."

"And have a whole six weeks off work? I can't do that, I could barely have this week off to come up."

He sighs, "But, you were supposed to come up for your birthday this year. First birthday in Manchester."

She shrugs, tracing over the rips in her jeans, "Don't like my birthday anyway."

He gasps dramatically, hitting her shoulder, "Why? I love my birthday, getting presents and lots of attention, it's great."

"Not when you're the oldest sibling with broke parents." He tilts his head and she sighs, turning away from his gaze, "My mother's at work, most of the time my grandparents are too, and my dad hasn't remembered a birthday since I was five, that was only when my nannie was alive back then. He had her to keep her on track all the time. When she died, that's when it all went downhill."

"It is now my life's purpose to make you like your birthday."

She scoffs, "I'm not like you, Healy. Don't like big things and loads of attention, not made for it."

He shrugs, "It doesn't always need to be like that, it can be quiet, small things."

She shrugs again, then he goes back to the issue of her not coming up for the summer, "Why don't you just quit? Get a job up here for the summer then go back."

"It's not that easy, we need the money. And if I leave and they don't take me back, what then? And I can't risk worrying about that when I need to be focusing on school. If I don't focus on my results, I won't get into a good university, if I don't get into a good uni I can't get a good job. If I don't get a good job with a decent salary then- then I'll never get out. I'll never leave the stupid village and escape the past. I need to leave, Matty."

She runs her hands through her hair, burning her head into her knees. He moves his hand to rub at her back, careful not to startle her. He knows how she feels about touch and boundaries. But when she doesn't flinch and leans back into his touch, he lets his palm lay flat drawing circles into her hoodie.

"You're taking on too much."

She scoffs, "We don't all have rich parents."

He looks over at her now, watching her run both hands through her hair to tuck the stands behind her ears, "Is that what this is about, money? I can help-"

"No," She says quickly, regretting her little dig, "No, I don't want your help. You work hard for your money, in that shitty hippie cafe-"

"Shitty? It's many... questionable things, but it's not... that shitty."

She laughs a little and looks away, "What about the album?"

She sighs slowly, "Healy-"

"We're gonna get one, we are, I can feel it, one more gig, that guy, said he could get us signed up with a label if we record some EP's."

"I'm not in the band, that's your guys' things."

"You're a part of the band, Tommie."

"No, I'm not. I just sit in on your practices with you."

"Okay," He nods, "Answer me this," She hums, "Do you help us by playing guitar?"

"Well, sometimes."

"Yes or no questions."

"Yes."

He nods, "Do you come to every gig with us?- When you're here?"

"Yes."

"Every practice?"

"Yes."

"Did you let me steal some of your work for our songs?"

"Yes- what?"

He chuckles as she turns to look at him quickly, "What songs? What work?"

"My new songs," He says leaning away from her hand that reaches out to hit him, "And your poetry."

"You read my notebook?"

He catches her hand this time when she tries to hit him, "It was open."

"Open?"

"On the kitchen table, I just glanced... for a single second."

"I hate you so much."

She pushes him down, using his head to stand and starts walking away, he scrambles to his feet following after her, "It's really good, and I only borrowed one line."

"Which one?"

"Not telling."

She rolls her eyes, walking on and he has to jog to keep up with her long strides despite having a good few inches on her.

"Vogue."

"What?"

"Vanity Fair."

Then it dawned on her, "That was my best line, Healy!"

He giggles and runs off but she chases after him, shouting down the street, "I'm still not joining your shitty band."

He rolls his eyes, grabbing her arm to drag her towards the old shop in town, "Where are we going?"

"Shops, to cheer you up."

"Ooh," She rubs her hands together with a grin, "You gonna be my sugar daddy now, Healy?"

He swings an arm around her shoulder, smiling down at her, "Of course sugar baby, what do you want, a Ferrari?"

"More of a red bull girl. There's just something about Sebastian Vettel in that race suit." She makes a noise close to a moan and watches the redness spread up his cheeks.

"Well, I can't get you a Vettel, but I can get you something very close."

He moves the hand hanging loosely over her shoulder to push her glasses up her face and then cup over her eyes and a smile spreads across her face as she blindly walks along the path in front of them. "Jenson?"

"Nope."

He stops them, turning her with his hands still covering her eyes. He drops his hand and she looks up, raising a brow.

"Mr. Bolas."

"Even better."

They head into the old charity shop, glancing around the new boxes, Bolas looks up from his desk, peering over the top of his reading glasses.

"New box out the back, Healy."

"Thanks, Mr. Bolas."

Tommie waves at him and he sends a sweet smile before she's dragged by Matty down the old creaking stairs and into the storage room.

He lets go of her to sit crisscrossed in front of the box, taking out the old records one by one, "Ooh, you'll like this one."

She moves the old box of books to sit beside him, taking the old minted edition Black Sabbath record from his hands, "Holy shit, this is cool."

"Swapsies?"

She passes over the box of books she's yet to look in so she can look through the records as he looks through the books, picking out an old battered Tennesse Williams one.

"Hey, I'm doing that for A level this year."

"Have it."

She takes it from him flicking through, smiling at the little annotations someone has put in the play.

"I have his poetry book."

She looks at the Jack Kerouac book in his hand, "I think I've read some of that, it's good."

"Yeah?"

He flicks it open, looking through the book a little, "Woah, that's stupid."

He starts laughing and she nudges his arm so she can look, '1st June the 1975'.

"I've never seen anyone say 'the' before they write the year."

"That's weird, suppose we say it like that half the time though."

He hums in agreement, finger tracing over the words of the page, "1975, Jesus, this book is old."

"You getting it?"

He shrugs then shakes his head, "Nah."

"Fine, then I will."

She adds it atop her Streetcar Named Desire book pushing them aside as she goes back through the records, picking out a few more for herself and some old sixties ones for Adam.

"The 1975." He says again.

She rolls her eyes, "You're not going to shut up about that are you?"

"Nope."

He hears the chime of his phone and digs it out of his back pocket, flicking it open to see the text from the guy he used to go to school with.

"Ah, great." He grins down at the device, typing out a reply.

"What?"

He drags her to her feet, carrying her things for her, "This guy I used to go to school with is training to become a tattoo artist, he's the one that's done all ours. He has a free spot this afternoon."

"Are you getting another one?"

"Yeah, wanna come with?"

"Can I get one?"

"Can you forge your mother's signature?"

She nods without a second thought, "How'd you think I went on that skiing trip? Mam never would've let me go if she knew I needed permission."

He chuckles, putting the things on the counter to get scanned, and leans his side against the table, "What will you get?"

She shrugs, "I don't know, like a circle or something?"

"Why?"

She answers with another lift of her shoulders, "Or a box, like a little frame."

"Why?" He asks again.

"Well, I have like twenty minutes to decide on one. The shape is simple, easy. No pressure, and I can fill it later on, or cover it when I decide."

"What are you having?" She asks as they smile at Mr Bolas before taking the little paper brown bag full of their new stuff.

"Finishing off my we are king's tattoo."

She nods, "We should get a matching one."

"Like what?" She turns to him as he holds the door open for them to walk outside.

He looks up in thought, "1975."

She shakes her head, "That's really stuck with you, huh?"

He nods, "It's just so-" He trails off, "Weird."

He looks back down at her when he finishes and she shrugs, "Sure."

"Sure?"

"Why not?"

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"Look."

Tommie looks up from where she's waiting, tearing her eyes away from the George Orwell book in her hands to see Matty's freshly wrapped tattooed skin. Showing not one, but two new tattoos. '1975' then a large rectangle box, much like the one she'd decided to have.

"Are you joking?"

"What?"

She moves her arm to show her 'the 1975' tattoo on her wrist. "You said the."

"Well," He shrugs, sitting beside her, "It looked a bit silly."

She moves her untatted arm to punch at his one and he gasps when she hits the freshly inked skin. "Ow."

"Good," She turns away, "Now I look like an idiot. I don't even know anyone born in 1975."

"It's cool." He tries to reassure and he glances at him in the corner of her eye, "Cool?"

"Yeah... cool. Edgy. Modern."

He nods, more to reassure himself than her and turns away, "I'm sorry, it's still matching."

"Let's go before I kill you."

"You could never."

"I could," She shrugs, "And with the amount of criminal minds I watch, I could get away with it."

He nods in thought, "You know what else you could get away with?"

"Hmm?"

"Being in a really cool band."

She rolls her eyes, "Matthew..."

He sighs, "Come on, Tommie, why not? What's stopping you?"

"A lot actually, money, job, school, mam-"

He rolls his eyes, "You can still go to school, I mean, you've basically finished your GCSE's anyway."

"I'm not skipping out on my A levels, I have dreams, Matty."

"Dreams?"

She nods, "I want to be a writer, and do good things. My English teacher, she entered me in a poetry competition, if I win I get to publish my own book."

He watches the light rise in her eyes, her cheeks tint pink as she hides herself behind her hair, keeping her gaze low on the floor and tilting her head down so he can't see over the baseball cap.

"That's great, but what then?"

She looks up at him raising a brow, "You release a poetry book, it's good, yeah, but what happens to it? You die, grow old, then years later they study it in schools making kids hate it and not actually understand it, so what?"

"So what?"

"Turn it into songs, put it out there for people to study now, to enjoy, make music, let people feel what you feel-"

"They can do that with poetry too, you know."

"You love music, you're the biggest music geek I know despite your lack of any knowledge of anything outside of Arctic Monkeys-"

"Hey, I like the Cure too."

He ignores her comment and continues on, "You're the second best guitar player I know- after me of course- you can sing really good, don't deny it, I was at Mrs H's birthday I heard you-"

"I was drunk-"

"Still good."

She sighs and looks away from him, it's a sharp sigh, in and out quickly. Her hand grips the tote bag on her shoulder, the plastic wraps around her tattoos scrunching up and making an awkward uncomfortable sound.

"What if it goes wrong?" She asks, he closes his mouth at that watching her ginger eyebrow raise in question, "What if we spend years hopelessly putting out music for no one to like it, for nothing to happen, what if we're stuck living in a dingy van in the middle of a field because none of us have a single qualification between us to get a solid job?"

"That's a lot of what ifs," He says, then he grabs her hand, squeezing it, "But what if we made it?"

"Matty, I-" She sighs pausing in their walking to look up at him, "I'd love it if we made it, if we got to share your music with everyone, but, it's not me."

"But it can be."

"Matty."

She turns slowly, but he catches her arm, walking around her to stop her from going on, "No, listen please."

"I have only ever dreamed of one thing in my entire life," He says desperately, "One thing. This band, me, Hann, George, Ross and you, the five of us. Just like those summers in the shed."

She turns her whole head away and he moves to be in her line of sight, "Please, Tommie."

"I-" She sighs again, "I'll help. But, I'm not being in the band, but I'll help. I'll help Adam with guitar riffs and look over your lyrics if you want. I'll even let you borrow, with credit, some lines from my notebook."

"Great, welcome to the band."

"Not in the band."

"Tommie," He says sternly, "You've always been a part of the band."

~thank you for reading! part two is being published later on today with the next parts coming next week! Sorry that the first few chapters and slow and jumpy, just trying to get to the good parts

[pulpitude]

giselle & her timeline ✦ edits by me

if you don't know who giselle is, she's a transfem version of aiden i came up with for a hss au (the same au my oc darlene comes from, she's also dating darlene) that i've had in mind for quite some time but never really posted about it

also, hope yall don't mind that i literally just used a dakota winchester base for her 😭 i did think about using aiden for upper face and dakota for lower face, but i feel like just this base would make a great f!aiden feel free to correct me if i'm wrong

(under the edits are a lot of semi drabble headcanons that i swear i didn't mean to write that long but i couldn't stop myself 😭)

book 2, winter formal outfit —

(here koh had been helping her physically transition all the way since book 1, but i'm starting from book 2 because that's when she comes out to her parents, meaning the winter formal is the first time she ever wears feminine clothing in public)

Giselle: "Everyone... hope I'm not late."

Darlene: [jaw drops] "Gi, you look like..."

Emma: "...a princess."

Myra: "A literal princess! Girl, you look like you're 5 seconds away from singing about letting it go." [Giselle rolls her eyes at Myra]

Michael: "Where'd you even get that dress from?"

Giselle: "Ah, this is my mom's prom dress from the 90s. She heard the words winter formal and begged me to try it on. I told her 'no, mom, it's fine, I can wear a suit if you want me to', since... you know, she's not used to seeing me in stuff like dresses and skirts yet, but she practically shoved me into this dress."

Darlene: [holding Giselle's hand] "She made the right choice."

book 3, spring casual appearance —

Giselle: "I... tried doing something with my hair. I hope it looks good, because I really don't want to go back to my old hair."

Caleb: "It does look good on you, but why the face?"

Giselle: [surprised] "What face?"

Maria: "You don't really look like you like it. Do you regret getting your hair done?"

Giselle: "No, it's not the hair..."

Emma: "Then what is it? Your clothes?"

Giselle: [nods] "Mmhm. My parents bought me these. I don't want to be ungrateful because... my parents support me enough to buy me clothes, and there are plenty of trans kids out there whose parents don't even want them in their home. But..."

Darlene: "But what?"

Giselle: "I don't like this style they're assigning me. It reminds me too much of my old self. And I don't just want to be the same person I was before, but in girl form."

Sydney: "Are you saying you'd like to try a new style?"

Darlene: "You'd look good in anything, Gi. No matter if it's girly, tomboyish, alternative, or even country girl."

Myra: [laughs] "Imagine that... 'Yeehaw, my captain!'"

Michael: "Myra, cowboys don't have captains. That's pirates."

Giselle: [giggles] "Ezra is trying to get me to join the dark side and turn into a grunge girl. I don't think I want that, really, but I do feel like I want to make a statement now... Is there an alternative style that's girlier but still eye catching, without any spikes or chains or ripped fishnets?"

Maria: "...I think there is."

book 3, prom outfit —

Cameron: "Giselle! Hey, wait up!"

Giselle: "Huh? Ah, hey there. What did you need?"

Cameron: "Nothing much, I just wanted to congratulate you."

Giselle: "Me...? What for?"

Cameron: "What not for? You're one of the strongest and most talented people I know. I might have known you for only three months, but I know this year has been a wild ride for you. You've been through pretty much everything and still manage to come out on top. I'm... really proud of you."

Ezra: "We all are."

Giselle: [blushes] "Oh, I... thank you... Normally I like compliments and-- and even look for them myself, but I just... don't know what to say for this one." [Cameron and Ezra laugh]

Cameron: "I have to say, you're kind of my role model. Not just because of all your talents in band, but also, I wish I could've figured myself out like you did. It took me years to figure out my identity, let alone how I wanted to present myself."

Giselle: "Speaking of that... I'm sorry, everyone, but I've been thinking about this for a while, and I... don't think I want to be in band anymore."

[everyone's jaw drops]

Myra: "What?! Girl, what's gotten into you?"

Giselle: "Don't get me wrong, I still love music! Who would I be if I didn't? But... composing, instruments, band, I want to leave all of that behind. I don't know if permanently... I hope not, but at least for now I want to focus on something else."

Ezra: "Something else as in what?"

Giselle: "...Promise you all won't laugh? [everyone nods] Well, as in... performance? Not performing as in playing songs, but performing as in--"

Cameron: "Dancing?"

Giselle: "Mmhm. When the year started, I was not only super insecure of myself but also an awful dancer, and Darlene helped me with both of those things. I want to try incorporating it into my life... for her and for myself."

summer break appearance —

Giselle: "Hey everyone! I brought popsicles."

Darlene: "Oh... my."

Sydney: "That is the most sparkly outfit I've ever seen you in."

Myra: "And also the most pink. I thought you didn't even like pink, what happened to you?"

Giselle: [shrugs] "Maybe I was just in the mood for something different. Remember spring quarter, when I told you all about wanting to find my style and all that? Well... I'm pretty sure I found it."

Emma: "You did? Please tell us all about it, Gi!"

Giselle: "So I'm reading about this fashion subculture that lets girls go all out. I'm talking super flashy clothes and hair, so many cute accessories, and their makeup is so pretty... they even have hangout spaces just for them!"

Sydney: "Really?"

Giselle: "Yeah, it's called gal... I can't believe I didn't know this existed before! Now I want to become one, and I'm not sure where to even start."

Michael: "Giselle, you're drooling."

Maria: "No, she's not."

Michael: "But she's about to be if no one stops her."

class act appearance —

[arlenianchronicles]

Hello!!💖💖💖 Can I ask if you have voices for the Silmarillion characters or for your Oc's?:D Idk if you think about it this way, but I'm trying to always find voices for them, so I can imagine it while reading XD Thanks for your answer!!!💖💖💖

Hi there! <33 Hmm voices for the characters, that’s an interesting question! Tbh I haven’t thought of it deeply enough, so I don’t have a real-life model for each and every Silm character and my OCs, but I do have a few!

For Elured and Elurin, I imagine they sound like Aurora when they’re young, and most especially when they sing. The same goes for Elrond and Elros (since their uncles disappear early on in canon, so I just reuse the model loll). They’re good at harmonizing with each other, and all in all they sound quite heavenly :D

With Aurora in mind, I imagine that Maedros sounds like Einar Selvik from Wardruna (mostly for the singing loll). This is because Wardruna and Aurora once sang Helvegen together, and I used that as a base for when Maedros would sing with Elured and Elurin in my AU (and the same would again also go for Elrond and Elros).

Something about Maglor gives me Tom Hiddleston-voice vibes -- something low and soft when he’s speaking, but also strong and clear, and elegant (and Tom did sing in the fifth Tinkerbell movie, so ... yeah XDDD)

I also just got an idea for Luthien while writing this. Maria Franz is an absolutely captivating singer in Heilung (here’s some excerpts), and I imagine her voice would be a good starting point for Luthien’s <33 OR another good one is Celtic Woman (my favourite of hers is siuil a run)!

That’s all for voices, I think! As for my OCs, I do have some models for them (if they were to be cast for a movie, for example). Noah Schnapp for Aurelydan, Rohan Chand for Meza, Sadie Sink for Rune, and (possibly) Anna Taylor-Joy for young Lullia.

The rest of the voices are usually just made up in my head ^^;; It can be quite tough to find a real-life voice that fits how you imagine it! The same goes for face models for me hahaa

I hope this helped, anon!! Thank you for this fun question! <333

[franeridart]

Anon said: [Spoilers for non-manga readers] opinion on Baku's hero name?

Very Bakugou, honestly don’t mind it at all! Mostly just surprised it’s, like, legal in the bnha universe for heroes to call themselves stuff like explodo-kills (and also that there isn’t a character limit for hero names??) but that Bakugou would stick with it is pretty damn in character for him so I like it xD still, I’ll probably just call him Dynamight if I’ll ever need to use his hero name lmao

Anon said: not to be the most romantic sap but uh just a kiss by lady a is killin me

Nothing sappy about letting romantic songs get to you!!!! I say, as I’m constantly crying over romantic songs so this mindset benefits me as well lol

Anon said: i may or may not have stumbled across some of your older kiribaku art, the stuff with akane, and she's the best child oc tbh. i actually like her and i tend to not be a fan of child ocs but she's just the cutest darn thing 🥰

I’m so glad you like her!!!!! She was a lot of fun, what a good gremlin ;;;

Anon said: uve heard of dragon!kiri w his hair spikes up, now get ready for dragon!kiri w his hair dowm lookin like the softest boy

AW HECK I think I’ve drawn him in the past, actually!!!! Spike-haired Kiri will forever be my fav Kiri, but there’s just something about hair down Kiri isn’t it!! What a cute boy ;;;; all sharp edges and soft curves, what a lovely sight

Anon said: can i just say your itafushi art is so cute? these two already make me feel and then your art just (つω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

THANK YOU SO MUCH I really need to draw them more, don’t I! goge kinda monopolized my attention there, but the way itafushi makes me feel..........boy the way they make me feel ;;;;

Anon said: good day, poké au thought: 12 y/o bakugo somehow catches a dreepy as like his 2nd pokemon and never questions it

WHY NOT WHY NOT I have a whole team in my mind for the boy tbh but dreepy is so cute ;;;; and anyway, I like my poke!bakugou with as many dragon types as he could possibly get his hands on hahaha

Anon said: Please know that, amongst other factors, you were one of the maon reasons I stsrted Jujutsu Kaisen two days ago and there isnothing more to say except thank you and I'm absolutely in debt with you for that, thank you so much 😍

I’m so so SO glad you’re liking it!!!!!! It can get kinda heavy but it’s such a great story.... honestly I’d been wanting to start it since I saw the first pv for the anime all the way back last year but I was like, you know it’s a mappa anime! so I wanted to watch the anime as a new thing, cause I love mappa, but three episodes in I couldn’t hold back and just binged it. It’s kind of story that just makes you wanna drink it all in one go, isn’t it? so good so good

Anon said: makeup artist kirishima and model bakugo or makeup artist bakugo and model kirishima? :0c

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm can’t say I see either of them much into fashion tbh, but if I had to pick probably model Kiri and artist Baku? I just don’t think Baku would be able to stay still enough to get photographed, and he wouldn’t like the photographer bossing him around anyway, and catwalks would be impossible for him to stomach imho, he’s too restless for it! At least it’s the way I see it haha

Anon said: fdgdhdkfhdafs i had a thought, what if bakugo prefers dogs and kirishima prefers cats and when they meet each other and become friends it's like, "oh." because they have some striking similarities to their fave animals

That’s been my headcanon for a while now, actually!! I think for me it came from two characters in a manga I like that are a lot like a dog and a cat but have inverted fav animals and when I read about that I was like “oh, right, makes sense since they like each other” and then my brain turned it krbk because when does it not lmao

Anon said: your art is the soothing balm to my soul recently, thank you for posting so much beautiful content. i hope you have a lovely week. ♡

sob thank you so much, I’m glad my doodling can help you feel better ;; <3

Anon said: Friendly reminder anon from last time: that post I left last time I had only eaten 7 gingersnaps that day and hadn’t drank any water. So that encouraged me to actually self care. Thank you.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! well I hope you’re taking care of yourself today too! And as fair trade, I’ll do the same myself! <3

Anon said: Hi! I'm an artist and I'm thinking of making a sideblog for my art. Do you have any tips?

Ah man, I’m sorry but I’m not the best person to ask this to! I started this sideblog cause I had too many followers on my main and I didn’t want my stuff to be seen by that many people at first, so whatever I did probably isn’t what you’re looking for :( but really there isn’t much to it, just post whatever you like to draw, tag it as best as you can (but remember that only the first five tags appear in the search page) and be patient, since whatever you do at first you won’t get much attention anyway - the only real advice I can give is to draw something that makes you happy and that you’d draw anyway even if no one were to see it, it’ll make keep posting despite a possible lack of activity a lot easier!

Anon said: Your goge art🥺🥺

I just love them so much ( TT’’’TT)9

Anon said: how the fuck have i not been following you? I remember seeing your bakushima art in the bnha tag and always thinking it's so cute. Now you're into JJK too??? and the satosugu art??? fuckin, diabetes incarnate. I love it. I love you. Your art 10/10. I'm tired lmao.

WELL thank you for the follow!! And for thinking my stuff is cute!!!!! I do my best with that, I want all the soft things for my favs 😌

Anon said: Are you gonna draw Gojou/Getou comic?? 👉🏻👈🏻 WOULD LOVE TO READ IT

you mean an actual doujin? I don’t think I will, sorry! I’m really no good at long projects orz but thank you so much for wishing to read something like that from me!!! ;A;

Anon said: Hello! YOUR ART IS SO FREAKING GORGEOUSSSS!!! I love them so much!! If I may ask you one question. Between Getou amd Gojou, who do you see as top/bottom? Just curious

THANK YOU!!!!! And I honestly don’t care as long as they’re happy and together!!! please let them be happy and together 🙏🙏🙏

Anon said: i want you to know!!! i followed you for your kiribaku art but!!! i love your art so much that idc what you post because it's all just!!!! incredible and wonderful and stunning!!!

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!!!! this means a lot to me so seriously thank you so much!!!!

Anon said: d'you think bakugo has like headaches or migraines after training or battles because of how loud his quirk is? like, i listen to music slightly too loud and my head is sending me to hell. (unless you go with the hoh hc which is also 👌)

I like to think Baku’s body is attuned enough to his own quirk that he wouldn’t get drawbacks of the kind tbh, though that wouldn’t be a bad thought for when he just starts to increase the output/width and strength of his explosions............ well, I myself suffer from chronic headaches and migraines so I’m always up for projecting on my favs ngl lmao

Anon said:  so like... dragon kirishima's eyes glow right? like, if we equate his dragon-ness to unbreakable his eyes glow? they also glow when he's half shifted? honestly i just live glowing eyes

Oh hell yeah I’m all for that, definitely definitely, I love glowing eyes with my whole heart and Kiri’s eyes in unbreakable are just so!!!!!! NGH *chef kiss* the more of unbreakable there is in his dragon form the happier I am ( TT^TT)9

Anon said: me, scrolling through your blog: ah shit guess im gonna have to start watching jjk

!!!!! hope it won’t hurt you too much, anon!!

Anon said: dragon!kiri and bakugo having a tug-of-war match over a piece of meat. both have it in their mouths. both are determined to win.

Kiri is turned into his dragon form and Baku still wins, hell yeah

Anon said: your satosugu is top tier!! it's hard to find stuff for them that isn't straight up angst so your art has been super cool and also very very cute!! (tho if you went with angst, it wouldn't be a bad thing obviously)

AH I’m so happy to hear you like them!!!! but also happy you wouldn’t mind angst, as I do like them the best happy and soft but my brain, my brain has been throwing sads my way for a while now 👀 I got some ideas

Anon said: What program/device do you use??

Easy Paint Tool SAI and a wacom intuos!! Though I got myself an ipad+procreate just yesterday and I’ve been messing around with it, let’s see how that one goes!

Anon said: *inahles* i am simping for mohawk man please tell me everything about your ocs immediately or i will detonate

THANK YOU FOR LIKING HIM HE’S CALLED DAVIDE Dav for short, he’s a cat of a man and a music instrument enthusiast (mostly string ones, but he’s very good with the piano as well) - he works in a music instruments store, and he’s a uni student majoring in philosphy! He doesn’t like bothersome things, he isn’t very good at taking anything seriously or putting effort in stuff, but he’s very chill to spend time with and generally a nice chat both if you want mindless thoughts or deep conversations (he’s a philosophy major after all). He can’t sing for shit, he’s got two cats (tago and schelly!), and he just wants a quiet life to laze around but all his friends are hurricanes in human bodies, but then again, he picked them himself so he can’t complain. He’s a good boy!! I’m planning a comic for him and his boy Ross >:]

[post-itpenny]

❝ A tale befitting any opera. ❞

One Being Ruth.

Decided to do some DBD with our Survivor and Killer OCs. I apologize if this seemed like to ran too long. Irene likes to talk.

Ten trials.

That’s how many it took for Irene to come to her senses on just what had become of her.

She would later learn at the Killer’s Campfire that there were some that had taken much longer. Perhaps The Entity no longer saw the need to keep a ruse with her, or perhaps it never tried to begin with. Perhaps Irene had created the delusion that this was meerly a series of shows all on her own.

But she had to admit it was far easier to process the trials as merely a performance. None of the supporting cast really stayed dead and was not their director/ producer also their audience?

Before, the times between trials felt like a strange dreaming state. Sleepwalking through the theater as her mind tumbled through jumbled bits of memory and feeling. All of it was painful, she suspected that part was her new director’s doing. Her hurts and frustrations from a lifetime of being so close but never close enough, of never being good enough for too long.

And then there was her costume… it had to be Ruth didn’t it?

Irene found even after coming to her senses she did not care much for the Killer’s Campfire. Visiting when needed then going off to whatever performance she was slated for in one trial ground or another. There was no script, though like many an actor Irene appreciated the chance at improv. After she would spend her time in the theater. Acting out scenes from old scripts, reorganizing the prop room, or like today she was singing to the empty rafters. Anyone who heard her may or may not have been surprised to find the diva actually had a very lovely singing voice.

Irene was working her way through the aria of Puccini’s Madame Butterfly when the rushing sigh of her director’s presence filled the hall. It seemed, much to her delight, this trial would be coming to her.

There was a slight pull, the tiniest tug as someone else entered the theater. Ah, so her sound technician was here today? Well good, what's a performer without a decent set of stage hands? Though she supposed he was more of a fellow actor these days.

Irene smirked and skulked off to her dressing room where her rapier sat waiting and... perhaps something else a bit of a treat for today maybe? Around her the place shifted, generators, pallets, and hooks appearing.

A deadly game of cat and mouse. Such drama, such suspense. A tale befitting any opera…

Irene adored it.

Accept of course a few members of her supporting cast-

“Hey you hag!”

Irene growled as she turned to spy a grin and mass of curly hair.

Mary shot Irene the middle finger “come and get it bitch!”

Irene sighed, it was so hard to find good talent these days.

This one enjoyed a good chase and much to Irene’s dismay, lead her around the map. The sharp clicks of her boots interrupted as a pallet came crashing down on her head. Irene let out a shriek as stars flashed before her eyes.

The impertinent girl let out a trill of laughter as she zoomed off. Irene had already learned that the girl would only grow faster if she could not follow, and it drove her mad. The others called this kind of survivor and Obsession. Another of their director’s tricks, you needed to kill this one, the thrill of the chase too powerful. Irene hated it.

Which was why she left the little imp alone.

The adrenaline of a trial felt akin to the one she would feel in auditions in her younger years. A desperate but thrilling pursuit. Her first role in New York had been one of the sisters in The Pirates of Penzance, a comedic opera. A somewhat smaller role in the production but she still had to fight tooth and nail for it. She remembered how lovely the leading lady Maryanne had been, but it was Ruth that fascinated her.

Ruth was a multifaceted role, comedic in being an older lady who was hard of hearing yet roped into a band of pirates. However, act two showed how calculating and manipulative she was. Arguably one of the actual main antagonists of the opera. A very young Irene had been fascinated with the duality and of course, an older woman dressed as a pirate. It reminded her of all the times she and her siblings played pirates as children. The middle of eight siblings normally left Irene with little chance as captain and almost always being sent to walk the plank for insubordination or mutiny. The sea being a particularly deep puddle outside her family's home after it rained.

A young Irene had mused that Ruth would be an enjoyable role to play one day, teaming up with the Pirate King and dressed in such a fun costume. Then, it was just two seasons ago that she was casted as Ruth and Irene could not help but think about how this meant she had the appearance to match a foolish old woman.

She was wearing the Ruth costume now, of course The Entity picked it.

Irene rubbed the back of her head as her feet left the ground and she floated down the hall opposite of where the girl had ran, but it seemed the little imp wasn’t ready to let Irene go just yet.

“Where ya going huh?” Mary teased as she ran past Irene and ducked behind the rubble of a row of theater seats. “Is it time for your afternoon nap?”

“It seems to me you just can’t keep away darling. Not that I blame you.” Irene sneered, a wicked glint in her eye as the fingers of her left hand twitched.

Foolish.

The girl popped up to dash off when Irene lashed out. The strings tied to her fingers tightening as they wrapped around the joints of Mary’s arms and legs. The survivor gave a yelp as all feeling left her body save for the burning sensation where the strings connected.

Irene chucked, “I’m not one for heavy lifting. How about instead we take a walk?”

Survivors had dubbed her The Muse since she had once been an actress, they also all agreed her “special” ability was terrible.

Mary stuck her tongue out at Irene as her arms reached up to haul her own body onto the hook.

“My now don’t you look just picture perfect right where you are.” Irene sneered, “but this is what separates someone like you from me. You’re only fitted to be a piece of the background, a small part of a trial in which I have the starring role. Why else would there be four of you? Why else so many chances to keep the show running but for my benefit? Why else-“

“Lady! Do you ever shut up?” Mary groaned as she wiggled on the hook. “If you’re gonna just stand there and drone one like that I’m going to let the damn spider god-thing to come and get me before I die of boredom.”

Irene rolled her eyes and stalked off, trying her hardest to keep her composure. She could be patient just a little longer.

She became aware not long after that someone had rescued her but Irene could only laugh, she had decided to treat herself today after all. Something special she had brought to the trial.

In the basement she had at last found Thomas fishing a rather fancy looking med kit from a chest.

He wasn’t one for taunting, instead locking eyes with Irene for a moment and dodging the slash of her rapier. Up the stairs and backstage they went. Irene grinning like mad as she chased him room to room. Irene reached out with her puppet strings only to snag the ankle of someone else.

Thomas looked over his shoulder to see Mary tangled up in the attack. He spun on his toes, grabbing her arm and in the process felt the sting of something fusing into his elbow.

Irene seemed to almost glitch for a moment, as if overwhelmed by having two people on her strings at the same time. She doubled over, hands clamped over her head as she cried out in pain. Thomas wasting no time in pulling Mary free and shoving the med kit he had found into her arms. She gave him a quick salute of thanks as they ran in opposite directions.

When Irene recovered she was seething with fury, tearing across the stage and through the halls, downing anyone she could find.

Soon a young man wearing broken glasses found himself on his last hook. Irene noted the sounds of only three generators completed. Such strange things, loud and reminding her just slightly of the engine in her father’s Model T.

Irene found a redhead sprinting across the mezzanine when again the imp was back and jumping in the way to take the slash of Irene’s rapier.

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to run with sharp objects?” Mary taunted as she dogged another attack and looped Irene around a row of seats.  

Mary leaped over the railing only to be caught again by the swipe of the thin sword. She gave a yelp before crashing down on the stage below. Irene wasting no time in following suit.

She stood over the girl with a mad grin, listening to the whispers of the entity who had been watching the performance so far. The Muse hummed in delight as Mary’s eyes wided for just a moment, they both knew what was coming.

But then she smirked, “eh… still worth it.”

The strings lashed out again. Suspending the survivor in the air. The Muse stood before her, so much fury built up over the trial, over a lot of things. She shrieked as she slashed at her victim over and over before driving the weapon through Mary’s chest. Her dead body collapsing to the floor in a heap as The Muse turned towards the empty audience seats and took a bow.

[elaphaemourra]

30 Questions Tag Game

Got tagged by @outcastcommander :DDDDD Thank!!!!!

Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag 5 blogs you are contractually obligated to know better. HI I’M ACTUALLY REALLY SHY SO I’M NOT DOING THAT LOL I’m just gonna say, if u wanna do Intro and see this, go for it, and also bonus if u r Friend, absolutely feel free and also say i tagged u bc Yes Friendship.

Name/nickname: Elaphae,  Ela is most common (and great!! i love it fjdklajs), some people on the swtor art server called me ‘inquis’ a couple times ljfdklas.  

Gender: Nonbinary :DDD

Star sign: Virgo-Libra cusp :3

Height: 5’4 WOOP i am Short

Birthday: September 21

Time: 12:48 pm >:3

Favorite bands: Green Day, Volbeat, The Longest Johns, Alestorm… a lot more.  I’m a nerd lol.

Favorite solo artists: uh h hhhhh  o-O  there are Many.  Aurelio Voltaire is pretty solid lol.  Good for the heart.  Also, I can’t listen to too much of his stuff bc it gives me a Crisis, but Bo Burnham.  Shit’s a Bop.

Song stuck in my head: The theme for the uruk-hai from lotr lol

Last movie: Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers

Last show: fjdklasj i don’t watch tv lol, i can’t make my brain sit still for it.  Gotta be Interactive.

When did I create this blog: uh, shit, when WAS that?? WOW 2014.  3 more years and I’ll have spent a decade on tumblr.  Which is WILD.

What do I post: things that make me happy ;v;  mostly star wars and dragon age, and Assorted Random Shit i think jfdlkfjd.  I don’t actually know what  my blog makeup is but it Sure Is Something.

Last thing googled: ‘the song from lord of the rings when saruman shows off the uruk-hai’ lmfaoooo, i couldn’t remember the name of it so i went looking.

Other blogs: HOO BUDDY okiedoke:  @haospart (art blog), @swtorcompanionsgoofin (swtor blog), @lyriumdisaster (dragon age blog, which i’ll get back to once i’m done on the swtor end of this bioware pingpong table of interests, and then i’ll be hopping BACK to swtor bc it IS a pingpong table), i have studyblr that I Never Fuckin Use and have only posted on in the past 2 years to go ‘what the fuck why do u people keep following me’ bc I LITERALLY HAVE NOT TOUCHED IT IN LIKE 2 YEARS why does it keep gaining followers, and then a few like, ‘no don’t look me i’m Embarassed’ repositories jfdklsjaf.

Do I get asks: Very rarely, but yes!! Lmfao usually when i go ‘GIVE ASK PLS I LOVE ASK’ and people are reminded that i am, in fact, a very friendly marshmallow who does not mind interaction and also Definitely Craves people asking questions about my stuff fjdla.

Why I chose my url: This is kind of a convoluted thing, but like, the easy version is that it’s the name of my trooper on the leviathan server (now called Aea out of the game bc they were supposed to be my self-insert but then they escaped into the woods and developed a storyline for themself).  The LONG thing is that I have an oc named Regia Elaphae, who I modeled after pnigophobia, the fear of choking or being smothered, and I made her snake-themed.  Rex is the latin word for king--for king snakes--which i swapped to regina and then took out the n bc ‘Regina’ didn’t fit her, and Elaphe is the genus for rat snakes, but i found two ways of spelling it so i spelled it Elaphae, and when I got into swtor I decided to use Elaphae in reference to myself.  I replaced my old url with this one after i started playing that trooper of the same name, bc my old one was :I .  I was into hetalia in middle school, and homestuck, and when I got on tumblr that followed me into my url.  I’m not into hetalia anymore, or anime at all, and homestuck fell off my radar into the ‘i’ll go “hey i know that” if i see it, but i’m not in the fandom anymore’ pile.  For the longest time my blog description was ‘it’s been 5 years and i still haven’t changed my url’, but it was time for change fjdklasfaj.  It’s better this way.  

Following: 953 (it was over 1300 but i did some clearing out of my follow list a month or so ago lol, mostly of people who haven’t been online in 6 years)

Followers: 616

Average hours of sleep: 7 and a half hours, if i want to be Functional

Lucky number: 19 :D  I love 19, it’s always been my lucky number, always will be.

Instruments: I don’t play much, but I can sing and also I can play beladi on the doumbek.

What am I wearing:  Fox onesie lol.  I wear basically nothing else at this point in my life.

Dream job: i mean, ideally i could just Not and vibe fjdkla.  But i mean like, i guess something working with my hands.  I’m in college to get a degree in french, and my next step after that is to go to trade school, to get smth that’ll make me money so i can keep doing Nerd Junk and also learning bc i like, actually really like school lol.

Dream trip: I want to go back to Rennes.  I miss it.  It was awesome, and, hilariously, I miss being able to get a burger that isn’t Drowning in its own grease.  America doesn’t know how to do healthy burger that tastes good.  Europe knows what’s up tho. I also miss being able to like, have just a pitcher of room temperature water next to a cute little glass and have it not be weird.  The cups are too big in america, i drink so much less water bc it’s just too daunting.  I’m dehydrated constantly.  Also i miss the METRO.  I loved the metro, loved nyooming along in the trains, wandering around the central part of the city, it was cool.

Favorite food: Eel!!  Eel’s tasty as fuck.  I love it.

Nationality: American

Favorite song: o-o uhhhhhhhhhhh, i have no idea lol.  I listen to so much random shit.  lol according to my spotify 2020 rewind it’s Starlight Brigade, from TWRP and Dan Avidan.

Last book read: i have got ZERO clue what the last book i read was.  I mean, technically it was a textbook for my myth, magic, and folk religion class, but like, blegh.  Nah.  Not fun.  I think before that I started reading Metro 2033???  I have a copy in french, and am flipping between that and trying to fckn get through au revoir là-haut.

Top three fictional universes I’d like to live in:  

1. swtorrrrrrr, i wanna be a space wizard [slap slap slap on the metaphorical counter] give me space magic

2. Pellinor, y’all it’s medieval and magic and COOL and i’m a big nerd for that.  (these books are so good ;v;)  Also they got wine that makes cramps and headaches go away and magic baths, so like, fuck yes give me that sweet sweet painkiller juice.  It’s magic babey.

3. Thedas, bc dragon age, and like, when things Aren’t all fucked sideways to hell, there are just like, People.  Going about their days.  It’s great.  Also MORE MAGIC  Science is all fucked up in my vicinity, so like, how much can i fuck up the magic o3o

tl;dr on that fictional universes thing, i really want to be a wizard apparently fjdklasj.

[darkestangel1326]

Prologue - This was real life. Right?

Hey lovelies. So I know it is likely no one is going to read this but me but I just had to write this anyway. For me. Posting for the same reason! Fic under the “Keep reading” cut, but here’s how I got here: 

This all started when I wondered what would happen if MC was a scientist. Or a science grad student. But then I thought, what would be enough to compel a scientist or science grad student to stop their sciencing realistically for any amount of time? Because as my previous PI says, every scientist becomes a mad scientist at least in one point in their careers for their research - this is especially true for grad students. 

Then, I just never understood the whole returning a phone excuse Unknown gave MC to lure her into Rika’s apartment. Like MC, with her own phone, is gonna return a phone she doesn’t even have, just because Unknown was persistent? He even says he’s a student in the States who will eventually return home so what was with the urgency to go to find the owner? If he really wanted to return the phone, he could’ve mailed it since he has the address right? We know he does because he sends MC there. It just always bothered me.

Finally, I wanted to slightly self-insert to make the MC (Emme C.) a bit more human so that it even if you couldn’t change her choices, it would still be entertaining. I heavily relied on second person, to help give it the mystic messenger vibe though I’m not sure it works.

This prologue is some character building for Emme C. (Actual name: Emme Cee), brief OC appearances and, for my sanity, this is all taking place in the US. TBH I’m not even sure how deep I want to go with this story. I just know I needed to write it. 

 So without further ado!

“My biggest fear and why? Hmmm,” you mulled it over and took another sip of your beer, after your lab mates glared at you for an answer. 

Or former labmates - you were leaving for grad school in a few weeks so this was kind of your farewell social. Even with your general distaste of beer, even you had to admit this one was really good. 

You closed your eyes and sheepishly rubbed your neck. “This is gonna sound weird but a time loop,” you answered hesitantly.  “It just makes me uneasy to be stuck in never-ending cycle, replaying the same scenario over and over again with no end in sight.”

“True but we are in academic research!” Marie answered, a teasing lilt to her voice that transformed into a chuckle. 

“Yeah you might have to deal with it during your Masters program, especially the thesis stage.” Whitney continued, joining in with a laugh.

“Don’t remind me,” you giggled as you took another sip - a longer sip - of your beer. “But that’s not exactly what I mean either” you persisted, a bit more seriously. 

I’m afraid of replaying the same day, the same events, the same interactions over and over again, not knowing why or how to stop it,” you finished more seriously. You took another sip of the fizzy drink and felt your equilibrium teeter a bit. 

“You mean like that movie Groundhog Day?” Aurora quietly inserted.

“I haven’t seen that movie but if it’s like what I said, then yes, that’s it,” you answered, your fizzy drink now gone. 

“Sorry wait. Why are you afraid of time loops? I think I missed that part. Wouldn’t replaying the same day and seeing how your choices change events be a good thing?” Sally asked. Technically, she was completely right - repeatability was one of the sacred ideals of science after all. Plus, If you really thought about it, you hadn’t actually said why you’re afraid of time loops, just that you are.

“I’m afraid of never moving forward - of never progressing, no matter how hard I try or work. A time loop means, yes, I’ll know what my choices would entail, but not how to escape or what the triggering event for my release could be. I could replay the time period of the same few weeks but for years without knowing how to escape and move on. And, I guess, since it took me so long to even start my Master’s and I felt like I might never be able to, this fear was just born,” you admitted, pouring more beer for yourself. 

I mean an actual time loop where every single thing happens the exact same way, down to the underlying rhythm of conversation. And where you can’t escape until you figure out the common problem then fix it. How would you escape it? And what if you mess up, in different ways, forever? Who would want that?!

—————————————————————————

You awoke with a sigh, realizing you had that dream again. Or was it a flashback since this happened a few weeks ago? You shrugged your shoulders and got to work sorting boxes. You were set to start on-campus work in a few weeks so you were just trying to do the bare minimum research wise. Plus, you wanted to really focus on decorating your new apartment and get acquainted with the town since you’d be living there for the next few years. 

After a few hours of scrambling and organizing, you sat on the floor (you were still in the process of buying furniture), and looked at your emails. 

One in particular caught your attention, so much so that you took off your glasses and rubbed your eyes, almost laughing at such a cartoony response. The subject line of this email was what confused you. It read “missing research paper - need citation”. It was an unfamiliar email, moreover, it was sent to your previous college email, which was linked to your past research publications.

Curious, you bit the inside of your cheek and read the email. 

“Dear Emme, 

Hope this email finds you well. I am a student from XXX University and have been working on a research project concerning XXX. Your research was one of the most recent and prominent examples as to why this area needs further study, however, I have not been able to access the paper I saved as a bookmark in my web browser. After extensive searching, I have been unable to find the original paper or even one of the articles that referenced it - almost as if the article has completely disappeared from existence! Is there a reason the research article is gone? If not, could you provide me with an idea of where it is and the proper citation for my research article?”

what. whAT. WHAT!?

Your research couldn’t be gone! This didn’t make any sense! Yes it was a few years old, but it couldn’t be gone from the web! There are research papers from the 1960s that are archived and accessible online for goodness sake!

You had to calm down. Take deep breaths. You continued trying to breathe as you pulled out your research flash drive. You looked for the paper on your there and found it, sighing in relief. It grounded you, reminding you that your work did exist. Just as you were set to attach the file and corresponding citation to the email, your internet stopped. 

Scratch that, your entire laptop stopped. 

You groaned. Yes, this was an older, refurbished model, but it’s been working fine. The screen distorted for a second, as if the extra pixel boxes emphasized the frozen nature of your screen. Before you even had time to process it, your laptop unfroze and you breathed a sigh of relief. 

Thank heavens. You had just moved and weren’t sure you could realistically afford a new laptop anytime soon. As you look over your screen, however, your relief shifts to panic. 

omg. oMG. OMG!

It’s gone. Your research files. The ones on your laptop and on your flash drive. The email is gone. Before you can refresh the page you get logged out. You can’t even log into your old email account - Error 404 Not Found. 

Your heart races. Then, it aches. You worked so hard on those projects. They were part of your scientific fabric and now both were just gone. Your years of work, gone in seconds. 

You felt like crying. But you decide not to, at least not until you’re in the shower where the tears can blend in with the cascading liquid as you sing emo music. 

For now, you decide a quick walk and some fresh air are what you need, so you grab your keys and head for the mailbox. You’ve only lived in this apartment for a week but you check the mail constantly in an effort to get in the habit rather than because you expect something. 

But today, you did get something. A small parcel with no return address. Curious, you take that and the grocery flyers to your apartment and open the package there. 

A phone? It’s from the same company as yours, just a slightly older model.

You blink at it, almost telepathically asking it what it’s doing in your mailbox. You decide to turn it in to the mail service and are about to put it back in its envelope when you notice a note. 

“Charge me” 

“What the hell is going on today?” You mutter as you pull out your charger and plug it into the phone.

You sit on the floor with this new phone in hand and sigh. “Why am I even taking orders from a mysterious note for anyway?”

Just then the screen lights up. There’s no passcode so opening the phone was super easy. The phone’s screen and minimal app selection almost made you think it was new, but the lack of setting it up told you that wasn’t the case. Who would buy this phone and not use it? And why did they send it to you? 

There is one app that calls to you, mostly because you’ve never seen it before. And because it was unlike the rest of the default apps on the screen.

RFA? What’s that?

Just then, the screen turns dark and green characters zoom up through the screen. You sucked with all tech but even you knew this reaction was abnormal. You swore you didn’t press the app but seeing the phone continue reacting, you become less confident. 

“Hello?” 

You stare at the screen. ‘Unknown’ was messaging you. 

You respond. Stupidly. Naively. And without thinking about the consequences. 

Because this was real life. Right?

What’s the worse that could happen?

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

I’m debating taking this next part a few routes...we’ll see what I decide...

If you, by any chance made it all the way down here, can you drop a reblog or something with your thoughts? Was Emme Cee likable? Did the flow make sense? Do you like where this is going? Let me know! 

[tetrakys]

Miss the Misery - part 1

This is a sort of rewrite of UL Castiel’s route using my OC, I don’t usually create OCs but I described a bit of her personality and backgorund here (Tetrakys 2) and found it interesting enough to explore more.

This story is going to incorporate some of the writing prompts I have received and I’m experimenting a more mature and darker style and themes, so it’s not totally canon-compliant, let me know what you think.

The title is inspired by the Halestorm song with the same name, which always reminds me of Castiel and Candy’s breakup.

----

3rd September, 10 pm , three years ago

I walked through the crowded room a little lost, trying to find Castiel amid the number of bodies jumping, dancing, rubbing against each other.

This was the farthest thing from a school party I’d ever seen. I looked at my t-shit and jeans and compared them to every other girl’s outfit. They all looked so sexy and mature, I was in my second year of college but looked like a child.

Get a grip, Candy! You’re here to surprise your boyfriend, he loves you the way you are.

But I felt so out of place… since Lysander had gone back to the farm things had changed. I knew Castiel felt a little adrift, he was hanging out with new people, trying to re-build his band from scratch. I didn’t know any of them, but I’d had the suspect it was a completely different crowd respect to the one from high school… well, now I had proof.

I looked around the room, two girls where kissing in the middle of a small group of boys who incited and took pictures. Another group of six or seven people was drinking and smoking weed. A couple was hooking up in a corner, the movement of the girl’s hand leaving very little to the imagination.

I was starting to think that surprising him hadn’t been such a great idea after all, was I really in the right place?

Just when I was about to turn on my heels and leave that crazy and, frankly, scary place, I heard a familiar laughter coming from the room ahead of me. Speeding up my peace, I got there and immediately stopped, staring at the scene in front of me like a deer caught in the headlights.

Castiel, a beer in his hand, was sitting on a couch, surrounded by a group of guys and girls, all drinking and having a good time. A girl was sitting right next to him, close, very close, he was smiling at her and she at him, her hand casually resting on his chest.

He wasn’t pushing her away.

Feeling my eyes on him, maybe thanks to that strange connection that we’d always had since the first moment we’d met, he turned his head and our eyes locked.

“Candy?”

I should’ve said something, I should’ve gone to him, anything except for what I did.

I turned around and run away.

 ----

Present day

“Candy, you’re bomb!”

Rosa looked at me from head to toe, taking in my little black dress and knee-high boots, a satisfied smile on her face.

“Long gone are those days where I had to teach you how to dress and what lingerie was,” she faked drying a non-existent tear from her eye, “you’re making me proud.”

“Lingerie and I are very well acquainted these days, I have to admit.”

“I believe you,” she said hooking her arm to mine, making our way inside the Snake Room. “I almost didn’t recognise you the first time I saw you back in town. You look so confident, so… grown up.”

Of course I did. I’d spent the last three years working on myself, turning into a cool, confident and sexy woman. I wasn’t a little girl anymore.

“Nervous?” she asked me, looking at me a little worried.

“Why would I?”

“Well… you haven’t seen Castiel in years, and I know it was a difficult break-up. I’d totally understand if you felt… I don’t know… nauseous?”

“Please,” I rolled my eyes, “there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m going to enjoy a night of music and dancing with you. And if we run into each other afterwards? I’ll just say hi.”

“You really have changed. I like it.”

I’d never seen the Snake Room so crowded, I knew Castiel was popular but I’d no idea of how much. To be honest, I’d avoided looking up online or asking people for news about him. I had my own life now.

Rosa went to the bar to get us some drinks and I moved towards the middle of the room, trying to find a good enough spot to enjoy the concert.

“Look who’s here,” a voice came from behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it belonged to.

“Talk about changed people,” I smirked, “how are you doing Nath?”

I felt him moving closer to my back, his presence invading my space. Anyone else would’ve found his new attitude intimidating. Not me.

“Better now that you’re here,” he said lightly brushing my naked arm with his hand, “but of course you are. No good little girlfriend would miss her boyfriend’s concert.”

“I’m here to enjoy some music with my friend,” I replied calmly. “Also,” I added turning around and looking at him straight in the eye, “I’m nobody’s girlfriend. And I’m definitely not little nor good.”

I smirked at him, and his eyes run over my body, focusing on my chest and my hips.

My attitude wasn’t the only thing that had changed since high school.

“No, you’re not little,” he said with a smirk matching my own. Then, lowering his head to whisper to my ear, he added, “but I bet you’re very good.”

Before I could reply, the lights turned off and a choir of girly screams signalled that the show was about to start.

Nath disappeared in the crowd and Rosa came holding our drinks. She wasn’t satisfied with the spot I’d found us so, with her typical stronger-than-life attitude, she pushed us in the middle of the crowd, and we found ourselves right in front of the stage.

One after the other, Crowstorm members took their place on the stage and started playing their instruments: first the drums, then the rhythmic guitar, then the bass, and then…

I heard his guitar before I saw him, playing from the backstage. When he got to the stage he was walking backwards so all I could see was his tall, strong figure, and his read hair, a little longer than what they used to be in the past, partially tied at the back of his head.

The crowd was going crazy, I’d seen a few girls with t-shit saying CastieLove and I wasn’t sure if I should be laughing or puking.

He kept playing with his back to the crowd for about a minute, then, when the music got to the highest point, he turned around and… I stopped breathing.

It was him.

The eyes I’d lost myself into so many times.

The eyebrows I remembered being in a constant frown every time he was feeling grumpy, so quite often.

That nose, so perfect and straight, that I always thought made him look like a model, or a prince.

Those lips. His lips. Lips I’d spent hours kissing and tasting. Lips that I knew better than my own.

And his voice.

What really got to me was his voice, so deep and sexy.

He never used to sing for anyone but me in the past, and now he was doing it for everyone else.

My vision got blurred… were those… tears?

Calm the fuck down Candy. What the hell!

I shook my head and slowly got my composure back.

After this first emotional moment that I really had no idea where it came from, I finally managed to look at him with detachment and objectivity.

And fuck, he was hotter than ever.

I’d always found him attractive, since the first time I’d met him in Sweet Amoris’ courtyard, I was left speechless the moment my eyes laid on him.

But now, there on that stage, his voice, his looks, his movements… everything of him attracted me, and from the reaction of the dozens of girls in the club, it wasn’t just me. It felt like he was making love with the whole crowd.

It was almost obscene.

And in that moment, when I felt I was about to come just by looking at him, as if our connection had switched on again after so many years, our eyes met.

Or maybe it’d never been off.

It lasted only one second, so brief I almost thought I’d imagined it.

I decided it didn’t matter, I was there to enjoy myself, to dance and get loose, and I did just that, for more than one hour, until the concert was over and the lights went back on.

I was sweaty and hot, and I’d drunk a bit, it was time to go to the toilet.

After I did what I had to, I was just about to head outside to meet with Rosa, when I felt someone stop me, grabbing me by the elbow.

I turned around and found myself face to face with him.

“Hi,” he said looking so cool and composed.

The first word he’d told me in three years.

“Hi, Castiel.” I replied in a similar tone.

“I didn’t know you were back in town.”

Was his tone accusatory?

“Yes, I’m studying my final year at Anteros.”

“You didn’t come back for me, then.”

What the… was he serious?

“Still, you could’ve told me. Sent me a text at least,” he added.

“We haven’t spoken in years, Castiel. Do you think I could just contact you out of nowhere?”

“If you wanted to,” he replied almost bored.

“It takes two to tango, you haven’t exactly kept in touch either.”

I was starting to get annoyed. Our first meeting after years apart started with a fight.

Certain things never change.

“Do you mind if we talk in a more private place,” he said looking around, and I noticed several girls staring at us, trying to figure out if that was a good moment to approach him. One of them was my charming roommate.

“Sure,” I replied following him in a small equipment room. Not before having waved goodbye to Yeleen.

She looked livid.

The room was small and full of cables and other types of musical equipment, we had to lean against a wall just to talk.

“I loved the concert,” I said changing the subject, “you guys are really good, even better than in high school.”

He snorted, “I should hope so, we were beginners at the time.”

“I didn’t know you were so popular we had to hide just to be able to talk.” I smiled, “I’m happy for you.”

“It’s not the fame I care about, I just want to play my music. That’s the only thing I’ve always wanted. You know that.”

I felt a stinging pain pierce my heart. Playing with his band was the only thing he wanted, the reason he hadn’t followed me when I had to move. I knew it very well. His music always came first.

“You never know,” I replied a little more coldly than I wanted to, “people change. I’ve changed.”

He looked at me then, taking in my clothes, my look, my posture.

“Have you?” he asked a little sceptical.

Everyone kept repeating how much I’d changed, how could he be the one not noticing it? He, who knew me better than anyone else.

Or maybe… exactly because he knew me so well.

I looked around a little uneasy.

“Am I boring you?”

“Of course not, it’s just that I came with someone.”

He stiffened, “someone?”

“Yes, Rosa. She must be wondering where I am.”

Looking around the corner, he noticed that most people had left, and motioned for me to follow him.

“Well, it was nice to see you again,” he said with not much conviction. “Take care.”

The coldness of his tone, he always was one to hold a grudge.

And, I didn’t want to admit it, but this meeting had unnerved me more than I’d expected. That’s why I smirked and said, “Don’t worry Castiel, I’m sure we will see each other again.”

I winked at him and left him there, happy I’d shown him this encounter had left me unfazed.

“I bet we will, little girl.”

I stopped mid-movement, frozen on the spot. Damn I’d almost won this round.

It was time to leave asap.

Luckily, rescue came in the form of a drunk Rosa, who started teasing him senselessly. See Castiel? I was different. The old me would have felt completely mortified, now I just laughed at the situation. Even when Rosa started jabbering on how the two of us were the perfect couple and should get back together, completely embarrassing him in front of a bunch of groupies, I just winked at him and took her away.

But when I went back to campus, I couldn’t help reliving the night in my mind.

He shouldn’t have affected me the way he had. I was over him. I had been for a long time.

I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.

I kept repeating in my mind the whole way home.

And I hoped that if I repeated it enough times, it might eventually become true.

---

Go to part 2

[tenroseforeverandever]

Dear Father Christmas… Chapter 23: December 24, 2038

MASTERPOST

Characters:  Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Jackie Tyler; Pete Tyler; Tony Tyler; OC Hope Tyler-Noble; OC Charlotte Tyler-Noble; OC Wilfred Tyler-Noble; OC Therin Thomson; Javic Thane; Gray Thane; OC Tianza; the TARDIS; OC Abby Tyler-Milne;

Rated: Teen

Tags: Family!Fic; Kid!Fic; Pete’s World; Letters to Santa; Christmas Fic; Family; Fluff; Hurt/Comfort; Angst; Romance; Love; gun violence; violence resulting in death; life-threatening injury; life threatening situations; life threatening illness; original characters

Summary: When Rose Tyler was little, she always wrote a Christmas wish list to Father Christmas. As she grew older, the wish list became more of a letter to someone she could confide in once a year, but she fell out of the habit somewhere along the way. Now, as a new mum, celebrating her daughter’s first Christmas, Rose takes up writing her Christmas letter to Father Christmas once again.

Rose’s Christmas letters are excerpts from her life with her beloved Tentoo and their children in Pete’s World, written once a year, for each of 31 years.

Chapter Summary: Jackie decides to make Ugly Christmas Jumpers for everyone in the family.

Notes: Wow! Another chapter that got away from me! LOL And boy, did this one put up a fight.

To my betas, @rose–nebula and mrsbertucci: once again, this chapter would not be what it is without you. You gave me inspiration (which I still feel guilty about!) and we had many, many discussions about lots of things to get me through this, including a particularly hilarious discussion about aliens (I’m dying laughing just thinking about it now… I don’t know why I find it so funny, I just do!) Just thank-you, both, for always being there when I need you, and putting up with my whinging. I love you both!

Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for their 31 Days of Ficmas prompts. The prompt I used today was Santa and/or Elves.

I know it’s the middle of April, but since the weather outside (here in Ontario) is still frightful, I don’t feel too guilty about posting part of my Christmas story. I have eight more chapters to go for the full 31 Days of Ficmas. I’m not sure if I will post any more through the year, or just write them and post them at Christmastime in December. I’ll see how it goes… ;D

Also read at: AO3; FF.net; Teaspoon

December 24th, 2038

Dear Father Christmas,

My mum never does anything by halves. When Jackie Tyler sets her mind on something, she doesn’t hold back. She gets stuck right in; she takes the bull by the horns and beats it into submission. God help anyone or anything standing in her way. Just ask the Doctor…

(On second thought, best not. He might not take it too well, especially not after… well, you’ll see.)

Anyroad, ever since we welcomed my little niece, Abby, into our lives last autumn, Mum’s been on a knitting rampage. She taught herself. She started out with little things like baby mitts and booties, but quickly progressed to sweet little cardigans and jumpers. And she’s gotten really good! My very favourite one was an adorable navy-blue jumper with the words “I LOVE MY DADDIES!” emblazoned across the front in big, pink letters. Tony and Noah (the proud Daddies in question) loved it too, and dressed little Abby in it all the time, until summer came along, and they were forced to admit it was too hot for her to wear it anymore!

This year, sometime around August, Mum’s knitting took a rather… erm… dangerous turn. Stand aside, Molly Weasley: Jackie Tyler announced she was intending to knit jumpers for all of the Tyler clan, and their significant others, this Christmas.

And not just any jumpers: Ugly Christmas Jumpers. 

She only told me and Dad, not wanting to spoil the “surprise” for everyone else. Honestly, we just had to grit our teeth and tell her what a “great idea” it was. It wasn’t like it would’ve made any difference if we’d told her how we really felt. Besides, this way we were likely avoiding the pain of a good hard smack, and months of her patented Jackie Tyler silent-not-silent treatment.

Anyway, it wasn’t like she’d told us about it because she was actually seeking our approval. No, we were to be models, though I rather think guinea-pigs would be a more apt description. Honestly, as Christmas approached, I was seriously beginning to think it would have been better to shut the entire Ugly Jumper Project down in its early stages and endure whatever punishment Mum might have dished out, but at that point, we were in too deep to turn back.

The worst part of the whole process was Mum constantly calling me throughout the autumn to come over to the mansion to try something on, or to bring over jumpers the kids had left behind when they came to visit, so she could compare the sizing with what she was knitting. To be honest it got to be a bit tedious very quickly, but I could hardly say no to her when she was throwing her heart into it. Besides, this way I was able to keep an eye out and nix any design I thought wouldn’t go down very well with the intended recipient.

But, the jumpers were, for the most part, not too bad. They were beautifully designed and made. I was honestly quite impressed. Most of them either featured a cute character like a snowman or penguin or something like that, or they were the traditional Fair Isle design, with rows of little repeating Christmas characters and symbols in garish colours. Regardless of the pattern, all of them had some sort of saying on them, like Joy to the World, ‘Tis the Season, or Let It Snow.

“Soooo, which one is mine,” I asked.

“Never you mind, little madam. For your information, I ‘aven’ started it yet. And even if I ‘ad… as if I would spoil the surprise.”

I suddenly had a horrible thought. Cold dread washed over me. “Erm… what about the Doctor’s…?” Ever since he had revamped her dishwasher to sing Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer seven or eight Christmases ago, Mum had been out for revenge. Not that she would admit it. From the look she gave me, you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but I knew better.

“Oh, I’m tryin’ to come up with jus’ the right pattern for ‘im. I’ve a couple in mind.”

“Muuuuum, don’t do anything rash, yeah?”

“Oh, honestly Rose, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud. I’m jus’ tryin’ to create a little Christmas cheer.”

“Oi! I’m the one stuck in the middle of you and the Doctor and your flippin’ Christmas cheer. Me and Dad!”

She ignored me, of course, and did a complete about-face on the topic. “Oh, speakin’ of your Dad… I got his jumper finished. What d’ya think?” She held up a dark green jumper, with a comical Santa body on it. The pattern stopped at the collar, so Dad’s head would be taking the place of Santa’s head (your head, Santa!) The words Ho Ho Ho were knitted in bold yellow letters below Santa’s feet. “I’ll get ‘im to wear a Father Christmas ‘at and all!”

I had to laugh. “Good luck with that!”

“’E’ll do it if ‘e knows w’at’s good for ‘im!”

“That’ll make for more of your Christmas cheer, then…”

“Oh, don’t ya worry; I’ll make it worth ‘is while.”  She winked at me. “There’ll be plenty of Christmas cheer and bells a jinglin’ around ‘ere.”

“Mum! TMI!”

“Since when ‘ave you been such a prude? I mean, jus’ look at the way you and ‘imself carry on.”

“Yeah, but there are certain things I really, really do not need to know. And that, right there: that tops the list! Look, I gotta run. Dad’s asked me to give a presentation this afternoon.”

“Oh, well, I suppose… Oh, Rose, wait a mo’. I meant to ask: Charlie, is she seein’ someone regular these days? Will she be bringin’ a date for Christmas Eve? I’ll need to make ‘im or ‘er a jumper too, yeah, whoever they are.”

“I dunno, Mum. I never know with that one these days. I worry… a lot.”

“She’ll be all right, sweetheart. It’s jus’ a phase. ‘Sides, she’s nearly twenty years old. I don’t need to remind ya w’at you were up to at ‘er age… gallivantin’ around with that bleedin’ alien. Not that you cared a fig about my worries!”

“Mum…”

“She’s jus’ like you in so many ways, so bloody-minded.”

“That isn’t helping, Mum! I jus’ hope you’re right… about it being a phase. Anyway, I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything definite about her bringing a date.”

“An’ in the meantime, I’ll knit an extra generic sort of jumper, jus’ in case.” Mum must have noticed I was about to protest, because she cut me off before I’d even had a chance to open my mouth. “Nah, don’t worry; Lor’ knows, it’s no trouble. After all, Therin might still decide to bring someone, too, and I’ll need one for ‘er. Best to be prepared.”

“All right. Suit yourself. See ya soon. Love ya.” I kissed her on the cheek and headed out the door, the problem of Charlie weighing heavily on my mind.

--ooOoo--

That night as I was standing at the stove making supper, the Doctor came up and wrapped his arms around me from behind. He gave me a lovely kiss behind the ear. It was just what I’d needed. I’d been wound up all day.

“Penny for ‘em? You’ve been doing (might I say) a piss poor job of shielding your emotions.”

“That obvious, was it?”

“Yup.” He squeezed me tighter and gave me another tender little kiss. Even without our telepathic bond, I expect he would have figured out something was wrong. And I really had been sloppy about keeping my worry contained. To be honest, I’d been hoping he’d notice. “You could have just told me if something was bothering you.”

I leaned my head back against his shoulder, giving the sauce another stir. “I know. You’ve just been so stressed lately.”

The Doctor had been called in to help with seventeen frightened and violent Trumhurgi whose ship had crashed in Torquay. They were badly injured, and the Doctor was the only one who had any decent knowledge about their unusual physiology. It had been two months of providing medical care for them, sometimes round-the-clock for several days running. He’d been training Torchwood physicians and nurses as well, but it all took time. In addition, he’d been consulting about repairs on the Trumhurgi ship, and travelling back and forth in the TARDIS, obtaining spare parts and contacting worried family members, carrying their messages and even bringing them back to Earth to visit their recuperating relatives.

I’d been working on the case too, but I was helping out the traumatized humans who’d been caught up in the original crash and the violent, defensive outburst that had followed. Shots had been fired and, by some stroke of luck, there had been no deaths, but it had been a close call. Fortunately, I had a huge, experienced team at my command, so my end of the job had been a lot easier than the Doctor’s.

“I’m all right, love,” the Doctor assured me, as we dished up our supper and sat down at the table. It was the first time in weeks we’d actually been able to eat together. “Besides, by end of this week the last of the Trumhurgi go home in their very own, working-better-than-ever ship! Let’s have tonight be about us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Now spill. What’s got you so upset?”

“It’s Charlie. I’m worried. I didn’t tell you about it because… well, the Trumhurgi… but Javic dropped by shortly after all that happened… with news.” The Doctor’s eyes darkened, and his lips tightened reflexively, but he waited for me to continue. “It seems Charlie has been taking a page out of Javic’s book, recently. She’s been, erm… let’s just say ‘embracing her sexuality’… a lot!”

“And he knows this how?”

“Well he ran into her at one of his favourite… spots.”

I sensed the Doctor’s anger flare, white hot. “He didn’t touch−”

“God, no! In fact, he’s sort of taken her under his wing, so to speak. Made sure she’s stayed away from all the dangerous places.”

The Doctor growled. He looked like he was fighting really hard to keep his emotions in check. His eyes flashed at me. It had been a long time since I’d been a target for the Oncoming Storm. It was properly frightening (and more than a bit thrilling!) “And you… you never thought to tell me? This? About our daughter?”

“You were so busy. And it’s not like−”

He launched himself out of his chair with a roar. “You kept this from me?”

Reflexively, I shrank back into my seat, like some timid little creature. “I’m sorry.”

He began to pace, tugging at his hair. Each time he passed me, he opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. His mental shields were locked in place and impenetrable.

After five long minutes, I decided enough was enough. It wasn’t my habit to let him intimidate me and I wasn’t about to chicken out now; history told me, it was far better to confront him, not let him get away with his bullying behaviour. “Doctor, stop! Enough. Sit down so we can talk.”

“Oh, so now you want to talk to me!”

“That’s was the point of having this conversation, yeah? Sit!”

He did as I asked, shoving his plate away from him, across the table. I grabbed onto his hand before he could move it, pouring my love through our bond. I was gratified when his shields began to give; it was only a little, but it was a beginning.

“Any other information you want to impart?” he bit out.

“Well… apparently she has one of Wilfred’s Vortex Manipulators, so… erm… she’s dancing through time and space.”

“Bloody hell!” He moved to stand again, but I held firm to his hand. He glared daggers at me. “Let go! We have to−”

“Have to what, Doctor? What do you propose we do? You’re not going to go storming in there like the Great Exterminator!”

“Try me!”

“This is Charlie… intimidation has never worked on that kid, and it’s not about to this time, either. We need to be rational and calm and supportive.”

“Supportive! But she’s−”

“I know. And Javic has been keeping an eye on her. He’s making sure she checks in with him, and he assures me she’s doing… fine.”

“Somehow, I don’t imagine Javic’s definition of ‘fine’ is quite the same as ours.”

I had to admit (but only to myself) I’d been thinking much the same way, though I knew Javic: he’d go to the ends of creation to protect any of us. “Hope’s been keeping in touch with her too,” I offered, hoping to appease the Doctor.

“Well that, that is a bloody recipe for disaster!” His anger flared.

Again, I had to agree with him, Santa. For all that she means well, Hope tends to get a bit bossy with her younger siblings. She’s mellowed over the years, but still… My arguments were crumbling around me. “You’re right. Let’s go!”

“What?”

“Let’s go… TARDIS. You. Me. Chat with our daughter.”

“But I thought you said...?”

“Changed my mind.”

--ooOoo--

Charlie, it turns out, was not thrilled to see us. I hadn’t been expecting a joyous family reunion or anything, but I think it would have gone a lot better if the Doctor hadn’t barged up to the bar where she was cheerfully chatting up some green-skinned bloke, waving his psychic paper around like some crazed maniac and bellowing to said bloke that Charlie was under-aged (an outright lie… on that planet) and if he didn’t want to find himself in a whole heap of trouble he’d better scram. He’d then grabbed Charlie by the arm and hauled her out of the building and into the TARDIS.

To say Charlie was furious was the understatement of the year! She was ranting on about how it was bad enough her “puritanical” sister was on her case, but the fact that we were now interfering in her life as well incensed her to no end.  She only finally calmed after I ordered the Doctor out of the TARDIS. I would deal with him later.

In the end, there was very little I could actually do other than let Charlie know we’d both be there for her if she ever needed us. She assured me she was fine: having fun; being careful; and not doing anything too wild (and “bloody hell, Mum, I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation with you… it’s just wrong…”.) I tried to understand, but I just couldn’t put myself in that mindset, and I told her as much.

“It’s just such a relief to be able to have fun and feel good without any obligations. I have so many obligations, Mum. School, Hand in Hand, work... This makes me feel, well free.”

Oh, Santa, it was then I realized how much that little girl (young woman) had taken on in her young life.

She must have seen the look of horror on my face. She grabbed my hand, and our familial bond snapped into place. She read me like an open book. “Mum, don’t you dare feel guilty. You never, ever pressured me, any of us, to do anything we didn’t want. You encouraged us in the best way possible, you… and Dad.” She chuckled and rolled her eyes at the mention of her father.  “This is just my way of letting go a bit, taking time for me. Can you understand that?”

“Course I can, love. I worry, that’s all. Promise me you’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“And listen to Javic.”

“Muuuuum! I know!”

“Now, since we spoiled your evening with that young man, how about we take you out to supper, yeah?”

���That sounds great! And don’t worry too much about my evening. He was a bit of a tosser, anyway. I was just about to walk out when Dad came barging in like some daft Onidsessi on pep pills. Urrrgh,” she groaned, “promise you’ll never let Dad near pep pills. Can you imagine…?”

“Oh, god, your Dad… he’s out there… Not on pep pills, but you know as well as me, he’s quite capable of stirring up all kinds of trouble without them if he gets a bit bored.”

Thankfully the Doctor hadn’t been stirring up trouble. We found him, pacing back and forth in front of the TARDIS doors. Charlie skipped right over to him, stopping him in his tracks and planting a kiss on his cheek. I couldn’t help but smile. We might all drive one another completely mental sometimes, but there was no lack of love in our little family, and this incident had assured me our children always knew we would be a safe haven for them whenever they needed it.

With all our emotions running high, I never remembered to ask Charlie if she was bringing home a friend at Christmas, so Mum could plan an appropriate jumper. At this point, though, I didn’t imagine there would be anyone special, given that she seemed to be determined to stay away from serious relationships for the time being.

I couldn’t have been more wrong…

Santa, I need to run. We’re all at Mum’s tonight, and the jumpers have finally been unveiled. There were a few… complications. And I’m running interference! I’ll try to explain later.

Blimey! There goes the Doctor, now, and he looks far too happy for anyone’s good, especially considering…  Look, Santa, I gotta go! I’ll finish this letter up later.

--ooOoo--

Santa, I’m back, but I’m not sure where the hell I’m going to begin. A lot of stuff went down tonight. A lot of stuff.

Mum was just itching to hand out her Ugly Jumper parcels to everyone; I couldn’t get her to sit still, she was so excited. We were still waiting for Charlie to arrive and for Tony, Noah, and Abby, too. The Doctor had gone to collect Charlie in the TARDIS. Mum was bouncing off the walls.

Thank goodness my brother and his family decided to show up just after the Doctor left. Entertaining Abby was keeping Mum rather brilliantly distracted, and it meant I didn’t need to entertain Mum. As it turned out, it was just as well Mum was preoccupied, because it gave her time to ease into meeting Charlie’s plus-one which turned out to be a bit of a shock for her, just not for the immediately obvious reason…

The lovely, familiar sound of the TARDIS filled the room about fifteen minutes after Tony arrived. She landed in her customary corner of Mum’s living room, wearing her traditional Blue Box disguise, but topped with festive snow and icicles, and a colourful wreath on her door. The door opened, and the Doctor stepped out, meeting my gaze with raised eyebrows and a little prickle of warning through our bond. He was being very guarded, not sharing any specific thoughts or images, and that made me distinctly uneasy.

Charlie followed him and was tugging behind her what could only be her date for the evening. The creature seemed to unfold itself from the TARDIS. It was very tall and rail thin. Charlie was holding onto one of its appendages, a hand of sorts, at the end of one of its four upper limbs, formed from an assortment of tentacle-like structures. “C’mon Hrau-Ard,” Charlie coaxed. “You’re gonna love my family! Hell, you and Dad are already like best mates!”

“Possibly a bit of an exaggeration seeing as we only met six minutes ago,” the Doctor countered, allowing Charlie and Hrau-Ard to step in front of him, “but he seems like a fine chap, I have to say.”

It took me a moment to get over my shock. Now, let me be clear, Santa, I have no trouble with interspecies relationships… I mean look at my darling husband, not exactly human for all he looks it. It’s just that Charlie, for all her sexual experimentation has never strayed far from standard humanoid partners before... at least according to Javic’s accounts. That’s why I needed to collect my thoughts before I moved forward to greet our new guest.

“Hello,” I smiled up into the creature’s majestic face. And majestic it was, by any standards… beautiful. Trust Charlie to pick a gorgeous date! A long muzzle, with an expressive mouth on the end, swooped up into a spectacular curved crest above it’s head. The crest had two main parts, a longer one below and a shorter part above. Its face morphed gradually from a rich teal colour at the muzzle to a deep indigo at the tips of the crests and was edged with many sensory tentacles and filaments. Two large purple eyes bulged above the snout, and several secondary eyes protruded from either side of the crests, set on stalks which were each adorned with several metallic rings. “I’m Rose Tyler, Charlie’s mum.” I held my hands out, spread open before me in the universal sign of peaceful greeting.

The creature bowed its head to me and dropping Charlie’s hand, held all four of it’s tentacle-tipped upper limbs out, mirroring me. Its fluting voice emanated from the crests. “Christmas greetings to you, Rose Tyler. My name is Hrau-Ard. It is lovely to meet you.”

“He’s male… mostly,” Charlie informed me, “so it’s okay to use ‘he’ and ‘him’.”

Hrau-Ard piped in, bowing his head to me again, “Those pronouns seem to be the most accurate.”

Before I could respond to Hrau-Ard, Charlie impatiently snagged the hand she’d been holding earlier and tugged him past me. “Well, come on in and meet the rest of the family!”

He hooted in surprise, his long tan-coloured tunic billowing and brushing me as he passed. It dropped halfway down his two legs and contrasted spectacularly with the blues and greens of his skin and had an opening in the back through which a pair of wing-like appendages extended. They were bright turquoise and filmy (too delicate to be proper wings) and vibrated as he moved.

I admit, I couldn’t suppress a chuckle at Mum’s incredulous expression as she met him. She passed Abby back to Noah, and looked Hrau-Ard up and down, offering him all the appropriate greetings. She had come a long way since her “bog-monster” days on the Estate and was extremely well-versed in alien diplomacy. After all, she’d welcomed plenty into her home over the years. But, despite all her training and experience, she was still my mum, and I nearly choked when she repeated his name back for clarification: “Howard? Your name is Howard?”

With a low whistle of approval and if the TARDIS was translating properly, amusement, Hrau-Ard inclined his head, his facial filaments bobbing with the movement. “I enjoy the way you say my name, Charlie’s Gran.”

“Oh, just call me Jackie, please. Howard! Of all the names!”

“Is this name of significance to you?”

Mum glanced nervously over to Pete, who was busy grilling Wilfred and Tianza about the medicinal properties of a Gallifreyan plant he was interested in using in a new Vitex drink.  “Oh, ‘e’s jus’ an old mate of mine.”

“Fine fellow! Liked fruit!” the Doctor enthused from the TARDIS door with a broad, toothy grin. “I borrowed his pyjamas and dressing gown once!”

“Well then,” Hrau-Ard bleeped, “I am honoured to be his namesake.”

“Oh, off the two of you go then.” Mum shooed Charlie and “Howard” off to meet Tony, Noah, and Abby. She fixed a glare at the Doctor, who had stepped up behind me. “See, there, Time Lump! A proper alien, tentacles and all! ‘E at least ‘as the decency to look the part.”

“So sorry to disappoint you with my lack of appendages, Jackie (after all, I live my life just to please you),” he snarked back at her. “Fortunately, as it turns out, there’s one Tyler who is rather fond of my one, rather impressive appendage, just the way it is.”

“All right, you two,” I cut off Mum before she had a chance to bite back, “it’s Christmastime, yeah? Peace on Earth. See, the halls are all decked,” I gestured around me, “merry and bright. Let’s try to enjoy ourselves.”

“Ooooh, I’d like to deck ‘is halls, all right…” Mum grumbled.

The Doctor leaned out around me to shoot another barb at Mum. “Is that your resting Grinch face, Jackie, or are you just happy to see me?”

Mum lunged at him, slapping-hand poised and ready. Fortunately for the Doctor, I was still in between the two of them. “Stop!”

“Cuddly as a cactus; charming as an eel… Mrs. Griii-inch” the Doctor sing-songed.

“STOP!” My shout silenced the room, everyone turning to stare at me.

“Oh, don’t mind them,” Charlie cooed at Hrau-Ard, “that’s sorta their normal behaviour.”

“Look what you two made me do,” I hissed at Mum and the Doctor. “Be civil! Honestly!” Fed up, I made to leave the two of them and go to the kitchen to pour myself a well-earned glass of wine, when Mum caught me by the sleeve.

“Blimey, Rose!” she whispered at me. “That Howard fella ‘as wings!”

“Yeah, well spotted! And tentacles!”

“No, no, no! The wings! ‘E’ll never fit into any of my jumpers! Never! And ‘e’s so bleedin’ skinny and all. (Blimey, ‘e makes the Doctor look like a sumo wrestler, ‘e does!) The jumper I made would be…”

“Mum, you don’t need to worry. He’ll understand, I’m sure.”

She burst into tears. “But I wanted everyone to ‘ave… and now ‘e’ll be without something from me… An’ it’s Christmas…”

The Doctor stepped up, concerned. He put a gentle hand on Mum’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? If it’s what I said, Jackie… you know I was just taking the mick.”

“No, no, no… nothin’ like that, ya plum.” She patted his cheek and gave him a watery smile. “I’m jus’ disappointed is all.” She excused herself and rushed off in the direction of the powder room.

“What was all that about?”

“Promise you won’t tell her I told you?”

“Oh, you know I can keep a secret, Rose! Besides, I know better than to cross Jackie Tyler by leaking sensitive information. C’mon, give.”

I explained to him about Mum’s dilemma, how she had knitted ugly Christmas jumpers for everyone (his face blanched, probably imagining what she might have created for him) and now because of Hrau-Ard’s unexpected physical attributes, none of the jumpers she had set aside would ever possibly fit.

“Well, I could help,” he suggested. “She’s probably not going to like it much, and I can’t say I’m much of a fan of it myself, but I have an idea that just might work… if she’s willing.”

--ooOoo--

Everyone was so busy with canapes and punch and cocktails they never noticed Mum and the Doctor bundling into the TARDIS and the TARDIS dematerializing. The TARDIS was proud to be showing off her new “Silent Mode”: there was only a little bit of a breeze to indicate she had ever been there. (My little darling.)

They had only been gone for about ten minutes before the TARDIS rematerialized and Mum burst through the doors, beaming and carrying a neatly wrapped parcel: Hrau-Ard’s gift. To my utter amazement, she turned back to stroke the TARDIS’ doorframe, planting a soft kiss on the blue wood. “Thank-you, sweetheart. You’re a wonder, you are.”

The TARDIS hummed in response, a wonderfully joyous sound, as Mum practically skipped over to the Christmas tree to tuck the present underneath.

The Doctor stepped up beside me, closing the TARDIS doors behind him. “They hit it off like a house on fire,” he told me, “the pair of them, thick as thieves. Turns out when your Mum was ill a few years ago, and I put her in stasis, the TARDIS kept her company in her mind; they became fast friends. Brilliant!” He grinned down at me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me against him as we followed Mum to the tree. Then he paused, and I glanced up at him to ask why we had stopped. The grin melted from his face. “Although… I don’t much like the idea of the two of them plotting against me behind my back.”

I just laughed and put my head on his shoulder. “Blimey… you’re getting a bit paranoid! How long were you gone in your timestream?”

“Five and a half days, Rose. Five and a half days… with Jackie Tyler on my TARDIS! That’s enough to make anyone paranoid!”

I admit, Santa, I shamelessly started to laugh harder. “How did you ever survive?”

“After the first day, I learned pretty quick to keep my head down. I made myself scarce.”

“Oh, you’ll be all right.” I nudged him with my elbow. “They won’t plot against you…” (…much, I added silently.)

“I heard that!” He arched an irritable eyebrow at me. “Do you realize she’s got her own room, Rose? No, not room, suite! The TARDIS gave her an entire suite of rooms with her own telly and a little galley too!”

“Awww, that’s lovely.” I was warmed through that the TARDIS had welcomed Mum so enthusiastically. My darling husband, however, was another matter. “Don’t worry, Doctor, I’ll protect you from any plotting. C’mon, we better hurry. I don’t think Mum will be able to contain herself much longer.”

Mum was gathering everyone together, so she could hand out her creations, and getting a bit shirty at people who weren’t paying attention, so I dragged the Doctor over by the hand and found a comfortable seat for us.

Content that everyone was present and listening to her, Mum spoke: “I’ve decided to start a new Tyler-family tradition: Ugly Christmas Jumpers! Made by yours truly.” She preened and there was a round of groans from the family and a perplexed hoot from Hrau-Ard. “Oi! They’re not really ugly… that’s jus’ w’at they’re called, yeah. See I’m wearin’ one.” She stood up to show off the jumper she was wearing. It was made of soft, silvery yarn and she had sewn tinsel across the front to form the words “Don’t get your tinsel in a twist,” in cursive script. Of course, she also had tinsel tied around her up-do. She looked sparkly and lovely. My Mum… She’s been through so much in her life, experienced so many odd things, and taken it all in stride; things that would make most people go completely loopy. I love her so much. I was positively chuffed to see her so happy, handing out brightly coloured parcels to all our family.

Dad was the first one to get his present, and he was a real sport about it, donning both his new Santa jumper and the Santa hat Mum had included in his parcel. Everyone burst out laughing when he stood up and smoothed his jumper down over his tummy, and said: “Do you think this makes me look fat? Ho-ho-ho!”

“Oh, sit down, you!” Mum admonished, but I could tell she was pleased as punch.

After that there was great excitement as we all opened our packages. Abby’s jumper was the cutest little thing, with an adorable gingerbread man wearing a Santa hat on a bright, red background. There were miniature gingerbread men down the sleeves and a few white strategically-placed snowflakes. I figure it’ll be a new favourite piece of clothing for her doting daddies!

Javic’s jumper featured a grumpy Santa reading his list of children’s names. The words “I’m at the top of Santa’s naughty list,” were emblazoned underneath. He was ecstatic, claiming it couldn’t have been more perfect. My jumper was… well, glorious in it’s tackiness! And I loved it! Oh, Santa, it was TARDIS blue, and a string of knitted fairy lights trailed all over it. In the middle, the fairy lights formed the words “Merry and Bright” and were lit up with little LEDs. Mum had outdone herself.

Hrau-Ard seemed uncertain what to do with his package, but Charlie soon sorted him out, helping him unwrap the gift. He held the jumper up in front of him, looking around at everyone else trying theirs on. He peered at the design on the front, all of his eyes trained on the bright patterns, and gave a long low hoot.

“Well, are ya goin’ to put it on, then?” Charlie prompted. “Here, I’ll help ya!” Together, the two of them made short work of slipping off Hrau-Ard’s tan tunic and replacing it with the jumper.

Hrau-Ard stood up out of his chair to show his jumper off. It was long, like the undertunic he wore, dropping to mid-thigh, and had perfectly aligned spaces for all four of his upper limbs and his wings.

“The TARDIS helped Jackie with the proper design and style, so it was compatible with his cultural expectations and with his body configuration,” the Doctor murmured in my ear. “She even provided all the yarn, if you can believe that!”

I took a closer look at the jumper. It featured an green-clad elf body on a scarlet background. Like Dad’s jumper, Hrau-Ard’s head took the place of the elf’s head. The words underneath said: “Take an ‘elfie with me!” It was hilarious! We were all in stitches, especially Hrau-Ard, who particularly appreciated the pun in the wording, and was honking with joy, and pulling out his mobile to take ‘elfies with everyone.

I couldn’t help but notice Therin was the only one not laughing. He wasn’t even smiling. He sat on the other side of the room glowering at Charlie and Hrau-Ard and their easy familiarity. Clearly, he hadn’t gotten over Charlie. He still loved her, despite her obvious disinterest in him… at least as a romantic partner. My heart absolutely ached for him as he quietly trudged out of the room, wearing his Fair Isle T-rex jumper.

“I should go check on him,” I whispered to the Doctor.  

“Nah, he needs to work this out for himself, love. He can’t change what’s in his heart. He just needs time to come to terms with it.”

“I hate to see him so miserable though… I wish I could−”

“Oi!” Mum’s shriek of disapproval cut through my thoughts. “Where’s your jumper, then, Doctor?”

The Doctor shifted nervously next to me, and I felt his crushing fear in my mind. He picked at the wrapping paper on the package in his lap.  

“C’mon then, ya big baby! Open it up! I made it special, jus’ for you.”

“That… that’s what worries me,” he muttered under his breath.

“Here, I’ll help you,” I offered. Honestly, Santa, Mum was right. He was being a big baby about it. Coward every time. “Best get it over with, like ripping a plaster off.”

“I don’t like plasters, and I don’t like the sound of your mum saying, ‘special just for you’. That, right there, Rose, sends my entire brain into mauve status!”

“C’mon, how bad can it be?” Even as I said the words, I glanced over at Mum who was watching the Doctor with a piercing, self-satisfied eye, and I braced myself. “Never mind. Just get it over with, yeah.”

By this time, we had the attention of the whole room, and the Doctor in a less-than-convincing act of enthusiasm, tore away the wrapping paper in one fell swoop. He reached into the shredded paper and pulled out the jumper, holding it up gingerly. Santa, I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. I swear the tears were pouring down my face, and the Doctor was scowling at me.

I better explain. The torso and most of the arms of the jumper were mostly brown. Around the cuffs of the arms, and at certain places over the shoulders were knitted green leaves. Some of them also trailed over the torso and back. When we lifted the arms of the jumper, we found dangling from their undersides none other than beautifully crafted, little knit pears! Pears, Santa, which as I’m sure you know are the fruit the Doctor despises most in the universe… for reasons that have never been very clear to me.

The crowning glory was the gigantic bird sewn firmly to the left shoulder: a partridge.

Mum had given the Doctor a Partridge in a Pear Tree-themed jumper!

Strangely, the bird was not knitted but a small-scale but realistic model, complete with feathers… and that gave me pause for thought, and trust me when I say the thoughts were not optimistic for the Doctor…

“Well, w’at are you waitin’ for?” Mum barked. “Put it on, then?”

“What? You expect me to wear this travesty… this… this pitiable excuse for clothing? Nope. Nope. Nope. Not happening.”

“Oh, just put it on, Dad!” Hope cajoled from across the room. “We’re all wearing them.”

“Yours don’t have pears and a great bloody bird attached, do they?”

“The jumpers are splendid!” Hrau-Ard spoke up with an earnest honk. “This is the most comfortable piece of clothing I have ever owned. And it is humorous too. Doctor, you really should try yours.”

Mum just about melted on the spot at Hrau-Ard’s compliment. “Oh, Howard! You’re such a love. But, you’re just sayin’ that!”

“No, I am sincere, Jackie. It is perfect. I think I like Christmas. And Ugly Christmas Jumpers!”

“Well then, sweetheart, I’ll make you another for next year, yeah?

Howard… I mean Hrau-Ard hooted happily in response, and Mum turned her attention back to the Doctor, by which I mean, she glared daggers at him.

“Oh, all right,” the Doctor conceded, “…if it means I don’t have to listen to any more of your harping,” he added under his breath. He stalked off to the downstairs loo, crushing the jumper in his clenched fist.

“I better go help him out…” I made my excuses and rushed off after him.

I heard Wilfred snickering to Hope, Gray, and Tianza, as I passed them. “Ten quid says they’re off for a snog… or worse.”

Hope just laughed. “No deal, little brother! That’s a sure thing.”

“Oi!” (I’m sorry, I had to protest!) “Enough out of you lot!”

“C’mon, Mum, face it,” Charlie interjected, “you two are an embarrassment.”

“Yeah,” Wilfred agreed, “I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve had to spring the two of you from prison for public indecency.”

“Oi, what’s this then?” Mum leaned in for more tidbits of information, and I cleared out of the room as fast as I could.

Exasperated, I knocked on the powder room door. “Doctor, it’s just me.”

He opened the door to let me in.

“Blimey, we’ll have to watch ourselves. That lot are making wagers on whether or not we shag in here, and they’re telling Mum all about our arrests…”

He groaned, sniffing in disdain. “Bloody brilliant! Christmas, an annual excuse for almost completely unfounded gossip and rumour.”

“Exactly!”

“And then there’s this…” He held up the jumper. “I don’t know why I have to put on this preposterous get-up?”

“Because as I recall, a few years back, you mucked about with Mum’s dishwasher. Now it’s payback time,” I reminded him. “C’mon then…” I helped him pull off the (sexy) red jumper he was currently wearing, and I couldn’t resist running my fingers through the sparse hair on his chest. “Tell you what, though: if you’re a good boy and put the jumper on, I will make it very much worth your while…”

“Oh, yes!”

I dropped to my knees in front of him.

“What? Right now?”

“I’ll make it quick… I know all your secrets.”

He growled at me, his eyes darkening. “I’ll be wanting another round later tonight, Tyler.”

“You think so, do ya?”

“Of course, I’ll be happy to return the favour. I’ll make you come so hard, your screams will be heard all the way to Gallifrey and back! Think you’re up for that?”

I gazed up at him with what I hoped was a seductive smile and stroked him where he was now straining against the front of his trousers. “You’re on! But the real question is, can you manage not to scream? We don’t really need that lot making any more wagers at our expense.”

--ooOoo--

Sorry Santa, got off on a bit of a tangent there… It happens sometimes, as you’re well aware.

So… where was I? Oh, yeah, so fifteen minutes later, we came out of the loo. With my help (holding the partridge), we managed to get the jumper over the Doctor’s head. He looked very, very, extremely not happy, despite my recent… erm… display of affection. “I feel ridiculous!” he gritted out to me.

“It’s just for a few hours, love.” I patted his arm and took his hand for moral support and made bloody sure to conceal my amusement from him.

As we returned to the living room, out the corner of my eye, I was pretty certain I saw some money changing hands, although, to his credit, the Doctor had kept very quiet and I had checked that my hair and make-up were in order. Maybe they were wagering on whether he’d be wearing the jumper… Who knows?

Anyway, I had to agree with the Doctor’s assessment: the jumper did look more than a bit silly, but everyone cheered and laughed at it.  They were having so much fun over it, and the Doctor ended up being a good sport, showing it off, spreading his arms and making silly faces about the “vile” pears dangling from them.

I admit, I kept to myself the fact that I thought there had to be more to it than just a jumper with pears and a big, daft bird. Mum had waited years to get her revenge. She wasn’t about to let him off with something so… simple. I could only wonder what she had planned and when it would happen.

As it turned out, I didn’t have to wonder very long.

It was only a few minutes later when Mum called us all over for supper. She, of course, had place-cards at every setting. The Doctor was sat between Hrau-Ard and Gray, somewhere in the middle of one long side of the table, and Mum and I were directly across from them. Charlie was on the other side of Hrau-Ard; Noah and Tony were sat on either side of Abby, who was in Tony’s old high chair at one end of the table; and Dad was at the other end. Everyone else was scattered randomly around.

As the first course was served, everyone began to chatter to one another. The Doctor seemed quite relaxed, but I couldn’t help noticing the way Mum’s eyes kept fixing on him as he made cheerful small talk to everyone around him. Her lips pursed reflexively every time he stopped talking. She tried a couple of times to get Dad to tell us about something that had happened at work, but he had insisted he didn’t want to talk shop. He was determined to take some time away from it.

“Fine,” Mum muttered under her breath, “just tryin’ to liven up the conversation. Honestly.”

“I thought we were having a lovely time,” I told her. “Everyone’s relaxed and chatting… well except Therin, but you know… What’s going on? You’re up to something. I know you. You never ask Dad about Torchwood.”

“Pfffft, don’t be daft! Course I ask ‘im. And jus’ w’at do you mean ‘up to somethin’’? W’at could I possibly be up to?” With that, she turned deliberately away from me and began speaking to Hope about the progress of the Lunar settlements and asking her how she was finding living on a base. “I don’ know if I could take it, yeah. No fresh air, being cooped up inside all the time. I think I’d lose my mind, yeah.”

The Doctor’s eyes brightened as he responded to her. I was relieved he didn’t end up spewing out something rude about her already having lost her mind years back, which honestly seemed like it would be the natural course of the conversation. Instead, he launched into one of his diatribes about the environmental systems on the bases and how they purify the air.

With a smirk, Mum sat back in her seat to listen.

“…and remarkably, the fundamental design never changes from base to base, year after year. It’ll be centuries before someone gets the bright idea that basic human needs aren’t quite being met by–″ He was cut off when the partridge on his shoulder swung around and flapped its tail across his face. He frowned, spun the bird back around, and began to speak again.

This time the bird nipped his ear.

“Fuck!” he shouted in pain, which of course was mimicked loudly by Abby at the other end of the table.

“You dolt!” Mum snapped. “Now, look what you’ve done!”

“Oi! It’s your blasted bird that bit me! Oi! It just did it again!”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Giggles erupted from the little girl as her daddies tried to shush her, and everyone had a good laugh.

Except Mum (“Don’t be so stupid! It’s not a real bird, ya numpty!”); and the Doctor, who glowered at Mum but (remarkably) held his tongue.

“Mum,” I hissed at her, “it bit him. I saw it.”

“Bit him? Stuff and nonsense!”

The Doctor shook his head at me, and at his telepathic request, I decided not to pursue it any further.

Abby had calmed down again, her new word forgotten as quickly as it had come, and normal conversation resumed around the table as the main course was served. It wasn’t long before the Doctor had dived into a conversation about the most current medical breakthroughs with Gray and with Hrau-Ard, who was apparently training as a physician as well. They bantered back and forth for a short time and then the Doctor launched into a long discourse about the benefits of some sort of medical scanner or other. About a minute in, the bird wheeled around, slapping him in the face with its tail once more, and another few seconds after that, it bit him again.

“Right! Ow! Again, you bloody– Ow!” He dug into his trouser pockets for his sonic, threatening the bird with it. “Now, we’ll sort– Blimey! STOP! Ow!”

I glanced over at Mum who was chuckling away to herself, while everyone else was up, getting ready to help the Doctor. Oh, she knew exactly what was going on. And I had no doubt she had orchestrated it.

Hrau-Ard had stood up and was holding the bird still, his tentacled appendages wrapped around it securely. He was doing a great job keeping it from pecking at the Doctor’s ear, which seemed to happen every time he tried to talk.

Mum scoffed next to me. “Talks far too much, anyway, that one. Maybe this will teach ‘im to keep quiet and not monopolize the conversation.”

“So, this was you, then? How the hell did you...?”

“Oh, sweetheart, it only goes off when ‘e natters on for too long. It resets again after ‘e’s given our ears a bit of a break.”

“But…”

“Oh, I know a few of the folks down in Tech. They were quite ‘appy to do me a little favour, especially after ‘imself barged in there a month or so back and told ‘em they were sequencin’ somethin’-or-other all wrong.”

“He told me about that. It was all wrong!”

“Well, seems they didn’t like ‘is tone… all ‘igh and mighty and ‘I’m so clever’.”

I flopped back in my chair, and just shook my head. I returned my attention to the other side of the table where the Doctor had adjusted the settings on his sonic and was brandishing it at the animatronic bird.

“Oi,” Mum yelped, “don’t you damage my bird.”

“Priorities, Jackie! Your bloody bird is trying to damage me. Do you realize how hard I had to concentrate to get these ears… not to mention this hair?”

“It is really great hair,” I agreed.

“Oh, shush you!” Mum shot me a scathing look.

“Right then! Allons-y!” Heedless of my mum’s protests, the Doctor activated the screwdriver pointing it at his feathered attacker, and several things happened all at once.

The strangest screeching sound reverberated from Hrau-Ard’s crests in harmonics that mimicked the sonic. He lost his grip on the bird and doubled over, two of his appendages flying to his crests. “This tickles! This tickles! I think I am about to…”

The bird, freed from it’s confines, resumed its attack on the Doctor’s ear, feathers flying everywhere. The Doctor, fumbled his sonic screwdriver, caught it again, and made a quick adjustment to the frequency, constantly yammering and threatening the bird and Mum, not quite making the connection that if he just shut up, the stupid thing would stop pecking him. Finally finding an opening, he pressed the tip of the sonic to the bird’s breast, activating it with a triumphant “Ha!”

Hrau-Ard had resumed his composure once the sonic had stopped but started making that bizarre sound from his crests again once it was reactivated. His facial filaments were absolutely trembling. “It is happening again. I am going to… I am going to…″

The sound seemed to amplify the effects of the sonic. The hapless partridge stopped its attack, but its entire body began to pulse as the wailing hoots from Hrau-Ard’s crest intensified. Everyone was covering their ears, except the Doctor who had turned off the sonic, and was watching in horror, from the corner of his eye, the ominous pulsing of the bird on his left shoulder.

“I am going to–″ Hrau-Ard shouted, and his crests shrieked in a final eruption of noise, and the bird’s body suddenly exploded with a massive blast, sending feathers, sparks, and electronic gizmos everywhere.

“–sneeze,” Hrau-Ard hooted into the silence that had fallen over us all.

A long moment later, just as everyone was catching their collective breath, the Doctor yelped, as cinders from the explosion caught in his hair, causing it to smoulder and burn. “Ow, ow, ow! Blimey! My face! My hair!”

Abby started howling; everyone started shouting; I leaped across the top of the table to get to my poor husband; and Gray, the only one maintaining his composure, picked up a pitcher of ice water and dumped it over the Doctor’s head.

The Doctor sat there, completely stunned, as water dripped from his fringe into his face.

“Oh my God! Doctor!” I pulled his damp body against me, hugging him tight. “Are you all right?” I pulled back from the hug to look him in the face. I took in the angry red welts, the burned hair and…

He must have seen my astonishment. “What? What is it?”

“Your… your left eyebrow. It’s… it’s gone…”

“What? What?” His fingers flew to his brow, where the hair had been singed away. “WHAT?”

“And some of your hair… just up the left side…”

“Jackie Tyler!” he bellowed. He made to get up from his chair, but Gray shoved him back into it.

“Sit still! You have burns. I’ll need to use the dermal regenerator on them.”

“It won’t bring back my eyebrow, though, will it? My left eyebrow too. It’s my most expressive one,” he added wistfully.

Mum had come rushing around the table. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry! That wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ll cut your hair for ya, real nice. And your eyebrow will grow back again in no time, I expect.”

“Yeah, I suppose it will,” he said relaxing a bit. “And more expressive than ever! Makes you think, what would I ever do without eyebrows?” He shuddered at the thought. “And, Jackie, I have to admit, you couldn’t have known that the sonic would resonate with Hrau-Ard’s crests and make the bird explode like that. Though, I have to say, good riddance!”

“It is all my fault. I must apologize profusely,” Hrau-Ard hooted, his wings fluttering.

Mum protested, “Oh, no, Howard!”

“Nah, she’s right, Hrau-Ard,” the Doctor reassured him, “don’t be silly! But now I know not to use my sonic at that frequency in your presence.” He beamed. “Besides, what fun would Christmas be without a little bit of unexpected excitement?”

“At least there aren’t any blinkin’ killer Christmas trees, yeah?” Mum pointed out, as Gray finished up with the dermal regenerator.

“Oh yes! Too true. Looking on the bright side, Jackie. Do it while you can, because you know what…?” He bounded out of his chair, tore the remnants of the hapless partridge from his shoulder, and plucked the Santa hat from Dad’s head. He shoved it over his wet, scorched hair and with a wicked grin spreading over his face, he sang: “Jackie Tyler… you better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout. I’m telling you why: Santa Claus is coming to town.”

Oh, God, Santa, the look on Mum’s face. “Oh, you wouldn’t dare…”

“And Santa isn’t happy, Jackie. Really, you better watch out…” He skipped away out of the dining room, heading directly for the kitchen.

Mum took off after him. “You stay away from my appliances. You’re a bleedin’ hellion, you are,” she shouted.

Hrau-Ard honked in alarm and pulled Charlie next to him, wrapping his tentacles around her.

“Don’t worry, love,” Charlie sounded resigned, “you get used to it once you’ve been around this crowd long enough. We’re all a bit mental, but we all love one another.”

So, there it is, Santa. A typical Tyler-Noble Christmas!

I spent quite a while trying to intercept the Doctor before he did any damage to Mum’s kitchen... and other things. I actually found him mucking about in her en suite. Not sure if he managed to do anything before I caught up to him and got him back home, but at least I got to him before Mum did. Like I said before, he looks far too pleased with himself, despite the missing eyebrow and the singed hair. He must have left some sort of surprise behind for Mum. No doubt I’ll hear about it soon enough.

And right now, I’m just waiting for him to “return the favour” he promised me in Mum’s powder room earlier, something about making me scream so loud I’d be heard all the way to Gallifrey. He’s just spending an awful long time in the loo... probably trying out my eyebrow pencils, if I know him. Maybe later I’ll take the TARDIS out, go back a few days, and get him some of his own for his stocking before everyone gets up tomorrow morning.

Happy Christmas, Santa. Give my love to all. Sorry for going off on a bit of a tangent earlier. I was just lying here, waiting for the Doctor and thinking… Oh, I reckon you’re used to it by now, yeah. There’ve been a few tangents over the years and I haven’t had a lump of coal yet. But, just saying, if you feel the urge to leave a lump of coal in the Doctor’s and my mum’s stockings, by all means, go right ahead! I’m all for it!

                                                                                                                                 Love, Rose

[watermonkey0]

4th Point of Contact -  Mission Report #6

Author: WaterMonkey0

Pairing: Do Kyungsoo / Harper Hasagawa (OC)

Current Chapter Rating: PG

Genre: Canon

Mission Reports: #1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #6

“We are eternally grateful for what you did for us in LA. Especially me, because...you got me home in time to say goodbye.” Baekhyun spoke very carefully, barely able to talk about his mother’s death. Suho kept giving him sidelong glances as he translated, and Harper had enough sense to see his discomfort. “And so...and so...” Baek fiddled with his hands before taking one brave step forward to stress his point, “you should do what Kyungja said: break the contract and be able to go home.”

Kyungsoo couldn’t help but roll his eyes, that of all the important moments, Baekhyun was using the nickname he’d given him when they were trainees.

Harper took a long moment to respond, giving each of them a hard look like she did on the bus in LA. Kyungsoo wanted to know what she was thinking, if Baekhyun’s sincere argument was going to get through to her, but she took a deep breath and sighed.

“You guys remind me a lot of the men I used to lead: dumb and pretty, “...but strong and kind.” She added. “I haven’t formally introduced myself to you, but if there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I never go back on my word.” She swung her legs over the side of the table and stood before them. “So Gentlemen, like it or not, my name is Harper Hasagawa, and I’m going to be your bodyguard for the next thirteen blissful years.”

~~~~

As expected, there was a knock on my door the next morning at a brisk 05:45. Lucky for me (them), I hadn’t slept. If I was going to acclimate quick enough to be effective, I had to use the dirty time zone trick: stay awake for as long as possible and only go to sleep when everyone else did. Unfortunately, my training made it so I could stay alert for longer periods of time than normal...even while staring at the blank walls of my new room. It was shaped and designed pretty much the same as any standard copy bunk: two beds, two wardrobes, one desk, a communal bathroom at the end of the hall, and a cafeteria on the main floor of the building. It seemed just like the life I’d left behind, complete with the early morning clandestine meetings.

I quickly got up to answer the door, expecting foul tempered Kyungsoo, but was surprised with Cheekbones. His actual name started with an S? Or a J? I don’t know. He stood in workout clothes and a fresh coat of sweat that somehow made him sparkle. He flashed me a charming smile and gave a small bow before hitting me with a--

“Good morning, Ms. Hasagawa. Did you sleep well?” in perfect English.

“Uhh...yes.” I lied, holding the door open for him to enter. He didn’t.

“I wanted to meet you without the other members. As you can probably tell, they get distracted easily.” His smile seemed genuine to me, but I knew that I wasn’t used to his caliber of faking. And when he didn’t take my invitation, I moved back to the doorway, unsure of what to do or say.

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

“I’d like to know how you know Kyungsoo.” His question was direct, but not loaded. I wasn’t expecting to have this conversation so soon, or so early in the morning, so I just crossed my arms and said,

“Kyungsoo and I met a few months ago through a mutual friend.”

“The same friend who told you where to find us in LA?” He asked.

“The same.” The mention of Kojima reminded me that I should probably call him. There’d been no contact since the night of the rescue, and he was no doubt worried about me.

“How does Kyungsoo know him?” Cheekbones continued.

“You’d have to ask him.” I shrugged. Maybe I should start calling him Hemingway, because this was feeling suspiciously like an interrogation.

“How did you meet this mutual friend?” He took the question in a different direction, trying to get some perspective, just needing a foothold, but I wasn’t about to give him one.

“I beat him up.”

“I’m sorry?” He did a double take at my answer, apparently not yet used to the fact that I’d beaten a lot of people up in my lifetime.

“You don’t have to apologize.” I said mockingly, and then snickered to myself. I was really too sarcastic for this. “What is it that you actually want?” I asked next, figuring I should reign myself in, if only a little bit. He was still standing at my door looking like a workout model, and I was still too derisive for not having had breakfast yet.

“The members of my group are, as you said, strong and kind, but they are not as dumb as you think. They act innocent because it is asked of them. They know exactly what kind of deal they entered into when they signed their contracts. You, however, do not.” He listed out the argument I expected.

“I read the bullet points.” I defended.

“It was in Korean.” He looked at me like a mom who was tired of the bullshit their kid was spouting. The same look I caught glimpses of in LA when the boys would all turn to him. He was their leader, I guess.

“So I read the squiggles, what’s your point?” I brushed off his judgment. Tired of standing at the door, I left it open for him to follow and went back inside.

“This could ruin your life.” He quoted from last night, and reluctantly tailed me. “What could Kyungsoo have possibly done for you that you’d risk everything just to be even?” I sat at my desk, realized there was nothing on it, nothing to busy my hands with, and stood up again.

“I can’t tell you.” I couldn’t look at him when I said it. I hadn’t had this conversation with myself yet, so I wasn’t really sure how to proceed.

“You can’t?” He raised a brow, and I adjusted.

“I won’t.”

“In that case, it’s in your best interest to make use of that clause. Go home.” He ordered and headed back for the door. He seemed so uncomfortable in this room with me, but I remembered how my men used to say I was a ‘loose American’. My normal and his normal were obviously not the same. Same goes for the bra tactic I used last night, which was dirty but effective.

“Lucky for me, I don’t do anything in my best interest.” I scoffed, following him back to the door. “You’re stuck with me...whatever your name is, whether you or Kyungsoo like it or not.” I put the foot down, and he turned back to me disapprovingly. “Besides...” I added, if only to make him stop staring at me like my mother did, “Bacon really likes me.”

“His name is Baekhyun, and I’m Junmyeon. You can also call me Suho.” He sighed heavily, like he knew this was coming but was really hoping he could prevent it.

“Why?” I asked, wondering why he was giving me a whole directory of names.

“Because it’s my stage name.”

“Why do you have a stage name?”

“Why don’t you know anything about the career you just signed up for?” He snapped, and I nodded, impressed.

“Touché. Is this the part where you say I’ll never make it in this world?” I floundered dramatically, figuring that’s where this telenovela was headed.

“This is the part where I tell you to meet your dorm mates.” He surprised me with his answer, and I looked out at the other doors in the hall he gestured to. “You’re in the trainee dorm. If you give them food, they’ll tell you anything you need to know.”

“That’s…actually pretty helpful. Thanks…” I muttered, crossing my arms defensively. Now I was the uncomfortable one. He wasn’t an easy trick to read to begin with, so I had no idea what I was going to do if he started flip flopping on me.

“And learn Korean,” He added, raking his fingers through his infuriatingly perfect hair, “...or it’s going to be a long thirteen years.”

I mean, I get it. It wasn’t lost on me how odd or confusing this whole situation was for the both of us. I was a stranger in a foreign land, shoved into a role I wasn’t meant to fill. I didn’t know anything about them, and they didn’t know anything about me.

But the thing was, they thought they were saving me by telling me to go home. They thought I was ruining my life, when in all honesty, I’d done that months ago. There was nothing left for me to lose. That’s why I wouldn’t listen to them. That’s why every time they said to go, I planted my feet. There was nothing left for me in the US, or Japan, or anywhere. I was washed up in a rut I didn’t know how to get out of. What was the harm in making some money while I was at it?

“You’re not so bad after all.” I offered an olive branch and leaned against the door frame.

“The judge is still out on you, Ms. Hasagawa.” Cheekbones muttered.

“It’s the jury.” I corrected.

“What?” His eyebrows pinched together dramatically, and I deep sighed.

“The jury is still out. Nevermind. Just call me Harper.” Long live American colloquialisms.

“Fine, then let’s go.” He said suddenly and started off down the hall.

“Go? Go where?” I asked, looking back and forth between him leaving and my open door. Did it lock? Was I supposed to have a key?

“Hurry up!” He called, almost to the elevator.

“But—but Su...ugh.” I groaned. Whatever, it wasn’t like I had that much to steal anyway. I quickly hoofed it down the hall to where Cheekbones was waiting. He took one look at my face, then down at my feet, and barked,

“Shoes! Where are your shoes?” Insert mumble in Korean, probably about my incompetency or something. He waved me off like he was shooing a chicken, and I groaned the whole way back.

“What can you do besides fight?” Cheekbones asked once we were in the elevator and heading…who knows where.

“Do you want me to sing and dance too?” I joked, but he only shot me an annoyed look. He was hard to get a read on. If I had to name it, I’d say he was a little like a Lance Corporal I used to know when I was a First Class Private. Only one rank above me, yet he acted like I was going to catch the world on fire. He was never mean or rude just…perpetually worried. That’s the expression Cheekbones kept giving me.

“I need to know your qualifications.” He quickly exited the elevator once we’d hit the ground floor. The trainee dorms were in the basement. Like it wasn’t a dungeon enough already. “CEO Kim hired you personally, so your employee file is going to be nonexistent.” I followed him down a wide hallway lined with offices and miscellaneous doors.

“Who cares?” I asked, not understanding how that was an issue, “I can protect you just the same.”

“I don’t particularly, but your boss will.” He said from in front of me, and I came to a dead stop.

“Wait, boss?” I hiccupped, “Aren’t you my boss?”

“No, of course not.” He jeered, only slowing down a fraction to wait for me to follow again, “SM is broken down into two main employee categories: idols and staff. Idols are obviously sorted by group and then by line. Staff are sorted by occupation: management, stylists, security, so on. You’ve been assigned to EXO, but you don’t answer to us.”

“Then who do I answer to?” I demanded, not at all enjoying this tidbit of surprise.

“SM Head of Security, Chief Laon Soo.”

We continued down the hall in stunned silence, while I regretted, and beat myself up, and whined, and essentially threw a fit. The whole night that I laid awake, I didn’t sort out any of my necessary thoughts. What was I going to do about my history with Kyungsoo? Was I going to tell them? Was I prepared to tell them…What was I going to do about my affiliations with the military? Why was CEO Kim so shady? Why did I think I wouldn’t have a boss? They were all relevant questions which my dumb ass didn’t think to ponder on.

The only thing I thought of last night was how the air smelled different here than at home. How I smelled a different ocean, one that only showed up in my dreams. I was closer to people I’d once loved than I had been in over half a year, but I found no solace in that. And I stayed awake missing them. Missing them until I cried into my pillow and hoped through the thin walls of my room that it wouldn’t wake my new dorm mates.

Finally, Cheekbones halted in front of a nondescript door on the left. There was only a plaque to the side that I assume listed the Chief’s name in Hangul.

“You couldn’t have at least let me brush my teeth before bringing me to meet my new CO?” I muttered, looking down at my work out shorts and standard issue tee.

“Your what?” He asked as he stepped forward to knock.

“God this is going to be a long deployment.” I moaned, but Cheekbones paused his fist an inch above the wood.

“Three floors up and you could go home. There’s still time.” He shot me a sly look. I was tired of it. Tired of their constant brush-offs, so I jammed a fist on my hip and let him have a piece of my mind.

“It seems to me, Sumyeon—”

“It’s Junmyeon.” He interjected.

“Whatever—” I tried but he added,

“Or Suho.”

My snark turned into a glare, and he shrank just enough for me to continue my bit in peace. “It seems like you need me, so why are you trying so hard to get rid of me?” He shrugged, knowing it was an understandable question.

“Without a script, Kyungsoo isn’t very elegantly spoken, but he’s almost always right. You don’t belong here.”

“Why? Because I’m an American?” I fired off.

“No, simply because he said so.”

There was a time once when I had that much faith in the people around me. When I trusted their judgment above all else, because they proved to me it was competent. I vowed I would never make that mistake again, but looking at Cheekbones, I remembered how nice it felt. How secure, if misguided. There’s no I in Team and all that jazz.

When I had no come back for it, he continued lightly, almost as if he knew he may have struck a chord. “You won’t tell me how you know him, and he refuses to speak to me about it. I don’t appreciate people who come into our world and immediately make us lie.”

“You need a reality check, Junho.” I grumbled, massaging the headache that was forming behind my eyes.

“It’s Junmyeon or Suho!” He said crossly, letting his frustration show, and I took full advantage of it.

“Exactly, you’re already lying, so don’t blame it on me!” I barked. “As for Kyungsoo,” I relented, figuring there would be no living with them if I didn’t give them something, “we met six months ago on Okinawa for a grand total of sixty minutes. We’re not friends or even acquaintances. I didn’t even know he was famous until Kojima called me and told me to save him.” He absorbed my every word, and I watched as the gaps in his head started to fill, at least a little bit.

“Okinawa...” He murmured, furrowing his brow at me, “I remember that trip. He went with his parents.”

I didn’t want to be caught up in his reminiscing, especially if he was smarter than he looked, so I just sneered and said, “News to me.”

“The managers were furious with him because he lost his phone.” At that, I faltered. That damn phone. I could still hear it ringing as it went sailing into the sea.

“...s-sucks to be him.” I heard the hesitation in my own voice, knowing full well that Cheekbones was going to register it, and store it away until he had more info. He seemed like the type who got to the bottom of things no matter what, and I would sure hate to have to kill him for it.

Kidding.

“And Kojima.” He continued.

“What about him?” I asked, already knowing that they knew each other. Kojima had made that obvious during the mission.

“He was one of Soo’s old classmates. We’ve met him, he’s a decent guy.”

“Jesus Hinata.” I groaned, finally getting the full extent of what he’d dragged me into. School mates! Really!

“He’s in the Japanese military if I remember correctly.” Cheekbones said slowly, “How exactly did you beat him up?”

“Because...” I faltered, again because I hadn’t thought of what to say. I was a soldier, which was obvious. But my past…it was so tangled up with things I didn’t want them, or anyone, to know. I wasn’t sure how much I could reveal without unraveling my entire self. “Because I’m—”

Suddenly, the door we were standing by swung open, and a man who I assumed was Chief Soo gazed at us boredly.

“Are you two done yet?” His English was heavily accented, but the sass was absolutely there.

Suho transformed before my eyes, cementing my theory that his whole life was a lie, as he smiled his charmer and started in on something in Korean. They discussed for a moment while I tried to make it seem like I knew what was going on. Chief Soo was an average sized guy and he wore his expensive looking suit well, but he had the face of a snotty teenager, turned up in a possibly permanent sneer. His eyes were beady and they glanced to me every so often as I’m sure Suho explained who I was. I shifted from foot to foot, annoyed that I was meeting him in my pj’s; that I was meeting him at a brisk 6:00 am; that I was meeting him at all. If Junmyeon was right about anything, it was that I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into.

After a moment of dialogue, Chief Soo gave a heavy sigh before jerking his head towards his office, apparently code for us to follow. Junmyeon shot me a look of what I thought was pity before guiding me in.

The office was small, but had room enough for a desk and guest chairs. Suho and I sat across as Chief Soo plopped himself down behind his computer. He didn’t speak for a long moment, holding my gaze hostage as I sat stiffly in the chair. It felt like a job interview from hell. Worst part was, I already had the job. When he finally spoke, it only solidified my theory.

“I was not consulted in regards to your hire, therefore I do not consider you a part of my team.” He said through his teeth no less.

“Fan-fucking-tastic...” I muttered under my breath, preparing myself for a battle.

“You were assigned to EXO by CEO Kim, and while I cannot supersede his order, I can refuse to put you on the schedule.

“Chief Soo--” Junmyeon started apologetically, but was cut off like he hadn’t spoken at all.

“You’ll be placed in the carpool rotation until such a time that I can arrange for your termination.” My jaw would have dropped had I not been expecting a worse duty. But I kept my cool, even as he turned his attention from us to his work, like the matter was settled and I was just supposed to take it.

“I signed a contract.” I responded firmly. “You can’t fire me without cause.” This being the one and only time, I’m sure, that I would bring the stupid paper up as a defense instead of a detriment.

“My cause will come soon enough.” He snapped, and I must have touched a nerve because he stood from his desk and leered towards me. He braced on the top like some sort of warlord, and I was a land he was determined to conquer. “Americans are all the same: stubborn, stupid, and quick to quit. You’ll give up and then you’ll be gone.” My jaw really did drop that time, and before I could suppress it, a laugh escaped. A laugh of disbelief, and a laugh of defiance. Because he was right. Sweet baby Jesus, he had no idea how right he was.

Stubborn.

“Laon, you’re making threats against a contracted employee. I have to report this.” Suho interjected, but Chief Soo looked at him like he was a troublesome little boy. I wondered if that’s what he thought of all of these glitter covered idols.

“Report it to whom?” Chief Soo asked, and Suho hesitated to answer. That was the power of the security officer though. If they’re the one causing the trouble, who are you supposed to tattle to?

“It’s fine Junmyeon.” I reached over and patted his knee lightly. His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion but were quickly replaced with horror when I stood and leaned over the desk myself, meeting my new adversary in the middle.

“He’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Suho and I were dismissed…more like thrown out of the office with a slam, and I was giddy about it. I kept giving him excited grins as he escorted me back to the elevator. Grins that he shied away from. I don’t know why, but the prospect of playing the pig-headed American seemed so entertaining. Enough to make at least a small part of it worth it. Suho must have picked up on that, because I think I saw the beginnings of a wrinkle solely dedicated to me forming between his eyes. He left me at the doors with a clipped farewell, not bothering to try and convince me any further. The deed had already been done, and he knew it. I went back to my room with a devilish gleam in my eye and prepared to kick some ass.

Day one of my employment, however, was a bit...of a letdown.

Chief Soo definitely threw me in the deep end, expecting me to drown. What he didn’t know was that I was a pro at sink or swim. I used to play it for fun. But...as I stood in the parking lot outside of SM, staring at that guard shack that was to be my FOB, the thrill of the game diminished. It was small and grey, just big enough to hide from the rain, and little else. Earlier, there had been a man, apparently a coworker, who was discussing with the drivers who came and went. He tinkered with a tablet that I assume held the database of cars, and I grimaced as he let vans park wherever, complained when they came back empty or dirty, and shrugged off the people who showed up with no notice.

It was a logistical mess.

He took a smoke break a little while ago, leaving the tablet in the shack to charge. After button mashing for a bit, I managed to figure out how to switch the language to English and sort out how the system worked. When the man came back, we played charades. He yelled when I wouldn’t return the device, but I whipped out my phone and dictated a phrase into google translate. He seemed fine once I told him I was taking over by order of Chief Soo, even waving as he skipped off. Now it was just a matter of finding out how to make this parking lot functional.

Thank god it wasn’t a busy day, or I might have hurt someone. Firstly, I took stock of all the spare keys in the tiny guard shack and figured out which vans they belonged to. One thing that a soldier can’t live without is duct tape, and I used small strips to label each one. What probably took the longest was moving all the cars to the front of the lot, and re parking them orderly in the back. While I worked, I listened to Fall Out Boy and absently thought up a million different ways to humiliate Chief Soo. The pastime was so effective, that I played jenga with cars until lunch. I wasn’t really sure how long a shift was supposed to last, but I figured I could be quick as I ventured out to forage for food. Surprisingly enough, CEO Kim had kept his promise to me and advanced my first paycheck to cover the outstanding balance on my mother’s mortgage. When I finally got around to calling her, she made no mention of it, but I could hear the relief in her voice. I didn’t tell her I was the cause or that SM had blackmailed me to do it, but just knowing her heart was lighter helped me cope. That, and 7-11. There is absolutely nothing better than the sight of a 7-11 sign on the block when you can’t read a single other thing in the whole city. I practically ran through the doors and spent far too long perusing the snack aisle. With the money I had left, I bought myself provisions, but also kept in mind what Cheekbones--I mean Suho, had said. I bought a giant bag for myself, and then an extra ramen bowl to bait my dorm mates with.

The rest of my shift was spent searching for useful items around the main building: a hose, a bucket, spare paper, a gas can. Things that I figured anyone would have, I found difficult to track down at SM. Were they too good to wash their own cars? Were they so eco-friendly that I couldn’t find a ream? The can…eh, that was a long shot. But in the end, I called it a night when the sun started to set. It wasn’t really tiresome work, but my brain was either fried or numb, I couldn’t decide. Still, I had things to accomplish, however, so when I got back to my room, I grabbed my offering and went in search of an informant.

I picked the door across from mine first. A boy answered, dark hair dark eyes, and looked at me blankly.

“Uh...um, hi. Do you speak English?” I asked with a pained smile. He quickly shook his head and started to close the door. “Oh, okay...bye.” I muttered as the door shut in my face, and I caved to the overwhelming pitifulness. The next door I tried was on the left, and a girl answered with the same result. The door across from hers didn’t answer, but I half bet they were there, they just didn’t want to talk to the American banging on doors. I was getting more frustrated with each snub until finally, I thumped on the door a few down from me, declaring it would be my last. I could learn everything I needed to know from YouTube and it wouldn't be this humiliating!

The girl who answered this time was short with a round face, and bright dark honey eyes. Her hair was braided in pigtails, and I spied purple streaks in her twists. Fervently, I shoved the plastic bag of ramen at her and grumbled,

“Do you speak English?” When she didn’t immediately answer, I pulled the cup back and mumbled something like, ‘of course not’. But as I turned to leave, the sack snagged. I looked back to see she’d grabbed it, doe eyes staring at it desperately. Annoyed, I tried to pull away again, but she squeaked, voice as high as a mouse.

“Do I get the noodles if I speak the English?”

Dumbstruck, I fumbled over my answer. “Uhh...yeah.” I released the bag and she zipped back into the room, stopping just long enough to hold the door open for me.

Her room looked like it used to look like mine, but she had more of a life to move in. Posters were tacked on the walls depicting bands I didn’t know, tea lights were strung overhead and laced into a purple mesh canopy that hung over the bed. Makeup and hair products were strewn over the second, unused bed, and the armoire was bursting with a crazy amount of clothes. I took it all in as the girl pulled a kettle and plate from under her bed.

“You eating too?” She gestured to the other cups in the bag, going under the other bed to pull out a low folding table. She compiled her assembly line, and before I knew it, the ramen was steeping and we were sitting at the table staring at each other.

“So…” I mumbled, “I’m Harper.”

“I’m Tala, but you can call me Gabi.” She said equally shy.

“Why?” Although I knew the answer.

“It’s my stage name.”

“Do all Kpop people have stage names?” I asked, wondering if Bacon or Kyungsoo actually had different names too. Tala snorted, breaking her chopsticks apart.

“No.”

“Why do you?” I pressed, wanting to get to the bottom of this name thing.

“My manager say it helps ‘set me apart’.” She shrugged, making bunny quotes around the explanation. She then pulled off the lid of her ramen cup, a big billow of steam hazing out the lights.

“So you’re an idol than?” I assumed, but she shook her head.

“No, I’m a trainee.” She expertly dug in with her sticks, pulling out a giant glob of noodles and shoving the whole thing in her mouth. There was no way she didn’t see the confusion on my face, but it didn’t stop her. Maybe it was a thing? To shove as much in as possible? I quickly tucked that away, kicking myself for not buying some sort of tour guide book while I was out.  

“How do you become an idol?” I came back, picking at my own soup.

“You have to debut. Duh…” She gave me a dumb look, and in the back of my mind I threw something at Suho for calling the fact that I was out of my league.

“I don’t know how any of this works. I was hoping maybe you could give me a crash course.” I confessed.

“Give you a crash?” She asked, tilting her head like a pretty little bird...with its mouth full.

“Teach me.” I clarified. I was really going to have to watch what I say from now on.

“What can I teach you? I am just trainee.” She avoided, burying her gaze in her ramen.

“Well, first off, you could tell me what it means to be a trainee, how that’s different from being an idol.” I offered, because that was exactly what I wanted to know at the moment. She eyed me skeptically, but after another bite of noodles, asked,

“If I help you, will you give me more ramyun?”

I let out a surprised laugh, amazed that food really was the key like Cheekbones had said.

“Yeah,” I chuckled, “sure.” She put down her chopsticks long enough to shake on it.

I learned a lot more over the next few weeks about Kpop than I ever thought I would in my lifetime. Entertainment companies in Korea were not like the record labels back home. These agencies controlled every aspect of their brand, including: who they chose to train, what image they would portray, when they would begin their career, what type of music they would produce, everything.

Idols start their journeys off as ‘trainees’, having signed a contract with their company, but not ready to ‘debut’, meaning: start performing and stuff. They work daily with the choreographers, vocal coaches, linguists, and managers employed by their company until it’s decided that they are prepared. These baby idols live where I live, in the trainee dorm, either thriving or not in this highly competitive world. And when I say highly competitive, I mean highly competitive. Hell week in boot camp was bad, but at least I didn’t have to sing in perfect pitch while someone bounced a basketball on my stomach.

Tala also taught me that entertainment agencies trade trainees like Pokémon cards, and that’s how she ended up at SM.

“But if SM traded for you...why haven’t you debuted?” I asked one night, laying upside down, feet propped up on her wall. They hurt, especially since I still refused to wear my boots. Tala was laying on her bed, blank sheet music and a pencil taunting her. She’d thrown at least a dozen paper balls at my head already.

“They did not trade for me, I was just in batch they got. Besides, I knew it was long shot when I moved here.” She brushed off my questions like she had grown custom to. She was dramatic and colorful, kind of what I assumed any celebrity would be like if I got to know any. But there was still a youth about her, a shade of naivety she tried very hard to hide. Because of course, there was no room for it in this world. Whenever she’d grown tired of answering my endless questions, she would roll her eyes and tell me to go pester someone else...but I never did.

“You’re not from Seoul?” I tilted my head back to gaze at her upside down. Her response was sharp, and the intensity surprised me.

“I’m not from Korea.” The way she said it wasn’t so much in disgust as it was...discomfort. Like she had to make the distinction. “You’re not?” I rolled over on my stomach, giving her my full attention. To me, it didn’t seem like the topic warranted such a reaction, but who was I to know the difference?

She threw another paper ball at me, and I saw her mouth, ‘typical white person’.

“Where are you from then?” I asked. Apparently I’d stepped on a nerve without meaning to. If I was being considerate, perhaps it was a bit stupid of me to assume she was Korean, but I just...geez, there’s no way to finish that sentence without sounding like an ass, is there?

“Caloocan.” She said, and then waited for me to respond. After a painful moment, she understood that I didn’t know where that was, and she clarified with a sigh. “The Philippines.”

“Oh…” I remarked. I knew next to nothing about the islands, other than that I liked Halo Halo, but I didn’t know how to tell her that without sounding like an even bigger dick than I already was. “Why did you think moving here would be a long shot?” I asked instead. I’d heard Tala sing; in the shower, in the hallways, through the paper thin walls of our dorm. She was really good, and I understood why someone would scout her. What I didn’t understand was why they wouldn’t debut her.

“Because I’m from the Philippines.” She repeated, but this time the words took on an extra weight. I recognized it slowly, having been out of touch for so long, even memories need time to crystalize. It was the same burden carried by those on Okinawa, because they weren’t Japanese, but no one would acknowledge the difference.

“Is that a thing?” I asked delicately, careful to mirror her tone.

“Yes…it is a thing.” was all she said before she went back to ‘not’ writing her music, and my imaginary quote of questions for the day had been met.

[lifeisdabubbles-undersalmondean]

La Pomme ~ Chapter 12

Pairing: Sam x OC (eventual Dean x OC and Dean x Castiel. And I mean eventual.)

Series summary: George is a casual French-Mistake-universe Supernatural fan living in no-COVID 2020, who's life is upended when she's suddenly launched between realities, two years into the boys' past (S13E22). What begins as an insane, immersive fan experience turns into more when Jack goes missing and George offers up her AU information to help track him down. Soon it's discovered that she and Sam may actually have history. But that's impossible, right?

Word Count: 5,500

Warnings: {smut, fluff, angst, show level violence, swearing, mentions of suicide} ***Detailed warnings will be tagged for specific chapters.

A/N: Following the events of my prequel Paradise and second story From My Eyes Off. Reading those first gives context but isn’t necessary to start this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George was lounging in the warm bath water, trying to use breathing exercises to clear her mind and calm herself. It had been a long day, capping off a long almost-month inside the Supernatural Universe. There were so many questions she couldn't answer and she wished she could turn her brain off; focus on anything else.

"George?" She heard Dean's muffled call from the other side of the bathroom door. "You OK in there?"

"Yea," She answered quietly. "Just humiliated," She added with an eye roll.

"Don't sweat it," Came his unusually sympathetic reply. "We've all been there, or somewhere similar… or somewhere worse," He added off handedly, taking another bite of pie. It occurred to him suddenly that the two of them were alone and Dean had a thought. After a moment's hesitation, he swallowed his bite of pie and called timidly, "George?"

"Yea?" She responded curiously, her voice raised slightly to compensate for the sound barrier. There was such a long pause with no answer that she wondered if it had just been her imagination. As she was about to call out again, she heard him finally.

"Can I ask you something?" Came an inquiry so quiet she almost didn't hear it. He sounded uncharacteristically troubled and… nervous?

"Yea, sure," She answered gently.

"What do you know about Michael?"

"Michael who?" Came her quick, confused reply.

"The archangel? Asshole that's been wearing me as a suit the last few weeks?" She was suddenly reminded of the fact that she was living inside of a TV show and it stunned her into silence. "That Michael? Has he not been on the show or...?" The nervous huff in his reply shook her out of her stupor. She realized this must be a hard topic for him. Unfortunately, though, she didn't have any insight to give.

"Oh fuck, right, Michael," She swallowed and gathered her thoughts before replying with a sigh, "I'm sorry, Dean, I don't really know much. I hadn't started this season yet," She finished apologetically.

"Thanks," Came a sarcastic reply.

She frowned and defended, "Look, I have a life, dude! I get behind, I can't always tune in every Thursday! Trust me, no one is more sorry about that than me right now. Maybe if I had, I could have done something to prevent this insane situation." A heavy sigh dotted the end of her sentence pointedly. Then she had a strange, disconcerting thought:

Would you really have prevented this from happening if you had a choice?

The thought startled her and she guiltily refused to answer herself.

A welcome distraction for her was noticing the silence that followed her answer to Dean; George could tell he was still concerned. Reaching over and grabbing the door handle, she cracked it just enough to spy Dean sitting on the edge of the mattress, holding a take out box. He glanced at her almost imperceptibly and she could tell her eyes weren't exactly welcome, so she turned her head away but left the door open.

"Here's what I've heard/seen on accident," She started, pausing to think and then saying carefully, "He comes back somehow," She heard him bristle but kept going, "And you do something to trap him. Some kind of box… or maybe a walk-in freezer?" She was trying to organize the spoilers she'd seen and identify what was related to Michael and what wasn't. "I know that doesn't make a lot of sense and I'm sorry, but that's all I've got."

Dean sighed and shrugged, "It's alright, George. I'm just… feeling lost. Was hoping for some clues, but it's not on you to save my bacon." George gave a wry smile to the bath water and sat quietly for a moment.

Finally she turned her head to look at him and asked, "You want to know what I do know, Dean?"

Slowly, he turned to look at her with an intrigued eyebrow, "I don't know, do I?"

With an amused eye roll she spoke, "I know this--right now--this story line with alternate Michael? It's two seasons behind where you and your brother end up in my reality. And--at least as far as I remember--this alternate Michael isn't a starring role for very long."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows at her in consideration, "Meaning?"

She shrugged and offered, "Meaning, you figure this out. Like you always do. You will figure this out and you will beat Michael and be onto the next big bad, whomever that is. Which, don't even ask because I really have no idea. Haven't watched those seasons at all yet… I think there's one episode where you meet Scooby Doo?"

Dean smirked and rolled his eyes, telling her matter-of-factly, "We already did that."

"No shit?! That already happened?" When he nodded in confirmation George 'ughed' loudly, rolling her eyes, "Damnit, that must have been one of the ones I just watched. What was it like?! Was Shaggy really high? Was Daphne really hot? Was Scooby just adorable?!"

Dean chuckled and answered, "Uh, yes, hell yes, and duh! It's Scooby Doo! Of course he's adorable!"

"Was it weird to be animated?"

He shrugged a little, "Eh, kin-"

She cut him off with a gasp, "Wait! Was all of you animated, like.. did you have all your-"

He shook his head and proclaimed, "That's none of your business!"

"Sorry!" George apologized defensively, then begged, "Tell me you and Daphne-"

"George!" Dean admonished with feigned offense, "I don't kiss and tell."

She scoffed and guessed, "Struck out, huh?"

Dean frowned and simply said, "Her and Fred are an item. I didn't want to break that up," to which George laughed in disbelief.

"Yea, I got it. I think things are starting to come back to me now," George teased him and he shrugged in defeat, unable to deny the fact that he definitely struck out with Daphne. When her laughter died away, she looked at him again and said, "I'm sorry I can't be more of a help. I know, I know, it's not my job to save you but that doesn't mean I enjoy not being able to." They were quiet again for a minute and she sighed, "If I could just call Ryan."

"Who's he?"

"She is my Winchester Wiki," She explained very matter of factly and Dean stared at her with an annoyed expression. With a smile she continued, "She's my friend and she's also a fan of the show; Got me back into it later in life and, well lets just say, she pays closer attention than I do. She'd be able to help you with this whole Michael problem without breaking a sweat. Oh and she's gorgeous," George tossed on and Dean raised a curious eyebrow. She caught his curious expression and asked, "You don't happen to have a phone with trans-universal long distance coverage by chance?"

Dean snorted and shook his head in bemused defeat, "Not on me." He was frustrated that she didn't have more insight on Michael, though somewhat comforted by the fact that-at least in her reality-he wasn't dead yet. That was something, he guessed.

"So," George smirked at him, glee in her eyes, "American's Next Top Model, hmm?"

"What, are you surprised? A house full of attractive models?" Dean gave her an obvious expression.

She shark-mouthed understandably and nodded, "Fair point. Allison cycle 12? Ooof. Hello!"

Dean considered her assessment for a moment, then nodded agreeably but offered, "Mercedes, cycle 2."

George had to remember who that was for a minute but then nodded emphatically, "Yes! Gorgeous and she was good. She ended up top three, right?"

They compared notes for a few minutes, until he finished the last bite of pie in the container he was holding. Then he whipped out his phone and muttered in her direction, "Finish your bath. I'm gonna text Sam for more towels."

When Sam got the text he snagged a pile from a housekeeping cart on their way back to George's room. They had also stopped by the car and brought up a few bags, per his request. Dean carefully handed George the towels through the bathroom door, so as to not accidentally see any bits, and then turned to Sam for a room update.

"Bad news: no adjoining rooms. The best I could do was five doors down. Even more bad news: only one queen bed." Sam held up the room key with a feigned wince. "But listen, I don't think we should leave George alone, so I'll just crash on the floor in here and you can take the room."

"Wow, what a sacrifice," Dean chuckled knowingly at his brother and snatched the key from him. "Shouldn't we have Cas handle it, though?"

"No, why?" Sam protested a little too fast.

"Because he doesn't need sleep. He can keep an eye on the little deserter. Make sure she doesn't do it again?"

Sam frowned, "She's not going to. And if she does, I think I can handle it. How is she supposed to get any sleep with Cas staring at her all night?"

"I don't stare at people when they sleep," Cas interrupted. With a huff he clarified, "I stare at the wall."

Dean looked at the offended angel and shrugged, "It's not that bad. He's quiet. Honestly, it's kind of comforting when you think about it." There was an awkward pause and Dean added, "Sometimes he'll sing for you if you ask nice-"

"Dean," Castiel admonished him for sharing something so intimate. Cas only did that for him.

Sam looked between the two of their sheepish faces and then assured sarcastically, "Yea, a singing angel staring at the wall in the dark. Totally not creepy."

George came out of the bathroom wrapped in the clean towels from Dean. She was now looking a little sheepish as well, "Hey, sorry about earlier. All of it. I jus-"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Dean held up a hand to her. "Save it for the morning. You can spill your guts over breakfast. We couldn't get adjoining rooms, so Cas and I will be just down the hall; Sam will stay with you tonight. On the floor," He said pointedly with a 'behave' look toward Sam, who rolled his eyes in irritation. George nodded, barely listening, and let out a tired sigh.

Then she had a startling thought and groaned, "Shit. I'm going to have to put those crusty clothes back on."

Dean grinned proudly, "You're not the only one with surprise gifts." He took the bags that Sam and Cas had retrieved from the car and set them down on the wooden table.

"What's this?" She asked, grabbing one of the handles and peeking into the bag where she spotted the Friends logo hoodie she'd picked out at Target. "My clothes? My deodorant?! Oh Dean! Thank you so much! I would kiss you but you have pie like… all over your face, but thank you!" As she dug into the bags to search for the PJs, Dean looked questioningly at Sam and Cas who nodded in confirmation.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Dean grumbled, moving over to the sink to wipe his face. Sam shrugged in feigned innocence, laughing internally at his idiot brother.

"How did you get all the clothes I picked?" She asked, impressed.

"We got lucky; Sam happened to hear one of the employees complaining about a nutty woman who'd run from the store like a bat outta hell and abandoned all her stuff," Dean gave her a pointed stare.

She looked first at Sam, and then Cas and Dean, with immense gratitude, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Her spirits had been lifted a little. The fresh underwear alone was going to make her feel a thousand times better.

"They mentioned they'd already put back one or two items when we asked about it, so hopefully we got the right replacements." Sam warned her.

"I don't care! I can apply deodorant and brush my teeth; I'm sure I can put together at least one clean outfit with what's here! So I'm hap-" She suddenly stopped and froze, having discovered a strange item in one of the bags. "Wha?" In one swift motion she pulled out a pale pink lace bodysuit and held it up for them to see. With an annoyed, yet curious expression she looked at Dean and asked, "Someone care to explain this?"

Dean held his hands up in innocence and Sam inspected the garment in confusion.

"It looked nice on the mannequin and the Target associate who helped me pick it out said it was bold, yet feminine. Perfect for the new woman in my life," Castiel happily explained, sounding as though he was reciting someone else's words.

George blushed a bit, looking at Sam and Dean like 'is he for real?', unsure how to respond. Both men shrugged unhelpfully, avoiding eye contact with the item she was still holding, and remained quiet. Cas seemed so proud, she didn't want to ruin it.

Finally, she stuttered out, "Wow. OK, well… thanks. Very thoughtful of you, Castiel…"

"If you wanted to provide me with your exact measurements, the sales associate offered to help me pick out a 'matching bra and panty se'-"

"OK, why don't we quit while we're ahead, eh Buddy?" Dean grabbed up four of the remaining takeout boxes and motioned for Cas to do the same. He then reached for the pink, lacey material in George's hand, jokingly trying to take it from her.

She swatted him with it and held it out of his reach, "Hey! You're the old woman in his life."

He couldn't help but laugh in response, though he shook his head in annoyance, and then headed out the door with the angel in tow, "See you crazy kids in the morning!"

When they left George looked at Sam curiously, "Is it wrong that I kind of want to give Cas 'my measurements' and then watch him try to pick out lingerie?"

Sam smirked in amusement but nodded, "Yes."

"Oh, you're no fun," George chuckled and tossed the teddy back into the bag.

"Perhaps the wrong audience?" He suggested with a chuckle.

"Yea, that's fair," She agreed. While she rifled through the bags and grabbed out some black PJ pants, a light blue, short sleeved t-shirt, and a pair of underwear, Sam watched her quietly. To say he was relieved to find her safe and unharmed was an understatement. He'd also been thrilled by her admission that she liked it here, but, like Cas, he was curious what it meant. And what it could mean for him.

Does she like it enough to stay maybe? He cursed at himself for even thinking it.

"Uh, George?" He finally pushed through the nerves and forced himself to speak.

"Hmm?" She responded curiously, not looking up from her bags just yet.

He tried to adopt a nonchalant, yet comforting tone and asked, "When you were saying earlier that you felt… comfortable here? Like you belong? What did you mean?"

Pausing her rummaging, she glanced over at him, caught off guard by the question. Truthfully, she didn't know if she could answer it. She was quiet for a long time, trying to decide how deep she wanted to get into this.

Finally, she turned to him and said, "Back home I… I've always had this strange, out of place feeling. Major dysphoria my whole life and kinda irritatingly painful too, like... full body restless leg syndrome. I've always imagined it similar to how a trans individual might experience feeling like they were born in the wrong body, ya know?" Sam made a noise of confirmation and she continued, "Except, my body is fine--well, it's not the cause of this problem anyway," they chuckled together.

"It's more… my whole being was wrong somehow, like I didn't belong. Anywhere. I had trouble connecting with people and making friends; even my own family seemed so different from me. I felt like I was on a different wavelength than other people, and not in a snooty, I'm-better-than-anybody way but like a sad, I-have-hardly-any-friends-because-I-can't-relate way, so it sucked. Hard. My family wasn't much help; though they tried to help by testing me for every 'disorder' you could think of. Nada. I was just… inexplicably different and no one could explain why. I could barely explain what I was feeling. They--my parents--were surprisingly relieved when I came out after college. For them, my 'struggle with the fact that I liked boys and girls throughout my childhood' explained everything away so perfectly, that they wrote it off right then and there. But it never had to do with that; my sexuality was nothing I ever struggled with, I just didn't feel like I needed to tell them. And since I'm still queer in this reality..." She trailed off her point, allowing him to fill in the blanks, with a chuckle.

Sam nodded with a sympathetic smile, clearly reading on her face how painful her experience had been. Gently he asked, "And now, being here, i-in this reality, you feel...?"

Her head tilted to the side and, looking at him wide-eyed, she sighed deeply, "Now? God, now, I feel… normal? Or, at least what I can only assume normal people feel like." Suddenly her voice was heavy with deep emotional relief, "I don't know how to explain it… and I don't know why, maybe I don't even care why, but I feel so good for the first time in forever. Emotionally, spiritually, physically... The constant restless buzzing is mercifully just gone. Sometimes I think I feel it again--that terrible, agonizing discomfort--and my heart skips a beat. But then my brain registers that it really is gone and I still feel good! And that feeling is almost better than the best sex I've ever had."

Sam shark-mouthed in surprised appreciation and teased kindly, "So, I guess you did know how to explain it?"

George let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding with a chuckle and nodded, "Yea, I guess so. Honestly, I'm a little scared to go back," A few tears that had welled up as she was proselytizing spilled down her cheeks uncontrollably and she reached up to wipe them away, blushing lightly.

As George contemplated her admission in the silence, the guilt she felt over leaving them earlier was back. Why the hell did she leave if she'd felt so damn good here? She also felt like a stupid, impulsive child running away from the only people who seemed to care about her, at least insofar as they didn't want her to die. She felt especially guilty that Sam had stuck his neck out for her with Dean and she'd basically stomped on it.

Sam stood awkwardly, watching her with an empathetic grimace. He nearly leapt over to comfort her but… Christ, was this situation complicated. Maybe if things were different, maybe if she wasn't safer in her old reality, maybe if they hadn't handcuffed her to a chair and interrogated her, maybe if she hadn't spent the last few hours crying through an existential crisis, maybe if he wasn't terrified she would push him away in disgust? Maybe if she wasn't practically naked right now... maybe then he wouldn't feel so torn about walking over and wrapping her up into a bear hug.

After a moment of nervously wringing her fingers, George met his eyes and took a deep breath, apologizing, "I'm sorry I ran, Sam. I don't even really know why I-"

"Hey, you don't have to explain anything to me," Sam shook his head definitively, taking a few small steps toward her, now within arms reach. "I understand what you're going through-sort of, and you know, in reverse but still-I get it. Don't worry about it," He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it, "I'm just happy I found you."

At his touch, her heart skipped a beat and she felt her whole body flush, goosebumps forming on her skin. The sincerity in his voice and the look in his eyes nearly made her physically swoon. Was that an admission of something or just a subtextless statement of forgiveness? Staring into his eyes made her feel like she was on the downswing of the world's tallest roller coaster. She had to force herself to break eye contact before she could breathe again. He squeezed her hand once more before slowly letting go and as he did she had a realization.

"Thank you." Mustering up a smile through her butterflies, she clumsily grabbed the clothing she needed. "Anyway, I'm suddenly very, very aware of the fact that I'm naked-oh and have been since the three of you got here," She realized, blushing again. Jesus, I took a bath with Dean Winchester in the next room. Her legs felt like jelly as she tried to remain cool, calm, collect, walking toward the bathroom, "Uh, so, I should probably go put some clothes on, now."

Sam nodded understandingly and said with an earnest expression, "Hopefully not on my account." When George froze mid step and jerked her head towards him, burning red from head to toe, he faltered, "Er-uh-I just meant, you don't need to feel uncomfortable naaak-err-without-I mean you aren't making me uncomfortable while-without… clothes." George was relaxed by his shy, adorable stuttering, although at this point 'shy' surprised her. He'd been just as bold back at the bunker, more than once. He sighed and gave her a meek smile, "Uh, somehow this sounded less creepy in my head."

With a chuckle she put him out of his misery, "Relax, Ravenclaw, I understand. It's not on your account, it's on mine," She assured him, to which he nodded thankfully, a relieved expression on his face. She turned back to the door of the bathroom, pushing it open and stepping in.

When she exited the bathroom again, now fully clothed, the only light in the room was now the small, soft light above the bed. At first, the room seemed empty and George wondered if she'd scared Sam away with all her emotions. She was about to call out for him when she finally noticed a pair of big old feet sticking out from along the side of the bed near the window.

"Sam? What are you doing?" She walked over and found him lying on the ground on top of one solitary blanket.

"Just relaxing." He shrugged boyishly.

"On the floor?"

He clarified, "On my bed."

"Sorry, this tissue paper is supposed to be your bed?" She asked for clarification.

"Standard issue motel comforter. And, yea, it's perfect," He reached down on his side and pulled the right side of the blanket over himself. "See, you just fold the top over and it becomes a mattress and a blanket in one!" He seemed genuinely pleased about his makeshift accommodations, as though he was sharing a trade secret with her.

"Wow," she tried to sound impressed, "clever." She hopped onto the bed above him complimenting a bit sarcastically, "Quite the boy scout, aren't you?"

His head jerked up to look at her. There it was again. Another line direct from his dream falling familiarly from her lips. Hearing the pet name conjured images in his mind of the dream woman saying it. It felt identical.

But, how? That dream wasn't real. It was just Gabriel. George is a different woman, it's just a coin-

"Hey, can I ask you something?" George cut into his internal panicking with a soft voice suddenly.

"Yep?" He tried to seem nonchalant.

"Well… OK, I'm just going to say this because fuck it, I have nothing to lose at this point," She wasn't looking at him but sensed his nervous curiosity right away. Ignoring her own butterflies, she said, "Seems to me that the Sam I met at the bunker would have committed to that earlier 'unintended' innuendo." She raised a sideways brow at him, checking out of the corner of her eye to make sure he understood what she was referencing. When she could tell he did, she finally turned her head to meet his eyes and with a shy smile asked, "So, what gives?"

Sam considered her question for a minute; he wasn't sure where to start. Finally he folded his hands in his lap and shrugged sadly, "Actually, uh-about that, I feel like I owe you an apology."

Oooh, that doesn't sound good, George tried to hide her grimace. Her stomach started twisting in painful knots. What's that you were saying about nothing to lose?

"Por que?" She was trying to stave off a cold sweat.

"For… Well, I guess, how about handcuffing you to a chair and interrogating you for starters? For allowing you to be sexually assaulted by a demon? For letting you risk your life to come with us on this hunt? For hitting on you when you were obviously going through a difficult time? Take your pick."

She let out a breath of surprised relief and smiled curiously, "Oh… well in that case, let me just say: one, your brother was the one who handcuffed me to the chair--and it was understandable. Two, it's not your responsibility to protect me from the likes of Tim. He wasn't the first creep and he won't be the last." He seemed thoroughly unsatisfied by that response, so she tried to lighten it up by continuing, "And three, you didn't let me come on the hunt. Clearly I strong armed you." A tiny snort of amusement emitted from him and she smirked, then added curiously, "And, lastly, just to be clear… you were hitting on me?"

He huffed in humiliation, running his hand over his face, unable to look at her, "God, I feel like a real jackass." A blackhole was growing in the pit of his stomach. "Your world was literally turned upside down and you needed help not--not some weird, bunker dwelling asshole making advances."

"Uh, Sam," At first George laughed; the absurdity of the hottest man on television apologizing for hitting on her struck her funny bone. However, when it registered just how sober the tone of his voice was, the reality of the situation hit her again like a ton of bricks. She realized that part of her was still anticipating Jared to break at some point and reveal all of this had been an elaborate set up. It hadn't occurred to her yet that, for Sam, this was all real. His sincerity touched her.

She swallowed down the rest of her laughter, along with her typical smartass response, and smiled kindly, "Thank you for the apology and I appreciate the thought, I really do, but it's not necessary. You had no idea, considering I lied to you--which I'm also sorry about if I haven't already said that." That last part came out quickly upon realizing she might not have apologized yet. He gave her a kind smile and waved her off gently, so she continued, "So, please don't feel guilty. And I'll let you know if your advances are ever unwanted. Promise."

The deja vu hit him again so hard it knocked the wind out of him. His eyes snapped up to meet hers from his spot on the floor. A blush creeped across her cheeks as he stared curiously. She was back on the roller coaster, butterflies tumbling in her gut, but forced herself to keep eye contact, allowing him to conduct his search. She wasn't sure what he was so determinedly looking for but she hoped he was finding it.

A mix of emotions wrestled within him at the moment. Though he knew logically it made no sense, he was having a harder and harder time denying that he knew this woman, intimately--in every sense of the word. But, how?! And, holy shit, was she saying what he hoped she was saying? He could feel his hopes skyrocketing while he struggled to hold them down in self-preservation.

A huge yawn broke out on her face, ruining the moment and snapping Sam out of his stupor.

"Whoa, Jesus," She laughed a bit, surprised by the force of the yawn.

"Time for bed?" Sam tried to mask his disappointment at the disruption. She nodded agreeably.

"Listen, could you at least take a pillow, please? One pillow? For me?" Pulling the sheets back, so she could climb in, she yanked a pillow out and tossed it over the edge of the bed. She heard it land with an audible POOMPF right on his face. "Oops," she said with a snicker, reaching over to turn off the lamp on the table while he adjusted the pillow behind his head.

Sliding up under the covers, she settled down on her back. The deafening silence in the room allowed her mind to wander freely while she stared up at the ceiling. After a moment she rolled onto her side and peeked over the edge of the bed, surprised to find Sam's beautiful hazel eyes staring intensely back at her in the dark.

She whispered, "Sam?"

"Yeah?" Came a soft, low rumble, as he continued to stare back.

"How did you find me?" She wondered.

"Uh…" He turned away from her quickly and shifted nervously. He felt compelled to be honest with her; luckily the shroud of darkness made him bolder than he would have been in the harsh light of day. "We tracked you through the cab company mostly. Lost your trail at the diner and then… I'm not really sure. We were driving around and when I saw the sign for the motel I… uh, just had a strong feeling that you were here?"

"...uh huh." His answer surprised her. So much so, that she had to break eye contact and lay back down. She stared at the ceiling in shock.

What did that mean?

Though even as she asked herself the question, she had a feeling that she already knew. It was a feeling that didn't exactly put her at ease; raising more questions than it answered. She mulled it over for a few moments, before deciding she was too tired to pull at that thread.

She finally shrugged a little and said, "Good instincts?"

"Yeah… that must be it," He trailed off, having a nearly identical conversation with himself, and they fell silent again.

"Sam?" She said, choking back a nervous laughter. When she heard him respond with a curious grunt she hesitated. Finally, she blurted in a quiet, definitive whisper, "Samgirl. No question." When she could hear the smile behind another, practically silent--as though he was trying to hide it--grunt of confirmation she smiled wide, adding quickly, "And just so you know, that is the first and last time you will ever hear me utter that silly term of my own volition."

"Understood," He murmured in a teasingly serious tone, making her laugh quietly.

With another big yawn, she forced herself to stop engaging. Before rolling over, she tossed over her shoulder, "And don't tell Dean. He'll be devastated and we have a job to do." The sound of his joyful chuckling was the last thing she heard before sleep overtook her.

[theotherwesley]

Wesley Watches And Rates All The Faust Operas

You thought I was kidding, but here we are: 

*I am not an expert, and my advice should never be followed.  I am but a humble nerd with a passion, dragging you along on my youtube-tour. You probably shouldn’t quote me, but using this as a starting point and guide to this particular musical and literary phenomenon is encouraged! The information below was gleaned largely from wikipedia, vague memories of my BA degree, and my own assessment of the source materials.

My ratings are based on my subjective enjoyment, and a few preferential criterion such as:  1) Was Mephistopheles fuckable, 2) Did I get to see an orgy of witches, 3)Does Marguerite pass the Sexy Lampshade Test, and 4) Was Faust Dragged to Hell.

Preliminary Notes: originally, the legend of Doctor Faust came from the sixteenth century and was inspired by one man (or possibly two who were later conflated), Johann SpidersGeorg Faust, who was your average practitioner of Renaissance Magic. He was not an especially savory individual; he had racked up quite a criminal record and been boastful enough of his “christlike” abilities to heal the sick and perform miracles that he’d seriously annoyed the church. He was denied entry into a city due to accusations of Necromancy and Sodomy. Being an alchemist, Faust got up to some particularly adventurous chemistry experiments, the last of which failed so spectacularly that his lab exploded and the doctor was reduced to his component parts. His remains after death were so gruesome that his colleagues came to the obvious conclusion: He’d been personally dragged to Hell by Satan himself. AND THUS WAS A LEGEND BORN.

The story of Faust was told and disseminated in sixteenth century chapbooks (early printing-press zines, if you will) as a dramatic morality tale. It is from the chapbooks we originally get the character of Mephistopheles, the pact exchanging 24 years of service for the soul, the famulus named Wagner, the wild adventures through various courts, and the conjuration of Helen of Troy. Aside from in the chapbooks, there is one version of Chrisopher Marlowe’s play Doctor Faustus, where the titular character is torn asunder by demons as he is dragged to hell-- but unfortunately for me, a known B-movie horror enthusiast-- this ending appears in no subsequent retellings of the Faust legend. Cowards.

Goethe’s play Faust is obviously the most famous adaptation of the legend, and through it the legend turns from a cautionary tale to a story of hubris, love, faith, and philosophy. If you’re not already familiar with Faust, you might take a moment to read it or at least check out the act summaries. You’ll understand everything that references it a lot better if you do, even if you just read Part I (the second part gets a bit tedious unless you have a fetish for Herodotus and metaphysics-- but there’s a cute homunculus in a bottle! and talking sphinxes and griffons! and kinky rose petals! Angel butts!!!). 

 Armed with this knowledge, let the opera tour begin:

Faust (1816, Louis Spohr)

--The Libretto with English translation 

--Playlist of the whole opera

It’s very pretty! The style and over-all sound reminds me of a Mozart opera, which, I guess, is not too surprising considering they were more or less contemporaries who trained and worked in similar circles. (Louis Spohr! He did collaborations with Beethoven! He invented the violin chinrest! Who knew! Not me! Anyway--) This Faust is not based on either Marlowe or Goethe’s Faust, but rather some miscellaneous adventures from the early Faust legends and chapbook pamphlets. In this version Faust ensnares a devil named Mephistopheles to his service, vowing to use his powers for the good of mankind. Great plan! That always goes well! 

There’s a love potion, a flying cape, a duel with an outraged rival-- all the usual necessities for a Faust story, only now there’s not one but TWO young women screwed over by Faust’s philandering! (His first love, Röschen, and erstwhile damsel-in-distress, Kunilingus. ....*checks notes*, sorry, no, “Kunigunde”). Mephistopheles is cattily insightful, the wronged women team up to avenge themselves against their seducer, and yes, yes indeed, Faust Is Dragged To Hell!  

The poetry of the libretto is quite pleasing, it’s got some great dialogue and epic fantasy sequences. Mephistopheles puts on show of infernal pyrotechnics with 17th century stage effects, all of them tremendous fire hazards. Someone gets dragged to Hell by a chorus of dancing goblins before Act 1 even finishes-- O my cup runneth over! We get the witches’ sabbath atop Mt Blocksberg, there’s a guest appearance by Sycorax, everyone gets real horny up there with a love potion, it’s great. 

Mephistopheles seems to be on the ladies’ side in the story (as much as he’s on any human’s side), in that he cautions them not to trust Faust, and urges them on when they FREAKING TEAM UP AND GO TO SEEK VENGEANCE. Oh my god it’s so great. Kunigunde attacks Faust and Faust freaks out and tells Mephistopheles to save him and Meph is all “what’s that? I don’t know, suddenly I can’t read”. Meph is also the one doing all the actual rescuing of distressed maidens, at Faust’s behest. He views Faust’s attempts to break the laws of Love and Nature with contempt, knowing that Faust’s soul is on the fast track to Hell. There’s no actual pact here; Meph is the one being held hostage. He makes sure that Faust doesn’t enjoy any of the spoils of his sorcery, so Faust’s ennui and dissatisfaction remain the same as before he began his quest to “Use Hell’s Powers For Good”. 

And just quick review of the scoreboard: Faust used his powers to do 1 (one) useful thing with his power before he ruined a bunch of people’s lives in quick succession, murdering Kunigunde’s betrothed and driving Rose to suicide. He still cries about it and the “rich seeds of Good he sowed” but Meph is having none of it and HE. DRAGS. THAT. BOY. TO. HELL!!!!!!! EXEUNT.

Rating: 4/5 Stars. Better than expected! I want a revival of this version! With stabbing! And special effects! Mephistopheles is truly doing the Lord’s work here, no offense to his demonship. Lost some points with me for being so very, very heavy on the pining and lovesick maidens, but won me back when the lovesick maidens picked up daggers. 

Faust and Marguerite (1855, Lutz) and Faust up to Date (1888, Lutz)

Straight up can’t find this one! But this early silent film short is apparently based on it?  IDK folks, if you have a recording of this you’d like to share with me, I’d be delighted to hear it. 

As for the burlesque, I suspect it hasn’t actually been performed since 1888. But the music is pretty cute! The Pas de Quatre, aka “Skirt Dance” seems to be the only track that’s stuck around. Here it is played on an old disc music box. 

Rating: ??? 

La damnation de Faust (1846, Berlioz) 

--Libretto in French and English

--La Damnation de Faust with Jonas Kaufmann --I like this one because Faust is super duper cute and this Mephistopheles reminds me of an OC makes yellow work. 

--This is the first of what I’m called The Big Three Faust Plays; all modeled after Goethe’s Faust specifically, written within roughly ten years of each other, and which feature the most well-known arias that I’m aware of. 

This opera positively reeks of Romanticism; it’s got Byron out the ears, it’s wading through Wordsworth, it’s doing the Grand Tour, it’s gazing mournfully from the top of Mont Blanc, contemplating Nature and the Human Spirit. It’s Berlioz, buckle up. 

The beginning is obviously Faust wallowing in ennui. He considers suicide, but is interrupted by a timely reminder of Christianity. Suddenly the devil appears in order to take advantage of a soul precariously teetering on the edge between redemption and damnation.  In this version, the devil does not announce himself as the devil, but rather as the ~Spirit of Life~, here to show Faust the joys of the world. (There’s no pact at first, Meph is just “get in bitch we’re going debauching” and Faust’s like “aight” and they’re off.) The devil takes Faust on a fun tour of life’s noteworthy attractions such as “Drunk Student Karaoke”, “Dancing Gnomes”, and “A Nice Forest Nap”.

During his magical nap Faust sees a vision of Marguerite (later we learn she has simultaneously dreamed of Faust) and falls in love. He awakes with the usual boner for this Maiden of Radiant and Humble Virtue who Nature Hath Sheltered In Perfect Simplicity, because that’s always a big turn-on. Meph steers the course of their interactions very carefully, using magic and fairies and wisps to enchant the couple’s surroundings to ensure they are surrounded by romantic atmosphere the whole time. Once they’ve gotten into some heavy necking, he bursts in and tells them that the whole town is coming with pitchforks and also someone’s told the girl’s mother and they’re in big trouble. Faust flees. 

Everyone does some quality Pining, Faust sings a sad song about Nature, and then Meph shows up again saying “hey I hope this doesn’t put a damper on our vacation, but Marguerite is in prison for murder and she’s going to be executed BUT QUICK, ACT NOW AND WE CAN SAVE HER for just one quick easy payment of your immortal soul” and Faust is just like “WHAT WHERE WHO WHAT UH FINE YES SURE OKAY SHIT, WOW, LET’S GO” and Meph is >:))) and they jump on their horses and ride off to go save her except OOPS, NO THEY DON’T because actually they are RIDING INTO THE WAITING JAWS OF HELL!!!! NYAK NYAK NYAK NYEEEEEHHHHH!!! Faust burns for eternity, Marguerite goes to heaven, curtain. 

Rating: 3.5/5 Look, I’m not saying I’m biased, but Mephistopheles doesn’t even show up until half an hour into the opera, okay? I find this one hard to sit through even though the music is really delightful; and I do mean it is gorgeous music. Between the two famous mocking serenades, “Devant la maison” shoots “Vous quid faites l’endormie” right out of the water; all the chorus pieces are fantastic; the Hungarian March is a great instrumental piece; Faust actually has some decent arias for once (rarer in each subsequent opera), and there is Brander’s wonderfully irreverent Rat Song... I think the reason this doesn’t hold my attention as much as other versions is that the plot is very meandering and the characters don’t have concrete motivations; they’re sad teenagers in love, I guess? And the devil tricks them? This whimsical aspect is 1000% part and parcel of the Romantic Aesthetic I realize, but personally I came for a recognizable story and got mostly pastoral vignettes. We spend half the opera listening to Frolicking Peasants and Men At Arms. Mephistopheles just hops out of the woodwork to play a dirty trick on a random guy getting his Byronic Mope on. There’s no pact, no soul-signing until the very end, and it’s just a plain ol’ tricky trap, not a device to punish hubris or moral crimes. I’m even reluctant to give this its rightful Dragged To Hell points because out of all the Faust scenarios, this is the one where he seems to deserve it the least! He doesn’t actually do anything bad! It’s not satisfying if he’s dragged to Hell for no reason! Pfui. However, points gained back for the made-up Satanic babble sung by infernal chorus at the end.  

Faust (1859, Gounod) 

--Libretto in French and English

--1995 Adaptation with Samuel Ramey as Mephistopheles  You already know I’m a slut for Samuel Ramey playing the devil in any capacity so I’ll spare you my gushing play-by-play of his performance. The quality of this video is.... not great. I apologize. I still love it, but you’re going to want to find a clearer recording of the music if you want to get the most out of this opera. 

--2011 Adaptation with Paul Gay as Mephistopheles (Warning: this version is quite lurid and includes some staging choices that I find pretty uncomfortable-- I can’t decide if the director is consciously trying to highlight predatory sexism as a bad thing or if it’s just kind of included to make things seem ~spicy~. Anyway, it’s otherwise a high quality production with an interesting set design, just be warned that there’s some on-stage grossness. Also, a hilariously bad decapitated head prop! --to accompany a truly baffling ending. To its credit, the death of Valentin was genuinely pretty moving and made me feel... er, well, anything about the character. Tassis Christoyannis’s made that aria memorable, which is more than I can say of other productions. 

Second of the Big Three! 

Gounod introduces a more complete cast of characters borrowed from Goethe’s Faust to flesh out the the story and setting; we meet Wagner the student, a regiment of soldiers including Marguerite’s brother, Valentin, and their young friend Siebel (a pants role-- which immediately endears me to this character because I’m a ~big ol’ queer~). Later we meet Marguerite’s nosy old neighbor, Martha, who is REAL thirsty for Mephistopheles and who I relate to very much.

 This opera follows Goethe’s Faust- Part I much more closely than its predecessor, and where it does not follow the original, it diverges in favor of making the story more engaging and streamlined. There is WAY LESS pining into the aether, and more sword fights. The larger cast of named characters makes for more interactions, which in turn makes for more memorable moments on stage, better dialogue, a comprehensible timeline of events, and more concrete motivations for everyone. 

A SUMMARY: Faust’s pact in this version has nothing to do with the philosophical wager seen in Goethe, but is simply an exchange of his soul for returned youth. He is old, he’s spent his life studying, he wants to be young and full of passion again. He seals the deal after the devil offers him a vision of Marguerite, whose sight is so inspiring and lovely that Faust is overcome with desire for her alone. They go to find her, encountering on the way a regiment of students and soldiers, one of whom is Marguerite’s brother, Valentin, who is going off to war leaving his sister in the care of young Siebel. Getting Marguerite to stop and talk to Faust proves difficult since she is so pure and virtuous that A) Mephistopheles has no power over her, and B) she’s wary of the compliments of strangers. Faust gets Mephistopheles to bring her a case of jewels to warm her up to him, then Mephistopheles concocts a ruse to distract her nosy neighbor Martha and give them an excuse to meet Marguerite (shenanigans ensue). The ploy works, Marguerite is seduced, and in love with Faust. Cut to some time in the future, when Oh No Everything Has Gone Horribly Wrong; Faust has gone away and left Marguerite pregnant and unmarried, she is shunned by society with the exception of Siebel, meanwhile her brother has come home from the war to find her in a disgrace. Faust and Mephistopheles eventually return, but encounter an enraged Valentin who duels Faust to avenge his sister’s honor. Faust, of course, uses Mephistopheles’s magic to cheat, and Valentin is fatally stabbed. With his dying breaths, he curses his sister and blames her for his death, since he died defending her honor-- the people who witness this are rightfully aghast that he’d use his last moments to denounce his own sister-- and rightly so, because that’s a real dick move. Faust flees, and Marguerite is left on her own with no support and a newborn child to care for. She seeks refuge and forgiveness in the church, but finds she cannot pray, haunted by voices and cursed by Mephistopheles himself, as he whispers in her ear, promising damnation. She faints, and is presumably driven mad. Cut to Faust, who is being treated to a front-row seat of Walpurgisnacht. During the revels he sees another vision of Marguerite, this time of her in chains and awaiting execution for the murder of her child. Mephistopheles grudgingly takes Faust to see her in prison, where he tries to rescue her. In her fevered state she will not leave, wanting Faust to instead stay with her in the cell. During the delay, she sees Mephistopheles and finally puts two and two together, knowing a devil when she sees one, and understanding that Faust is not only responsible for her suffering but also in league with infernal powers. She pushes him aside, rejects him, and throws herself instead on the mercy of God, choosing death and redemption over being rescued by the man whose affections ruined her. Mephistopheles ruefully pronounces her condemned, but a voice from Heaven pronounces her Saved. Faust watches in awe as Marguerite’s soul ascends to Heaven, and he is left alone and presumably damned. 

Why is this framing of the story significant? Because it’s about her. Faust is only an instrument; his soul is not especially remarkable, he might have been damned without any devil to encourage him.

 But Marguerite’s soul was untouchable to Mephistopheles; he puts a vision of her before Faust for a reason. We don’t waste any time bemoaning Faust’s moral downfall; Faust is not the one seeking redemption at the end of the opera. Faust is a means to an end, and that end is leading an otherwise spotless soul into perdition.

 This opera has Mephistopheles at his most sinister, his most manipulative; he is the one driving Marguerite deeper into misfortune, who isolates her, mocks her, whispers condemnation into her ear her until she doubts everything. Desperate, without support and seeing no way forward, no future for herself or her child, Marguerite kills her baby, or is led to do so by Mephistopheles. Without a doubt, this has been the devil’s plan all along, and with Marguerite now branded a murderess, he thinks he’s won. But Faust, despite taking no responsibility for his actions, nevertheless feels pity and remorse at her misfortune, and goes to rescue her--and  this gives Marguerite the chance to finally see what he is.

 She rejects him; she does not choose love, she does not choose to live or be rescued by the forces that ruined her in the first place. She stays, renews her faith, and thwarts Mephistopheles’s best efforts to damn her. This is not about a man's hubris; it is about Marguerite escaping the devil and saving herself on her own terms. That’s why I find this version to be poignant. 

Some musical highlights: “Le veau d’or” (the golden calf)-- if not my favorite of Mephistopheles’s ballads then in the top three, particularly because it lends itself to some flamboyant acting; Marguerite’s “Ballade un roi de Thulé” (the king of Thule) is absolutely haunting; and "Seigneur, daignez permettre", aka The Church Scene is fucking incredible-- the juxtaposition of Marguerite’s pleas and the choir’s Dies Irae, the echoing church organs in the background, Damnation seeming to gain a voice of its own to summon her... it’s some real Eyes-of-Notre-Dame Hellfire shit. 

Rating: 5/5! A perfect score! Gounod wins the first place ribbon. Though he beats Boito’s “Mefistofele” (up next) on several key points, I want you to know that my personal bias will probably always be in favor of “Mefistofele” on account of being a ho for the titular character. --But Gounod’s is the better opera, fair and square. “Faust” has the most comprehensive storyline, the most memorable arias, and the best (I think) balance of both humor and poignance.  I will give this version the benefit of a Dragged to Hell point even though we don’t actually get to see the final deed. The Walpurgisnacht scene does exist as a ballet, so I’ll still give it the points even though it gets cut out of most productions for length (sometimes the ballet is performed as a stand-alone event). Additionally, he scores most favorably on the Marguerite > Sexy Lampshade scale-- this is a story about her more than it’s about Faust or Mephistopheles, and I’m here for that.

Thank you Mr. Gounod, you may retrieve your Incredibly Prestigious Award from my blog after the ceremony. 

Mefistofele (1868, Boito) 

--Libretto in Italian and English

--HERE IT IS, MY FAVORITE ONE, MY FAVORITE MEPHISTOPHELES, SAMUEL RAMEY, MOSTLY SHIRTLESS, FLIPPING OFF GOD AND LIGHTING A CIGARETTE ON STAGE IN HIS MATCHING CHERRY-RED TAILCOAT AND VIOLIN CASE 1989 (WHICH IS THE YEAR OF MY BIRTH, NO COINCIDENCE, I THINK)

--Oh, fun fact! The opera scene in Batman Begins is the chorus from the witches sabbath. If you thought it sounded familiar, this might be why.

Anyway. This is the third of the Big Three most-referenced Faust operas!  

Unlike its predecessors, Mefistofele covers both part I and part II of Goethe’s Faust, starting with the seduction of Marguerite and moving on to serenading Helen of Troy and finally with Faust’s redemption. The first part of the opera is very similar to Gonoud’s Faust, but first there is a Prologue, which is taken pretty much directly from Goethe.  And oh my god, is the Prologue hilarious. We encounter Mephistopheles, the titular character, on his way to work-- or more just loitering around in the aether as one does when one is bored and immortal and humanity is going on sinning with or without you, when he stops to greet the Lord God in passing, all satirical charm and sarcasm. God, very graciously, does not ask him whether he has anything better to do, but instead inquires if he knows Faust.

 “Oh yeah, that guy. Neck beard, likes science, big fan of yours. Sure I’ve heard of him,” says Meph. “Hey, you seem like a betting man--”

“Um,” says God.

Meph continues; “I bet I can tempt him into sinning and thus damn his immortal soul to Hell!” 

God agrees-- because God already knows the future and thinks this will be a fun way to build character. 

A choir of angels descends and Mephistopheles gets grossed out, sprays them with insect repellent, and leaves. (I am paraphrasing). 

The next few scenes are pretty familiar; Faust laments his ennui, a chorus of peasants and students celebrate a festival, Faust is on the cusp of a revelation that Jesus is neat, but is interrupted by the devil. The devil introduces himself, offers Faust his services on earth if Faust agrees to serve him in Hell after death. 

Faust, who seconds ago was ready to devote himself to a life of holiness, sayeth “yolo” and they shake on it, with the condition that Mephistopheles can reveal to him one moment of such surpassing joy and beauty that Faust will wish for it to last forever-- thereupon Faust consents to being dragged immediately to Hell. Because pssh, that’s later and who cares about later?? They hop on Mephistopheles’s magic cape, and fly off to have adventures.  CUT TO: Faust seducing Marguerite and Mephistopheles distracting her nosy neighbor Martha. THEY KISS, FAUST LEAVES, HE GOES TO A PARTY ON MT. BROCKEN. HE SEES A VISION: MARGUERITE IN PRISON! QUICK, TO THE RESCUE! BUT NO, SHE REJECTS HIM, HER SOUL IS SAVED, SHE DIES-- Wait, what? I hear you ask-- She just got here, she wasn’t even introduced, now we’re skipping to the end? The answer is: yes. Yes, you’re just supposed to know what’s going on already. 

To be fair, Faust operas are the Spiderman remakes of the nineteenth century; there’s a new one coming out every ten years or so, Goethe is required reading, everyone is writing Faust fanfiction-- no one is wondering who the girl is or how they met or is wondering if they’ll kiss or not. Everyone knows the plot already, it’s fine.

BUT THIS ISN’T THE END! No indeed! Now we are on a tour of PART II of Goethe’s Faust! You know, the part you skipped! Don’t worry, Boito isn’t making the entire metaphysical play into an opera, just the juicy bits with Helen of Troy. Marguerite is instantly and completely forgotten-- this is now a Helen/Faust one-shot, which Mephistopheles is forced to watch with annoyance. 

CUT TO: Faust’s old laboratory from Act 1, where he is on the brink of death, lost in a reverie of all the good times he’s had. Mephistopheles is hovering over him, tapping his wristwatch and reminding Faust of his past loves and glories, incredulous that Faust hasn’t yet found his One True Moment™.

 Faust just sighs and says “gee, I guess the REAL happiness was the good I could have done along the way but absolutely didn’t!” and God busts in through the ceiling with a HALLELUJAH and Mephistopheles is like “oh don’t you dare, don’t you fucking-- THINK OF ALL THE GOOD TIMES WE HAD, ALL THE SEXY LADIES I GOT YOU TO MEET! AFTER ALL I’VE DONE FOR YOU AS YOUR WINGMAN--” and Faust faceplants into the bible and goes straight to Heaven. Meph is left spitting in defiance as he sinks into the earth. THE END.

Why this framing is significant: The way Boito has arranged and cropped the scenes makes this story very much center around Mephistopheles. While Berlioz’s Faust was about the suffering of a young man for love, and Gounod’s was about the victory of Marguerite over Hell, Boito’s opera is about the humorous tragedy of Mephistopheles, whose endeavor was rigged to fail from the onset. 

Faust doesn't end up in Hell in Goethe's version, and I accept this because Mephistopheles lost his bet on a technicality: the Moment™ Faust wished to prolong was not provided by Mephistopheles, it was caused by his sincere desire to do a last bit of good in the world, coming to the conclusion (after being made blind by the goddess of Care) that benefiting mankind is what brings one happiness, not knowledge or fleeting pleasures. It wasn’t that he suddenly found Christ or gave himself over to God, as the opera implies, but because he finally realized the worth of striving to do good, and fond a source of platonic love within himself, which makes his soul redeemable despite his pact with the devil. So Goethe gives us a humanist, philosophical explanation for Faust's redemption..... BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY-- he has Mephistopheles lose Faust's immortal soul because he's Too Fucking Horny For An Angel Boy’s Ass. (I know when I’m being pandered to.) 

Unfortunately, Boito misses the whole philosophical trajectory of Goethe’s Faust and reduces it to a simple morality-play where a sinner is saved on his deathbed merely by acknowledging the hereafter. He doesn’t suffer blindness, he doesn’t actually DO anything good in his last hour, he just repents and decides Heaven is real after all at the last possible second before kicking the bucket. It would be disappointing, IF that were the point of the story. But that’s not where the drama is!

Like Gounod’s Faust, the focus was never really on the doctor at all; his redemption is not what we paid to see. It’s Mephistopheles’s reaction to losing Faust’s soul that makes the ending interesting, not the fact that Faust gets a free pass to Heaven. 

Highlights of this version: It’s fucking hilarious, and Mephistopheles is the star of the entire show. His arias are in turns sinister and sardonic, playful and powerful. The dialogue is taken directly from Goethe’s Faust in most cases (translated into Italian obviously), and hey, the dialogue in Goethe is really funny and good and witty! Hard to go wrong! 

“Ave Signor” (Hail, Lord!) is such a terrific opener; there will always be something delightful about the idea of the devil conversationally sassing God and daring to make a bet with the Almighty in the spirit of work-place rivalry. “Son Lo Spirito Che Nega Sempre Tutto” (I Am the Spirit That Denieth All Things) is full of dark bravado and rebellion, whistling defiance at the Lord. It’s a great Villain Song and as someone with sympathy for the devil it is completely my jam. “Ecco Il Mondo” (Behold the World) is both teasing and menacing and the staging lends itself to some glorious melodrama. “Ah! Su! Riddiamo, riddiamo” (Turning, turning) gets a prize for being the best infernal chorus and witches’ sabbath scene out of all of them-- it’s frenzied and spooky and satanic and whirling, everything you could want from an orgy of infernal creatures. Ten out of five stars, would exalt Satan to again.

Rating: 4.5 / 5 stars. Second place prize, and Honorable Mention for being the judge’s favorite. It’s not perfect. The story leaves much to be desired-- let’s face it, Part II of “Faust” isn’t especially... dynamic on its own, and especially when condensed to fit into opera format, the events don’t add up into a satisfying narrative.  Boito glosses over some frankly essential elements in the original and just has Faust skip right from his life-ruining adultery to being carried to Heaven on the backs of angels-- just for thinking of all the good he *could* have done if he hadn’t been, you know, a real stinker this whole time.  So I’m not giving Boito a pass for omitting Faust’s Hell Dragging. Furthermore, this play is woefully short on Marguerita; she basically just shows up to be seduced and then a second later is Ruined and Saved. Booo.

But hey-- is this play called “Faust”? Is this play called “Faust and Marguerita”? No. This play is called motherfuckin’ “Mefistofele”, because it’s about Mephistopheles. It’s about our suave, under-appreciated servant of Hell working hard for his cut, trying and squeeze just ONE life-altering moment out of this absolute dehydrated turd of a man, and the play is rife with his frustration. He is the one who whistles in defiance of God, and he loses because it is *inevitable* that he loses. God was never going to let him win that bet; Meph was a tool in his ultimate design to shepherd Faust closer to redemption. Mephistopheles is dragged off stage whistling in defiance as a lifetime’s worth of effort is flushed down the drain in a single moment of seemingly undeserved redemption. Not for a *solitary second* did we want this opera to be about Faust. No. This is the devil’s opera, and that’s why it’s so fucking great. 

Doktor Faust (1916–25, Busoni)

--Adaptation with Thomas Hampson 2006 

--Libretto in German and English

...And now, a German libretto written by an Italian, in contrast with Boito’s Italian libretto translated from German. 

God, this is such a modern ass Modern Opera. It does that thing I hate that modern operas do where the composer is like “What? You wanted a ~melody~? What is this, musical theater??” Like obviously they’ve transcended the need for anything so plebeian as a tune I can fucking hum. It’s very Intellectual, very High Art. The plot is full of tortured genius manpain, naval gazing, and I can’t remember a single aria from it. ...Okay, that’s a bit harsh; in the final two scenes Faust gets some lovely melancholy solos that actually stuck out to me. But this is a three hour long opera. So. Maybe skip ahead.

Plot-wise, this is the most existential of the bunch. No Marguerite in this one, just a Duchess with no name. Faust still ruins his lover’s life but in his final act he rejects both God and the Devil and uses his Supreme Human Will to transfer his life-force into his dead child’s body, resurrecting him as a young man with a blossoming frond of some kind. (Symbolism!!!) 

--This marks the full 180 turnaround from “Faust is forcibly dragged to hell by Satan himself and his body explodes all over the stage” to “NOT ONLY IS FAUST REDEEMED OF HIS SINS BUT HE TRANSCENDS BOTH HEAVEN AND HELL WITH THE INDOMITABLE FORCE OF HIS HUMAN WILL, GOD IS DEAD, FAUST IS THE ÜBERMENSCH”, and to that I say *ptttttttbbbbbbbb*.   

Rating: 1/5 stars.  Plot is ponderously philosophical, overweighted with symbolism, and the music, while interesting, is largely forgettable with a few exceptions. Also it is Three Goddamn Hours Long. Points lost for nameless female character who fails the Lampshade Test. Loses further points for a dry and flavorless Mephisopheles, boooo.     

The Rake's Progress (1951, Stravinsky)

--1992 production with Jerry Hadley and OH LOOK WHO IT IS IT’S SAMUEL RAMEY AGAIN HUH WELL DON’T MIND IF I DO this production is really, really well acted and funny and the dance portions are especially cool. 

--Libretto in English and Italian

Another modern opera, this time by a composer I actually like! 

Now, this isn’t technically a Faust opera; its based on a series of delightfully comedic prints by William Hogarth, detailing the decline and fall of a young man who inherits a huge sum of money, spurns his true love, and wastes his inheritance on foolish ventures and hookers, eventually ending up insane in Bedlam (I’m not saying tertiary syphilis, but definitely tertiary syphilis-- Let us take a moment to appreciate both condoms and penicillin.) 

In the original paintings there is no deal-making devil, but but luckily he’s been added in by librettist W.H. Auden (who was intermittently friends and lovers with Christopher Isherwood!!!!-- I just wanted to add that because it makes my gay little heart very happy). The names are all vaudevillian puns, such as “Tom Rakewell”, “Anne Trulov”, and “Sellem, the Auctioneer”. Mephistopheles has been exchanged for the slick, modern Nick Shadow.

Highlights of this version: Baba the Turk, the bearded lady that Nick convinces Tom to marry as a demonstration of his free will (???). Listen: I know she’s meant to be comic relief and is an unflattering stereotype, but dang if she didn’t win my heart completely. I like that her marriage with Tom apparently falls apart, not necessarily because she’s a bearded lady, but because she’s just very chatty and overbearing and is much better traveled than Tom, and has had numerous wealthy and important suitors who she won’t shut up about. She’s knows her own worth and conducts herself accordingly, and is very vocal when she knows she’s being treated badly. She’s got Anne’s back when they meet at the auction of all Tom’s property (which she was included in as an object because she was under a spell of silence and immobility-- rude), telling her to watch out for Nick Shadow and generally being very forgiving and understanding about the whole affair; she was hurt that Tom lied about his affections, but she doesn’t blame Anne for it, which is wholesome. Then she announces that she’s going back to her career on the stage because she is BABA and she has had enough of these scrubs. Anyway. I love her. She’s described very beautifully if you happen to like beards, which I do (and so did the author).  

“No Word From Tom” reminds me why I love Stravinsky so much (and Dawn Upshaw sings it like a nightingale). “Lanterloo My Lady” is spritely and fun and texturally interesting; besides, “sweet dreams my master, dreams may lie, but dream-- for when you wake you die” is chill-inducing. “How Dark and Dreadful is This Place” plus the whole card game in the cemetery is sad and grim and comical all at the same time; Tom is such a pathetic and naive mess you can’t help but feel sorry for him, even while Nick’s smugness is delicious. Tom’s mad songs are all quite touching and beautiful. 

Rating: 4/5 stars. The libretto is really excellent, jazzy, full of great wordplay and aphorisms. Nick is a delightful Mephistopheles; thoroughly modern, witty, sly, arch, fourth-wall breaking. Faust is not dragged to hell, but he is condemned to insanity. Loses points for a female lead whose entire purpose in life is to babysit this asshole through his poor life decisions. Also, while certainly more memorable and melodic than Busoni’s Faust, it still has that sort of shouty modern opera sound that I find a little challenging to listen to; but that said, the music fits the plot, and the plot is fun and absorbing, so while there may be fewer individual arias I’m likely to put on my jogging playlist, it’s engaging to watch as a production from start to finish.  

--Okay! That’s it! I know, I know, this isn’t actually a review of every Faust opera to date, but I have to get back to my life, and you already know my feelings on modern and contemporary opera. Thank you for bearing with me for this entire novel-length post that literally no one asked for!! You’re a the real hero here! I love you almost as much as I love Samuel Ramey in tights.  *stage kiss*  Yours in Service Here but in Mine Below, ~Wesley 

[lubdubsworld]

(Yoongi x Oc ) Tumblr Prompt.

Genre : unhealthy relationships. Married Au. A bit of an asshole yoongi. But he has his reasons.  

Rating : Mature. 

part 1/?

“Where are you?” his voice is scratchy, slightly rough and a little hoarse, like he’s been talking too much for too long or maybe he’s just been out in the cold winter weather without wrapping a scarf around his neck again. Or maybe he’d just woken up. 

Where was he?

New york? Paris? what time was it there? 

i glanced at the huge map on the white board near the drawing room, where i’d pinned post its to track his schedule as he traveled around to promote his company’s newest product. My eyes trailed over to the edge of Japan. 

Ah, he was in Osaka. 

“Y/N Can you hear me?” He said loudly and his voice momentarily jolted me. yoongi always had a really deep and booming voice and it’s effect on me hadn’t diminished over the many years we’d been married. A room full of men and Yoongi’s voice would still stand out, resonating inside my soul and making my ribs constrict around my lung, cutting off air. 

“Y/n!!” He growled and I pulled myself into the present flinching at how loud his voice was.

it echoed around the empty living room of our apartment, jarringly loud from the phone’s speakers and making my heart pound just a little. 

“Home. It’s twelve in the night. where else would i be? ” I said bleakly, grabbing the tin jar full of basil leaves and giving it a little shake before carefully wrenching the lid off. The small pan of water on the stove was already boiling and i carefully shook a handful of leaves into my palm, dropping them in the water before grabbing the phone off the hook . 

“Alone?” There’s an edge to his voice, a subtle nuance that ought not to be there. that had no right to be there because  he  wasn’t the one sitting hour after hour, night after night in an empty apartment, waiting for a spouse who wasn’t there. 

When  he  was the one breaking vows and treating me like shit. i wondered if he was sleeping with someone else. Had he gone to a bar, picked up a nice , pretty young thing with his impressive, “ i’m a pediatric surgeon, i save children for a living “ resume. i wasn’t bitter. i loved Yoongi. His profession was one of the most attractive things about him. He worked selflessly to help young kids who couldn’t afford regular medical treatment. 

But I wondered who took the edge off, when his work became too much for him. it sure as hell wasn’t me. 

So i wondered if perhaps he got it else where. you know. 

Who was i kidding? of course he wasn’t. Min Yoongi was just too much of a ‘ nice’ man to cheat on me, but everything else he did, broke my heart. a million times over. 

The apathy. The disinterest. That way he had of staring at me when i was trying to talk to him, like he just couldn’t wait for me to shut up. On numerous occasions, i’d stopped half way through a sentence simply because of how uninterested he’d appeared and cruelly, he wouldn’t even ask me to finish. 

it ought not to hurt so much, after two years, i thought bleakly.  it ought not to hurt because it was never a real marriage anyway. it was a transaction , an exchange of commodities. 

it was like one of those political marriages in historical dramas, done for the greater good of everyone involved so by all means, it should not hurt at all. 

But it did. 

“why do you say that? You think i’m with someone? “ I said softly, exhausted at the unsaid accusation. At the injustice of it. i wanted to toss it back at him.

 what am i being faithful to? It’s the vow you haven’t broken yet but what about all the other things you promised me? Where’s the love you promised?  

" Don’t be absurd. i just wanted to know if mother is down to visit. she told me she wanted to see you. ” He sounded annoyed as well and lately it felt like that was all he felt for me : annoyance and irritation. 

“Your mother wants me to get hit by a car.” i said simply and he took a deep breath.

“ stop demonizing my mother. She wouldn’t treat you that way if you could be a bit more filial. why don’t you go to her Circle meetings or help her with her charities. ? You were so fucking eager to marry me... can’t you at least take your responsibilities as a Min daughter in law, seriously?” He snapped. 

 a min daughter-in-law. 

The most coveted position a young women in Korea could aspire to. The chance to be married to one of the youngest, most influential men in the country. A handsome, intelligent young man who held an unfair amount of power in his hands. 

 i wanted to run away, i thought with sudden detached clarity. Somedays , i just wanted to lock the door, grab my wallet and run as far as I could. when he touches me, when he presses himself against me, inside me and then shuts his eyes like he’s pretending its someone else.... it makes me want to run and disappear. 

“are you even listening to me, Y/N? Why are you taking so bloody long to respond to me?!” He snapped. 

“I’m listening. ” i said tiredly, switching off the stove and grabbing the strainer off the rack. the fine bone china cup on the kitchen shelf is well used while it’s pair is brand new. A subtle reminder of how often  I was alone. So often. From the moment, i packed all my clothes and moved into his luxury penthouse.

 “ Are you drunk?” he said finally. 

Silence. 

“No.” i said, feeling jittery.  But i wish i was. i can’t put up with you when i’m sober.  

“  Good, listen carefully. i called you because I will be landing in Seoul tomorrow night. We have a luncheon with the Kim Corp CEO the next day and i want you to send my Valentino suit to the cleaners.”

 a glorified maid. with occasional access to her master’s bed. 

“Okay. i will.” I said dully. 

“ and call my mother.” 

i opened my mouth to protest but he had already hung up.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Billionaire Heiress Lalisa Manoban landed in Seoul after a successful modeling campaign and Fan Meeting across Asia and Europe. Coincidentally, she was found travelling with world renowned Pediatric Surgeon, Min Yoongi and...”

“ coincidence, my ass. He’s fucking her! i just know it.” My sister growled, pointing an accusatory finger at the small portable TV high up on the shelf of her shop. I grimaced and watched her as she directed her employee to take care of Yoongi’s suit. 

“Unnie please...I really don’t want to talk about that.” i said, feeling exhausted. 

“Why are you even with him?” She said bitterly. “ You should just dump his ass.” 

I smiled a little at that. 

“I really should...” i said thoughtfully, thinking about something far more important. There was a small budding hope inside me. But i hadn’t confirmed it yet. It could be a way to salvage my hopeless marriage. Could be.... but I was kind of terrified to actually confirm it. what if i’d just gotten my hopes up. what if it would all come crashing down on me? 

“Y/N...are you even listening to me? You don’t have to worry about me and mother. The shop is doing well now. We hardly need yoongi’s support. ”

“You know it isn’t that easy, unnie. i can’t just  leave him. No matter how much i want to.” i fumbled with the ring on my finger. a handcuff, i thought softly. A tiny handcuff , soldered by the love I had for an undeserving husband and the fear I had for being alone. 

that was it essentially. the fear that if i left him, i would somehow be more unhappy than i was now and then it would all be for nothing. 

But my sister didn’t drop the subject. 

“So that’s the only reason you’re staying? Not because you’re still in love with the guy, right?” She said shrewdly, eyes sharp and accusatory as she stared at me. 

i flushed a little. 

“That was a long time ago.” 

“But you never got over it.” She pointed out. 

“i was a child! i was fifteen or something! I didn’t know better. i thought he was handsome that’s all......”  

........and kind and generous and so incredibly funny. i loved the way he would rule the basketball court, the way he would sound so passionate as he talked about his photographs in the photography club. i loved the way he would bring a flask full of milk for the stray puppies behind the school grounds. i loved the way he would play the piano during School festivals, using those ivory white fingers to coax the most beautiful sounds out of something lifeless. The way he breathed life into those keys and made them sing. 

But somehow the delusion had carried on into adulthood. 

And i’d thought, stupidly , that his hands were magic. that his breath was magic. 

That if he would touch me then he would be able to breath life into me too. that he would somehow takeaway all the misery and hurt that i’d accumulated in my soul over the years. 

That if only i could have Min Yoongi, everything else would fall in place. 

 “ Hey.. Y/N.... are you listening?” My sister’s voice pulled me out of my reverie. Everyone was asking me this, weren’t they? are you listening? are you listening? 

I couldn’t listen. not with the voices in my head screaming too loud . 

“uh..huh?” i said, momentarily befuddled.

She smiled.

“i said, i’ll send the suit around with one of the kids. Go get some rest. you look like you haven’t slept in a while.”

Two years. I haven’t slept in two years. 

 “ thanks unnie.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“.... We’re planning on introducing and Android and iOS app as well, something that would help the parents have a closer relationship with the Hospital itself, be updated on any new vaccines, get notifications for them or make appointments online as well. The app would be linked to our main data base and the kids who are staying with us will be included as well...” Yoongi’s voice was deep and steady, ringing clear with intelligence and it was physically evident, how impressed the CEO of Kim corp, a young man called Kim Seokjin was,  

“You’re clearly very good at what you do, Yoongi ssi..” He said brightly, glancing briefly at me and smiling. “ and your wife is truly lovely. My chaerin said that you offered to design some antique pieces for her.” He said brightly. i bowed my head politely.

“Y/N is one of the best antique jewelry designers in Asia. Chaerin noona should be honored.” Yoongi wrapped an arm around my waist, fingers spanning across my lower abdomen, thumb dipping into the small space between my skirt and blouse, cold against the warmth of my skin. 

The public persona that he wore, when we were out in company was flawless. i felt slightly nauseous. slightly dizzy but along with it was a little bit of happiness. i had a feeling that this nausea was linked to something new and exciting. something that could perhaps make yoongi like me again.

But i wasn’t sure. Not yet. The two brand new pregnancy tests in  the bottom of the bathroom cabinet, carefully wrapped in brown sheets , reminded me that this could go either way. it could be nothing, a false alarm in which case i wasn’t aby worse off than i was now. or it could be positive. 

Which would mean, me telling yoongi that somehow, against all odds of maths , our drunk, ill-judged decision to have sex, that one time in the back of the car without protection had resulted in a baby. 

I felt my skin go a little cold at the prospect. I didn’t really want to think about how he would react to that. But i couldn’t help but hope. 

He loved children, didn’t he?

He would like one of his own, right?

“what’s wrong?” His voice drew me out of my introspection and i blinked at him, feeling a little queasy. 

“Nothing... i.. i’m sorry.” 

He hesitated.

“ Have you been sleeping less.,.. You look really tired.” He sounded almost worried and i swallowed dryly. 

“I.. no. I’m fine. “

he nodded , unconvinced. 

“are you sure? if you want to head back home and get some rest...”

It was times like this that made it hard to fall out of love with this man, i thought miserably. 

The occasional bouts of genuine concern . 

The extra cup of coffee on the side of the bed table. The closed windows when the morning was too cold. The home cooked dinners when I was feeling sick or tired. 

And i didn’t mind repaying him this way. 

See, sometimes, i wasn’t a shitty daughter in law.

 sometimes, i lived up to the min family’s reputation and did the right thing. i was the perfect trophy wife who greased wheels and helped the whole machinery of the nepotistic Seoul society to function. 

“It’s important right? This.. meeting. Luncheon. Seokjin ssi is supposed to be investing in your hospital. i’ll hold out. don’t worry. I’ll be a good girl. . ” i said nervously.

the words seemed to affect Yoongi. His breath hitched, gaze dropping to my lips as he swallowed.

“Fuck, you’re such a pain.”

I frowned. 

“what’s wrong? don’t you want me to do that? “ 

Yoongi sighed, nodding. 

“Yes, but i’d rather not do it at the expense of you falling face first into the food later on.”

i smiled weakly. he had a way of making me smile, even when it wasn’t really his intention. another trait that drew me to him. 

“i’ll try to resist.”

He shook his head .

“Fine. i need to go meet a few other doctors. Will you be okay by yourself?” 

I nodded, watching as he untangled himself from around me and walked to the other side of the lawn. I moved to the corner where a small table held a collection of drinks and refreshment. i grabbed a small flute of lemonade and nearly jumped out of my skin when Chae Rin , Seokjin’s twin sister appeared in front of me. 

“Y/N, are you okay? “ She said , looking concerned as she peered at me.

“i’m fine, chae Rin ssi..” i said softly and she smiled kindly.

“i really wanted to apologize about what happened. I didn’t know that Yoongi and jiyeon had history.” she said apologetically.

i blinked, confused.

“Jiyeon?” i said surprised. 

“Yes... You know, the doctor we met earlier? I didn’t know that Yoongi was engaged to her before he met you. i wouldn’t have added her to the guest list if I’d known.” she said , looking genuinely sorry and I kept a neutral face , while my heart dropped somewhere down to my knees, leaving my entire chest hollow and weak. 

“that’s... that’s alright.” I said firmly. My voice was steady and even , not even betraying the sheer unadulterated pain that was coursing through my veins.

 Yoongi had been engaged to marry. To a doctor. 

 suddenly the past two years made more sense. No wonder he hated the sight of me. i tried to conjure up an image of the woman we had met earlier. But it was impossible. We’d met so many of them and i hadn’t kept track. 

i turned around and my eyes caught on yoongi’s white suit, somewhere ahead and to the left and i saw her at once. she wore a champagne colored gown with silver sequins and she looked less like a doctor and more like she’d stepped right off a ramp.

“That’s her isn’t it ?” i said softly and Chae Rin hummed.

“Yes. She just got appointed here at yoongi’s hospital. So we really couldn’t avoid inviting her.” She said breathlessly.

I watched Yoongi smile at her, wide, unrestrained. i’d never seen that smile on him. not even once. 

Suddenly, the nausea that i’d held inside for the entire morning came rearing back in full force. i excused myself hastily, rushing to the nearest bathroom and emptying my stomach into one of the porcelain bowls. 

 i stood in front of the mirror, staring at myself. 

Suddenly, the prospect of being pregnant was so unwelcome that i vomitted again. 

~~~~~~~~

When Yoongi found his way back to me, Jiyeon was on his arm. i watched them walk over, looking for all intents and purpose like they  belonged  together ( and they did , didn’t they? They were both doctors? They had both been in love? )

i stayed perfectly still as Yoongi smiled and introduced us. 

“this is my wife, Y/N.” He said brightly. 

jiyeon gave me a smile that was perfectly artificial but flawless.

“You’re the lucky girl, then? “ She said softly. 

I hesitated, thrown by the words which sounded condescending. 

“i...yes... i am. ... “ i said, feeling somehow like it hadn’t been a compliment at all, as much as it was an observation. an assessment. A subtle ‘ so you’re the one who stole my fiance’. 

“ Jiyeon’s moving to Seoul this week. She’s going to be working with me in the pediatric department of our Hospital. “ Yoongi said and there was genuine pleasure in his tone. 

He was really happy about it. i felt my heart begin to pound again as a sinking feeling of despair began to take hold. 

“Which reminds me. Yoongi , could i crash with you guys for a couple weeks? I need to find an apartment but the chairman wants me to jump in from tomorrow and i may not have time to look for one.” She turned to Yoongi fully, completely omitting me out of the decision and I flinched. 

 really? was this how it was going to be?

To his credit, Yoongi looked genuinely surprised , hesitant even as he glanced at me. There’s a bit of discomfort there, mixed with a little helplessness.

and it’s silly how familiar he looks like this. Hesitant and unsure. He’s always 

 it’s the look which screams , i don’t know what to say or how to say it,  and over the years it’s become instinctive, for me to step in and sooth. To step in and iron out the creases that came from Yoongi’s introverted nature. 

“of course you can. there’s plenty of room. We’d love to have you over.” 

And only a part of that sentence is a lie. 

~~~~~~~~

the next two days changed things. 

it was blatantly obvious that Jiyeon wanted yoongi back. i would watch as she leaned over him at dinner, grabbed his coat for him when he was leaving , even feed him bits of meat off her own plate while he stayed glued to his laptop. 

Yoongi stayed oblivious, or maybe he put on that act for my benefit. i tried prying a bit, asking him how he met her and stuff but he stayed perfectly stoic, unaffected. 

He didn’t tell me that they had been engaged. 

i wasn’t sure how to take it. 

Maybe he didn’t want me to know because he was over her and it no longer mattered. 

Maybe he didn’t want to let me know because he was still in love with her. 

And later that night , lying on the bed with Yoongi so close , yet so unreachable, so untouchable, i felt miserable. i liked this. i liked being able to sleep, with my gaze on his broad back. Watching the slight rise and fall of his chest, the fall of his fringe into his forehead. The handsome, ethereal features that looked breathtaking in the moonlight.

this bit of Yoongi that was mine. 

The way he slept, often curling around himself, on his left side, bent elbows cradling his head as he breathed evenly. 

 the way he looked stepping out of the shower, towel slung low on his sharp hips, chest glistening with stray droplets of water, fairly glowing. 

 the way he looked with his hair wet , the fringe falling into his eyes as he towel dried the wet strands with his beautiful surgeon fingers. Fingers that healed and made music and felt like heaven against my skin, the few times I’d been touched by him. 

And more importantly,  the way he had looked that night in the back seat of his Porsche, when he loomed over me , trying to control his strength as he fucked into me, gently, never with more force than necessary, eyes shut but lips wet and parted , breath hitching into pants as he made love to me. 

 and honestly, it had been enough.

 It had been enough, somehow. 

it ought not to be, but it was . 

but now, here i was , at risk of losing that as well. 

This could be it, the voice in my head whispered. this could be the last few times you get this. This could be the end . This thing with Yoongi. This ‘ marriage’ it could really be ending. 

 and i realized how badly I didn’t want it to end. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perhaps it was the fact that Jiyeon was there, that made me put off taking the test. it was stupid but i really wanted to wait. i’d been looking forward to the pregnancy. Been happy but now a more terrifying prospect came into play. the thought that perhaps, Yoongi wanted to be with jiyeon instead. 

it was stupid, but i couldn’t help but wonder. 

it all came to a head a few days later, during dinner. Jiyeon seemed to be watching me carefully and then, just when Yoongi reached for a glass of water and poured me some, she laughed.

“Y/N, i still can’t believe you let me stay here. i mean most wives wouldn’t be so happy about an ex staying in the same house as their husband.” 

Yoongi startled obviously, water sloshing from his glass all over his dinner and i flinched, more worried about him than jiyeon’s provocation.

“yoongi, are you okay?” Jiyeon leapt to her feet, grabbing a bunch of tissues and reaching out to press them against his chest and hips, where the water had spilled and my breath caught in my throat, stomach cramping uncomfortably as I gripped the edge of the table. 

“ It’s all good. ” i said stupidly, looking anywhere but at Yoongi because i knew i would likely do something incredibly foolish if i did. 

the rest of dinner was awkward, incredibly so, and my skin felt itchy because of how Yoongi stared at me.

But the damage was done and when i stepped into the bedroom,. I froze because yoongi was sitting on the bed, fingers fumbling with his tie, as he stared at me. 

“Y/n, about what jiyeon said...”

“you don’t have to say it. You don’t have to tell me about her..”

 Please don’t tell me about her, ignorance is bliss...

 “ i want to. We were in med school together in London... and I was engaged to her. “ 

i shut my eyes, head aching. 

“yoongi, i just...”

“We didn’t break up. I just want to be honest with you. We never broke up.” He said dully.

My eyes flew open, mouth going slack. 

 what.

WHAT. 

“What does.. what does that mean...?”

“when i moved here , I promised her i would come back and marry her.” 

 But i got roped into marrying you instead.  

The unsaid words hit me so hard that i stumbled a bit. 

“Y/N..” He half stood, like he was reaching for me but i quickly moved away. 

Is this what it was like to actually lose everything that ever mattered to you?

“do you.. do you still love her?” i said stupidly.

And he just looked at me. 

Evenly, honestly.

“i.. i don’t know.” he said, shattering the last remaining piece of my heart. 

I laughed out loud . i couldn’t stop myself. it was the single most painful thing i’d heard all night. 

“i.. i understand.” 

Did I?

would i ever understand?

would i ever even breathe agin....

 “ Y/n ...”

“i can’t... right away. “ I said , miserably. “ i need some time to ... move out..”

Yoongi flinched.

“that’s not what i want.. Y/n.. We should talk about this and ”

I shook my head.

“Shut up. i don’t want to hear another word. i’m leaving...” I said feverishly. 

 before i change my mind and do something foolish and convince myself that i could stay here like this, just happy with breathing the same air as you because i can’t... i shouldn’t.. i should leave. 

“I’ll take the guest bedroom.” i didn’t stick around to hear his protests. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I grabbed the two pregnancy tests, still unused and tossed them in the trash. there was no way i was taking those tests. 

it no longer mattered, i thought stupidly. i wouldn’t take those stupid tests. 

Or maybe i would. because it had been nearly two months. i hadn’t had my period./ And just because i wished it didn’t happen didn’t mean it would. 

So, i’d do the normal sane thing : take the pregnancy test, realize how badly i’d fucked up, maybe get a job, become a single mom  and all that ...

but only after i left him for good. 

after i was safe.

You know, when there was no possibility of me grabbing on to the test and clinging to Yoongi because of a  a child he may not even want. i wanted to say i was strong enough to stand my ground and not do something as pathetic as that but i wasn’t . 

i was weak. 

Especially when it came to Min Yoongi. 

so i would leave him and his fiancee and get lost so that he could live well. And i would watch him be happy without me. accept that he was done with me. 

My body jerked in pain at the thought. 

I packed my clothes quickly and called my sister. For all her insitence that i leave yoongi, she still broke down when i told her i would be coming back home. 

“i’m so sorry baby... he’s such an idiot..”

 No, i am. 

~~~~~~~~~

“  You look sick. ”  jiyeon’s voice was strong and surprised. 

I jumped a bit too much. 

“uh.. what?” i said, stunned. 

“I don’t think you’ve been eating much. ?” She said softly. 

“I..” i stopped, too tired to lie. “ something like that.” 

“it definitely explains how tired you’ve been. You should take some supplements and stuff. if you can’t eat...they’ll at least give you some sort of energy. It’s what i do most of the time...” She grabbed a small bottle of pills , with the name torn off. 

“this.. what is this..?” i said confused. 

“Just some vitamin supplements... They’ll really help.” she said genuinely and i smiled weakly. 

it was odd, knowing that she wasn’t a bad person. she was only taking back what had always been hers anyway. 

My husband. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you think of the day we first met?” i said stupidly, watching Yoongi as he got ready in our bedroom. we hadn’t spoken in a week. He had worked extra shifts at the hospital.Not even coming home for dinners. whe he’d come today morning to shower and get dressed , i’d followed him in. 

He hadn’t said a word. 

“Y/n ...” his voice was tired. miserable. 

“i remember it. i think of it, often. You told me you were okay with the marriage.... and then... on our wedding day.... You told me you would try to love me. you promised..” i said, fighting tears. 

He stopped, fingers stilling midway as he knotted his tie. 

“Y/n ...baby.. please just...”

“you promised you would only look at me, that you would only protect me and that you would make me happy .. you promised you would love me...... you promised! Not just before me but in front of all those people. in front of my family..in front of yours.. in front of god!” 

“Y/n.... calm down..i just..”

“But you never tried!” I shouted.

it was the first time i’d raised my voice to him.

He looked stunned as he stared at me.

“and i believed you. i believed your, filthy lies.” i hissed. 

“Wait... Y/n.. let’s talk about this...” 

“I want a divorce.” 

Part 2 

[bethanyesda]

OC INTERVIEW + Adele Trevelyan

i was tagged by @asha-revas - thank you!! (also sorry that i’m a month late ahh)

RULES

1. PICK ONE OF YOUR CHARACTERS

2. FILL IN THE QUESTIONS/STATEMENTS AS IF YOU ARE BEING INTERVIEWED FOR AN ARTICLE AND YOU WERE THE MUSE.

3. TAG PEOPLE TO DO THIS MEME:

eeek this is late so i won’t be tagging anyone, but if you see this and feel so inclined to do it then by any means - do!

1. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?

Adele Trevelyan.

2. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME?

[She purses her lips, looking somewhat puzzled.] My full name? Very well. Adela Katherine Morgana Lilith Trevelyan, formerly Lady of House Trevelyan.

3. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU WERE CALLED THAT?

My parents are awfully ostentatious at times and being their only daughter meant they could unleash the sizeable store of family names that have been stewing, awaiting a victim to be bestowed upon. In short: ‘Adela’ means ‘noble’ and they like to remind people Trevelyans are of the nobility in the Free Marches.

4. ARE YOU SINGLE OR TAKEN?

Taken, if you can believe such a thing - I struggle myself.

5. HAVE ANY ABILITIES OR POWERS?

I am a mage, so there are a number of specialist skills I have from my nature. If asking about particular talents, then my primary school is pyromancy. I can play the lute, if it counts. 

6. STOP BEING A MARY SUE.

[She blinks twice but twists her lips into a small smile.] I will give your suggestion some consideration.

7. WHAT’S YOUR EYE COLOR?

Dark brown, nothing remarkable. I have been told they are black by some of that is why you are asking.

8. HOW ABOUT YOUR HAIR COLOR?

[Adele seems vaguely amused and she gestures towards her head.] I believe you can see for yourself that I possess dark brown hair.

9. HAVE YOU ANY FAMILY MEMBERS?

A mother, father and two brothers. Whether they would claim they same of me is another matter.

10. OH? WHAT ABOUT PETS?

Being Inquisitor does not leave much time to care for pets, what with my constant trekking across Thedas. The Circle didn’t allow such creatures. [She looks away with a wistful expression for a moment.] Ferelden Mabari are…intriguing, however.

11. NOW TELL ME ABOUT SOMETHING YOU DON’T LIKE.

The dark. Rather absurd for the leader of the Inquisition, is it not? I permit laughter, do not restrain yourself. I have never shaken the fear from my girlhood, but I have learnt to lessen my phobia’s onsets with time. One cannot scream like a scandalised noblewoman upon entering an ancient ruin. Embarrassing wouldn’t you say? [She speaks quickly without stuttering or stopping, giving the interviewer the impression this response is a little rehearsed.]

12. DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES/ACTIVITIES YOU LIKE DOING?

I play lute or read mostly, but I admit to having looked up to bards for their formidable singing prowess. My vocal lessons stopped when I was only a girl and I wish I could’ve continued them.

13. EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE?

Of course. To deny this would be a lie to anyone but the smallest of babes, still pink in their mother’s arms.

14. EVER…KILLED ANYONE BEFORE?

Unfortunately, the Inquisition was met with resistance. I have never killed someone who did not want me dead in return. A shame things have to end this way for many.

15. WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU?

[She raises an eyebrow, lips parted.] I don’t believe I understand exactly what you’re asking me, for I am human and nothing more, nothing less. It seems being an animal may be simpler, however.

16. NAME YOUR WORST HABITS.

My posture does not project an illusion of stateliness and composure, or so Mother used to say. I am terribly disorganised in my quarters and misplace all of my quills, but I am glad to say I do not have any major habits that I can recall.

17. DO YOU LOOK UP TO ANYONE AT ALL?

I admired a good friend of mine for a long while; she was everything I could conceivably be, stuck as I was in the Circle Tower. I have role models that stand by the side in the Inquisition, but I shall not utter their names lest they discover this interview.

18. GAY, STRAIGHT, OR BISEXUAL?

[She pauses for a moment in surprise before clearing her throats and carrying on.] Rather…forward, no? As you wish. I am interested in both sexes.

19. DO YOU GO TO SCHOOL?

Not any longer.

20. DO YOU EVER WANT TO MARRY AND HAVE KIDS ONE DAY?

Yes, marriage is something that I would like to see in my future, but children are a whole other matter - they are small and loud…and have a tendency to smell bizarrely. Perhaps if the right circumstances arise. 

21. DO YOU HAVE ANY FANBOYS/FANGIRLS?

I beg your pardon? I am unsure of what you are referring to, sorry.

22. WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF?

The aforementioned dark is something I fear, but I have a more dominant phobia. I regret to inform you I will not be telling you that today - I must be allowed to have some secrets, no?

23. WHAT DO YOU USUALLY WEAR?

Robes. I do not take my clothing into deep consideration; Dorian gets rather frustrated with me at times.

24. DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE?

Yes. [Her tone was firm but her cheeks are going pink.]

25. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WET YOURSELF?

I, ah, do not recall - I was very young. That is all I can say on the matter.

26. WELL, IT’S NOT OVER YET!

Very well, do go on.

27. WHAT CLASS ARE YOU? (HIGH CLASS, MIDDLE CLASS, LOW CLASS)

[She snorts lightly.] I do not even really know nowadays.

28. HOW MANY FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE?

I do not know; I do not keep a catalogue of them.

29. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON PIE?

It is lovely if made correctly, but a little sickly for my tastes.

30. FAVORITE DRINK?

After a long journey I will no doubt break out a bottle of my Antivan wine store.

31. WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE PLACE?

My quarters, most likely. I have another place of which-…of which I will not speak about any longer.

32. ARE YOU INTERESTED IN SOMEONE…

Yes.

33. WHAT’S YOUR BRA CUP SIZE AND/OR HOW BIG IS YOUR WILLY?

[Her cheeks burn red as she splutters.] Sweet Maker! I do not think I shall be answering that! [The interviewer takes notes about Adele’s figure, large breasts included.] Excuse me!

34. WOULD YOU RATHER SWIM IN THE LAKE OR THE OCEAN?

A lake. Perhaps it would cool my face now.

35. WHAT’S YOUR TYPE?

I…no. That is my business alone.

36. ANY FETISHES?

For the love of the Maker- no! That is entirely too personal!

37. SEME OR UKE? TOP OR BOTTOM? DOMINANT OR SUBMISSIVE?

[She crosses her arms and refuses to even look at the interviewer, remaining silent.]

38. CAMPING OR INDOORS?

Indoors. I have spent the majority of my life inside so I am most at ease within solid walls.

39. ARE YOU WANTING THIS QUIZ TO END?

Judging by your…inappropriate inquiries, then I must say that I am glad this is over. Thank you for you time, however.