#2400 words

[inscmnus]

tfw one reply takes you an entire two days to do. 

[stories-by-rie]

102 Liminal Girl

trigger warning: This short story talks very explicitly about depression. Please take care! There’s also a ghost aka dead person.

It’s the broken whispers, Leonie thought as the tip of the girl’s pastel green marker broke. They weren’t audible, of course, not for all the people around them. But she could hear them. It was a matter of knowing, she figured as she watched the girl slump a little more, shoving the destroyed marker off her papers and looking back at her laptop screen as if nothing had happened. 

The giggle that echoed faintly. She wasn’t actually even sure if the girl noticed; if she did then she at least pretended well not to. 

The chatter, too quiet to understand, that just stopped in the middle when library staff walked past them and shot them a glance. 

The smug lines of their mouths, that clearly tried very hard not to look like a smile, but so very clearly showed their arrogance. 

Blinding light dipped everything into white for a split second, only to be followed by shaking thunder. The rain still clashed against the window front of the library where the tables stood in long rows, only a few students splattered around the room so early in the semester.

Hesitantly, Leonie walked out of the niche she was staying at, and moved along the rows of tables until she reached the one where the girl was working at. When she took the seat opposite of her, she didn’t notice. No one ever did. 

All she could do was keep quiet, really, and watch the other girl work in peace. Even if there was a hollow look in her. Maybe she really didn’t notice the reactions of the girls a few rows ahead, maybe she thought no one was looking at her, that no one saw her. 

Just then the girl sighed and the pen in her hand stopped, as did the finger that kept scrolling down the paper she was reading digitally. It was a little as if she was frozen, stuck somewhere. It wasn’t the first time Leonie saw the look on her face. A little as if her soul left, or maybe was locked inside somewhere. 

Perhaps, that was the reason for it all, the reason why she found herself at the chair opposite of her.

The girl that pretended like she wasn’t really there, the girl that others talked about like she didn’t exist - she really was too similar to her for a person. 

She was too close to being a ghost. 

Despite the loud thunder, she started resting her head on her hand, and a few minutes later she put it down on the desk and drifted off.

At some point the others left. It started to get quite late, the clock’s finger ticked relentlessly towards midnight. None of the people that left went to nudge her awake, ask her if she intended to sleep at the library the whole night. 

In a way, it wasn’t uncommon. The library was open both day and night, and not so rarely, students found themselves falling asleep at some point. But for the girl, Leonie’s nonexistent heart still ached a little. 

It was a quiet night. Apart from the girl, she was nearly alone, nearly being herself. 

Maybe that was why, once she woke up again, she stared right at Leonie. There was not really surprise in her face, but shyness perhaps, the oncoming feeling that she had been stared at for a long time. 

    “Sorry,” was all that Leonie mumbled before she got up from the chair to put distance between them, walked a little farther back where the light of the hallway was a little brighter and dimmed her figure to a faint grey. 

    “What are you?” the girl asked, irritated now, still not scared. Leonie thought it must have been the sleep that still clung to her eyes, still puffy eyes, the red mark on her cheek where her head had rested on the table. 

    “Just someone roaming here.” Leonie smiled softly at her and sat back down on the chair, looking at the girl in front of her with narrowed eyes. She could see that she felt uncomfortable under the attention, but this was not a trivial matter any longer, and the attention had to be endured. 

She looked away from Leonie now, her eyes wandering around the room until stopped at the digital numbers on her phone screen. 

Now there was finally surprise on her face and she started to slowly pack her stuff back into her bag. 

"I don't think you'll be able to leave, actually," Leonie remarked and got a questioning eyebrow in response. "How do you feel?" she asked and the movements of the girl slowed down a little. Yet, she still answered in a tone that made clear how meaningless that question was to her. 

"Okay," she mumbled and shrugged. She looked around again, a silence that was deafening even for a library. The loneliness that was so prominent at two am. 

"It's… It's a strange feeling, don't you agree? As if this place isn't supposed to exist at this time. It doesn't match," she then added and her shoulders slumped now. Made her smaller. 

"What are you still doing here?” she asked then, either having forgotten that Leonie already told her, or thought it had been a joke. 

Either way, there was no different answer, and she didn’t see any reason in repeating herself, wasting those words just once more. A little in thoughts, she moved her fingers over the table, drawing a picture no one else but her could see. Where she moved in the shadow, her hand looked a little warmer, a little more human. 

    “When you say okay, what does that mean?” she asked this time without looking up at the girl, but there was a stillness in the air that told her that she had been heard. 

    “Okay is okay. It’s what it is. What else should it be?” 

    Leonie only replied, “Hm.”

The girl stood up, her bag ready to leave, but when she made a step towards the exit, she hesitated. 

    “What did you mean when you said I couldn’t leave?”

Leonie looked up at her, in that quiet room that felt so isolated from the rest of the world, somehow, as if the rest didn’t exist anymore. Trapped in a capsule. 

    “I meant that I am me, and I cannot leave. And you seem to be similar to me, so you might not be able to leave either.”

    “You cannot leave?” It was a question, but from her mouth it sounded more like an accusation. 

    “It’s just like that.”

At first, the girl put down her bag on the floor, and slowly she sat back down then. Because Leonie was right. She couldn’t leave. It was just like that. And the girl knew it. 

    “What’s your name?” she asked then, for the sake to give the girl in front of her something more than just an image in her mind. 

    “Amira,” she answered, and it sounded as if she was a stranger to herself. When another lightning flickered through the room, and blinded everything in white, Amira’s eyes lost her for a second.

    “Why does this stuff happen to me?” she suddenly broke out, her voice thin and on the verge of cracking. There was so much unspoken fear behind those words. She pressed her hands against her eyes, so hard it must hurt, but the silent cry was imminent on her twisted mouth. 

    “It’s not a good day?” Leonie whispered, afraid that her voice could be too loud for Amira’s ears. 

    “It’s never a good day!” Amira answered, quietly but her voice broke in the middle so that the last two words sounded like a sob. “It just never is!”

Leonie smiled to herself, thinking that the okay hadn’t sounded okay at all, and she voiced that thought to Amira who now wiped away her tears. 

    “When I say I am okay, then that okay is still true,” she answered, calmed down now, but her feelings still clearly pent up inside. “I am okay, in contrast to last week. At some point, saying I am not okay wouldn’t make sense anymore. It’s fine. I am okay today, for the state that I am in. So I am okay. But that doesn’t mean that I am fine.”

It was like a waterfall as she poured her thought out to Leonie. Maybe because she felt that nothing she said would be of consequence. Those words were spoken and afterwards held no power anymore. Leonie couldn't tell them anyone. They were both in that place they couldn't get out of, and no one else would be there to judge either of them. 

They sat at the table for a while, lightning blinding them occasionally, and at some point, Leonie smiled in a sad way, and leaned back in her seat some more. Finding the balance on two chair legs and whipping back and forth. 

    “So, what is that state you’re in?” Leonie asked, looking right at Amira’s eyes for the first time. She had kind eyes. They looked brown, even if it might have just been the dark light of the dimmed library table. No matter what colour - they were filled with tears again. 

    “The state I am in? How would I even put that into words?” Her lips were wobbling, the kind that wasn’t cute at all, it was the kind that made Leonies lips wobble a tiny bit too. 

    “Just. Tell me what it is,” she replied softly and Amira stared off out of the glass front, where they could see the sky light up again and again. 

    “It’s an ugly state,” she started, and from those words, Leonie knew that she had found the right ones. “It’s not just numb and quiet. Not just the apathy, the endless tiredness. It’s not a soft and paralyzed form of procrastination. Not what I used to imagine it would be all my life. On the contrary. It’s the dirty dishes in my sink that have been there for a whole week,” her voice cracked, the tears spilled, “It’s the loud music I blast into my ears. As if the pain could be proof that something still works. It’s that I sometimes only get up because I have to go to the bathroom.” She buried her face in her hands. “I haven’t washed the clothes I am wearing right now for a month and I can only hope the deodorant can cover that up. I haven’t cleaned my teeth in - I don’t even know. But I manage to dress myself up, smearing makeup all over my face nonetheless.” Another lightning, a thunder cracked, louder than before now. “It’s disgusting. There’s a spot of god-knows-what on the floor in my kitchen and I have only managed to put a wet towel on top of it, not to wipe it away. Who even does that?” 

Amira wiped away the tears, and once she had dried her skin, it was hard to notice that she had cried at all. Nearly as if nothing had happened. 

    “You’re all alone?” Leonie wondered. She had stopped playing around with her chair a while ago. 

    “I don’t know. No, I am not. And even if it should be just that, I wouldn’t call it loneliness. It’s not that I am lonely, because I am not alone, and I don’t feel alone in the presence of those that I love either. It’s more that I am not alone enough. There is always still me. I sometimes wish I could be without me. I don’t mean this in a way that I want to stop to exist, on the contrary. I want to exist more. It’s that I want so much, but I don’t care at all.” She clasped her hands over her heart, closed her eyes, and suppressed whimpers that worked themselves up. “And… All my plants are dying. Not that badly but my hibiscus hasn’t bloomed in a year. It’s only half of what it used to be, so many branches died and I had to cut them off.” She looked up, to the door, and Leonie could feel her need to leave. "There's nowhere to go, is there?“

It wasn't a question, so Leonie didn't answer. Again. 

The storm moved on and the distance between lightning and thunder grew, the rumbling fainter as time progressed. 

    “Why are you here?” Amira asked, obvious now that she wondered more about the place than Leonie’s existence per se. 

    “I died over there,” she answered and pointed to a row of shelves. They were marked as shelves containing scientific psychological articles. She still remembered staring at the Science when it had happened. “I had an inflammation of the heart muscle and then I was stressed. Should’ve probably slept more. Thirty years ago.”

    “Must be boring.”

    “It’s fine. Feels like yesterday to me.”

There was a smile on Amira’s lips, a genuine one and she rested her head on one hand. Still, both of their presences seemed to darken the room around them a bit more, made them a little better to see for being invisible in their own ways. 

    “You know,” Leonie mumbled after a while, the clock’s finger ticking closer to four, “Many like you have found themselves floating here. Not knowing where to go.”

    “There were more?”

    “Of course.”

    “Then, where are they now?”

    “Oh, they leave sooner or later,” Leonie explained and stretched her ghostly muscles. “Because, the way I see it, if you don’t know where to go, it doesn’t matter which way you take, no?” 

Amira looked up at her, the eyes wide. 

    “If I leave and come back tomorrow, would I be able to see you again?”

Leonie chuckled at that question and shrugged. Usually, no one liked seeking out that state she was in. 

    “You’d have to find out,” she answered. 

It started to get lighter again. Not in a way where the darkness of the night would disappear, but slightly lifted to tell them that day was around the corner. 

    “What’s your name?” Amira asked. 

    “Leonie,” she answered, her voice already more like a whisper. But it was intentional. Amira’s eyes lost her then, but there was a tiny smile in them, that told her that she had been heard. She got up from her chair, got her bag, and when she looked to the exit this time, there was a special kind of determination in her eyes. 

    “See you again, Leonie,” she said, and got to leave.

~19.12.2020~

[justaz]

and i did write a dreyna fic

[roc-thoughtblog]

Sense and Sensibility Readthrough Part 19

Chapter 22, Pages 111-119

Hubris is defined as not taking your medication for the week and assuming you'd still have a productive time. It's only 5pm Wednesday so it's not too late to humble myself.

Previously, the Miss Steeles were introduced. The older is very much into beaux, and the younger is very often socially mortified by the former. Elinor is disapproves, but, they mysteriously know Eddie Ferrars, so perhaps she will have to put up with them until they give up the goods.

Not that her opinion matters too greatly when Sir Middleton never runs out of social plans. :'D

Also, thank you for telling me beaux is plural of beau!

Commenting from after having read the chapter: Oh, Elinor...

Readthrough below.

Chapter 22

MARIANNE, WHO never had much tolerance for anything like [...]

And this first sentence goes the whole first paragraph for a whopping 11 lines! It's not exclusively about Marianne's intolerances but there's still quite a lot of that. The second half is about how the Steele sisters prefer Elinor because Marianne is just that standoffish with them but I wonder if there's a literary purpose to cramming all that information into one sentence? It's certainly taxing to get my mind around, though I'm not really sure that's reflective of the Steeles when it's partially about Marianne. Perhaps all parties are exhausting?

In Lucy Steele, the younger sister, Elinor finds a companion of natural wit and intelligence, but lacking in any formal education; though I assume by "illiterate" Austen means that Lucy is simply not versed in literature, as opposed to outright illiterate.

She still doesn't like her.

Seems she also finds Lucy to be flippant and lacking any consistency of opinion, and maybe also attention-seeky. Also that they can't really talk about anything interesting to Elinor as she's not educated enough to share any tastes. That's... a shame that Elinor takes this stance. She reads Lucy's constant flattery of everything as insincerety but I don't have any reason not to think Lucy is just a genuinely positive person about everything. Personally, I would call nearabouts everyone I meet really nice, but that doesn't mean I don't think it's true! As you can see as I try to defy the interpretations of almost every character that has been described unflatteringly by the Dashwood sisters. :'D

Except Mr. Palmer, I have no good interpretations of Mr. Palmer.

Also, just because she's not formally educated doesn't mean she can't be fun to talk to! Engage people on their interests Elinor, not just your personal tastes! Well, I say all this but it's not as though I always live up to my ideal of open sociability.

Lucy asks Elinor if she knows Mrs. Ferrars, Eddie's mother. Elinor is reticent to reveal that she thinks his mother is uh, controlling, but does I think truthfully respond that she's never met the lady in person.

Elinor replies without explicit dialogue a lot, which in the Dashwood sisters I've started to take as signifying instances where not merely do they have nothing interesting to say for the reader to read, but also that they are not invested enough in their conversation partner enough to give a proper reply. Elinor does this a little bit here to Lucy, until, that is, Lucy really catches her interest. Now it's ALL DIALOGUE.

See, Lucy really genuinely wants to know about Mrs. Ferrars, surprising Elinor indeed, who's still hung up on the question of how the Steeles are connected to the Ferrars.

"But if I dared not tell you all, you would not be so much surprised. Mrs. Ferrars is certainly nothing to me at present - but the time may come - how soon it will come must depend upon herself - when we may be very intimately connected."

Oh. Oooooohhhh no. Oooooooh boy. Hmm. Yes. Well. I remember Eddie has a more successful (younger?) brother, but I feel like this isn't a fake-out just to give Elinor a heart attack and then move on. Somebody familiar with Austen and queer readings correct me on this, but I also don't see the remote possibility that this is implying Miss Steele is hooking up with Eddie's mother. So.........

I'm sitting here having not turned to the next page yet. Good heavens! indeed, Elinor.

"No," replied Lucy, "not to Mr. Robert Ferrars - I never saw him in my life; but," fixing her eyes upon Elinor, "to his eldest brother."

T-there it is. And Eddie has the hair ring too, doesn't sound one-sided... could still be parental setup, but Lucy apparently doesn't know nearly enough about Mrs. Ferrars...

What Elinor felt at that moment? Astonishment, that would have been as painful as it was strong, had not an immediate disbelief of assertion attended it.

Oh no. As painful as it is strong? Poor Elinor, that's going to hurt when the shock wears off...

A moment of silence for Elinor before I continue, which I'm going to take a short walk on.

So Elinor's... outwardly taking it well. Lucy continues her explanation.

FOUR YEARS.

FOUR YEARS.

LUCY AND EDDIE HAVE BEEN ENGAGED FOUR YEARS.

EDWARD AND LUCY HAVE KEPT THEIR ENGAGEMENT A SECRET FOR FOUR YEARS.

"May I ask if your engagement is long standing?" "We have been engaged these four years."

FOUR YEARS.

ELINOR NEVER HAD A CHANCE.

"I know he has the highest opinion in the world of all your family, and looks upon yourself and the other Miss Dashwoods quite as his own sisters -"

SHE WAS JUST A FRIEND. SHE WAS JUST   A   F R I E N D.

S H E   W A S   L I K E   A   S I S T E R   T O   H I M.

Alright. Well I needed to process that a bit too.

See, it's one thing for me to expect that Eddie was already engaged to somebody else. I would've been ready for that. Maybe he just moved on after Elinor was gone or something. I would've been like "yep, yeah that was expected." But FOUR YEARS. HE WAS ALREADY ENGAGED FOUR YEARS AGO.

How does this recontextualise the earlier parts of the novel? It was a hundred pages ago I don't even remember! Was this all the Dashwoods' imaginations? Am I going to go back and find out the narrative very specifically refused to state anything except that the Dashwoods thought this to be the case? Was Edward leading Elinor along the whole time? Did he know?? He seemed to be feeling guilt or shame or something so he must know about Elinor's feelings right??? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

ANyway.

So it's been a secret the whole time. Of Lucy's family only Anne Steele knows, and considering Edward I imagine literally nobody knows in general. Lucy and Edward have known each other for many years, ever since Edward stayed with her uncle Mr. Pratt, whom I don't recall coming up at all before but I wouldn't be surprised if he was name-dropped once in the beginning. Edward is so reticent about himself that Elinor barely knows/remembers anything about Mr. Pratt's existence.

I'm taking these quotes thoroughly out of order because I have been knocked out of order, but I want to highlight this;

Her astonishment at what she heard was at first too great for words; but at length forcing herself to speak, and to speak cautiously, she said, with calmness of manner, which tolerably well concealed her surprise and solicitude:

The forced calm, trying to suppress the adrenaline early, trying to keep up the mask of the disaffected. It was obvious enough that Lucy noticed and stopped mid-sentence to wait for her. Oh Elinor. How fast is her heart beating? Where has her breath gone? And "tolerably well concealed" is not "concealed." She's speaking slowly and carefully, before she's even calmed down. How much shakiness is still audible in her words? How taut has each syllable been stretched, to maintain control? Where was the misplaced pause, a necessity to find the next word?

"May- may I ask if your engagement has been long standing?" "May  I ask   if   your   engagement   has been long- long standing?" "May I   ask   if your engagement has been longstanding?"

Anyway.

Elinor's in either the denial stage or the bargaining stage. Well it's a lot to spring on her, we can't all have omniescent narrative security from beyond the fourth wall.

"Though you do not know him so well as me, Miss Dashwood, you must have seen enough of him to be sensible he is very capable of making a woman sincerely attached to him." “Certainly," answered Elinor, without knowing what she said;

PFFHAHA. Well, Elinor's composure is well and truly gone. If there's one positive thing that might come out of love triangles (positive negotiation sort, not toxic rivalry) it would be the sincere solidarity over the best qualities of the subject of their competitive affections. Though it doesn't seem like Elinor is disposed to be friends with Lucy, sadly...

I think Lucy just wants to be friends, but, uh, well. On the one hand I don't know how sensitive she's being right now really but on the other hand, I dunno how you can sensitively break it to someone that their crush has actually been your fiance for FOUR YEARS. Like, if Eddie knew, this is something he shoulda nipped in the bud long ago.

I think I've already spent an hour trying to process everything here.

The secrecy of the engagement makes sense too. I don't think Eddie's mother would ever have approved of any engagement without thorough vetting of the suitor's prospects. A secret youthful engagement must therefore remain very secret. No wonder Lucy's so concerned about Mrs. Ferrars now, too. And Eddie's only known the Dashwoods with the context of his sister hovering nearby, just ready to be generally Fanny. If information about Lucy had gotten out to Marianne that would already be a risk, but there was MARGARET too, and that sure worked out for Elinor. No wonder the Dashwoods heard nothing.

...

Elinor could tank this if she leaked the engagement. Please don't do that Elinor, it- oh no. Elinor won't do that. What if Marianne does it on Elinor's behalf? Oh no oh no. I hope that doesn't happen. Lucy's a nice girl. :(

Come to think of it, as far as underhanded deals go, there is a possibility that Lucy is actually faking this information, knowing that Elinor is interested in Edward, in order to drive her away. That... wouldn't be the case would it...? But he does have the hair ring... It's not like she pressed her into an engagement right...? AM I BARGAINING ON ELINOR'S BEHALF?

Lucy demonstrably proves she's talking about Edward Ferrars and nobody else by showing Elinor a picture of her beau. A thought, considering how much Edward has spoken to Lucy of the Dashwoods, no wonder she was so keen to meet them.

And Lucy is so happy to be able to confide in Elinor because she has noone else besides Anne, who is understandably a liablity in terms of secrecy, and gives poor advice in general. How fortunate to have somebody so level-headed as Elinor! Edward's name coming up at all from Sir Middleton did mortify her at the possibility of beans being spilled. Lucy is so stressed that the secrecy is such that she barely gets to see Edward at all, and never knows what will be of her future. Please Lucy, you know the context of Edward's being mentioned at all, spare a thought for Elinor. :(

Here she took out her handkerchief; but Elinor did not feel very compassionate.

... Yeah.

"Sometimes," continued Lucy, after wiping her eyes, "I think whether it would not be better for us both to break off the matter entirely. [...] What would you advise me to do in such a case, Miss Dashwood?"

Uh. Wrong person to ask. Elinor sure thinks so too. Ah but Lucy even explains why he's been despirited. So it's not as much any guilt or shame so much as stress about his future with Lucy. It does also explain him leaving in a hurry with no explanation, anything related to Lucy would have no explanation given.

And Lucy shows Elinor a letter sent to her by Edward; now all doubts are cleared. She also explains that the hair-set ring is hers, asking her if she had seen it;

"I did," said Elinor, with a composure of voice, under which was concealed an emotion and distress beyond anything she had ever felt before."

After sitting with them a few minutes, the Miss Steeles returned to the Park, and Elinor was at liberty to think and be wretched.

Poor Elinor. "at liberty to think and be wretched" is also a very nice line to end a chapter on. I've definitely felt that before too.

Well.

This chapter. A lot happened here. What's Marianne going to find out next about Willoughby when the Palmers return?? We still don't know about Brandon's daughter!!

I understand now too why the chapter with the Palmers got sandwiched between the preceding chapters and the introduction of the Steeles, and why the transition seemed strangely long. The lack of information lulls a false sense of security, and also it's a small buffer in the pacing to not immediately just, roll reveals onto the reader.

I can think of Lucy as nothing but earnest at least, though, quite insensitive to Elinor's feelings in a way that should have been obvious. Umm. I don't know what to say or think about Edward right now. He's barely appeared really, I can't get a read on him. Floating the idea at the end that Lucy is not secure in her engagement, and also that it could be easily broken by the secret getting out, does... leave the whole consequences of this reveal up in the air really. It's thoroughly within Elinor's power to break them up, but...

Ah, my minds a bit overloaded now and I've gone way overtime so I'll leave the rest to consider next time after I've digested it a bit.

Poor Elinor.

[savedyourass]

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

If you asked her where the story really starts, she'd say, "With a flower and a smile". She wasn’t two weeks older than seventeen and still looking for her place in the world. She took up gardening. Learning all she could about plants and natural home remedies. For the first time in her life, Roxanne felt like this was something she had a total handle on. Trying out those little tricks and blends felt right.

And that was how she met Rachel Collins.

Crooning over carnations and catnip, they struck up a conversation by chance. And by chance, the redhead with the clever eyes of amber made her an offer too good to be true.

Less than twenty four hours later, that same woman who smiled and offered her the key to a world she’d only imagined had destroyed everything that the teen thought to be true. And in its place, she place tiny seeds and rebuilt her fragile world from the ground up.

Four months of after school lessons and she was moving on from bare basics to practicing tapping into ley lines. The first time was draining. She tried so hard, got so frustrated--pushing and pushing until a thin stream of red washed over her lips and chin.

Rachel wouldn’t let her come to lessons for a week after that.

The young apprentice got better about it, learning the limitations and payoff of long hours and hard work. She may have set a few accidental fire that were put out seconds later, but enough practice and she actually began to feel comfortable with the ebb and tide of power lines she crossed every day.

Rachel came to her graduation and stayed a month extra before they had to part ways. Part of her wishes she could say she didn’t cry. The other part knows that when she stayed planted on her worn couch, counting the seconds to regulate her breath, that when she heard the rev of the engine come and go, no training in the world could hold back the tears.

The only person that truly understood her was suddenly gone, and once again, she was left with her flowers, and her books, and the overwhelming feeling of being lost at sea.

She got emails twice a month, not always long or those exact two weeks apart, but it helped. She wrote everything she could about her training and still practiced almost every hour of every day before she started college.

It wasn’t too hard to get away with either. Spending the last semester of school with her face in a book or off ‘studying at the library’ left her classmates and father expecting this sort of behavior.

“I’m gonna be top of my class.” She’d boast every time her dad made those concerned jabs about her turning into a hermit. When he’d get that soft proud smile and agree, she felt like she was suffocating or ready to hurl.

Every time Roxanne thought to let him in on the secret, something stopped her.

Some deep and primal fear that burned her throat like battery acid.

She spent the last few weeks glued to his side whenever he was home and not worn to the bone. They spent a long weekend back up at the old cabin. Nothing but nature and not a ley line to be found for a good mile. It made her queasy now and then not to feel it, but her dad hadn’t looked so young or happy in years.

When he drove her down to her university, she hadn’t ever seen him so old. Misty eyed and lock jawed, he kissed the top of her head and left her with boxes half unpacked and forty separate oaths to call if anything ever came up. An eight hour drive wasn’t that long.

They sniffed and smiled, and once again, she was alone. This time, she felt it less. The email she sent Rachel that night was cut from a page to a paragraph, skimming over the bits that made her teary eyed. She went to bed hopeful.

The next morning, her roommate moved in.

Alexandrea Garner.

She was a sweet faced, sly eyed girl of 18 with the grin of a salesman and a laugh like a bell. Something about her sat strange in her stomach, but she made the best of it. The more time she spent with Alex, the more she expected the feeling to fade.

It didn’t.

Every time she stepped into the same room, it felt like the energy was trying to shift her right back out. Thick as air could be, it ran over her hands like fingers rubbing a new shag carpet the wrong way.

The night before Halloween—Samhain as Rache liked to correct her--she agreed, after much pestering and pulling, to go with Alex to a small Halloween party. She had no classes the next day, and therefore no excuse to bail out. For once in her life, she was determined to cut loose and have fun.

They danced, they ate, even drank a little courtesy of whoever stocked the fridge with two 30 packs and three flavors of hard lemonade and cider. When Alex dragged Rox out to the garage to meet a few of her friends, she thought nothing of it. They cracked the door, pulled out what she assumed were small cigars and handed her one.

Her head was fuzzy and her lips pulled into a wide grin as she watched painted faces and half cocked masks twist and turn as each showed off tricks with the smoke or lighter.

She never carried one. She didn’t smoke. Still not quite pulled in the circle, she set a tug deep beneath her until she felt a tiny jolt. Eyes closed, she took a deep lungful and the end of the cigar singed and burned as if held in a flame.

She passed it along as if nothing happened. She didn’t feel eyes on her until she left to use the bathroom ten minutes later.

Alex followed her out and snagged her in the hallway, dragging her into one of the upstairs bedrooms without giving any explanation.

“What the hell, Al?” She finally managed when the door was shut and the music muffled.

“I saw that.” Her eyes gleamed, pupils blown with delight and rimmed in a red hue and smudged eyeliner. “What you did back there. I saw.”

She swallowed, dry throat tickling enough to make her want to cough.

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” She tried to move past, but Alex grabbed her by her shoulders, smile devious as the cat that stole the cream. The younger girl jerked back like she’d been burned.

It took a few seconds to register that her arms actually…hurt. A glance down and she noticed the faint outline of red on her upper arms. It didn’t hurt any worse than a bad sunburn, but it still had her backing up a few steps, fumbling to keep her footing when her leg hit the side of the bed.

Alex burst into a howl of laughter and leaned back against the door. Rox stared on, confused and no less unsettled. She didn’t see anything funny about this.

“Don’t get your tighty whities twisted, bookworm.” Folding pale arms across her chest, Alex waited until she felt the blonde had enough interest in what she was going to say. It was pretty clear she liked the dramatics of the whole ordeal. Especially so when it was at someone else’s expense. “You’re not the only one around here with a few parlor tricks." She raised one hand, waving her fingers playfully before snapping her fingers. A spark appeared and was gone in the next instant.

So that was where the burn came from.

“You’re an elemental witch.” Roxanne spoke slowly, chewing at her lip as she thought about it. At least it wasn’t like a normal person caught her. That was better, right? “So, you’re part of the Council. You’re--not going to report me for that, right?”

Rolling her eyes, Alex moved closed the distance and forced Roxanne to sit on the bed. “Do I look like a Council dog to you? Puh-lease.” Her chin lifted, face practically glowing with pride. “I’m a member of something much better. None of those prissy bureaucratic rules. I use my powers when, where, and how I want.” Alex sunk down next to the blonde, propping her hands back to support herself.

Roxanne’s brows furrowed and her head snapped sharply to the side, trying to keep eye contact with her fellow witch. “What do you mean? It’s the Council or nothing.” That was how Rachel explained it to her. You come of age, and then you choose magic, or no magic. She obviously knew which side she was leaning towards.

Scoffing, Alex kicked up her feet, seeming bored before the explanation even began. “That’s what the Council tells you. It’s a total psycho dictatorship and everyone buys into it.” Her lips curled. “Almost everyone.”

Throwing a skeptical glance her way, Rox fiddled with her shirt, the typical ‘Where’s Waldo’ red and white stripes bending with each pluck. “They’re pretty much the police.” She argued, having been told enough stories straight from the witch’s mouth. “You can’t just not listen to them and use your powers. They’ll find out and come after you.” Someone like Rachel, more specifically.

The dark haired girl scowled and leaned in closer, forcing Rox to shrink back if she wanted to avoid a blast of booze breath. “Let ‘em come.” She spat before trying to regain some of her cool. “I’m fourth generation Cursed. My whole family does magic outside of the Council’s rules.”

Cursed. It sounded familiar. Maybe she’d heard it once; maybe she just thought it about her situation once or twice, but it had her wondering. “So you just….do whatever you want?”

Alex gave a swift nod and Roxanne had to stare at her roommate in a sort of curious wonder. Seeming much more settled, Alex nudged Rox’s leg and gave her a pointed, almost expectant look. “If you were any kind of real witch, you would too.”

The conversation ended there, Alex leaving her in the room with more than enough to chew on. When she returned to her room that night, the other girl was nowhere to be found. Exhausted, she opened her email, finding no new response from Rachel. Just junk mail and notifications of events.

Roxanne pulled up a new draft to send her old mentor’s way, but all she wound up able to type was the solitary question; “Does ‘Cursed’ mean anything to you?”.

She kept the tab open, fiddled with a few assignments and watched a few videos, looking back at it every now and then. After an hour, her nerves were shot and she knew it was time to give in to sleep.

The teen closed the draft and let the question die for the time being.

A week later, after an uncomfortable silence had overtaken their room, Roxanne finally got up the guts to ask Alex about the Cursed.

She learned more than she ever expected to.

Slowly, her emails with the infamous Rachel Collins dwindled to once a month, to once every three months, to not at all.

Her 18th birthday came and went in a blur. Taking Alex’s advice, she chopped off almost a foot of hair to commemorate her official initiation into the rebel group. She practiced magic as much as she studied, taking every chance to fit in quality time with Alex and her close knit group of friends.

She didn’t get any more feelings of dread around Alex anymore.

As promised, Roxanne finished her degree in the top twenty percent of her class, thanks to a little charm and hex here and there. Her dad couldn’t have been prouder.

She and Alex kept in touch afterwards, running with vamps and weres, planning trouble this way and that for any Council member caught in their sights. Word always spread quickly in their vast network. It helped them stay three steps ahead of those self-proclaimed police.

It was how Roxanne knew just who was in town sniffing for trouble.

New, improved and carrying a few more years of experience under her belt, she decided it was the perfect time for their big reunion. The invitation she left wasn’t one any worthy member of the Council would ignore.

The trail was laid like bite sized breadcrumbs leading right to her.

Her heart still sputtered with nerves. The thoughts of how many ways this could go plagued her mind for the days that she waited. When the moment finally came and she felt as much as heard her old friend enter, her chest felt fit to explode.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” She breathed. The caress of the soft bell shaped flowers was as loving as a mother carding her fingers through a child’s hair. “I hear if you use them right, you can send someone’s pulse through the floor.” The shards of blue in her eyes twinkled as her gaze drifted from the plant itself to the woman standing across from her.

First shoes, legs, hands—unarmed, and at last, her face--twisted, but as pretty as she was six years ago.

There wasn’t a hint of displeasure in her own expression. In fact, she seemed quite at ease, straightening and facing her former teacher head on.

“It’s been a while, Rachel.” Her eyes flicked down and back up in a smooth calculating motion. Senses slithered out to test how far the nearest fuel source lie.

Words were lost on her for a moment. “You look good.” Not dead, at the very least. All the rumors she’d heard about that damned Council had her skeptical on how long a rarity like a fellow ley witch would last.

She was happy, though. More relief than she thought herself possible of containing washed over her, setting a frazzled mind at ease, if only in part.

                                                                                       “--I missed you.” 

[makeitlastforeverff]

Who's Ready For This Update?

It's long as hell by the way.

[halftruthsandhyperbole]

Teen Wolf's Triptych of Heroes: Derek, Scott, Stiles

Scott

Before I started watching Teen Wolf, I was well aware of how the fandom didn't much care for Scott (at least in season 1? opinion seems to be swaying more into his favor from the very few supernatural-turned-teen-wolf blogs that I follow).

Anyway, here were the two conclusions I drew from fandom perception of Scott:

1) Scott is boring/not very intelligent

2) The only things Scott cares about are Lacrosse and Allison--he is selfish, unlike Stiles who should be the protagonist in Teen Wolf.

Since Scott is the first protagonist in a long time I haven't felt like punching in the face, I disagree. :)

Scott is not boring--nor is he less intelligent than Stiles. 

Scott comes from a lower socio-economic household. If he's not in school, he's working. If he's not working, he's doing homework. If he's not doing either of those things, he's on the lacrosse field -- and he sucks at lacrosse pre-werewolf days. 

lacrosse is his space

it is the space in which he feels most comfortable with himself--free from the pressing demands of his work and school.

he chooses lacrosse -- lacrosse is where he asserts his agency, choosing to play even though he has asthma. 

lacrosse is his safe place. the place for him to recharge.

now, imagine being bit by a werewolf without even a by your leave. 

without your choice

and then being told not only by the dude you think bit you that hey you need to stop playing lacrosse

but also by your best friend who /knows/ how important lacrosse is to you if only for your personal self care

that you can no longer play?

of course he's not going to want that because it might be petty, but it is something that is his.

it's easy for stiles to say, hey give up lacrosse

it's easy for derek to say, hey give up lacrosse

because lacrosse does not register as important to them -- not like it does to Scott.

Think about this -- Scott hates being a werewolf so much, he would rather go back to his human self, the one not on first string, asthma and all, so that he can be out on that field. 

Do I (along with Stiles and Derek) get how important lacrosse is? Nope. But then, my family doesn't get how important to me tumblr is either so i figure the only thing i need to understand?

is that lacrosse is Scott's space to be himself -- the only space he has, probably. 

and it's being threatened and he is in denial and he is attempting to cling to the identity that was literally ripped away from him, trying to reestablish himself and his humanity.

this goes into how people are aghast at Scott's so-called cavalier attitude towards Stiles' safety. How can he only care about Allison? What about Stiles -- your friend.

which, exactly.

they are such good friends that Stiles carries an inhaler in case Scott needed it.

think about that

that kind of friendship does not emerge when it is a one-way street.

Scott figures that he and Stiles are such good friends that the idea of killing him--even as a werewolf? doesn't even occur to Scott. 

look at his face -- when they're having that conversation in the jeep. Stiles says something along the lines of, well i was going to say at least you won't kill me

and scott is surprised -- not in a uh, oh duh of course kind of way but in a legitimate -- why would you even think that i'd kill you even if i'm a werewolf?

If the second season is more or less about Scott coming into his own identity as a werewolf on his own terms (i'm not joining your pack, Derek -- REDEFINING OMEGA WOLF HELLO)

then season 1 is him experiencing the crisis of having his agency and his previous identity negated not only by people who have NO RIGHT to change him, to label him, but by his /best friend/

because scott clings to humanity -- he clings to it because it was one of the few things that was his, his own identity (which ties into lacrosse), while everybody else is too busy saying, be part of my pack scott, you're a werewolf scott, you need to be tied up at night, Scott --

and do you think scott didn't notice the wolf part of being a werewolf--particularly the part where a wolf is an animal? where you don't lock people up like they're animals (which Stiles, in his mind, wants to do even if Stiles himself doesn't see it that way? ah the tragedy of miscommunication)? the part where there are literal hunters hunting him like an animal?

for much of season one, scott is conflating personhood with humanity--and is attempting to preserve both by resisting the idea that he will harm someone, that he is a werewolf, etc.

 by the end of season 1, he realizes that he has changed (even if it was not by his choice or consent) and that there is no going back

but that doesn't mean he still can't be himself, that he has to play by the rules someone else made

enter season 2 Scott

the one who no longer conflates personhood with humanity

the one who willingly locks himself up in a cage

the one who learns to control his werewolf urges the more and more he becomes comfortable in his own skin.

:')

that's not to say he doesn't make mistakes--because he does. He's meticulous, he likes having a plan. When he doesn't have a plan, he panics and, just because he thinks that Derek may be dead, blurts out that he's the one that's been murdering people when um. no

scott bb no. 

it is a flaw, i suppose, that he's not as concerned as he should be for the safety of his friends, particularly those on the lacrosse field, even though i find the reason why to be incredibly sympathetic and relatable and understandable

(and considering the kind of crap stiles gets away with in fandom's eyes, legitly wondering why scott is condemned so hard for this reasonable desire to not give up the only safe place he has, the way he defines his own personhood/humanity -- since in season one the two are conflated in Scott's mind, but not so in season two -- just because someone bit him without his consent)

eta: since this obviously wasn't clear--this is an exploration of his character, not apologism for his actions.

Another reason I like Scott's arc is because so often--these type of narratives go the Reluctant Hero route (see Frodo, see Sam Winchester, see buncha other people I'm forgetting right now because lol exhaustion)--but, though Scott falls into this category, he subverts and deconstructs it. 

Because there are two people telling Scott what he should be: Peter and Derek

and Scott says to them, fuck you both i'mma do my own thing at my high school with my girlfriend allison and my best friend stiles and my mom and ya'll can do whatever werewolf business you fucking want to, just leave me out of it xoxo

and it's just -- so fucking gorgeous, the way he rejects the spaces these strangers have drawn up for him and draws his own instead, emerging as his own self-defined hero within that space.

Stiles

Stiles and Scott foil each other. Whereas Scott is the Reluctant Hero, Stiles is the Eager hero, as you can see when he complains about being the Robin to Scott's Batman, and Scott, aghast, says that there is no Batman and Robin.

This is a key difference between Scott and Stiles, and is a source of strain on their friendship.

Scott wants to reclaim his life, while other people, including his best friend (possibly inadvertently paralleling the Alpha) are eagerly writing their own story in the context of Scott's existence -- an idea which Scott angrily rejects not only when he smacks down Stiles' allegory of batman and robin, but when he says that Stiles is going on and on about the werewolf business in early season 1.

fandom interprets stiles studying up on werewolves as evidence of friendship--

and i'm not saying it's not

but people are complex creatures -- and i am saying that there is something more.

stiles sees himself as robin and he wants to be batman

he doesn't want to sit on the sidelines (which, even though lacrosse is important to stiles, it holds different meaning to him that it does for scott -- it is another way to prove himself as more than just the sidekick, but also as the hero as defined by being put on first string).

he studies werewolves because not only does it help scott, but it gives him a role and purpose -- and sometimes he steps into people's personal space when he does (is scott ready or comfortable talking about being a werewolf to stiles? no he's not -- stiles has the advantage of NOT BEING A WEREWOLF and can casually talk about it, pass judgment about what he should or should not be doing all the while NOT BEING A WEREWOLF)

this desire to become a hero is also seen in his obsession and Nice Guy Syndrome towards Lydia (because heroes get the girls). 

It distresses me how many people lol at Scott and condemn his obsession with Allison -- but have nary a word to say about Stiles towards Lydia--which is a) way more unhealthy than Scott's feelings towards Allison and b) really fucking gross x_x (you're beautiful when you cry? excuse you Stiles, but she is a crying for a reason, and it is not to look aesthetically pleasing for someone like you). 

Scott's desire to be the hero culminated in the season finale--Peter Hale identifies Stiles' anxiety about constantly being the sidekick when he talks about giving Stiles the bite, which Stiles refuses--possibly because Peter Hale is a creepy douchebag. Stiles says, I don't want to be like you -- and even though Peter says that Stiles is lying about not wanting to be a werewolf, I more or less interpret it as Stiles conflating receiving the bite to becoming, literally, like Peter Hale -- not just assumption of werewolf status. 

how has this evolved in season 2? 

i feel that stiles' obsession with lydia has gotten 10x grosser than it was in season 1.

i feel that he is positioned into the role of a hero more often -- for example, saving Derek (which is, again, a direct foil to season 1!Stiles, who made no effort at all to find Derek via Scott's phone until threatened by Peter), attempting to call 911 at the mechanic shop, etc.

However, the narrative, like it did with Scott, subverts this. 

Whereas Stiles is in a position to save the mechanic, he is ultimately inhibited from doing so by the paralyzing mucous stuff on his hands. 

Whereas before, Stiles urged Scott to be a hero and to save people by removing himself in order not to kill people, it is wolfed-out!Scott that saves Stiles, who is also heroically saving Derek.

Season 1 characterized Stiles as the Eager Hero Attempting to Overcome Side-kick Status. Season 2 seems to position Stiles as a hero, but then uses circumstance to override his self-perception and perception of others (eg, Scott). 

Derek

So, Derek. I don't actually have a lot of feels regarding Derek -- I'm not sure why. But any budding feelings I had for him has gotten nipped in season 2 (the non-con touching of Erica, breaking Isaac's arm -- and i know he is probably projecting and attempting to make them stronger so that they can survive -- which refers back to season 1 where Derek's central conflict revolved around the fact that his family did not survive--because of Kate, and maybe he does blame himself in part for that and so projects these anxieties upon his pack--but that still doesn't excuse his actions).

Derek and Scott also foil each other in how they received their werewolfishness. Derek was born into it (idk if this means werewolves can be born without having the bite, or else they were bitten at a young age? but i prefer the former interpretation because the second makes me go x_x)

so though they both had no choice in the matter, they both deal with it from different spaces. Derek cannot see how Scott cannot view this as a gift, Scott cannot understand how Derek can't see this as a violation

Derek parallels Peter Hale in that they both killed kin to become the Alpha and, now that they had become alphas (though Derek foils Peter in that he never set out to become an alpha--it's just something that happened along the way) -- they need packs.

They differ in how they choose their packmates. 

I think it's interesting how Derek's course shifts at the end of season 1--before, it was about finding revenge for his sister--and, instead of letting Scott kill Peter so that he may break the werewolf tie, instead chooses to become the alpha instead, thus taking away Scott's last hope to be human again.

Though Scott deals with this really well (see my love letter all the way at the top hehe), it foreshadows Derek's oft-talked about hubris, I think. 

Because somewhere in season 1, it stopped being about vengeance, and instead came to be about power and empowerment -- probably not surprising, since this occurred right after a torture session with Kate. 

Interesting though, how this parallels Allison--who, also adopts her hunting ancestry in order to feel powerful, to not feel helpless ever again. (and allison, of course, subverts that space defined for her in the same way that scott subverts his)

Derek, as far as I can see, is not subverting his role as an alpha. In this way, he and Stiles are thematically closer to each other than they are to Scott. 

I'm assuming that this role will be complicated once the hubris begins to become more apparent in season 2.

Conclusion

Scott deserves more love that's all.

;)

This is pretty long already and i'm not really sure what else to say other than i really enjoy the different types of hero types going on here and yeah.