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dreamkidddream · 3 years

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I’d like to request hc’s of the Brothers and Diavolo reacting to an MC that’s so cute, she could pass off as a doll. If she stands perfectly still, she could pass off as a full sized doll until she moves again. She has adorable doe eyes, wears cute clothes (Lolita fashion or just has an anime girl style), and even makes cute desserts. If the usual MC was weak and frail to them already, Doll!MC seems so dainty, precious, and fragile; these guys would ban paper if she ever got a paper cut.

Oooooo this is really interesting! I can just imagine Doll!MC just making everyone so scared every time she moves because they could probably hurt themselves just bumping into a wall because they look so fragile lol. These were short, so hope you enjoy!

Update: here’s part 2 with the other Undateables!

The Brothers and Diavolo Reacting to Doll!MC

Lucifer

...maybe he made a mistake in picking you for the exchange program after all

You just look so delicate, and just so pure.

You have definitely made cute little snacks and brought it to him while he locked himself in the office with paperwork

He lowkey highkey likes it no matter how he brushes it off with the usual thanks. Keep doing it, MC, he really appreciates it

When you get in trouble and he gives you the usual lectures, he can’t look into your eyes for long

Geez, he already can’t stay mad at you for long but now he can just feel his resolve cracking

If you get hurt oh Diavolo prepare for helicopter parent Lucifer

As soon as you accidently cut yourself in the kitchen (it would be the tiniest cut, barely noticeable), you’re no longer allowed in the kitchen unsupervised and can’t handle anything with a sharp end (whether its a butter knife or kid proof scissors that would be safe for Luke to use unsupervised)

“Let me do it for you, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Lucifer, thank you but I’ll be okay. It’s just a frosting spatula it’s not sharp-”

Will punish his brothers 10x worse and demons 100x more if he finds out you got hurt (doesn’t matter what the injury is, could be so much as a paper cut there will be hell to pay)

Constantly checks on you when he can’t see you in person

Handles you so lightly that you barely feel his touch

Move over Belphie, you’re the baby of the house now

Mammon

Protective x100000

Is still tsudere around you, but doesn’t insult you as much

Who are you kidding as soon as he looks into your cute doe eyes, he forgets what he’s saying

Complains about having to do stuff for you but doesn’t mind at all really. He loves it because it feels like you’re depending on him, and that makes him feel worth something.

“C’mon human, let the Great Mammon carry your books! You’re gonna hurt yourself and I don’t feel like hearing Lucifer’s mouth today!”

It was just your planner and a small recipe book that Luke gave you, and it weighed less than 10 pounds but okay. You don’t complain either when you see that he genuinely wants to help and do these things

Basically your loud guard dog and secret service agent rolled into one

He’s gotten into trouble more than once for “protecting you”. A student barely bumped your shoulder and Mammon already tackled him. Lucifer was not pleased (but he secretly understood)

He can’t help it that you’re weak and surrounded by hungry demons! It’s a pain to go through this much effort to just protect you, since you look so helpless

MC he’s just worried that you easily break if a demon so much as breathes on you but he likes that he can protect you because he knows that he can keep you safe. You’re just too cute and sweet okay??

Also stand in his room after watching a horror movie to freak him out and he’ll be sounding like Mariah Carey lmao

Leviathan

RURI-CHAN IS THAT YOU??!

Is for sure having an otaku/weaboo freakout moment

You blend in with figurines so well, every time you come into his room he asks you to stand next to them so he can feel that his collection is complete

He does it sometimes when he streams so people can think he has a rare limited-edition life sized doll that they can’t get. Makes him feel superior

DRESSING YOU UP IN COSPLAY 100%

You’re like an anime character but in real life and he does not know how to handle it

Can’t stare into your eyes, it makes them too flustered because he’s used to seeing it in his otome games and not from an actual person that he likes

Who needs maid cafes when he has you? You even dress and make anime themed desserts (once he built up the courage to ask you to make it for him)

Has to calm his beating heart every time he talks to you, you’re too precious for him MC!

Your like his very own idol, minus the singing and dancing. However, if you can sing and dance....

Levi.exe has stopped working

Satan

Thought you were a real doll until you introduced yourself

He really thought that someone brought you to life Pinocchio style

You looked like a princess from the many stories that he read, and he was smitten

Treated you so graceful and elegant like until he had his rage moments, which he told you to stay far, far, far away from him until he calmed down completely

Secretly placed a hex on you to where if someone tried to attack you or touch you with harmful intentions, they would be somehow be subjected to looking at their worst fear

You were wondering why that random stranger was just staring wide at you with extensive terror, but then you saw Satan grinning, so you left it alone. You thought it was just some weird demon thing

Loved when you made him cat-themed desserts

If you wore cat ears while doing it, he will turn extremely red

If you meow for him, he won’t know how to handle himself

Asmodeus

You are just the cutest thing he has ever laid his eyes on!!

Besides from himself of course, don’t get it twisted he’s still #1

He has most definitely had more than one photoshoot done with you both. And you guys have been trending on the Devilgram a couple of times already

Really you guys trend at least twice a month, and his fans love you!

They always ask where he got the doll from but he always laughs and says that “it’s a secret”

Imagine their shock when they see you walking and talking at RAD, some are amazed and some are downright scared

Fashion shows!

He lives for dressing you up in cute clothes. Your style already suited you and he had great tastes so the new outfits he got you were just *chef’s kiss*

The cute little desserts that you made for him, he always posted it on the Devilgram before he ate it. They were just so cute MC and he couldn’t not show his fans!

Is the most careful brother when it comes to keeping you out of danger. He refused to let his body or skin damaged, and he wasn’t about to let it happen to you either! You are both way too dainty and fragile to let anything happen

Also spa days and self-care nights weekly!

You’re the perfect match made just for him MC

He finally has someone that can understand his struggle of being beautiful, bless you MC

Beelzebub

Soft boy is scared of touching you :(

He towers over you, and he’s scared to even be near you

It takes some time, but he starts to warm up to you

Is always gentle with you, no matter the scenario

Holding hands? He is hardly gripping your hand, said hand fitting loosely in his

Getting hugs? He’s meagerly holding you, not wanting to crush you

You once complained to Beel that it wasn’t fair to get half done hugs (if you were hugging, you were getting a real hug, not a scared one).

He made you swear that if he was hurting you to let him know, so now you have your very own signal to use for him just in case

He was very tempted to wrap you in bubble wrap and just carry you around like that

He LOVES your sweets, even more than Luke’s and Barbatos’

No matter the size, he loves them, mainly because you made them and it was made with love, just for him

It always makes him feel so warm inside, and he doesn’t feel his appetite gnawing at him like usual

No one is dumb enough to try anything with you both in his presence and not, unless they want to end up either a: deep into the ground or b: into his stomach

You just make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and he just loves everything about you. He just loves you

Belphegor

Hm, you look cute

For a human

Acts like he doesn’t care, but you’ve caught him blushing before (he still does it too)

Won’t outright admit that you’re charming in your own little way, but he does in his sarcastic way like usual

“MC, you’re such a half-pint. You’re like my personal sized teddy bear.”

Has cuddled with you like you were his personal teddy bear (and still does, but you don’t complain at all)

Has a secret sweet tooth and eat your desserts whenever you make it just for him (and he doesn’t even share it with Beel, that monster)

Demons just have to look Belphie in the eyes, watch him flex his claws, and they all of a sudden forget about whatever they were planning. Good

He hates that you look so fragile, but at the same time he kinda likes it

You just look so soft, and you’re just so kind

It makes him feel like he’s protecting and caring for you, and that makes him feel calm and peaceful

Please make sure that he’s okay MC, he’s scared that he’s gonna mess up again

Diavolo

The Prince of Hell is both surprised and pleased at your appearance

Do all humans look this charming or is it just you??

If someone as soft as you can survive living and going to school with demons, then this is great

Knew that you weren’t a doll, but still liked to admire you like one

Has asked more than once for pictures, you are just too enchanting!

Wants to have a portrait painted of you so he can hang it up in the castle

LOVES you baking for him! Loves when Barbatos does it too (even though it is kinda part of his job), but it feels different with you. It feels...domestic in a sense. Makes him feel like Diavolo, your friend and very interested in being your boyfriend, instead of Lord Diavolo, the prince that will be residing over Hell in the future

No one would be foolish enough to hurt you. If someone was, they wouldn’t even get the chance to lift a finger before they were directly dealing with him. Don’t take his kindness for weakness, he still is a demon after all, the future King of Hell to be exact

Was scared of touching you at first, but quickly grew out of it! He can handle his own strength, and you guys also have a signal to use just in case he does squeeze a little too tight

Will want to dress you up in royal clothes (if you were okay with it). Nothing is wrong with your current style, as a matter of fact it suits you! He basically just wants to play a fancy game of dress up/have a fashion show with royal clothing

Will take 100s of photos, no exaggeration

Asmo will be jealous, so be warned

Plus, he wants to know how his future lover/ruler would look in a crown so he can start taking measurements. You can never be too ready, right MC?

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theotherhufflepuff · 3 years

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Simon Snow Trilogy Tarot Cards...

Ok so, a little while ago I saw this frankly stunning artwork by @vkelleyart and I started thinking about the Major Arcana archetypes and how characters from my favourite book series could fit into them.

So I made this list. It took a lot of thought and I’m still not 100% sure on some of them but I have explained my thought process for each card.

I don’t know how much crossover there is in the Venn diagram of “Simon Snow fans” and “tarot readers” but I’d love to hear your opinions and/or alternative suggestions (be respectful though, obviously). I’ve left “visual prompts” for most of the cards explaining what they looked like in my imagination and if anyone wants to draw any of these (or their own alternative version!) please tag me; it would make my day! I can’t draw for toffee so I am 1000% never gonna try to illustrate any of them myself.

List under the cut because it is loooong.

Spoilers ahead for the whole series!

0 The Fool - Shepard - Shepard just follows magickal creatures around and says “yes” to everything... he is the pure embodiment of the Fool archetype to me; care-free, innocent... prepared for everything and yet totally clueless. Visual prompt: Shepard about to (attempt to) step into the fog as he follows a fairy into the forest.

1 The Magician - Penelope - “Penelope Bunce is a fierce magician, I don’t mind saying” Baz, at least once in each book. Penny never worries about not having the power or words available to do whatever she wants; she is comfortable in her power and it is always there, ready to be wielded however she sees fit. Visual prompt: Penny wearing her Stevie Nicks cape, standing by a chalkboard in the classic “Magician” pose, ring clearly held aloft.

2 The High Priestess - Dr Mitali Bunce - Dr Bunce is possibly a more formidable magician than her daughter. Highly intelligent, straightforward and, let’s be honest, judgemental. But she does have all the answers. Visual prompt: Dr Bunce carrying around her laptop, phone sandwiched between her ear and her shoulder.

3 The Empress - Lucy Salisbury - Lucy exudes the nurturing, Earth Mother vibes that are central to the Empress archetype. She saw the best in everyone and all she wanted was to love Davy and live with him in their cottage with her chickens and their child. Visual prompt: Lucy, barefoot and pregnant, feeding the chickens outside of their cottage.

4 The Emperor - Lamb - This is one of the ones I’m not totally sure about. I went through a few different ideas but ultimately settled on Lamb as the “Vampire King of Las Vegas”. He is an imposing figure, ruling his city with an iron fist; if you are in his favour, Vegas is your playground, but cross him and you will suffer the consequences. Visual prompt: Lamb sits on an antique chair in his opulent suite at the Katherine, the lights of night time Vegas visible through the window behind him.

5 The Hierophant - The Mage - Again, this one took some thought and I’m sure some people will disagree with this interpretation... I’m not completely sold on it myself. The Mage was all about reforming the old traditions of the World of Mages and he amassed a following by doing so. But he turned out to be somewhat of a false prophet; abusing his power to oppress those he deemed “the enemy”. Visual prompt: The Mage in his Robin Hood costume, sitting at his desk at the top of the Weeping Tower, surrounded by his piles of banned books.

6 The Lovers - Simon and Baz - Obviously. As stated at the top of this post, I love @vkelleyart’s version of this card, but there are a lot of scenes across the series that could be used to illustrate this archetype. I personally always love to see the original “and then he kisses me” scene.

7 The Chariot - Fiona Pitch - I struggled with this one a bit and I don’t really think that this is the ideal version. But the image of Fiona, rolling up to Blackfriars bridge in her vintage sports car to rescue Baz from the Numpties really stuck with me so that’s what I went with, for lack of a better idea.

8 Strength - Ebb - Ebb is often dismissed and underestimated by other magicians but she is wicked powerful. But more than that, the Strength card is about inner strength, self control and the wisdom to know when to fight, and when to rest. Ebb is highly intuitive about the people - and goats - around her and is always careful not to talk about her twin brother, only conceding that she knows of his presence once a year and never giving in to the temptation to talk directly to him. Ebb saw the war coming and knew that she could probably end it all by herself with the power she had; but she also knew that she didn’t want that and she had the strength to say no, to eschew the expectations the rest of the World of Mages placed upon her and live quietly, instead. Visual prompt: Ebb in the hills behind the school with the goats, she wears a flower crown that the Dryad made her.

9 The Hermit - Agatha - the Hermit eschews the outside world in order to take an inner journey of self discovery, knowing that this is the only way to find real answers and achieve real growth. Agatha, jaded by the World of Mages, took herself off to California, leaving her wand at home. She didn’t know what she wanted but she knew it wasn’t magic. Visual prompt: Agatha sits on the beach at twilight by a small campfire, Lucy the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel by her side.

10 The Wheel of Fortune - The Crucible - The Crucible’s decisions, like the Wheel’s, are unpredictable and inevitable. Once it’s happened, you’re stuck with the consequences - sometimes bad (being stuck with a toff vampire who hates you) and sometimes good (getting the best room in Mummers house).

11 Justice - Natasha Grimm-Pitch - Natasha needed justice to find peace; her whole story is about justice. She was swift to act when the vampires attacked Watford, dispatching them without hesitation. When she came through the veil to find Baz and ask him to bring her murderer to justice, she knew that would also provide some closure for him, too, both for her death, and for his. Visual prompt: Natasha Grimm-Pitch appearing from beyond the veil, looking for Baz and finding Simon.

12 The Hanged One - Nicodemus - The Hanged One is about feeling stuck, but also about finding peace where you are when there’s nothing you can do about it. Nicodemus chose to cross over for eternal life, but he was stricken from the book; his (considerable) magic effectively taken from him and his fangs removed. He was stuck in between - not a full vampire, not a magician; he exists on the fringes of both communities. He got himself there and then he had to figure out how to get by, carve out a place for himself in order to survive. Visual prompt: Nicodemus sits in the tree in the garden of his mother’s house in South London, waiting for Ebb to come and sit on the empty bench beneath him.

13 Death - [scene on the Great Lawn] - Ok, so.. this might need some explaining. My immediate thought for this card was that it should be the Humdrum but Death is all about clearing out the old junk in your life that doesn’t serve you in order to make space for the new. And the Humdrum isn’t making space for anything. So I was thinking about times that has happened in the story and I thought about how the death of the Mage made room for real progress and an end to the war with the old families. Visual prompt: Penny and Baz (literally) run into a fleeing Agatha on the Great Lawn; the Weeping Tower looms in the background, the Mage and Simon visible through the blown-out stained glass windows.

14 Temperance - Simon and the Humdrum - Temperance is, as you might expect, about balance and harmony. Simon used so much magic at once that he couldn’t control it and it tore holes in the magickal atmosphere. Simon had to fill the Simon-shaped hole to restore equalibrium and stop the magickal firmament from collapsing altogether. Visual prompt: Simon kneeling in the Weeping Tower, pouring his magic into the Humdrum as he fades away.

15 The Devil - Smith Smith-Richards - The Devil is about feeling trapped by temptations in your life, often because we’re afraid of what we would do with the freedom we’d have if we let them go. Which got me thinking about Smith-Richards (that name never gets any less ridiculous) and all the magicians who were taken in by the temptation of “fixing” their magic. But it was a false promise and those magicians who narrowly escaped taking Smith-Richards’ spell were all freed from the idea of their magic being “broken” in the first place. Visual prompt: Smith-Richards (looking like the guy who would be cast to play Simon in the Netflix series) standing on a stage in the packed-out White Chapel, rapt audience hanging on his every word.

16 The Tower - The Humdrum - Originally I wanted to use the Weeping Tower for this card because the imagery is on point but the meaning doesn’t match. The Tower is about absolute destruction, the crumbling of something you thought core to your being. The Humdrum steals magic and renders magicians homeless because of it. The Tower is about having to start again from the ground up - just as the Grimms did when all the magic was drained from Hampshire. Visual prompt: The Humdrum, wearing Simon’s face, stands in the grounds of Pitch Manor, laughing. (I have always thought of the holes looking like a burn in a piece of paper - sort of glowing and smouldering at the edges as it eats away the atmosphere. I know the holes can’t actually be seen - the Normals would freak out - but that is imagery I would use here)

17 The Star - Lady Ruth’s candles - The Star is about hope and healing after the devastation of the Tower. Lady Ruth’s candles were a symbol of hope that kept her going when she thought she had lost her children. They provided comfort and, at the end when it became clear the Lucy was gone, the healing of knowing that her child had finally found his way home to his family. Visual prompt: Lady Ruth’s candles in front of a window, a bright star can be seen through the window.

18 The Moon - Agatha and Simon - So, the Moon is all about examining blurred lines between illusion and reality - nothing looks totally clear in the moonlight. It reminded me of how Simon never really seemed to have a clear view of his feelings for Agatha and what their relationship was. When he properly examined his feelings, he found that he didn’t love Agatha and was going through the motions because he thought it was what other people expected of him. Agatha was doing the same. It also brought to mind Simon, going out of his mind worrying about Baz when he was missing - as well as basically every other thought Simon ever has about Baz before Christmas Eve 2015 - and somehow mistaking it for hating him?? Simon is not stupid but sometimes he’s real dumb. Visual prompt: Agatha and Simon meet on the ramparts, both looking for Baz, and break up.

19 The Sun - Simon - This card is all about innocence, optimism and joy. Nothing about this series personifies this more than Simon flying above Shepard’s truck in America, feeling free and hopeful about the future for the first time in over a year. Visual prompt: Shepard’s truck drives through the vast empty desert, the sun beating down. Simon flies above the truck, joy on his face.

20 Judgement - Niamh and Agatha - Ok, this one was hard to figure out and this is maybe not the right solution, but I was very stuck. Judgement is about self improvement through self reflection. As a small twist on that theme; Niamh and Agatha challenge each other’s view of themselves and their interactions with the world around them. Visual prompt: Agatha and Niamh, sweating to death in Niamh’s “shitty Ford Fiesta” (I’m very salty about that line; my Ford Fiesta is lovely and it has aircon). Niamh is frowning, obviously.

21 The World - Simon, Baz, Penny and Shepard - The World is about completeness, the ending of a story, fulfilment and belonging. At the end of AWTWB, Simon has finally found his biological family, he is starting to accept that his boyfriend and his found family love him for who he is, magic or no, and he can finally start to imagine a future for himself. Baz has learned new information about his vampirism, Penny has found new confidence and Shepard is finally fully accepted into the group. Visual prompt: Baz, Penny and Shepard sit on Simon’s sofa (possibly still pink from Baz’s spell, possibly he spelled it navy blue again) Simon sits on the floor. They’re all eating leftover sandwiches and cake from Lady Ruth’s.

#carry on #carry on rainbow rowell #rainbow rowell #simon snow #simon snow trilogy #wayward son #any way the wind blows #awtwb #tarot #tarot cards #major arcana #baz pitch #Penelope Bunce #shepard love #snowbaz

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gobletofweasleys · 5 years

Text

Not Really Mine

Summary: Draco Malfoy asks for unconventional help. You agree. (Fake Dating AU)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Word Count: 2,602

Requested by: @agentpegcxrter : Hi!!! Could I request a Draco fic with fake dating au? Thanks! If you can’t there’s no problem! ✨🥰

You shouldn't have been surprised.

You watched Malfoy where he sat beside you, rigid in posture and eyes trained on the common room fire. The flames danced around the space, making shadows flicker across his skin. You were biting your lip in thought as you pondered what he'd said.

"And this will get your parents off your back?"

He nodded slowly, fidgeting in his place. This entire conversation had been laced with discomfort the moment it had started. You and Malfoy were mere acquaintances. Sure, you both hailed from strong, long standing pureblood Slytherin families, had been in the same school for five years, saw each other often at lavish dinner parties, but you wouldn't consider him a friend.

"You could ask Pansy Parkinson." You finally voiced what had been bothering you the most in this entire situation. Why you?

Malfoy pursed his lips and made a face. "No, she gets annoying after a while. Can't stand to be around her all the time."

You whistled lowly, tutting. "That's going to break her heart. She really fancies you."

"That's the whole problem."

You looked at him again, waiting for him to elaborate.

"If this fake dating thing is going to work, we have to complicate it as little as possible. You barely know me, so no chance of feelings or second thoughts to our agreement."

You stared at him. "Wow, you've really thought this through, haven't you?"

He finally looked at you, grey eyes meeting your own in the dim light of the fire. He shrugged.

When Malfoy had asked to talk to you in private, him asking you to be his fake girlfriend was the last thing you had expected him to say to you. It had taken a while to let the thought even sink in, and you had asked him to give you time. Now here you were, two days later, seriously considering going along with his plan.

He was doing it because he somehow thought dating someone from a very prominent Slytherin family would win his parents' approval, and you…. you hadn't yet decided what you would do.

"I don't know about this, Malfoy." Your tone hinted hesitation. "What if someone finds out we're faking it? And how long exactly do we have to keep this up?"

Malfoy sighed and leaned back into the couch, his lean frame almost disappearing into the soft cushions.

"We'll just have to make it convincing then, don't we?" He replied. "I was kind of hoping we'd figure it out as we went…"

You sighed and rolled your eyes, thinking about your own parents. Oh, they would be over the moon when they heard about this. You dating Lucius Malfoy's only son? It was too good to be true in their eyes.

Oh, the looks on their faces….

"Okay." You heard yourself say, making Malfoy's head jerk towards you. "Let's do it."

"R-really?" His eyes were wide as he sat up again. It was almost as if he was prepared for rejection. "That's- okay. Yeah, let's do it."

You didn't know what you actually expected from this whole fake dating thing, but it turned out to be ten times more enjoyable than you thought. For one thing, your housemates already thought you and Malfoy had conquered the sun or something. But both of you as a couple? Slytherins starting worshipping you.

Malfoy had been right, his parents and yours were both pleasantly shocked, your Mother pointing out in a letter how you'd never mentioned an interest for the boy. You replied with a fantastically romantic story about your realization of feelings. Of course it was all a load of crap, but she didn't have to know that.

You didn't have to do much. Hold hands with him while you walked to classes, sit next to him in the Great Hall, cheer him on during, before and after Quidditch matches. To your surprise, it turned out to be quite fun when he'd return all your gestures with some of his own. Like carrying your books to class, or loudly talking about what a wonderful person you were. Once or twice, he'd even gone as far as laying a little kiss on the back of your hand when it was intertwined with his. And to your surprise, you didn't hate it.

You should've known you'd fall for him. It was almost too cliché.

Having to glue yourself twenty four seven to Draco's side meant you'd spend most of your day talking with him. It came to a point where you'd randomly talk about anything and everything. One night, after a night of patrolling as Prefects, you both somehow ended up sitting at the top of the North Tower, talking about astronomy and pointing out the constellations.

"And you see that one?" You leaned closer to him to follow his finger properly as he traced a constellation. "That's Cassiopeia. In Greek mythology, she was a vain queen who often boasted about her beauty. She was actually forced to the sky as punishment. Apparently, she boasted that her beauty was greater than that of the sea nymphs, and she was banned to the sky for all to gawk at."

"Wow." You mumbled, turning your head to look at him again. Your position put you in very close proximity to him, his face shone even paler than usual under the silver sheen of the moonlight, and you felt your own face burn at the intimacy of the situation. "How do you know so much about this?"

He shrugged a bit, lowering his hand. "I spend a lot of time up here. Had to find something to do. It's actually pretty fun."

You watched the little twinkle in his stormy eyes, the porcelain skin lit beautifully under the moon, his hair almost silver. Involuntarily, a smile twitched on your lips.

"Yeah, I guess it is."

He turned his head to look at you then, giving you a small smile, face inches from yours. You swallowed and looked away, willing your racing heart to calm down. You had to chastise yourself again at your childish antics. The whole point of Draco asking you to fake date him was that you had no romantic feelings for him. You were breaking the basis of your pact with him. You cleared your throat and stood up.

"I should go. This uh, this is your time. I'm intruding." You moved to walk towards the trap door leading you back to the main castle. He grabbed your wrist though, frowning at you.

"I don't mind you being here." He replied. "I quite like the company, in fact."

You hesitated, not knowing what else to say. So when he gave your arm another soft tug, you just lowered yourself to the ground again. The rest of the night was spent peacefully stargazing and hearing Draco talk about the moon.

………………

Things only got worse. Or better. Depended on how you looked at it.

The longer you spent with Draco, the more you realized that he was less of a pompous ass and more just a boy with a slight temper and an irrational streak. As his personality in your mind became more and more fleshed out, taking shape of a genuine person, you fell for him more and more. Suddenly, his light touches on your waist or back weren't just something you let happen because you wanted people to believe you were together. It was something you wanted. You would wait for him in the common room every morning so you could walk to classes together, nearly sighing in relief when his fingers would slip into yours. It brought you more comfort than it ever should have. But you pointedly ignored that and tried to enjoy what you had.

Some things were harder to ignore though. Pansy Parkinson had always seemed to get on your nerves before, but now she was an actual nightmare. From the day she'd found out about you and Draco, her voice had become shriller, her remarks about you sharper and more accusing, and her glare more piercing. She'd never had a specific problem with you before, but you'd basically just given her a reason to hate you. Once or twice, Draco had to actually tell her to shut up when one of her remarks about you would go too far.

You hadn't really been bothered by it until recently, since you'd really accepted that you liked Draco.

Like right now. You could practically feel her eyes on your back from her spot on her bed across the dormitory from you. You ignored it, folding your next shirt and placing it back neatly in your drawer. Just when you were about to say something, she spoke up.

"I know you and Draco are not really a thing."

Your hands froze for a second only, before you took a deep breath and started folding again.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

She scoffed at that and you heard the bed creak under her as she shifted. "Come off it, Y/L/N. Draco dating you? You can't possibly expect me to believe that."

You didn't know why her tone held such incredulity, finally turning around to scowl at her.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why can't Draco date me?"

"I don't really have to explain that do I?," she was smirking, but her tone was as if she was talking to a toddler you couldn't understand. "the thought of you and him is laughable. Draco's mine. You two can't be a thing even if you wanted to."

You didn't know why her words made you so angry. Nothing she said was wrong. In fact, she was absolutely spot on in pointing out your fears. Draco wasn't yours, not really. This was a deal, like a contract, what was going on between you two. And as much as you wanted it to be real, it wasn't. But the mere thought of her declaring that Draco was hers made your blood boil.

Maybe that's why you did what you did the next morning. At exactly 11 o'clock, the entire school was at the Quidditch ground for Hufflepuff vs Slytherin. The team was still on the ground, ready to mount their brooms. Draco's hair flapped in the noisy wind, giving you a smile. It was kind of an obligation, a show for the people, that you be there before the match.

"Wish me luck." He grinned, walking to you and laying an obligatory kiss on your cheek. You knew, even without looking, that Pansy was watching. You didn't know what came over you.

You cupped his face with your hands, pulling him down to lay a kiss on his lips.

He went rigid under your touch, and you gave him no time to even process what was happening before you pulled away.

"Good luck." You whispered, only loud enough for him to hear. His silvery eyes were wide in shock.

You walked right off the grounds.

………………

Slytherin won, of course. Almost half an hour into the match, Draco caught the snitch. You were obviously happy about the victory, but you were more relieved about what the victory meant. That Draco would be surrounded by happy classmates for at least a few hours, giving you time to think of an excuse for why you did what you did.

When the satisfaction of Pansy seeing you two kiss had worn off, the panic had started to set in. What the hell had you done? Kissing was off limits, it was his number one rule. Hand holding? Sure. Hugging and maybe cuddling in front of the common room fire when people were around? Of course. But kissing? Hell no.

You were in your empty dorm room, pacing around and listening as the conversation down in the common room gradually dwindled. Any minute now, Draco would either come find you or send someone to get you. Then he'd ask you why you did what you did. You still had no answer. And then…

Then this whole thing would be over.

You didn't know why the thought hurt you so much. Almost as if it were an actual breakup. But it wasn't. It wasn't. You squeezed your eyes shut and willed yourself to think it wasn't a big deal. But somehow, you could already feel your heart breaking.

By the time late afternoon hit, you had worn yourself out with your nasty thoughts. You sat on your bed, staring out at the water outside your window. Today would be the perfect day to drown yourself if you could manage it.

"You didn't come downstairs."

Your head whipped around at the words, finding the one person you were dreading to see standing in the doorway of your dorm. You gulped and shrugged before standing up, wringing your fingers in nervousness.

"Draco, about what happened, I just wanted to say I'm sorry-"

"Why'd you do it?" He stepped into the room, hands buried deep in his pockets and looking hesitant.

"I-" you sighed, shaking your head. "It was stupid. Pansy said something about how you and me were a joke and could never be together and I just- wanted to shut her up."

"So you kissed me?"

Him saying it made you blush, looking up to see that he'd halted about two feet from you. Looking at him for the first time since morning, you couldn't help but remember the kiss, something you had pointedly not thought of all day. You remembered his lips, soft but slightly chapped. His surprised intake of breath. How you wished you had had more time, so you could properly savor it.

His little laugh broke you out of your thoughts, and you saw he was staring at his feet.

"So that's why you did it." He muttered softly. "I- well, I just thought- never mind."

Your eyes widened and you stepped closer to him. "W-what did you think?"

You already had an inkling that you knew, if the dark blush on Draco's cheeks was anything to go by. His train of thought was so obvious, you would have laughed if the situation weren't so charged with tension.

"Never mind." He repeated, taking a step backwards. But before he could go farther, you closed the distance between you two, your hands behind his neck and your face so close to his that your noses brushed each other's. He froze.

He was the one who closed the gap.

There was something so... intense about the way he kissed you. So desperate. His hands dug into your sides, holding you firmly in place as he deepened the kiss. You didn't hesitate in reciprocating his action, hands burying themselves in his hair, tugging at it slightly. His moan of satisfaction only made you keen as well, his arms now wrapped tightly around you, his body flush against yours.

A tiny gasp made you two break away, still slightly dizzy and disoriented. You turned your head to see Pansy Parkinson in the doorway, mouth open and eyes nearly popping out of her head.

Instead of pulling away, you felt Draco slide a hand under your shirt, making your face burn hot. She apparently saw that too, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"D'you mind?" Draco spoke up in that characteristic sneering voice of his. You nearly laughed as Pansy stumbled back out, slamming the door behind her.

You looked at him with a grin, feeling extremely satisfied with what had just happened.

"Where were we?" He mumbled cheekily before his lips were on yours again.

..................

Draco Malfoy Tags:

@i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy angst #fake dating au #draco x reader #harry potter fanfiction

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greenninjagal-blog · 4 years

Text

Loop Number Three Hundred Twelve

Hello who wants a quick one shot about Time Loops!

Summary: Patton is having a really bad day, and Virgil and Janus might just have a fix. He just wishes he found them three hundred loops ago.

Word Count: 5453

Quick Taglist: @alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders

Read on AO3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Janus is folding origami snakes when Virgil finds him.

Which, in itself, is not new or unusual. Janus has been making origami creatures since before Virgil had ever met him: cutting perfect squares of papers, folding along invisible lines, creating something new from the boringness. Some people like making tiny stars, but Janus turns squares of paper into pocket sized friends. Some of Virgils’s favorite presents are books in which he found little purple and gold paper spiders tucked between the pages, or the cranes that he unfolded to find little sweet and sappy messages for him, or when he was emptying out his school bag and found butterflies hidden in the depths, left there with care and love and waiting to be discovered on a rainy day.

Janus folds origami and Virgil keeps every single one he’s ever gotten his hands on-- sometimes even going as far as to dig the few Janus recycled out of the bin and keep them in his collection.

So the origami isn’t necessarily new or weird or confusing.

Finding him behind the school building, cutting class to fold them is.

Janus is, despite his outward appearance and his claims to the otherwise, a huge nerd. Virgil finds that adorable about him: the way he gets excited to go to school and learn something new, the bounce in his step when he was heading towards his psychology class, the rumbling of his words when he forgot to take a breath while describing history to him. He’s a nerd who reads autobiographies with crappy romance novel covers strapped on them and begs Virgil to watch the new Netflix documentaries with him.

When they had been seven, Janus had been very adamant about being a host on the History Channel. Virgil had been interested as long as he got to be the guy that went out and found Mothman to invite on to Janus’s show.

(Sometimes Virgil finds himself missing the simplicity of being seven-years-old and knowing what he wants to do with his life.)

Still Janus isn’t the type to cut class usually. Playing hookie was Virgil’s game, not his. But Janus hadn’t shown up to meet him outside his locker at the break between their classes, and Virgil had made the decision that locating Janus took priority over Personal Finance.

Its nice outside, far nicer than it has any right to be. The sun is shining, with just enough heat to make Virgil consider taking off his jacket (he doesn’t), a breeze carries through the air playing with his bangs, and the bells had just rang so everyone is in class and not outside. There’s barely any noise out here: a zombie apocalypse picturesque scene. It used to unnerve him, but now it just gives him peace of mind.

Behind the school is his fifth place to check, right behind: the far corner of the library that Janus likes to power nap in during lunch, the stairwell to the roof that is supposed to be locked but they’d jimmied open last year, Janus’s actual class where his seat was empty and several kids glanced at Virgil as he had scurried by, and the parking lot where Virgil checked to make sure that Janus hadn’t just driven away and left him in this hell alone without even a text message goodbye.

Janus is, in fact, still at the school, sitting in grass against the wall of the school that faces the parking lot. If Virgil hadn’t been looking for him, he might have mistaken him for a dark shrub or the Art Club's newest modern art installation. His bag is next to him, half his books spilling out into the lawn and at least a whole tree’s worth of folded paper around him. The piles of origami snakes remind Virgil of noodles, a mixture of colors and then twice as many in just plain white.

“Hey,” Virgil says, approaching slowly in case this is one of those times when Janus wants to be alone more than he wants to feel alone.

Janus folds another crease with the edge of his thumb nail and throws his sloppily made friend into the pile with the others. There’s a stack of pre-cut paper next to him, but it's all loose leaf paper. Which meant that he had folded his way through his stash of actual origami colored paper, which meant that he had been doing this since a lot longer than before second block, like Virgil feared.

Janus sighs thumping his head back against the brick walls and picks up another sheet. Virgil takes that as a sign to sit down next to him. He drops his bag off at his feet and reaches around the assortment of pins (Xmen, Marvel, gay flag, banned books week, one from a video game he liked the art of but had never played, etc) to unzip the smallest pocket. He pulls out another stack of the thin paper in an assortment of colors and places it on top of Janus’s current stack.

“So,” Virgil says, picking a snake off the ground. “Wanna talk about it?”

Janus flips the snake over and begins the process of folding the tail, ruthlessly. “Do I want to talk about it,” He echoes sourly, pressing each fold like it was a matter of life and death. “No, I do not want to talk about it. Because its stupid and a waste of time and I shouldn’t care but I still do and you have so many better things to do than listen to me whine about Patton Hart, yet again!”

Janus folds the head down and then stars into the empty eyes with a glare.

Virgil points his own snake at Janus and wiggles it a bit, “If its bothering you this much, then it can’t be stupid. And besides I love hearing about how much you hate Patton Hart. What did he do this time?”

“I don’t hate…” Janus lets out a sigh, “He didn’t do anything. In fact he didn’t even show up to class today. I heard a couple sophomores say he was acting funny earlier so I assume he went home early.”

Virgil frowns at that, trying to think back to the morning. He’d been running late and preoccupied with a Spanish test that he had forgotten he had first block, but he does remember seeing Roman and Patton in the halls. They hadn’t been holding hands like usual, which is probably why it stuck in Virgil’s head. They were the most lovey-dovey couple in the whole school: holding hands, kissing, flamboyant declarations of love... Virgil has nightmares about the way that Roman had asked Patton to Prom Junior year and had made Janus swear that if he ever plans on taking Virgil to a dance, he wouldn’t do it with glitter, the marching band, and in front of the whole school.

Patton had also looked different, Virgil remembers. Less cheery, more despondent. He had a smile on his face, but it looked forced and his eyes were glazed over like he wasn’t listening to anything at all.

Which, okay, fair. Roman tended to say the same things every day but phrased them differently. There were really only oh-so-many ways to say the words “I love you” and Roman had used up all of them in freshman year.

“So he wasn’t there,” Virgil says, shrugs, and takes a moment of silence to hope that Patton is getting some well needed sleep: Patton is one of those guys that just...finds a way to be involved with everything. Bake sales, choir, poetry club, talent show, office runner, treasurer of the student council-- if there’s something anyone needs to get done, Patton probably can do it. Not to mention he’s the nicest person Virgil has ever met. He honestly sees the good in people and its a shame that he’s dating Roman, because otherwise he and Janus would have invited him into their relationship a while ago.

(Roman isn’t exactly someone Janus or Virgil could stand on a weekly basis, much less daily. Virgil is pretty sure if Roman ever tried any romantic shit that he pulls on Patton, on Virgil he’ll spontaneously combust. Janus gets hives from being in close proximity to the gooey lovefest that Roman brings around any time he opens his mouth. And of course, Roman isn’t the type to share anything.)

((Ninety percent of their relationship these days is locking eyes while Roman did something and fake gagging like the mature adults they were.))

“What’s the big de--” Virgil stops, “Wait, isn’t debate today?”

“And take a guess who was my partner,” Janus summarizes. He tosses the snake to the ground and picks up another sheet of paper. “He...The Dragon Witch immediately failed me because he didn’t….and I couldn’t…”

He messes up the fold because his fingers are shaking too much. Virgil gently reaches out and takes the paper from his fingertips. It floats down to join the other snakes, and Virgil gives Janus’s hands a squeeze.

There’s a welt of anger in his chest, bubbling up in a nice simmer. He hates the Dragon Witch, although he’s never had her class or even knows her real name (Roman had coined the title in freshman year back when he had been a benchwarmer for the football team and it had caught on until the whole school used it). She’s known for being generally awful to every student that came in, a little unhinged, and even her own daughter-- a girl in the grade below them-- agrees that nobody wants to be in her class. Unfortunately, despite the many protests held by small pockets of students, the Dragon Witch has tenure and the school board’s stance is “if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it”. Ergo, she still lives on this plane of existence and Virgil thinks about egging her car often. Probably too often.

“Its stupid,” Janus repeats and the cavity where Virgil’s heart should be aches a little for him, “I know she’s had it out for me. Ever since that first day when I pointed out all the books on the syllabus were written by rich white men. But it was just… I felt really good about this one, Vee.”

Virgil knows this. Janus had been practically vibrating since the assignment had been given out. He’d gone above and beyond with his research for the topic-- something about selflessness that had gone straight over Virgil’s head when Janus had been talking about it. Patton hadn’t even been that bad of a partner, Janus had said, despite never having time to practice for it. They had exchanged numbers and texted details and notes to one another all week.

If Virgil hadn’t spent most of the afternoons lying next to Janus playing League of Legends and listening to Janus’s black pen scratch out preparation notes, he might have been jealous of how much attention Janus had been giving Patton. (and vise versa.)

“We were going to win,” Janus says softly. “And then Patton decided to just not show the fuck up! Why can’t I count on anyone but you? Why must I suffer in a world full of idiots?”

“Hey, at least he’s cute,” Virgil says.

“At least he’s cute,” Janus agrees, resignedly. “Do you think he’s going to break up with Roman?”

Virgil shrugs, “Do you want to ask him to join us if he does?”

“I would never pass up an opportunity to spite Roman like that,” Janus says, which is actually code for “I would never pass up an opportunity to dote on Patton and Virgil, do you think he’ll let us paint his nails, I have the perfect shade of blue to match his shoelaces--”

(They’ve had this conversation at least once every season since Janus had caught Virgil sighing at the smaller boy in the halls midway through freshman year.)

Janus wiggles his hands from Virgil’s and picks up the unfinished snake but its softer now, less angry and more care. When he completes it, he points it at Virgil and offers a guilty half smile.

“Sorry for making you miss class.”

Virgil wants to laugh because really that was the last thing on his mind right now. He shuffles through the snakes on the ground picking out his favorites to add to his collection. “Nah, its cool. You can just do my taxes and budgeting in the future and we’ll call it even. What are you gonna do with all of these?”

Janus hums, looking at all of them, “Maybe we can hide them around school to confuse people.”

“Can we write “you’re next” in a red pen on the inside of them?” Virgil asks with a grin, “like some horror movie shit?”

“Whatever you desire, darling,” Janus says and Virgil is incredibly grateful that he’s in love with his best friend. Virgil doesn’t usually count himself as lucky, but Janus had to be some kind of miracle: a person who understood Virgil the way that no one else ever bothered to. Janus has the type of laughter that makes everyone else want to laugh as well, the type of smile that begs for mischief, the type of loyalty that reassures Virgil no matter what happens they have each other’s backs.

Also he’s pretty, and Virgil likes staring at pretty things.

Janus leans forward and gives him a peck on his cheek. “Thank you.”

“You missed,” Virgil says with a stupid ass smile, because he’s stupidly in love and wouldn’t have it any other way.

Janus rolls his eyes very fondly and leans in again, until Virgil can see every shade of brown and green in his mismatched eyes, until he can feel Janus’s breath on his face, until Virgil loses track of the nanometers between them. Virgil’s eyes are half closed already, anticipating how the rest of their newly established free time is going to be spent and not feeling a speck of embarrassment or guilt about it--

And then he sees the movement out of the corner of his eyes and freezes up. He’s certain without looking that it is a teacher and oh god they were going to get expelled for something. There’s too much stuff around them-- their bags, the millions of snakes, their own bodies-- and even if they left everything there they’d surely get found out from that stuff, and then the school would call his mom and Virgil did not want to have that conversation with her again.

But then he does look and its not a teacher at all. Virgil blinks, once, twice to make sure he’s seeing things correctly.

“Virgil?” Janus says, still several centimetres away from kissing him and obviously aware of how Virgil had tensed to high hell.

“I thought you said that Patton went home sick,” Virgil says absently.

Janus sits back, following his line of sight to the corner of the building where-- sure enough-- Patton Hart was walking without a care in the entire world. He was dressed differently today than Virgil remembered him ever dressing: the memories of his polo and his cardigan give way to the reality of sweatpants and a soft sweater that cannot be comfortable in the heat of the day. Virgil tries to remember if that’s what Patton had been wearing earlier and… yeah it was. From this distance Virgil can’t tell the look on his face, but he doesn’t look like he’s worried at all.

He’s walking with a purpose. And that purpose looks angry.

“Does Patton have a car?” Janus asks.

“I don’t...think so…” Virgil says tracking Patton’s progress across the lawn.

“Then who’s keys does he have in his hand?” Janus says not entirely rhetorical.

With barely a nod between the two of them, they scoop all the paper snakes into Virgil’s bag and take off after him.

Its extremely weird, Virgil thinks. Because its so quiet that their footsteps sound like slaps, and they have to duck around a red truck to avoid Patton’s glance back. Janus crouches delicately, slinking between the cars and Virgil wastes a moment watching how gracefully he moves.

He’s like water flowing, controlled and effortless and an undercurrent of power. Virgil doesn’t doubt his ability to fight right this moment, doesn’t doubt his killer left hook, or his dirty fighting tactics that Janus picked up in the name of self defense and preservation. Virgil’s body hums with adrenaline as he watches Janus follow after Patton.

He leans against a jeep that doesn’t actually have a parking pass but no one’s complained about it and Janus peeks around the bummer to see where Patton was heading.

For a second, Virgil thought he was going after Janus’s car-- the little gold mazada 3 thats a year and a half old and a gift from his parents. He’s just about to yell, to scream, to ward Patton off, because it was already shitty of him to not show up to the debate, but touching Janus’s car? That’s like super assholeish and Virgil has never once wanted to call Patton an asshole.

Janus, however, is quicker and covers his mouth with his hand. “Look, I think...he’s crying,”

“What?” Virgil whispers, squinting-- oh shit, he should probably get an appointment to update his contacts soon -- and Patton is crying. Its the silent type of crying that's born from using a smile to hide the hurt too much and Virgil immediately decides that Patton doesn’t deserve that ever. He feels each one of those tears like a punch to the gut, each soft barely audible gasp like a knee to his jaw, each sniffle like an elbow to the back of his head.

Patton storms past Janus’s car and goes straight to the fiery red Prius that Roman (and his twin Remus) share.

“Oh my god,” Virgil breathes at the same time as Patton takes the blade of a key to the side of the car.

The noise is awful. Janus flinches curling into Virgil as they watch with morbid fascination: Patton doesn’t waver, doesn’t hesitate as he carves deep into the paint and the metal, perfecting each and every letter.

By the time he’s finished, he’s bawling big fat crocodile tears that soak all turn all his cheeks puffy and soak the collar of his sweater and Virgil’s stomach is a twisted knot of emotions he doesn’t know what to do with.

“FUCK OFF” written on the side of Roman’s car explains things very well, anyway.

Patton drops the keys on the ground and then follows after in such a dead weight fall that Virgil feels the shockwaves from where he is. He curls in on himself, sobbing horrible, gut-wrenching howls of pain.

Janus leaps around Virgil to run after him, and Virgil only stumbles slightly trying to come with him.

“I didn’t…” Janus says, loudly--loud enough to make Patton jump and Virgil flinch and the empty parking lot feel crowded, “I didn’t know you were into Modern Art, Patton.”

Virgil thinks that if it were any other situation, he might have snorted. But when Patton turns to them with his blue eyes so full of tears that Virgil thinks he might drown in them, he forgets every other thought he has had.

Its just...rage.

“I’ll kill him.”

And Virgil means it, the same way he says that the sky is blue, or that he won't take off his sweatshirt, that he loves Janus with all his soul. He means that he will go right back into that building and search through every single fucking classroom until he finds wherever Roman spends his third class of the day and then he’ll drag him out to the parking lot by his stupid perfect hair and run him over a couple hundred times.

Virgil will go to jail for manslaughter and he wouldn’t even feel sorry.

Patton lets out a shuddering sob and frantically tries to wipe away his ugly tears, making noises that Virgil assumes are meant to be words but they come out scrambled and grated and wrong. And Patton who’s never done a single mean thing in all the time that Virgil has known of him, does not deserve to feel a hurt that bad. How dare Roman make him feel a pain that bad.

Virgil rolls up his sleeves and spins on his heel to go take care of the issue-- but Janus catches him by his hood and yanks him back.

“Patton,” Janus says softly (a tone that's normally reserved for two AM sleepovers and lazy saturday movie marathons and sad boi hours that come and go like the seasons), “What can we do?”

Patton lets out a shriek, and when he looks back up there’s no sadness. Its a fury, an anger, its frustration that boiled into a suffocating gas and Virgil guess that he’s not going to need to end Roman’s life because Patton is perfectly capable of doing himself.

“You can shut the hell up!” Patton screams, “And Leave me the fuck alone!”

Virgil and Janus share a look.

And well...Virgil has been breaking rules since he was a kid and Janus isn’t the type of follow orders simply because. Without discussing anything they both sit down next to Patton, and Virgil starts pulling out the origami paper again.

“What are you doing?” Patton hisses in a way that Virgil has never once seen him do. His fingers shake, but he keeps himself calm and cool and collected.

“Its called origami,” Janus says, although he knows very well that’s not what Patton was asking. Virgil watches his fingers flick in the air, a mesmerizing dance that once Patton looks at he couldn’t look away from.

Patton’s tears drop, his face is still puffy and dangerous, but Janus says nothing about it. Virgil holds his breath and watches as Janus folds, unfolds, pinches, twists the paper into a jumping frog. He sets it out on his palm and lets Patton stare at it like it holds the secrets of the universe.

“I like making things when I get upset,” Janus says. “Would you like me to teach you?”

“I…” Patton sniffles, rubbing away his tears again. He sounds so small and insignificant that Virgil wants to wrap his arms around him and protect him from everything. “Why…?”

“I know how to do many animals,” Janus continues on, “frogs, snakes, spiders, cranes… Or we can just fold paper in any way we want to, too.”

Patton is silent. Janus picks up another piece of paper and begins folding it in half. There’s a breeze through the parking lot, colder than before, bitter and smarting. Virgil tugs the sleeves of his jacket over his hands and tries not to wonder what happened to the sun.

“The motion is calming to me,” Janus explains, “I like the creation of something new and different, the repetition--”

There’s a huff.

A snort.

And then...well then Patton is laughing a terribly wet, mean laugh. Janus pauses halfway through folding the head of the frog to make sure Patton hasn't been replaced by a skinwalking alien wearing Patton’s face, and Virgil can’t really blame him at all. The small boy kneels over laughing so hard he ends up gasping for breath and Virgil shivers at how the noise steals all the warmth from the air.

“Fucking stupid,” Patton manages, through gasps that sound suspiciously like whimpers. “Everything is so fucking stupid.”

“I see someone taught the five-year-old a new swear word,” Janus says. “Who was it? Remus?”

“Just go away, Janus,” Patton says, laying his head on the asphalt.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Janus tuts finishing off his second frog, “You really don’t know where that piece of road has been.”

“Actually I do!” Patton bolts upright, “I do know! Its been right here! Its been here no matter what’s happened, never moving, never changing, and even if I marked it with chalk or paint or took a jackhammer to it or blew it the fuck up it will still be here when I wake up tomorrow! Now fuck off!”

Virgil blinks, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly.

“I am learning so many things about you today, Patton,” Janus says without missing a beat. He picks up another sheet of paper, “You’re into modern art, you’re passionate about parking lots...my, my, my. Perhaps we should have done our debate on road construction instead. Would you have bothered to show up then?”

“Like it matters.” Patton says, even more unlike himself. Virgil thinks he’s seen Patton overbook himself for commitments more times than he can count and apologies are nearly always coupled with food of some sort: cookies, fudge, pasta salad. Sometimes even to things he never even said he could be there for. Patton is more apologetic than Virgil ever has been, and Virgil likes to apologize for existing.

But here is a Patton, or a version of him, that seems so defeated, so angry, so sad and upset and miserable that he’s just...given up. Consequences be damned.

“We lose,” Patton says looking up at the sky, “We lose because Mrs. Hydrus hates you, Janus, and so she makes us do it without any notes, then every time you stumble, she interrupts and asks for clarification despite being the moderator, and she cuts down our time by a whole minute. And when you say anything back to her she sends you to the principal's office and gives us a zero for the assignment, anyway. We lose. But its fine because you never remember anyway and then you get to wake up and be humiliated all over again. And it doesn’t matter what I do! Okay? We lose!”

Janus stops folding his frog and turns to look directly at Patton. Virgil is too, and he can scarcely breathe.

“What did you just say?”

Patton turns to face him swiping away another round of tears. “Go ahead, Virgil! You’re just like everyone else. Go and call me c-crazy! Tell me I’m insane! T-take me to the doctors! Whatever! I’m so t-tired of this and I can’t even die.”

Virgil swallows hard. There’s a lump in the back of his throat, a lump that’s growing until he can barely breathe around it. Janus brings a hand up to his mouth like he might be sick right there on the concrete.

“Patton…” Virgil breathes. “Are you a paper frog?”

Patton stares at him like he’s stupid so Virgil reaches out with shaky hands and picks up one of the finished frogs from the ground. He carefully unfolds it, piece-by-piece, until its back to the original square. Then he holds it up for Patton to see, and begins to refold it the way that Janus had.

“Are you,” Virgil asks, “being refolded like a paper frog?”

Patton’s face says everything.

“H-how,” Janus asks, “how many times?”

The other boy blinks long and slow and sniffles. “I-I don’t know. Around three hundred twelve? Maybe? I lost count so long ago.”

“Three hundred twel--” Virgil repeats, “Holy shit, Pat! That’s almost a year.”

“Why didn’t you come to us?” Janus asks, although they all know why really. Despite them being debate partners, Patton and Janus don’t talk. Janus and Virgil admire him from afar, and only talk to him in passing. For the longest time Virgil didn’t even know if Patton knew his name, and now they’re sitting here wondering why strangers would ever interact with one another?

“What about…” Virgil motions to the car, the keys, the fun words written in the red paint.

Patton shakes his head so hard his body trembles. “He doesn’t...he never...I tried so so hard but its so much easier to leave him be. It takes so much to convince him and then… then its not a true love’s kiss solution.”

Virgil’s gut twists just thinking about that. About how many times that Roman made him prove that he had seen everything before, and then for a kiss not to work when they both were head over heels in love with each other and then waking up again, convincing Roman again, then telling him the kiss didn’t work? Virgil could guess it didn’t go over well at all.

Knowing Roman it had probably dissolved into a “we’re not meant for each other?”, followed by a “i will always love you no matter what.” , and finished with a “If it will save you from this loop then we’ll have to break up”.

From the sight of the keys on the ground, Virgil can guess how far it went this time.

“I do love him,” Patton says almost desperately. “I do, I do, I do! I swear I love him so much--”

Janus puts a hand on Patton’s shoulder and he falls silent immediately. “I believe you,” Janus says, “I’ve seen the way you look at him, Patton. No one here thinks that the two of you aren’t perfect for each other.”

Its a pain to admit because its friendzoning both of them right now, but Virgil would weather that if it meant Patton wouldn’t sound so heartbroken. Janus meets his eyes over Patton’s shoulder and gives him a nod. At least they’re on the same page for this.

“Three hundred twelve time loops,” Virgil says, “does not sound like it was fun at all.”

“Are any loops fun?” Janus asks.

“Fruit loops are fun,” Patton sniffles again. He rubs his eyes and hunches over in his sweatshirt. “Do you guys...do you guys really believe me?”

Janus’s lips curve into a wry smile, “Patton in all the time that I can remember, I’ve never seen you have the guts to key someone’s car. And now you’re saying fuck? And telling me off? That's a whole lot of character development to happen without me noticing, unless it was a time loop.”

Patton giggles, just a bit. It's still weepy but it makes Virgil feel like he can breathe for the first time.

“Don’t worry, Pat,” Virgil says, “We’ll figure this thing out.”

“H-how?”

Janus sighed leaning back a little, “Well we could ask Logan.”

“Logan?” Virgil echoes, “you mean Remus’s boyfriend? You think he’s got something?”

Janus shrugs, “He is a witch.”

“A what now?” Virgil says. “Since when was he a witch! You never told me that!”

Janus grins sheepishly, and rubs the back of his neck, “I forgot? I love you?”

Virgil blows a raspberry at him. “Just like how I’m gonna forget to mention you when I find Mothman. But I love you, too.”

“Its a cruel love, this thing we have.” Janus says rather poetically and Virgil reaches over to shove his shoulder. Janus laughs sways so he falls onto Patton’s shoulder. Patton for his part smiles, bright and blinding and it takes both their breaths away when he laughs again.

Virgil can’t imagine having to redo the same day twice, much less three hundred times. He wonders vaguely if Patton has any idea how strong he is, how amazing, how inspiring he is to keep that glow inside himself despite everything.

He’s smile fades for a moment and he perks up all of a sudden. “Oh My Gosh! Logan’s a witch!” He makes a flurry of arm movements that forces Virgil to duck, “Oh my gosh that means--!!”

“Deep breaths, dear,” Janus suggests, although it goes ignored.

“Yesterday--like actually yesterday, your yesterday, not the last loop, Logan and Remus got into an argument over a bottle and I thought it was gatorade! Remus was trying to drink it but Logan wouldn’t let him and they ended up spilling it on the floor! I helped them keep it up but I got a little bit on my hand! I didn’t think too much of it but what if it was like some sort of potion?”

Janus considers it, “Hmmm, its a good starting place. Let’s go ask him what it was.” He stands up and offers a hand down to Patton and Virgil each. Virgil takes it and turns back to also offer his own hand to the smaller boy.

“Come on, Hart, this is going to be your last loop.” Janus says.

Patton stares at their hands almost as if he was afraid to take them. He glances down at the origami frogs, at the keys, and their bags, then back up at them with an fearful expression. “You...you promise?”

Virgil laughs, “Yeah, we got you, Pat. Promise.”

Patton shakes from head to toe, but he grabs both their hands and smiles like he has hope for the first time in three hundred twelve days.

#sanders sides #Virgil Sanders #Patton Sanders #Janus Sanders #sympathetic deceit #anxceit #roman sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #royality #moxceit #highschool au #time loop #Patton says fuck #but he's earned that right #Janus and Virgil are bffs #you can tear that from my cold dead hands

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vintage-story-time · 3 years

Text

Her Mother's Lover

Chapter 1

Charisse Mantell was more voluptuous than the average teen-age girl, and

at eighteen, she liked to pretend she had a worldliness and knowledge

about sex which she really didn't have at all. As a matter of fact, she

knew less about the sexual relationships between men and women than the

average girl. Her mother was a famous singing star on television and the

plush nightclub circuits of Las Vegas, New York, London and Acapulco,

but had kept her lushly developing daughter safely stashed away in

expensive private schools. Although Minna Mantell was a talented and

voluptuous beauty herself, she was at the age where a fresh, sexually

budding daughter might prove to be competition . . . competition that

would show up her own somewhat fuck-worn tits and ass.

In the exclusive private school, Greystone, where she was now, she found

that being the daughter of a celebrity made the other girls look up to

her. After all, the daughter of the famous Minna Mantell, TV and

nightclub star - a beautiful, if somewhat tarnished, figure of glamour,

a pet of the international jet set and adored by her faithful fans.

After a while however, Charisse found that her natural shyness was

mistaken for stand- offishness and that her former friends ignored her

to the extent of pointedly not inviting her to their parties or sorority

affairs.

Her mother had often told her that even as the daughter of a famous

woman, she would encounter plenty of jealousy and envy, and that she

would be very foolish to let that sort of thing throw her. For some

strange reason, she had always been closer to her mother, felt proud to

be the daughter of Minna Mantell. So Charisse tried to "cultivate her

cool," In spite of the other girls' snubs. But in her heart she was very

hurt.

She would actually see a group of girls hurriedly change the subject of

their whispered conversation when she approached, and knew they must

have been talking about her or her mother. As she went upstairs to

study, she heard what surely was a dirty remark about her, to judge from

the peals of mocking laughter that followed her to her dormitory room.

She mentally resolved that "he who laughs last, laughs best' - and that

she would one day have the last laugh over these bitches.

The girl who seemed to hate her the most was actually her next door dorm

neighbor, a rather mean, but physically attractive seventeen-year-old

girl named Debby.

Debby's room seemed to he some sort of magnet for the other girls in

Greystone and they would gather there very frequently like a flock of

gaily chatting birds. And, as much as Charisse tried to deny it to

herself, she was secretly hurt that she wasn't asked to be one of the

group. It was just all that phony sophistication and woman of the world

airs that Debby affected that attracted the other girls, she kept

telling herself. Finally, one weekend, she heard them laughing and

giggling in Debby's room and made up her mind to find out what it was

all about. Even though there was a sinking sensation in her stomach as

she did so, she casually opened the door and entered.

As the girls saw who it was, the gaiety seemed to die down, and she was

greeted by furtive and somewhat resentful looks.

"Just what can we do for you, Miss Mantell?" Debby asked her. "Or did

you open the door to the wrong room by mistake?"

Charisse's heart skipped a beat and she flushed in embarrassment as she

replied, "No, I just thought I'd join the fun . . "

There was a sharp intake of breaths, then a hushed silence and then

Debby spoke.

"Come right in, maybe you can fill us in on details about . . show

business that we were discussing. After all, your mother is the fabulous

Minna Mantell, superstar of TV, nightclubs, and all that jazz."

Charisse walked into the room hesitantly and saw that there were little

knots of girls all over. Some were on the bed, some were on the easy

chairs and others even sprawled on the rug. As Charisse found a place to

sit on the sofa, the gay girlish gossiping and hysterical shrieks of

laughter began again.

"Please don't feel that I'm intruding," Charisse said to Debby, "but I'm

really at rather loose ends this afternoon, and you all sound like

you're having such a lot of fun . . . " her voice trailed off. She

flushed under Debby's sharp mocking gaze.

"By the way," Debby said slyly, "we were just discussing the sex life of

some popular show biz personalities - or don't you think that people

like Frank Sinatra or Robert Goulet or . . . Minna Mantell indulge in

that pastime?"

Charisse flushed and her lips trembled as she tried to reply

nonchalantly, "Oh I've heard a thing or two."

Debby pressed her advantage. "How about giving out with some of the dirt

about your mother? After all, you've sort of got the inside track."

Charisse kept silent as Debby continued her clever taunting. "Well,

we're all waiting breathlessly to hear something right from the horse's

mouth, as it were. Or would the opening at the other end of the horse be

more suitable to the subject of Minna Mantell's private occupations?" As

Charisse pressed her lips together and tried to keep the tears from

filling her eyes, Debby added, "I've got a little scrap book here that

mentions her." She opened a book filled with news clippings. "Here's

something juicy - "Hot Love on the Big Networks" - Mmmmm . . . 'Is a

certain famous TV star about to have her option dropped because she

drops her panties too much?"'

"So what?" Charisse said grimly.

"So the rest of the article is all about Minna Mantell's love life, her

husband's affairs, and some really swinging sex, marijuana, and LSD

shenanigans. Really, you must have such an exciting time at home! It's a

shame we can't get you to tell us about it."

"How can you even read such cheap gossip sheets? They should be banned

from the newsstands!" Charisse burst out. "My mother says everyone in

the public eye is besmirched by those scandal sheets!"

"Look here," Debby said, thrusting her scrap book into Charisse's hands,

just see if this guy doesn't know what he's talking about. For just an

idle gossiper, he seems to know an awful lot about your mother and your

father. You're not mentioned - yet."

Charisse didn't want to look at the scrap book, yet the pictures of her

mother with some slick young men captioned "Minna's Latest" or "Handsome

Remedy for Singer's Sore Throat" held her gaze hypnotically. The stories

were about love affairs, secret trysts, sex-swapping parties at her

mother's New York penthouse, the young girls her father consoled himself

with and other sexy tidbits. Charisse knew that it couldn't possibly be

true. The parties she had seen at her mother's apartment never had

anything more exciting than spilling a cocktail occasionally.

"I don't know where you got all this dirt," Charisse said angrily, "but

I can assure you that's all it is - just a bunch of low down dirt, made

up by a second rate gossip columnist looking for filler! Now I think

I'll go to my room. I think I want to play my mother's latest record

album to get the smell of your scrap book out of my nose!"

"Really, Miss Haughty?" Debby asked slyly. "Since we come from such a

bunch of blue bloods, I guess you wouldn't be interested in some other

choice bits about your darling mother?"

"I don't know why you're picking on me like this," Charisse said, with a

hint of a sob in her voice. "If you don't want my company I'll leave

right now!"

"Oh, no," Debby replied with a sardonic grin, "we'd just love to have

you stay. Our parents live such dull lives compared to yours. We're so

unsophisticated - why don't you wise us up?"

Charisse knew that Debby was trying to embarrass her in front of the

other girls.

"I just ignore cheap slander, wherever it comes from," Charisse said,

looking pointedly at Debby, "and now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll

go and play those records in my own room!"

But Debby grasped her by the arm as she made her way to the door. "Oh,

I've got lots of other interesting scraps on your mother, Charisse. I

used to be a fan of hers."

Turning to another girl called Sally, she said, "Get me the rest of my

scrap books from the closet and we'll see who's slandering whom. Your

mamma really must be quite a babe with the boys, and you don't even want

to tell us anything about her technique of getting men. That's really

all we want from you, some pointers on what makes Minna such a

successful sexpot."

With this, she flung the scrap books the other girl handed her right at

Charisse's feet. They opened to show pictures of her mother in various

poses and escapades, including a certain nude bathing episode in the

fountain of London's Trafalgar Square.

Charisse ignored the pictures and made to leave the room. She was

actually on the verge of tears and couldn't understand what had brought

on this attack on her and her mother. She had only tried to be friendly.

Why was Debby so intent on torturing her and demeaning her in front of

the others.

"Pick those books of mine off the floor, and read those stories real

good. Maybe you'll thank me for giving you the best education you ever

got at good old Greystone," Debby ordered.

Charisse couldn't believe that this was happening to her, or that the

other girls would go along with this hazing.

"I don't think anybody would like it much if Miss Finchly heard what the

girls in her class were trying to pull," she quavered with tears in her

eyes.

"I don't think you would like it much if we really did a job on your

whore of a mother and plastered this stuff all over the school," Debby

answered. "Believe me, every girl here will make you sorry that you were

ever born if you even think of squealing to the headmistress."

Charisse felt that Debby was dead serious and would really carry out her

threats. Maybe the best thing would be to play along and then get out as

quickly and as gracefully as possible.

"Okay," Debby said viciously, "now read us a few bedtime stories, and I

do mean "bedtime" stories about your old folks at home. And speak up,

I'm hard of hearing."

Charisse flipped the pages of the scrap book unbelievingly. Finally she

began to read in a whisper, "I need to have my men big - all over, says

songbird Minna Mantell . . . "

She was interrupted with a high pitched squeal of laughter from one of

the group, but continued reading with a kind of fascinated horror. "'I

believe love is where you find it, says Minna Mantell on Rome's famed

Via Veneto. Could it be that the handsome young Italian accompanying her

agreed with her back in her hotel room?"' Charisse saw a picture of an

oily, gigolo-type leading her mother's poodle, while her mother looked

up at him in obvious admiration.

"You girls don't understand," Charisse said, "these things are just for

publicity, just a press agent's idea. Why, my mother would never do

anything of the kind!"

"Oh, no!" mocked Debby. "Not in a million years - but do read on, it's

all so interesting, even if it is just a press agent's story. Some of

them sound like a press agent's nightmare, if you ask me!"

Charisse bit her lip and said nothing. She realized that she was being

persecuted, and just because she was her mother's daughter. Her mother

had told her there would be days like this, but Charisse would never

have believed her classmates could be so mean and hurtful.

Taking another scrapbook in her hands, Charisse saw her mother

practically bare-chested in a see-through evening gown, obviously drunk,

with a man who certainly wasn't her husband. She dimly remembered also

seeing this man apparently coming from her mother's bedroom one night

when he was a weekend guest, but her mother had just been amused by

Charisse's questions at the time.

Almost hysterically, Charisse leafed through page after page of the

scrapbooks. Why, these stories made her mother out to be the giddiest

type of gadabout - a celebrity who gave sex so freely that she was

notorious for it. And her father, according to these clippings, was a

weak nincompoop who was always shooing handsome young strangers out of

his steaming marriage bed. But no matter how he tried, her mother

managed to keep the bed sheets hot. And all the stories about her

parents were in the same vein. Her mother seemed the biggest tramp and

her father the biggest dope in the entertainment world.

Rather sadly, she said, "I'd like to leave, I've seen all the

scrapbooks."

She was so obviously hurt that none of the girls laughed or said

anything, except Debby, who couldn't resist pitching one last dart into

Charisse's sensitive skin.

"Hope you enjoyed our little get-together and liked my picture books. By

the way," she added, "do you suppose you could get your mother and some

of her boyfriends to autograph my scrap books? That would make them

really interesting!"

Keeping back her tears, Charisse walked into her own room, holding her

head proudly. As she closed the door behind her, she flung herself down

on the bed and let the tears come. How could they rub her nose in the

filthy offal of the gossip columns? How could girls be so cruel?

Especially when she knew that none of it could be true. Even the most

innocent action could be distorted as to make it seem evil by these

gossip sheets. Her mother had assured her of that. But why had her

mother always gone to such pains to get her to believe that there would

be false gossip about her?

Having found that her mother was the soft spot in her armor, the girls

in her section of the dorm became quite sadistic. There would be sly

questions, like "What does your mother advise putting on a broken

cherry?,' flung at her in passing. But she realized that if she answered

this sort of torture, there would be no end to it. So she just kept

quiet and made believe she didn't hear a thing.

Debby, as usual, was the worst. Since she had the room right next to

Charisse's, she developed the habit of barging right in. Somehow she

almost always seemed to come in when Charisse was undressing and clad

only in panties and bra. Once it was without the bra and Debby had

looked fixedly at her voluptuous breasts and hadn't made any of her

usual remarks about Charisse's mother.

"What a pair of titties!" she said in a rather surprised tone of voice.

She left the room when Charisse hurriedly closed the bathroom door.

A new idea had been forming in Charisse's mind under the constant

pressure of all the teasing she was taking from the others. She would

just pack it in, leave Greystone Finishing School. She would go back to

her mother, tell her what had happened and just look for a job. Maybe

she could even become her mother's secretary. It would be fun traveling

with her mother from one engagement to another. She could really see the

world.

She made up her mind that she would take French leave from the school

this coming weekend. She would say she was going into the meadow for

nature study notes and they wouldn't even bother to look for her. By the

time they missed her at bedcheck, she would have almost arrived at the

penthouse in New York. Central Park would look good to her from the

seventeenth story of the luxury apartment. Much better than Miss

Finchley's school up in the farthest reaches of Westchester County.

She was nervous when she told the biology teacher she was going to spend

the day in nature study, but when she was finally away from Greystone,

she felt much better. She liked her bio teacher, and felt sorry if she

would get into trouble over Charisse's disappearance.

It was a cloudy day, and a bone-chilling dampness made her hurry along

to the railroad station. Some of the town's swingers, young men on the

make, always used to watch in town for the girls from Greystone.

Charisse knew that some of the girls had let themselves get picked up

for beer drinking parties at a nearby bar and discotheque, but felt it

was really none of her business. She herself had gotten more than one

off-color invitation to join them, but now they no longer bothered her.

Her figure had really matured more voluptuously than she herself

realized. With her miniskirt tight around her shapely asscheeks, her

full titties jouncing joyously with every step in her loose bra and

tight sweater, she was a real hard-on producer whenever she passed a

group of men. Her asscheeks jiggling, her tits full and inviting, long

auburn tresses, blue eyes and a lightly freckled skin that was

startlingly white - all these sexy attributes really raised the steam in

any and all observing males. Her lush, wanton figure coupled with her

girlish naivet raised cocks wherever she passed.

She knew she was exciting the group of young street corner loungers as

she passed them - maybe she even gave her hips an extra twitch.

"Mmmmm. Wouldn't that be a nice piece of ass to ram"

"Wow, her nipples are bigger than most girls' tits!"

She heard these and other comments on her physical attributes with a

slight inward shudder. If some of these so-called swingers wanted to get

to first base with her, they'd have to take a bath first. They looked as

oily and as filthy as they sounded. While she was still a virgin, she

remembered how in the hygiene class the male and female sex organs had

been carefully described by the somewhat mannish Miss Tuttle. She had

made them all squirm as she described the foreskin on the male penis,

and the smelly, cheesy deposits which accumulated under if soap and

water weren't used regularly. She tittered to herself as she thought

every penis and foreskin in the corner could probably stand a thorough

washing. And she'd like to see her sadistic friend Debby forced to do

the penis cleanup.

Some other girls soon drew the group's attention and she hurried on to

the station. She looked behind her just to make sure that none of the

girls spotted her heading for the train. It would just be too ironic to

have the Greystone administration stop her at this stage of the game.

She was really sick of the place and all those giggling tormentors. She

knew her mother would tell her that those papers were all lies. She

would be her mother's secretary and go all over the world with her,

glorying in her singing triumphs. Somehow, she couldn't picture her

father doing much of anything, really being in the picture with them. To

her inmost self, she admitted that he was a well-meaning man, but a

weakling for whom she had no respect. Her mother was the strong vital

force of the family.

She waited impatiently for her train to come. She only had about a

fifteen minute wait, but it seemed like hours. The ride to Grand Central

took two hours, and all the way down she tried to picture the reaction

of her parents at her sudden appearance in town in the middle of the

term. Her father, like all weak people, was conventional, a square, and

would probably insist on her going back to that prison of a school. Why,

now that she thought of it, even its name "Greystone" had that

penitentiary sound. But her darling mother was different, she knew she'd

be glad to see her "baby" as she called Charisse. She knew she would

listen sympathetically to her story and maybe she would even start

training her for the position of her secretary right away. She would

tell her mother about the gossip columns and wanted to hear her mother's

throaty contralto laughing and telling her to pay them no mind. And now

that she was older, and would probably be living at home with her

parents, she could certainly spot anything that wasn't right. She wasn't

a child anymore.

The train finally pulled into Grand Central at six p.m. and Charisse

felt like a coward as she went into a phone booth. She really dreaded

telling either of her parents what she had done; they thought she was

such a dutiful girl. When the phone rang, there was no answer. Charisse

breathed a sigh of relief. They had probably gone out to dinner and

would make things easier. The doorman would let her into the apartment,

and she could be sitting in the living room when they returned. She

hoped it was a good dinner, because then at least they would be in a

good mood.

She dozed off on the couch while waiting for them to come home. She just

didn't know how she was going to explain things, but decided play it by

ear. It seemed as if only a moment had passed and she awakened to the

sound of her mother's voice practically screaming in surprise.

"Charisse, baby, what are you doing home when you're supposed to be in

school? Is anything wrong?"

Taking a deep breath, she told them there was nothing for them to worry

about and that she was perfectly all right. But, she told them,

Greystone Finishing School was just an impossible place and she couldn't

stand the other girls' catty snobbiness another day. If they sent her

back, she'd just run away, and maybe go to Chicago or Los Angeles and

look for a job.

Her father stopped her short.

"School is the only place for a girl of your age, and you'll just have

to go back. Why, Greystone is one of the most exclusive schools in the

country and you have no idea of the strings I had to pull to get you in.

I know better than you what's best, and back to school you're going in

the morning. I'll probably be hearing from the headmistress any minute

now and I'm going to tell her you'll be there tomorrow morning!"

Charisse realized with a sick feeling at the pit of her stomach that for

some reason her father didn't want her at home, that she was just a

pesky kid who was going to be in the way.

Then Minna came to her rescue.

"Oh, Charles," she exclaimed, "you're being too hard on the child: Let's

hear her out. That's only fair, and maybe she shouldn't go back if she

hates it so much."

Turning to Charisse she said, "But you must realize dear, that my

singing schedules and your father's TV production business just doesn't

give us much time to spend with you."

"But Mother, you always said You needed a confidential secretary - and

who could be more confidential than me, and I'd just love the job,"

Charisse interrupted. "I'd be the best secretary you could possibly

have!"

"Young lady-" her father began, but Minna shut him up.

"I'll tell you what we'll do, baby. I'll call the headmistress at school

tomorrow and explain that you're not feeling well and that's why you

left. We'll get you a leave of absence and you can stay here while

mother and dad figure out the best thing to do," Minna smiled at

Charisse.

"Who knows, maybe it would be best for you to be my confidential

secretary. The idea has its good points!"

Charisse flung her arms around her mother and hugged her so tightly that

Minna told her to let up a little, she couldn't breathe. It was the

maid's night out, so Minna took Charisse into the kitchen and made her a

tuna sandwich and milk.

"Get to bed early, Charisse dear," Minna said. "Tomorrow's another day

and our problems will look a lot simpler then."

As she snuggled into her own bed that night, Charisse felt she had done

the right thing in leaving Greystone. When her beautiful mother was

around, she felt warm and comfortable; her mother was strong enough and

capable enough to set everything right. Those cheap gossip columnists

with all their dirty pictures and obscene insinuations could never make

her believe that her mother was immoral. Seeing was believing and she

had never seen her mother in a single immoral action in all her life.

But her father was a weak man, and as a TV producer, he surely met up

with a lot of temptations - girls who would do anything for a break on

one of his TV shows.

#Her Mother's Lover #Chapter 1

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lovenotesandneonstars · 4 years

Text

And That’s Enough.

Wanna hear a secret?

Every writer I've ever known has, at some point, faced a soul-crushing anxiety over whether or not they're really a writer.

"But Topher," you might say, "That's not a secret!"

If I were being clever, I might give you a wink and the slight twitch of my nose that all the wise old men do. But I'm not very clever, I'm not necessarily wise, and I'm not old. So instead, I figured I might tell you about how I learned to solve that crisis for myself. But in order to get there, we have to start at the beginning.

I was a fairly lonely kid, never really had a steady friends' group, and when I was in second grade I started deliberately getting lunch detention so that I could spend my lunch period reading without being harassed by my classmates. I thought it was a genius plan. Well, that, and my second grade teacher (who was also my third grade teacher, yay for small towns!) and I had a personality clash. I would finish my work too fast and start reading from my pocket dictionary (yeah, I was THAT nerd), and would correct him in class. He, in return, would try to find any way possible to punish or humiliate me. It was fun! I loved reading no matter what trouble it got me in, and getting in trouble just gave me more time to read.

Ask any writer you know and they'll tell you that in order to write, you have to enjoy reading. And I was always excited to read (which hasn't changed much as I've grown, I just find less time to be able to read these days. #Adulting, right?) at any chance I got. When I was in 5th grade, I stayed in the truck with no AC and just the window rolled down for 3 hours while my mom went grocery shopping to read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (which took me a whopping 5 hours to finish!). When sixth grade rolled around, I started wanting to try my hand at creating something instead of just consuming it. For a lonely, depressed kid, the world of fiction was the best friend I had.

The first thing I remember writing was House MD fanfiction. It was my favorite show and I started out as any respectable fanfiction writer does: with a Mary Sue self-insert! Eventually, I had a small cult following on the school bus, and found my way to the big leagues of fanfiction.net about a year later. I moved onto another overdone trope: songfics. From there, I kept writing fanfic, even after my mom found it and banned me from it. I just enjoyed writing so much. House MD turned into Harry Potter which turned into Glee. I should also mention the other kind of writing I found as an eleven year old, right after I started writing fanfic: role playing. I stumbled upon a Harry Potter RP one day while trying to find video games for my favorite franchise and, with the help of a kindly more experienced role player, was taught how to RP. I was hooked. Soon, all my free time turned to writing. I was neglecting my video games in favor of blasting my favorite album at any point and writing more and more. And when I wasn't writing, I was reading. Harry Potter, The Princess Diaries, Percy Jackson, whatever I could get my hands on. Middle school was consumed by writing and reading, whether it was the actual series I was into or fanfiction for it.

Then came high school, and my RP site shut down, and my book pile ran out, and I fell into a deeper depression than I had before. I had always loved music, but I got more into it as I couldn't find much to read that I was interested in. But on the bright side, I was making real friends! I wasn't spending my lunch times alone anymore, and I had people to talk to about the fandoms I loved. Writing and reading fell to the wayside as I explored more music and l got back into video games. I was also a theatre kid, and was getting ready to audition for my first high school play.

Everything changed when my mom passed away on December 5th, 2011, 4 days after her 52nd birthday. My dad made me stay home for a week, and when I came back, all my "friends" refused to talk to me or spend time with me. My depression hit heavier than ever, and I was even lonelier after having had a taste of regular friendship. I spent all my time playing video games and listening to dark, angry music, until June 2012, when I watched a movie called It's Kind of a Funny Story, based on the book by Ned Vizzini while I was sick. It instantly felt like I needed the book in my life, and my dad, thrilled to see me wanting to read again, let me order the book. I fell in love, and to this day, over 8 years later, it's still my favorite book. Soon after, my love of writing came back and hit me and I got back into role playing. I had a role model to look up to who wrote something so relatable to me that it hurt so good, and the video games took a back burner. I was inventing people left and right to see what kind of trouble I could get them into.

My world came screeching to another halt when my newfound role model took his own life on December 19th, 2013. This time, though, instead of backing off from the role playing, I dove deeper into it. I found new friends on the internet and kept making new people. Not long after that, I came out as transgender, and used writing to cope with my dysphoria and strained relationship with my family. Every waking minute I was either role playing or thinking about role playing. I snuck on my phone in class to write replies when the teacher wasn't looking. I wrote replies in my notebook to type up when I got home. I went from short, 3-sentence replies to hundreds of words at a time.

Then, in May 2015, I graduated high school, and I was off to college as a psych major! In the time between, I had graduated to running RP sites as well, and I was constantly writing. My summer was filled with writing, and once I made it to college, I got back into fanfiction, this time on Archive of Our Own. AO3 seemed far more professionally laid out, and it had more freedom of what could be posted. I started writing band fanfiction. I made friends through my fanfiction, now, in addition to RP. It was where I would retreat when homework was too boring or my classes were too much. In November 2015, I participated in my first National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). I instantly found the community I was meant to be in and made many friends that I would come to consider family. Ny first NaNo I came in just shy of 13,000 words on a band fic. I couldn't believe I had managed all that in one month with being a college freshman, starting a new job, and continuing to work on my role playing! Things were great! For the next year, my life was nothing short of amazing. I got a summer job on campus, went to my first Pride, and made more friends.

Once again, my life came to a screeching halt on November 2, 2016. Remember how I mentioned I'd always struggled with mental health issues? Well, I ended up in the hospital for just over 21 hours for suicidal intent. This was pretty much the darkest moment and a turning point in my life. It was also kind of ironic, because my favorite book had to do with much the same thing. After getting out, I dove back into NaNoWriMo for the second time, still working on band fic, and this time, ended up just short of 20,000 words. I was doing more, and using it to take away the anxiety I was feeling in my classes. I was hating my major, and the RPs I was in were falling through, but I had a project to work on. For the first time, I kept working on the project after NaNo was over. Things were good again, and over the summer, I made the decision to change my major from Psychology to Creative Writing, but ultimately had to wait one more term because I was already signed up for classes.

I completed my third NaNoWriMo in 2017 with fewer words than the previous year. But I was committed. I had helped start a Discord for my home region for NaNo and was now spending almost full-time hours volunteering for my region. I finished my last semester as a Psych major and then I made my way home for the holidays, where I continued to write, diving back into fanfic for TV shows and now adding Youtubers to the mix. When I returned to school at the beginning of 2018, I started my new life in all my English classes, including my first writers' workshop, and I fell in love. I was still writing fanfiction, though, while others were writing original fiction, and all that I could think was that I HAD to be a fraud. How could I be a real writer if I was just writing fanfiction for my classes? It was frustrating to think that I was stuck writing something that most people saw as mindless drivel, or even ripoffs of the works and lives of others. After my first term of creative writing, I took some time off from my fiction class, and used that to take a break from anything that wasn't RP.

Fall 2018 brought with it many challenges. For one, my college converted to the semester system, and having to confront a new length of term was difficult. It also brought around an intermediate fiction course for me, as well as a creative nonfiction course. Here, I found something I enjoyed: I was able to write about my own life, instead of the lives of band members. After a while, I got to know the band members, which completely killed my desire to write band fic. Life seemed a lot easier without that urge, and I started writing original fiction. In November 2018, for the first time, I wrote original fiction for my 4th NaNoWriMo, and my word count grew, once more, to just under 22,500 words. It was progress, and I felt great. I finally knew how to work on something original on my own.

Spring 2019 was even harder than I had faced before: I had received the news that I was not getting financial aid, and would not be able to return to school the next year. I was devastated, and determined not to have to return to my dad's house for the following year, back to the small town where I had no prospects. I scrambled to find a job, but nothing worked out, and for the next seven months, I jumped from living situation to living situation, relying on my friends to keep me alive and ending up in a tightly packed studio apartment with 2 friends and their 3 cats.

One of these 7 months was my 5th NaNoWriMo and my second attempt at original fiction, this time trying to use a character I had been RPing with for some 6 years at the time. I started using new writing tools, like 4TheWords, and threw myself into NaNo, using it to deal with the frustrations of everyday life. This was the first time I came so far: 28,611 words! And still... My project stalled out. As a major pantser, I had gone into the project with one developed character, one who only had a name and profession, and the plotline "They fall in love". It was freeing, to have something new to work on that I had no idea where I was headed and that I had someone brand new to create. All this was helping me adjust to the new job I found in September, a job I found myself absolutely loving. It was the best time in the world, all I could ask for. I found a new RP site and made more friends. Come December 31st, I found a new place to live, and was finally living on my own.

Then, my writing on that novel stalled out. I couldn't figure out where to go, or what to do with my characters, and so I dove back into role playing. It was all I could do, really, to keep myself occupied when I wasn't working. Things were looking up: I found out I was returning to school in fall; I loved my job; my roommate and I got along well. And then, things fell apart again, to the point where I had to stay somewhere else for over a month while there were construction issues on my apartment. I was depressed, but RP and writing kept me going. Finally, things settled down, and life seemed well again.

That is, until halfway through March, when COVID-19 ended up basically destroying the world I lived in. I lost my job (live performances during a pandemic are a no-no) and had to move back in with my dad, and, well, here we are. 4 months post job loss, I'm trying to get ready for all online classes, and trying to cope with moving back to the town that I couch surfed to avoid. It's been hard, and writing hasn't come easily. I haven't been able to really focus on anything other than role playing until now, and I still find myself questioning whether I'm REALLY a writer every time I realize that this essay or my RP is the only writing I've done in months. After all, how can I claim to be really dedicated to NaNoWriMo or even my writing in general if I can never finish a project? It's been almost impossible for me to do so in the past. All I've been able to do is come up with yet another idea that I've yet to attempt to actually write, and that has no real plot, and that I'll (probably) never finish, either?

Then I think of why I started to write this. I needed to have some writing to show some people I want to impress, and I started angsting over whether or not I'm actually a writer, and if I'm really cut out for this. And the fact that there are over 2500 words more on the page than there were when I started means that, in spite of all my anxieties, I am a writer. All these words I've put out into the world the last several years would never have come into the world the way I've decided to use them if I wasn't a writer. Even now, as I sit here writing this post, for something that I truly love, I'm reminded that I'm not a writer because I follow XYZ formula, or because I plan things meticulously, or because I have some famous novel out there. I'm a writer because I write. And that's enough.

#essay #2020 #writing #am i really a writer #nanowrimo #life #creative nonfiction

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rboooks · 5 years

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Dimension Hoppers Part 2

Part two of this since I have no impulse control. May be the last one hoenstly.

Again you should all go read the fic C’est La Vie by the ever talented @cywscross It’s so good!

The wind chimes released pleasant twinkling sounds when he pushed the door open. The noise had quickly become familiar to the young werewolf over the last few weeks he’s been visiting the establishment.

His tense shoulders relax instantly, taking a second to breathe in the calming scents of the store, his new safe haven from the many pointed stares of Diagon Alley. He picks up one scent in particular that has his heart racing and his hands sweaty.

Right on cue, Orion hears Hadrian call in a friendly voice from behind the counter “Welcome to Dimension Hoppers. Please have a look around. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”

He turns to find his best friend - isn’t that a crazy thought? He, Orion Black, has a best friend!- standing on a step stool. He was attempting to push a box onto one of the shelves, but it wasn’t going all too well, seeing as Hadrian’s hands could barely even reach the top shelves much less push something upwards onto it.

Orion could barely pick up the other’s soft swearing with his werewolf hearing, nothing that would make Father’s nose wrinkle, but frustrated none the less. “Stupid heavy box. Stupid Fate making me short again. Stupid Will, and his stupid long legs. Stupid no underage magic law. Dang, it get up there already!”

A smile quirk onto his lips as he is unable to fight it completely. Luckily Orion was able to swallow the chuckle that wanted to escape his mouth as Hadrian started to hop up and down in an ill-fated attempt to ram the box upwards.

He was fortunate that his friend hadn’t seen the smile yet, giving him time to shove it off his face as best he could. Marlin knows Hadrian’s dislike of comments on his hight.

Will took lots of pleasure in pointing out his height any chance he could because of said dislike. The oldest Evans didn’t seem all that faze by Hadrian’s admittedly terrifying wrath, consistently comparing it to “being threatened by a cupcake with a knife”. (How Will had survived this long Orion may never know)

He rounded the counter, barely aware of soft hum as the Barrier Runes. They recognize him easily, deeming him a non-threat and letting him pass without much fuss. Will had coded him into them a few days back when the store got a large rush and Orion had jumped in to assist the overwhelm brothers.

Seeing as he been here every day for nearly three weeks beforehand, he was far familiar with the layout of the store and after a few instructions, was cashing out customers like a pro.

Orion had been an unofficial employee ever since. They paid him by the hours he worked, and even giving him a discount of “Take whatever you want from the shelves.”

Dad had been ecstatic about that particular benefit. This was the only Wizarding store that sold his favorite Muggle band shirts and he wasn’t shy about letting his excitement show. Father, on the other hand, had simply picked up entire chocolate basket acting as casually as he could while doing so. Hadrian had been highly amused.

“Need help?” He asks taking the box before Hadrian could answer. Since the other didn’t so much as twitch, he knew that his friend had been aware of his presence behind him the whole time. Sometimes that was a bit scary, other times it was humbling.

Green eyes narrowed with a warning even as he steps back to allow Orion to climb up. “I’m not little.”

“You’re not. You just need to hit a growth spurt is all.”

Hadrian’s frown would have made his stomach twist with cold uncertainty when they first meet but now nearly three months of their friendship he knows he’s done no real offense. “Once I hit puberty, you will cower”

“I’m shaking in my boots” Orion mocked, smiling when it causes a snort of amusement from Hadrian. His heart did a little flip in his chest. He tries not to think about the why as Hadrian starts talking about the new shipment of rare exotic hair products Will has ordered.

While doing so Hadrian is already handing over a white apron that has the store’s logo printed on the front without prompting. The young werewolf often compares this to when Dad knows what Father wants without words and the content feeling of Pack almost makes him dizzy.

“He thinks it’ll help with the frizz. I told him it’s useless but he’s still convinced he will have silky smooth hair if he tries hard enough-” Hadrian cuts his words off turning to the door as the chimes sing once more. “ “Welcome to Dimension Hoppers. Please have a look around. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask”

Orion never says the greeting himself but the brothers were nearly religious about it. Will said that his old boss beat it into his head to always be polite even when the customers weren’t. Apparently, said boss never lets go of grudges and he had learned to listen quickly.

Hadrian went along with it but he wasn’t very willing to be polite if the customer wasn’t. (Already he’s thrown out three families after hearing the remarks they said about Orion. Will had made the wards not allow them back in and officially “banning” them from the store)

Orion felt his smile fall, retreating into himself when he recognizes the family of redheads. He had been lucky, having never run into anyone in his school year, just some upperclassmen who had all avoid him as much as he had them. For the most part, they left him alone if he did nothing other then stand behind the counter.

Dimension Hoppers may be one of the greatest stores he’s ever seen but it was still relatively new and most people haven’t wandered in yet. Just a few regulars who happen to find the rare exotic selection by chance.

It may not be the best for business but it was the best for him.

But looking at the expression of Ron Weasely his luck was about to run out.

“You know them?” Hadrian asks softly, voice lowered so only Orion can hear. There is a strange emotion in his words, something that says sorrow but not quite. The Evans brothers sound like that at odd times.

“Something like that” Orion mumbles back. He shifts to stand closer to Hadrian wanting to protect him even though he knows there is nothing to protect from. The wolf in him just felt Orion’s unease and demanded to make sure the pack was safe.

The Red-haired family has dispersed throughout the store. The Twins all but tripping over themselves for the joke section while Percy had stopped before the books and not moved, looking like he was going to self combust from excitement. Mr. Weasely and Mrs. Weasly were looking at the children potions kits while Grinny had dragged a narrow-eyed Ron to the Quidditch section.

The eldest, Bill, was calmly looking over the hair products with a thoughtful air about him. The only one misses was Charlie. He lost sight of the youngest two when they rounded one of the aisles but the store Runes was keeping track of them.

Hadrian hummed in a non-commenting way before his hand shoot out and squeezed Orion’s own. For a heart-stopping moment, the werewolf almost squealed. “Whatever your history is with them I’ll make sure they leave you alone.”

His fingers pulled away and he instantly missed their warmth. Marlin, what did Hadrian say? Orion’s brain wasn’t really working right now. “Ugh. Yeah. Protect. Sure”

Hadrian smiled at him, never judging him for his fumbling words. It eases the nervousness in his chest a little.

The door leading to the upper apartment, where the Evans lived, open then. Since the doorway was placed in a little hall it was kind of far from the counter. It was only because he was watching Hadrian’s face, that he saw the flash of worry melt over his face before it was gone in a blink of an eye. “Will, you need to go back upstairs.”

Orion is used to being surprised by his friend but the command in those words really throw him for a curve. It was the first time he ever heard anything resembling an actual fight between the brothers and it baffled him.

Apparently, Will felt the same way. “Why? I felt the Runes flare that a shoplifter-”

“Will, I can handle that but you aren’t in the mental state to deal with-”

“Mental state? What the hell are you talking-”

“How much for these?” Orion jerked his head over the counter. He was mentally kicking himself for being so distracted by the drama unfolding before him than paying attention to the customers. Will had said the shoplifter rune had flared (though that may due with the person holding the item too close to the door. It tended to happen sometimes), he should be watching them!

The Weasly Twins had piled a bunch of prank objects onto the counter, mischevious glee etched into their grins. Next, to him, Will made a choked sound that sounded suspiciously like “Fred” but was too low for him to be sure.

Hadrian had snatched him by the arm yanking him further into the back before his brother could move to the counter. Briefly, his eyes meet Orion’s, his brilliant green nearly pleading.

Orion took the initiative and stepped forward. If Hadrian wanted him to serve them instead of Will then he would. “That will be seven Sickles for everything together on our Back-to-Hogwarts Sale. ”

“Back-to-Hogwarts Sale is my new favorite words,” Said one of the twins (Orion can never tell them apart) eagerly plopping three Sickles on the counter while his brother placed the last four. He eyed Orion with a look that meant a nasty prank was on the way. “Do you work here now, Starlightkins?”

Orion tried not to show how the nickname, filled with mocking, stung “I volunteer here. Would you care for a bag?”

“Volunteer? Why that-”

“-Sounds very interesting. What exactly-”

“-does one do when volunteering?”

“You manage the counter and sell things.” He puts as much sarcasm as he can into his words, gently bagging the items.

At once the twins stand straighter. Together they say “Sell things? You can sell here? Anything? What does one do to be able to sell their products here and how much do they make?”

“You’ll have to ask management.” Do they know how creepy it is, when they speak perfectly simultaneously? They should stick to finishing each other's sentences that won’t give nightmares. “I can’t make those kinds of calls”

One twin tilted his head. “Alright. Where is management?”

“Right here,” Will says finally coming out from the back. Orion does a double take. Will’s eyes are glossy, not enough to gather tears but not unnoticeable to him. He’s never seen the Evans show anything other than calm friendly, so seeing the man he’s come to see as a big brother close to crying- or as close as he’s ever been- is very upsetting. “What can I do for you boys?”

The twins look like cats standing over a mouse. “We got an offer you can’t refuse. How would you like to be one of the first stores to ever sell Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes?”

Will looked confused for a moment before his eyes light up. “The owl-ordered prank items? I read about them but haven’t had the chance of ordering yet. Impressive potential. Are you two the brilliant minds behind them then?”

One of the brothers beams “We are in did. Care to do business?”

Well, they certainly don’t miss a chance, do they? Orion wonders what it’s like to have that much confidence.

There is a moment while the eldest Evans considers them before shrugging. “Eh what the heck. Sure, come into my office and I’ll hear you two out but I won’t promise anything yet. Hadrian, can you stock the new Mermaid Locks for me?”

“Give up Will,” Hadrian answers sounding normal again and Orion relaxes. Whatever had happened a while seems to have passed. “You’ll never have straight hair. Stop ordering new products that promise you lies.”

“ These ones will work.” The twenty-two-year-old smooths out some of his hair almost subconsciously. The strands stick out of his ponytail even more by the action, making him frown. “Just go do it, you brat”

Hadrian gives him a cheeky grin, patting Orion’s shoulder on his way to do as he’s told, bending down for the shipment box.

The werewolf’s lips quirk when he sees Will shoot Bill a longing look as he leads the twins away. Surprisingly the Weasleys say nothing but they no doubt saw the same look their new possible business partner had.

The grins on their faces are knowing enough.

Once the party of three are out of earshot, he leans in to tell Hadrian. “I think your brother has a crush” He jerks his head to the eldest Weasley who is stocking up on all kinds of hair products as if though it’s going out of style. “Must be the hair.”

Hadrian looks honestly startled before he roars with laughter. It’s the first time he’s ever laughed this hard or this long, his voice gaining the attention of the rest of Weaselys.

Orion has never seen anything more beautiful than that smile so he’s a little too stunned by it to really notice the pairs of eyes now watching them.

“That was almost as funny as the time we went to get ice cream without telling him” Hadrian wheezes. “Do you remember?”

Orion does remember that day, how could he possibly forget? It was the first time he went out with a friend for ice cream.

The two had finished a shift early, the younger Evans famished with the urge to have something cold and suggested ice cream. In their excitement to have some, the twelve-year-olds forgot to inform Will, leaving after locking up.

Will had been in the workshop which was located in the basement testing out new products, specially designed for Cruse Breaking work. It was only about an hour later that the young man stumbled upon them eating at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour looking half craze in worry.

“Empty store! You two gone! With No note! No sign! Not even a verbal warning! What were you two thinking!? You could have been kidnapped! You could have died! And I would have been none the wiser!” Will had shrieked at the boys before suddenly looking horrified. In a small voice he had whispered “Oh no, I’ve become my mother”

Hadrian had nearly snorted his ice-cream through his nose.

Orion grins at the memory. “How do you think he’ll handle us going to Hogwarts next week? Think he’ll go insane?”

“Not with Remus checking up on him,” Hadrian says with a soft smile. “Your parents seem to really care for him.”

“For both you.” Orion corrects firmly. “They care for both of you”

Hadrian tilts his head but says nothing, shrugging in an uncaring matter. Sometimes Orion really hates that about his best friend. Does he not know his own value? How can he not see just how wonderful he is?

Again, the Black Heir swears to himself he will do everything he could to make Hadrian Evans know he’s important. Even if he has to spend the rest of his life doing so.

Secretly, he hopes he will able to spend the rest of his life at Hadrian’s side, be it as a best friend or as something...more.

Mrs. Weasely puts five potion kits on the counter then and he turns to her without fuss, aware that Hadrian has gone over to stock up the bottles of Mermaid Locks.

Her buying her kids' school supplies remind him that in only five days, Orion and Hadrian would be boarding a train for Hogwarts. All the fun new adventures that the castle could bring him now with a friend by his side, not to mention no longer having to stay near Harry.

Who knows what this year will be like. But whatever the case may be, whatever the future may bring, he would gladly spend it by running Dimension Hoppers with the Evans.

#harry potter #C'est La Vie #Au: Dimension Hoppers Store #Part 2 #OrionXHadrian #Slight angst for Will #Yeah Orion is crushing hard right now #Sirius and Remus are beaming in pride #The Evans have been adopted into the Black/Lupin family #Orion's Pov #Will was staring at his old hair #Oh how he misses it #Dimension Hoppers is the magical verson of Walmart #Will has become Molly Weasly #Summer jobs you know? Perfect time for young love #This one was just shippy

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romaniassexdungeon · 5 years

Text

Shattered Romanticism of a God - chapter 9

Pairings: SuFin, NedDen,

Vidar - Norway // Tolli - Iceland // Luca - Luxembourg // Adriaan - Netherlands // Gunner - Denmark

Sorry this is late. I'm a slow dumbass. I would like to try to keep this updated regularly, though, as it has a whole load of support and I feel bed when I can't update due to being a sleepy bitch. There's some dumb jokes in here, but no funny business. Hope you enjoy.

Read on AO3

Vidar would make a good manager.

He was cunning, ruthless and incredibly intelligent, and the music industry had no idea of the storm that was coming. He could and would calculate his way to success, using whoever he needed, and dumping them in the gutter when they’d outlived their use. He was a filthy, greedy man who would probably meet his end at the guillotine, but at least he’d be swimming in money and power until the end. He would drag the Screaming Pagans to the top, or burn everything trying.

At least, that was what Gunner said in his tipsy pre-drinks speech.

He slapped his cousin on the shoulder, laughing heartily as he pulled him into a one-armed hug. “We’ll be getting bookings every week now!”

“No pressure then,” muttered Tolli, standing next to Tino.

The Screaming Pagans, Tino, and Tolli were crowded in Berwald and Gunner’s main room, all a couple of glasses of wine into what promised to be a night of drinking. And dancing. And acting like idiots.

Eduard, for some reason, had turned down his own invitation. Something about not wanting to babysit drunk Tino, and having a date of his own. Unfortunately, he’d refused to say more on the subject. No matter how much Tino asked and pleaded and teased about his date actually being his hand.

For the first time ever, Eduard hadn’t risen to the bait, so Tino had to suspect he really did have a date. Well, good for Eduard! Internet explorer-chan body pillow or real woman, it was an improvement.

He wasn’t a big clubbing guy, anyway. But, neither was Berwald, now that he thought about it. Was he dreading it? Tino shuffled over to him and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Berwald almost smiled back.

“Trinity is the best place in town,” Gunner insisted, lining them all up outside the club of his choice.

“That’s it, you’re officially old,” Tolli rolled his eyes, “to anyone born this century, it’s Club Galaxy. They’re the best, and they’re a student bar so drinks are cheaper. Also it’s my uni bar so I get things for extra cheap.”

“You go there too?” asked Luca, beaming like he'd found a new ally.

“Their music’s too loud,” Gunner whined, proving Tolli’s point. “You can’t talk to people! And their beer's bad.”

“Drink vodka, then,” said Vidar, “don’t be a pussy.”

“No thanks. I don’t like the taste.”

“Costs more to get blackout drunk.”

“What makes you think that’s what I want? Maybe I just want a couple beers and a relax?”

Vidar flicked him on the ear affectionately. “Because I know you.”

“I’m not gonna get stupid. This time. Maybe. You’re no fun.”

“Don’t bully him,” Gilbert whined, “just cause we’re old, doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.”

“I’ve felt old since 17,” Tino commented, only within earshot to Berwald. “Or at least, my back does.”

Berwald nodded in agreement.

“You’re all old and embarrassing,” muttered Tolli. "Why do I spend time with you?"

Vidar shrugged. "Can't make friends your own age?"

“I’m cool,” Gunner pouted, “I smoke and fuck!”

“I gave you one toke and you almost choked, cried, then asked to go to the hospital,” said Adriaan, raising his eyebrow.

“No comeback for the fucking thing, I see.” Gunner flicked his nose, “also you charged for every puff. You're literally the worst.”

“I refuse to believe you fuck,” said Vidar, “not having a proper job really leaves you swimming in cock, especially when you take them home and show them your Lego model collection.”

“Did I fucking ask? I have a real job, and some people still have a childish side. Surely your girlfriend isn’t completely boring, right? She gotta have a childish side.”

“Nope.”

“Really? Not even a little?”

“She likes gross, sexual jokes, like some 12 year old, but generally no.”

Gunner blinked. “Huh. Wasn’t expecting that. Does she collect stuff? Everyone collects stuff, right? You know, I really do think she's a robot.”

“Ornamental knives.”

“Bruh, that’s so hot. Does she ever… use them? On you?”

Vidar looked at him. “I’m not answering that.”

“Are we talking about kinks?” asked Tino excitedly.

Gilbert winced. “And other things not beneficial to my relationship with the lord.”

“I wanna talk about kinks too!” Luca clapped his hands excitedly.

“Like the person saying your name?” suggested Tolli, to Vidar’s horror.

“You’re way too young to-”

“I’m eighteen, shitlips, I’ll talk all I want.”

“I used to be into the name thing,” Gilbert commented, “I dunno, it seemed nice, like your own hypeman. Except then the last 8 people said my name was too dumb to shout out in a sexy way.”

Gunner raised an eyebrow. “And by 8 people, you mean…”

“Two. But it really, really hurt my feelings.”

Tino burst out laughing. “Oooh, my turn!”

“No!” Vidar covered his mouth, “we haven’t got all night.”

Tino wondered if it was his imagination, or if Berwald looked a little disappointed at that. Did he want to know what Tino was into? Tino wanted to know what he was into, even if it was just holding hands under the moonlight, he’d be happy to indulge.

Though if Berwald was into feet, Tino was telling him to fuck off right now. Some weirdo kept sending him emails asking for feet pics and it honestly unnerved the hell outta him. He hoped it was just Vidar playing a prank on him.

Email weirdo was offering 1100 krona, though. Seemed like easy money, if Tino was 20% poorer and had 5% less dignity.

Why did his mind go to these places?

And now he’d missed whatever it was Luca had said to make everyone else start protesting and kinkshaming in horror.

“I just like the mask! And the lead!” Luca was defending, “I don’t actually want to be a dog!”

“Haha! Furry!” Gunner pointed and laughed at him. Adriaan bristled.

“What’s wrong with that?”

Gunner looked at him. “You made your brother a furry, didn’t you?”

“Good taste runs in the family.”

“I have never seen a fursona’s colour scheme that could be described as ‘good taste’.”

Adriaan reeled like Gunner had just punched him in the face. Luca looked like he was about to faint.

“Gunner,” began Tino, “how would you know unless you’ve seen multiple fursonas? Are you involved in the community?”

“You’re banned from writing about us, Väinämöinen. Not if you’re gonna be exposing us like that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a furry,” said Tolli, “except to everyone who picked on me in high school apparently.”

“Because you wore your fursuit to school every day,” Vidar pointed out. “And you were fourteen and refused to wear deoderant.”

“So you’re the guy who gives us all a bad name?” asked Luca. “Tolli!”

“I was a different person then!”

“Am I the only person in the band who isn’t a furry?” asked Gilbert.

“M’not a furry,” Berwald mumbled.

“I’m not in the band,” added Tolli.

“Also I’ve rped with your brother on furaffinity,” said Adriaan, "Lud's fursona is a German shepherd into BDSM."

Gilbert started banging his head against the wall. “I really wish we were inside and I didn’t have to listen to you people.”

“The music isn’t as loud, though,” Tolli pointed out, “you could still hear us.”

“It’s loud enough for me to escape!”

“Okay, just be on your best behaviour,” said Gunner, “we’re advertising the Screaming Pagans too, remember.”

“That why you’re all wearing band t shirts?” asked Tino, wishing he’d worn his, too, even if he wasn't a band member. He liked fitting in, which was a little tricky, given how weird he was.

“Yeah, it was Vidar’s idea,” Gunner affectionately punched his cousin on the arm.

“Even though no one can read the band name because it looks like a pile of twigs?”

All five members of the Screaming Pagans, and new manager Vidar, looked down at their shirts in disappointment. Berwald looked so heartbroken Tino wished he’d said nothing.

“Hey, we’re in,” Luca pulled Tolli forward, striding past the bouncer with a sweet smile. After getting his hand stamped, Tino followed, holding Berwald’s arm when he started looking nervous. Maybe it was growing up with Eduard, but he tended to feel protective of introvert friends, even though he was something of an introvert himself. Dad instincts, or something.

He only had vague memories of Trinity, but the glowing purple lights did seem familiar. He’d thrown up in the bathroom here. Luca ran over to the bar to order shots, knocking them down with absolute glee, and Tino decided to join him. Berwald, like his cousin, tended to opt for beer, ordering one and sitting at a table in the corner. Tino and Vidar ended up joining him for an hour or so, getting progressively more drunk and watching their friends be stupid.

“Since when were those two together?” asked Tino, watching Gunner hump Adriaan like an overly excitable dog. Adriaan, for his part, actually seemed to be enjoying it, and kissed his cheek with more affection than Tino had ever seen him use, even with his family.

Berwald shrugged, staring at the two in what must pass for bewilderment with his face.

“You didn’t know?” asked Tino.

“Nah. S’plains a lot, though.”

“Like why Gunner’s always at his place?”

Berwald grunted.

“Do you think they’re good together?”

He shrugged. “Guess. Been best friends forever.”

“I don’t know how they put up with each other,” added Vidar, “but they do.”

“I think they’re sweet.” Tino watched Adriaan try to pick Gunner off the ground, then promptly give up and let him carry on trying to do the worm. It was more like a worm dipped in bleach, from what Tino could see, but at least it was less horrifying than what he’d been doing before.

When he finally looked away, Gunner had been doing the macarena to euphoria.

“Wanna dance?” he asked Berwald, who squirmed.

“Hey, you’re probably not as bad as me,” he reassured him, “come on. Just for a bit. One song, then we’ll sit back down.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Berwald nodded and let Tino lead him to the dance floor. He swayed awkwardly to the music, still holding Tino’s hands as he danced wildly out of tune, shaking his cheeks like a baby in a lion’s mouth. He cared little for those around him, and how many people were within range of his iron hips.

The terrible dancing did seem to amuse Berwald, but Tino could tell the blaring music was overwhelming him. He dropped it low, touched his face gently and took his hand, leading him outside for a moment. Out in the crisp, night air, Berwald looked a lot happier.

“Want to stay out here for a bit?” asked Tino, face softening. Berwald nodded, but he still looked uneasy.

“Want to stay out here forever?” he added gently, “or go home and drink instead?”

Berwald nodded again, significantly more enthusiastic. Tino rubbed his back until he was ready to make a move, giving Vidar a quick text to explain the situation. Then, he lead Berwald down the street.

“Want more beer?” he asked once they came across a corner shop. Tino picked a bottle of vodka for himself. A small one, so he wouldn’t get too stupid. And maybe seduce Berwald in a normal, acceptable manner. Maybe he’d think Tino was cute and smart and handsome and someone definitely worth dating. Except he wasn't cute! What was he saying?

Berwald nodded awkwardly, and Tino grabbed a six pack he’d seen him drink before. Not that he was paying attention to Berwald’s every preference and mood, despite the lack of facial cues to help with that.

Berwald insisted on paying, even though Tino’s drink was more expensive. He explained he and Gunner had gotten new jobs, just to tide them over and keep them housed until the band took off. Tino’s heart ached at the thought of them not being able to live their dreams yet; they had the talent, they just needed the chance.

Maybe Vidar really could get them there.

They had to be careful, as they stumbled through the streets - drinking and singing out of tune - that they didn’t run into any police officers who would take their alcohol. And maybe fine them if they were feeling particularly mean.

“Have you ever tho- thought about writing a song about corp- corp. Rich companies. And rich people.”

Berwald watched him try and get his sentence out in amusement. Tino, meanwhile, stepped onto a low wall to try and be eye-level with the man. He still wasn’t.

Berwald nodded. “Migh’ do. Call 'em out fer being evil.”

“Yeah, of course.” He stumbled, and Berwald steadied him, “just throwing out ideas. You see what sticks.”

He smiled. “Thanks.”

“What are you working on? Song-wise.” He wished Berwald would work on him. What did that even mean?

“Tryna find an angle,” he shrugged, “like, somethin’ unique.”

“Like the viking stuff?”

Berwald nodded. “Somethin’ else too. Lotta bands do the viking stuff.”

Tino nodded and thought for a while. “Right. Something to set you apart from other indie bands... Huh, you like Eurovision?”

“Course I do. M’Swedish.”

“What about metal covers of Eurovision songs? But, like, the weird ones. Who wouldn’t want a metal cover of dancing lasha tumbai?”

Berwald snorted. “Serious ‘nes too. Heroes m’tal version? Wanna do it.”

“Can I be the tiny LED boy who flies off with a balloon?” asked Tino.

“Mm! Please!”

“Although, as much as I love this idea, you know what’s better than metal covers of Eurovision?”

“Hm?”

“Actually sending metal songs to Eurovision.”

Berwald nodded. “Hung’ry’s got the right idea.”

“Hey! We did it first!”

He smirked. “They did it better.”

“You’ve literally covered Lordi! You ever covered AWS?”

“Dun member,” he mumbled childishly. Jokingly. Bastard.

“I was there. It was the first time I saw you perform?”

“Can’t recall.”

“It was night of the loving dead !”

“ Raise h’ll in heaven , actually.”

“How wasted was I? Also ha! You admitted it!”

Berwald gave a hum. He might’ve been a little too drunk. “M’ybe so. Hey, Tino?”

“Yeah?”

He came to a halt, then began singing in his beautiful, low voice. “ Sieben, Sieben, ai lyu lyu, Sieben, Sieben, ein, zwei, Sieben, Sieben, ai lyu lyu, ein, zwei, drei .”

Tino didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or shrivel up in cringe; Berwald's voice did not match the song at all, and his body had no idea how to react. He was completely in love. “Dude, marry me, but, like platonically,” he added quickly.

Berwald looked at him strangely, then took his hands and swung them from side to side. “Tanzen!”

“Ich liebe!” He gave a little jump.

Tino almost fell off his wall, and Berwald grabbed him by the waist. He spun him around, growling in his ear, “I want to see, lasha tumbai.”

“I want to see! Lasha tumbai!”

“Rock 'n roll angels bring thyn hard rock hallelujah, demons and angels all in one have arrived!”

Tino snuggled up to him, and his body felt a little colder after Berwald put him down.

��C’me on,” Berwald took his hand, “lets get back to- back to- um.”

“Your place?”

He nodded sheepishly.

“Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?” asked Tino, tripping over the coat stand. Berwald steadied him gently, and Tino cuddled his arm in response, with no intention of letting go. “And you have nice arms. They’re… good-shaped. Shapey. Hard.” He traced his fingers over Berwald’s hand, over the veins and rough knuckles and all the little nicks in his fingertips. “Good hands... good, strong hands.”

Berwald, for his part, seemed to be trying his best not to laugh. That was fair; Tino’s entire life was a cringe compilation his cousins were slowly putting together.

“Do you make things?” asked Tino, “you should. You have creative...ing hands.”

“I whittle,” he mumbled.

”Of course! Good whittle hands! You can make things!”

“Helps with nerves,” he admitted.

“It’s sad you have troubles with nerve. Stupid nerves. You’re so amazing and beefy and smart and handsome and you can do anything.”

“Got nerf’d with anxiety.”

He smiled. “Like how I got nerfed by being a manlet?”

“Yer cute. Small ‘n cute.”

“Don’t make me come up there and fight you!” Tino hugged him instead. Or, more accurately, fell against him. Berwald wrapped his arms around him. “Can’t hurt you. Too nice. Stupid tree.” Berwald snorted and lead him to the sofa to sit down. He went to pour them both glasses of water, because he was that barrel of laughs who drank water on a night out, to stay hydrated.

“You’re good,” when Berwald sat down, Tino leaned against him, sipping the water. “So good. You’re the best. You’re so nice to me, and- and- I wish I could make it up to you, and tell you I like you.”

Berwald blinked at that. “Y’like me?”

“Yeah. I wish I could let you know. Like, by fellating you or something.”

“Telling me would be fine!” Okay, if Berwald was saying that, maybe Tino needed to work on communication. Except, right now, his head was swimming and he was talking out his arse.

“You deserve nice things,” he tried to explain, “and you’re so handsome.”

“Yer drunk.”

“You’re hot.”

“Yes, but y’need a lie down.”

Tino perked up at that. “In your bed?”

“Yes. Not like that. Jus’ sleeping.”

Tino nodded. “See? You’re so nice to me, even though I’m being gross and weird. Like, I just said I wanted to blow you and you’re looking after me.”

Berwald shrugged. “Like ya too.”

“Really? Even though I’m a mess?”

“Yeah. Cute. Fun.”

Tino nodded and rested his head on his chest. “Strong. Gentle.”

Berwald picked him up, bridal-style, and lead him to his bedroom. Tino looked around at Berwald’s sword collection before gently being laid down on the bed. He noticed a workbench in the corner with half-finished wood carvings set out in a line. The sheets were clean, bed made, and it didn't smell like it had been slept in.

“Your room is nice,” he commented, “sure- sure you don’t- want me-”

“Go to sleep,” Berwald began stroking his hair, “want me t’sing ya to sleep?”

Tino nodded. He’d pay hundreds to hear Berwald’s voice; how lucky he was to hear it here, in the calm of night.

“Rise, nations pride… Hold what's yours… Strike 'em were it hurts…”

“Think I might love you,” he mumbled. Berwald was too stunned to reply.

The next morning, Tino woke up with a raging hangover nowhere near as painful as the overwhelming shame as he began remembering just what he’d done and said and oh God he needed to get outta there .

So, whilst Berwald was still asleep - tangled up in his arms - he pulled himself out of bed as gently as possible, gathered up his clothes, and left, making as little noise as possible.

In the hallway, he ran into Gunner, also doing the walk of shame. Not that he had even heard of shame, judging by the smug grin he wore as he wiggled his eyebrows at Tino.

“Yo, did my cousin actually get some?”

“Fuck off Densen,” he ducked past him and out into sunshine that had no business being that bright.

#sufin #aph finland #aph sweden #aph denmark #aph norway #aph iceland #aph netherlands #aph prussia #aph luxembourg #nedden #shattered romanticism of a god

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cbk1000 · 6 years

Text

Jenn Recommends: Fantasy

All right, kids; it’s that time again. Time for me to babble on for an obnoxiously long time about books I have read and adored, and time for you to just shut the fuck up and take all my advice, because I have great taste.

Since this recommendation list concerns fantasy, all of the following books are actually part of a series, because it is illegal for fantasy authors to write standalone novels: they will be publicly executed for devoting anything less than 3,000 pages to Timmy’s sword and stones. You know this is true because you just read it on the internet.

If You Like: Political intrigue, really hot people, + everyone and their brother being canonically gay as fuck.

Read: The Kushiel’s Legacy series by Jacqueline Carey.

This series starts with Kushiel’s Dart, and there are actually two trilogies worth reading in this world: Phedre’s (the first trilogy) and Imriel’s (the second, which I may like even better). We do not talk about the third trilogy. In this write-up, I’m just going to talk about the first trilogy, but if you enjoy it, I definitely encourage you to read the next three books.

Phèdre nó Delaunay is a courtesan who was born with a scarlet mote in her left eye--a mark of the god to let others know that she’s into really kinky shit. You cannot spank this bitch hard enough. As a child she is sold into indentured servitude, and bought by a man who recognizes the mote in her eye for what it is and what it signifies--namely, that people who sexually enjoy having the ever-loving fuck beat out of them are pretty much up for anything, which means she will make a great spy.

So that is what she is trained in--not just the arts of the bedroom, but the arts of overhearing everything meant for non-State-approved ears. Of course because this is a novel and something has to happen in it, she stumbles upon a plot against the throne that gets a lot of people stabbed multiple times and throws her and her hapless goddammit-this-is-my-first-real-assignment bodyguard into a Perilous Journey that spans Many Lands.

Two things I really love about this series: the world building and the casual approach to homosexuality.

The various different countries are obviously based heavily upon European history and lore, but she’s done enough research to really flesh them out. We don’t just have a few generic descriptions here and there of vaguely European geography, but actual religions and languages and histories which are more than just given a hasty, passing mention to conjure the illusion that the world is more tangible than it actually is: you can taste and touch and hear Terre d’Ange.

As for the casual homosexuality: the main pairing is hetero, but Phedre takes several female lovers, because in Terre d’Ange, the one rule by which everyone must abide is ‘Love as thou wilt’. No one is really straight or gay; sexuality isn’t really a thing, labels aren’t a thing; people bone who they bone and nobody bats an eye. Kind of like Ancient Greece, till it came time for you to stop porking Archimedes during oily wrestling sessions and churn out a couple of brats. Sex work in this world is also considered in the service of the goddess, and those engaged in it are bestowing a blessing on their customers; it is an honorable and profitable line of work.

I honestly could not put these books down. I have two copies of the third book in this trilogy because I ordered it online while halfway through the second, then promptly panicked when I realized it wouldn’t arrive in time for me to immediately begin the third as soon as I finished the second novel. I actually drove an hour and a half to the nearest Barnes and Noble just so I didn’t have to wait two agonizing days for the next book to arrive. The writing can be a little heavy-handed (think purple euphemisms for a man’s steely pleasure wand, etc.), but overall it’s gripping and lush and I could barely stop reading long enough to take bathroom breaks.

If You Like: Bleak stories where probably nobody is ever going to get anything more than a brief glimpse of happiness before it’s cruelly torn away from them and legitimately creepy monsters.

Read: The Banned and the Banished series by James Clemens.

This series on the surface is your fairly generic Evil Dark Lord vs. Savior Newly Awakened To Their Powers. Elena is a thirteen-year-old girl who has just been visited for the very first time by the dreaded Aunt Flo. With puberty comes the blossoming of new powers: a red hand that shoots a lot of fire out of it, a power I would’t mind having while trying to navigate a bunch of idiot-inflicted traffic. Over the course of the five books in the series, she picks up her Adventure Party and they sally forth to do battle with the Dark Lord’s minions (of which there are a metric fuck ton, in scientific terms). Some parts begin to feel a little monster-of-the-week, as the protagonists barely have time to take a breath in between waves of tentacly evil.

So why I am I recommending this series? Because Clemens is not content with just scattering some generic tropes around the page and calling it good: he wants you to go, “What the FUCK, dude??”. A lot. This is probably the only book in which you will encounter a woman letting a bunch of spiders crawl into her vagina. Or later giving birth to those spiders, which have, upon the touch of the Dark Lord, transformed into a monster that smells like dead baby and eats people’s faces. I recently came across this series in Russian and have been rereading it as a 31-year-old adult, and there are scenes which even now thoroughly traumatize me; it really explains why I am the way I am, since I first read the beginning books when I was only 11-12.

This series is surprisingly hard to put down; I suppose it’s because you are compelled (or at least I am) to find out what the hell kind of nasty thing is next going to emerge from the forest and inspire you to check under your bed at night even though you’re a goddamn adult. This series is not for the faint of heart, obviously. But if you like dark fantasy, and you’re into the idea of reading something that on the surface seems a pretty standard fantasy tale before it suddenly starts hurling vagina spiders all up your business, check it out. Also, if you’ve read any of my work and you’d like to know just what the fuck is wrong with me, I believe this series can throw a little light on that.

If You Like: A protagonist who won’t take your shit but also is allowed to be emotionally vulnerable, Chinese history, detailed military campaigns.

Read: The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang.

Rin, a war orphan raised by shitty foster parents in a backwoods village, is accepted into a prestigious military academy where pretty much everyone, teachers included, hates her because she’s a peasant and this school is for the sons of rich people, goddammit. Rin is talented in the nearly lost art of shamanism because she’s the main character of a fantasy novel, and it is only her newly-found powers that have a chance of halting the advance of the Federation as they march upon the Nikara Empire, intent on conquering (and graphically torture murdering) everything in its path. On the flip side: her powers have also been known to turn literally all their wielders into raging loonies who have to be imprisoned for the good of everyone.

My ignorance of Chinese history is absolute, so I’ve no idea where the author (herself Chinese, and an historian, I believe) is pulling from in order to build the foundations of her world, but it’s obvious she has done a lot of research and painstakingly agonized over every little detail. It’s nice to finally step away from the usual Euro-centric world of much Western fantasy, and into one so fully fleshed-out.

This story actually reminds me in some ways of Mulan: the unlikely protagonist bests nearly everyone in all of her training--but only because she works three times harder than anyone else, and no one particularly admires her for it, saving her from Mary Suedom. She’s intelligent and determined, but nothing comes easily (especially when one of your masters is more than a little unhinged). She has exactly one friend, and spends most of her time trying to read her way to a better martial artist.

This is not, however, a school story; and though the characters are 16-17 when they first enter the academy, it is not a YA story either. It is a story about war, and the author has no interests in presenting war as anything other than it is: revolting, traumatizing, horrific. There are some very graphic depictions of violence, so if you do not have the stomach for that, this is not the book for you. Neither massacres nor first kills are glossed over; everything is presented exactly as it looks, smells, feels.

Because life is never one long angst-ridden slog, however, and there was always something, before war, there are moments of legit humor; I actually laughed out loud at several lines. And that leads me to something else the author does very well: dialogue. Much dialogue is an excuse for the author to sound worldly, wise--poetic. It also often hardly sounds like human speech. Real humans, even articulate, intelligent humans, do not shit a fucking Keats verse every time they open their mouths. In The Poppy War, people, wonder of wonders, actually sound like people; perhaps even more notable: teenagers sound like teenagers.

Stylistically, this book is utilitarian; I won’t be highlighting any phrases because they’ve left me awestruck. But it is not lightweight fantasy; the main characters wield terrifying powers with immense consequences. They are mangled, tortured, killed; some of them are drug addicts because only in opium can they find a momentary release from what they have survived. It’s a hold-onto-your-balls-kids kind of story. This is the first novel in a purported trilogy, and I will definitely be keeping an eye out for the rest of the series.

#books #jenn recommends

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jae-bummer · 6 years

Text

Up to Speed

Request: Can you do 13 with jaebum

13) You find a journal belonging to your bias

Member: Got7′s Jaebum x Y/N

Type: fluff

“I’m just going to drop out,” you sighed, plopping on the bench alongside your best friend.

“And abandon me? Negative,” she grumbled, shaking her head. “Thermodynamics can’t be that bad...can it?”

“Did you hear the question you just asked?” you croaked. “How did I even end up in thermodynamics?”

“Well, seeing as it has almost nothing to do with your desired field of study, I have no idea,” she hummed, patting your knee. “You can always drop it?”

“Drop it?” you gasped. “Do you know how much I paid for it?”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t necessarily the cheapest class,” she muttered. “Maybe get a tutor?”

“That’s admitting defeat,” you spat. “I’m just going to soldier through and barely pass and complain about it the entire time.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you friend nodded. “I have a class that is actually IN my curriculum to get to, so make sure to make good decisions while I’m away.”

“I’ll try,” you murmured, letting your face fall into your hands. You took a deep breath as you stared out from your fingers. The student union was busy that day, with flurries of activity in nearly every corner of the open area. Several clubs had tables set up and the student government looked as if they were handing out free food. You lifted your brows and sat up, attempting to examine that situation just as a heavy grunt sounded directly to your left.

Glancing over, you noticed a handsome boy had sat down beside you, slinging his book bag near his feet. He had a bowl full of whatever student government had been passing out and you eyed it curiously.

“I don’t know you and I’m not sharing,” he muttered, shoving noodles into his mouth without looking up.

“I wasn’t asking to, on either counts,” you grumbled, crossing your arms, and looking away. What a prick.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “Well, I mean, I’m not sorry for what I said. I’m just sorry for how it came across.”

“Glad you cared enough to apologize,” you chuckled, lifting your brows. This guy was a trip. “What’s in the bowl anyway?”

“Black bean noodles?” he muttered, pausing his chewing for a moment. He separated himself from the bowl and looked down at it curiously. He scooted his chopsticks within the contents and tilted his head. “I think?”

“Delightful,” you hummed, shaking your head. Maybe you wouldn’t go in for a bowl after all.

“Good talk,” he nodded, finishing up his last bit of noodles before standing. He picked up his bag and swung it over his shoulder. Wiggling his eyebrows at you, he smirked. “Later.”

“Later,” you grumbled, shaking your head. Since you had begun college, the amount of strange interactions you incurred daily seemed to skyrocket. You had seen everything from students in t-rex costumes to full scale 18th century reenactments prepared by the theater department. At this point, boys like the one you had just talked to didn’t even make you bat an eye anymore.

That was until you heard the gentle smack against the concrete.

Looking over, your eyes searched the ground for the source of the noise and immediately found a small, leather-bound journal. You glanced back up to see the retreating body of the boy who had been sitting next to you and his unzipped bag. In that moment, you understood what had happened, and instantly jumped toward the notebook.

“Hey!” you gasped, shouldering your own bag and jogging toward him. “Hey...um...guy!”

Several students walking by looked up curiously, but you needed none of their attention.

“Hey, you! Black bean noodles!” you shouted, navigating through the crowd of people. You glanced down at your phone, noting that it was indeed one of the common times for a class change and groaned.

“Hey!” you cried, at this point annoyed as the boy got further and further away from you. “Idiot!”

Once again, several people turned, but not him.

“Really? You people turn around when I yell idiot?” you cried, finally stopping and letting your shoulders fall. “Ridiculous.”

You had had the mysterious, leather journal for two days and you still hadn’t caught the boy from the bench. Stationing yourself at the same bench, at the same time, had not yielded any results. You hadn’t even seen him in passing.

Pacing around your dorm room, you eyed the notebook that you had positioned on your bed. Upon looking at it closely, you noticed two small letters were imprinted on the cover. JB.

“JB...should I open it?” you murmured, continuing your pacing. “No, that’s an invasion of privacy...

...but what if his full name is in it? What if he left behind a phone number? So if someone were to find it...they could contact him....to return it?”

You heaved a sigh, but continued to walk. Crossing your arms, you finally paused, and picked it up. “Is that still an invasion of privacy? Maybe if I just...”

Dropping the notebook from your hands, it landed on it’s spine and instantly parted it’s pages. You chuckled to yourself as you leaned down, crouching on all fours above it to study the open pages.

“See, it fell open,” you whispered. “I didn’t intentionally open it. It just happened.”

You glanced over the pages, and gulped. Secretly, you had hoped for a few To Do lists, maybe a shopping list or two, but no, you felt as if you had stumbled into something much deeper...

A complete stranger’s inner thoughts.

10/4/16 It’s hard to accomplish anything on campus when music is so demanding. It’s not that I don’t enjoy being a musician, I just wish I had more of a chance to enjoy being a student. The dating ban has been lifted, but I’ve never felt less at ease around people. I wouldn’t know how to be romantic if I tried. It’s amazing what flows from my pen, but not from my mouth. I can be harsh and cold. I just want to be a better me. I feel like school just reminds me of what I should be doing at my age...and is working really it?

“A musician,” you hummed, tilting your head. He looked vaguely familiar, but you were unsure of where you had seen him and didn’t know how you would ever place his visage. You weren’t necessarily the most pop culture savvy now that school dominated your life (specifically thermodynamics) and it wasn’t like he had ever been in any of your classes.

You looked over the page, trying to keep your eyes from scanning over more words, but it was difficult. Smiling as you noted each margin doodle or random line that didn’t quite belong, an inner voice in your head pressured you to read more.

“I can’t,” you whispered. At least not tonight.

But just like that, you were hooked.

You took the journal everywhere with you; classes, mealtimes, out on the weekend. If you were to go anywhere, the notebook would be tucked firmly within your bag or under your arm. It was like a novel you couldn’t put down. Eventually it had become a bit of a secret for you, something you would reward yourself with on especially bad days.

Particularly after your Thermodynamics class.

You nestled up on one of the lounge chairs in the corner of the library and pulled your knees to sit below your chin. Cracking open the journal you took a deep breath as you flipped through a few pages.

9/7/17 Tomorrow is a very important day. Yet again, I get to expose my soul to millions of people to receive criticism or acclaim. This is one of the first real times I’ve written something so deep and overwhelming. It was just Jinyoung and I for this and it will be just us in the end getting the feedback. I know our members support us, yet I still feel a great amount of anxiety. It was us in the beginning as well. I’m glad to be able to rely on my friend.

“What’s up?” a familiar voice chirped, dislodging you from your thoughts. Your best friend snatched at the journal in your hands and looked it over casually. “What are you reading?”

“Ah, give that back,” you groaned, launching from your seat and reaching toward her. She snaked away from your grasp and continued to read.

“Are you...keeping a journal?” she muttered, scanning over the sentences. “But this...this isn’t your handwriting.”

“Come on,” you whined. “Please give it to me.”

“This is someone’s journal, Y/N,” she gasped. “This is someone’s journal who is not you!”

“Keep your voice down,” you shushed. “Do you want the whole library to hear you?”

“Who does this belong to?” she whisper-shouted.

“I don’t know,” you whisper-shouted back.

“How do you not know?” she grumbled. “You’ve been reading about this person’s life for....”

“Two weeks,” you cringed.

“TWO WEEKS?” she hissed. “What the hell? Why are you being such a creep?”

“I didn’t mean to be a creep,” you groaned. “It fell open and-”

“Oh, it “fell” open,” she muttered. “Likely story.”

“Okay, so I was nosey!” you argued. “Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same!”

“This isn’t about me!” she murmured.

“It is now! Quit being a turd!” you spat. “Alright, so I’m reading some guy’s journal. Now what?”

“It’s a guy?” she hummed. “Like...a cute guy?”

“That’s not the point,” you whined.

“Why can’t it be the point? I like this point,” your friend muttered.

“What am I supposed to do with the damn journal?” you groaned.

“Well...you tried to find the guy?” she asked, beginning to pace.

“Of course I tried to find the guy,” you hissed. “I lived in the student union for like three days after he dropped it.”

“And you haven’t seen him on campus?” she continued.

“Oh yeah, I did,” you spat sarcastically. “He told me to keep it. I had a few more chapters to finish.”

“So...take it to the lost and found,” she said simply with a small shrug. “If you can’t find him, maybe he can find it himself.”

“The...the lost and found,” you whispered, your eyes wide. “I uh...I totally thought of that too.”

“Right,” she nodded. “Of course you did.”

“If...If I wanted to put it in the lost and found,” you hummed, now your turn to pace. “Where...uh...where exactly would that be?”

Your friend grinned and shook her head, trying to keep a laugh from falling from her lips. “Come on.”

Your best friend navigated you back toward the union and into one of the adjoining buildings you were familiar with seeing student government members disappear into. She gave you quick directions to the reception area, which also doubled as home base for the campus lost and found. Grinning, she swiftly abandoned you to grab a scantron before her class.

For some reason, you were oddly nervous as you pulled open the door to the small reception office, taking much too much time to shuffle toward the desk. You ran your fingers along the familiar leather of the journal as you walked, and released a sigh.

“Goodbye friend,” you whispered as you finally reached the desk, looking over the edge to the attendant sitting behind it.

“How can I help - oh, hey,” the familiar face of the man you had been looking for all along smirked. “What’s up?”

You stared at him for a moment, incapable of making any move or sound. You knew almost all of his deepest thoughts and biggest life milestones up until this point...

...well, up until September because that was as far as you had gotten in his journal.

And he knew absolutely nothing about you.

The feeling sent a shiver down your spine.

“I...um...I found this,” you whispered, sliding the journal across the desk’s surface. You looked at the small initials on the front cover. “You’re uh...you’re JB?”

“Jaebum,” he nodded, eying the item curiously. He took it into his hands and flipped it over. “And this...this is mine.”

“I tried to find you,” you continued quietly, incapable of making eye contact. He was incredibly attractive which made the situation about ten times more uncomfortable.

“You read it,” he deadpanned. His expression was unamused as he stared at you. It wasn’t an accusation, but a simple fact, a statement you both knew to be true.

“I read it,” you squeaked, feeling extremely small.

“Of course you read it,” he sighed, his cheeks growing brighter by the moment.

“Why wouldn’t I read it?” you whispered with a wince.

“Because it didn’t belong to you?” he muttered.

“I thought maybe-”

“You’d find my contact information and return it, casually reading excerpts of my life by accident?” he asked, lifting his brows. “Isn’t that kind of cliche?”

“Would you believe it if I told you that it fell off my desk to an open page?” you croaked.

Jaebum groaned and tilted his head backwards, running his long fingers over his face. “This is perfect.”

“Well, um...” you hummed. “I’m happy...that I could return it for you?”

He lowered his chin and stared at you, an expression void of emotion on his face. You were unsure if he would begin shouting at you or start smiling. Feeling a heat begin to rise on your neck, you were deep within the throws of embaressment as you locked eyes. Luckily for you, he was blushing as well.

“Look,” he sighed, searching your face. “I’m not going to lie, I’m annoyed. But you’re cute, so I’ll let you make it up to me over a cup of coffee. Then you can tell me all about myself.”

“To be fair...” you whispered. “I haven’t caught up on the past month.”

JB let out a loud laugh. You could tell he was attempting to keep it from turning into a groan. “Then I guess I’ll have to get you up to speed.”

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ineffablecolors · 6 years

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NEW TALES FROM THE OLD FOREST [5/a few more]

New Tales from the Old Forest; ~ 3, o00 words; FF.NET || AO3 Lovely banner by the equally lovely @katie-dub !

Hey, thanks so much to everyone who so enthusiastically dived back into this story again - means a lot! Hope the joy of the season is already upon you! :)

She wraps her arms tighter around herself and jumps in place to get the blood flowing or whatever people hope for when they do that. Perhaps they hope to jump high enough that they never come back down and just orbit the cold earth from then on. Sounded plausible enough.

But, looking out at the Storybrooke harbor, Emma has to admit that she kinda gets what Killian sees in the place. When it’s not trying to turn you into an icicle that is.

This is ridiculous. She knows enough about Storybrooke to find some hot cocoa, warm food and well, just warmth in general. So with one last semi-mournful, semi-accusatory look at Killian’s house, she gets back in her bug and asks Henry how he feels about some grilled cheese.

///

Emma knows next to nothing about Storybrooke. Usually it’s her complaining to Killian about the hustle and bustle of New York City and he either doesn’t have a bad word to say about the sleepy town he spends most of his time in or he is way less of a whiner than Emma.

(It’s probably the latter but she likes to reassure herself with the former.)

She knows nothing until the day of “The Big Skype Hijacking” as her son had dubbed it. Why? He had a lengthy explanation about the importance of title-picking for a budding author. She… does not entirely get it. Then again, maybe she is a bit prejudiced ever since “The Horrific Waffle Fiasco”. The nerve on that kid, she swears.

It all starts with her getting home early and hearing Henry’s laugher. The pros of having an 11-year-old include the fact that you are still not completely banned from the perimeter of their room but at the same time you have been made aware of what a privilege that is. And how soon it will be taken from you.

As it stands Henry’s door is thrown wide open, probably thanks to the sneaker that is jammed half under it. A definite sign of the haste with which he threw himself on his bed. And the voice drifting from his laptop explains it all.

“Well, that is quite the fascinating story, lad. So now he is stuck with this little bird?”

“Yes, but he has no idea what to do with it. He says the thing is nocturnal and won’t let him sleep!” Henry’s merriment makes her mouth tick up in seconds.

Killian’s deep laughter doesn’t hurt either.

“And has your teacher actually been to see the poor creature? Or its poor besotted owner?”

“That’s the thing – I don’t knoooow! His “bird-induced insomnia” was the last we heard from David. You know, when he came by the school to drop off some textbooks we had left behind. I’ve never seen anyone look so happy about kids leaving their stuff all over.”

“Hmmm. Well, this just won’t do now, will it? We need more intel before we can proceed with any confidence.”

“Well, I was thinking…”

Uh-oh. She knows that tone. Last time he heard that tone, they spent 3 hours in The Belle of Bookstores and came out carring so much shit Emma didn’t have to workout for a week.

“Mhmmm…”

It seems like Killian has a sixth sense about “the tone” as well.

“Maybe you could convince mom that a pet is a good thing for a kid to have around. You know, a pre-teen thing. She is really into those recently.”

“Right. And me, with all my expertise on pre-teens...”

“You write children’s slash young adults slash anyone who has good taste books!”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, young man!”

“But it might get me a puppy!”

“I’m glad to see you think your mother so easily bought, kid,” she finally joins in, leaning a hip on the doorjam and crossing her arms in her favourite ‘I’m a single mom who takes no bullshit’ pose.

“Oh. Hey, mom,” Henry, on the other hand, has his own favourite ‘I’m your little angel and you’ll forgive me anything’ face.

“Nonsense, Swan, the lad thinks your defenses so insurmountable that he felt the need to contract a professional tale spinner.”

The laptop is angled so that she can’t see Killian’s face but Emma finds herself perfectly capable of envisioning his ‘I’m so charming and suave, how can you resist me’ grin.

Because it’s 5pm and the universe is probably napping and so unable to conspire against her, Henry’s phone rings not 10 minutes later and Emma has no qualms about settling herself on the floor beside his bed and dragging his laptop into her lap.

Hijack #1: Emma Swan taking over for Henry Swan

“Fancy seeing your face, love.”

“Wish I could say the same but that light is really not doing you any favours.”

She teases him because she can. Because they’ve established that “they definitely did not break up” three weeks ago and have talked every day since. She teases him because they are good. If she wasn’t afraid that it might wake up the universe and jinx them all to hell, Emma would say that they are very good.

“Oy! No need to take me down quite so many notches, Swan. I believe this place was designed to flatter Ruby’s pale complexion and no one else’s.”

It is so obvious that he is in a public place, a diner of sorts, with a vibe that’s even familiar-ish. Which is why the slight note of irritation? warning? jealousy? in her tone is absolutely ridiculous and yet-

“Who’s Ruby?”

“Oh. Have I not told you this?”

“Mmm, don’t think so.”

Yup, definitely irritated now.

“Remember where I had my signing in your fair New York?”

“Yeah, I seem to recall that place and event. I believe Henry made me check it on Google maps 4 times. 4 times. A bookshop that we had been to before! I’m surprised he didn’t make me do a test drive before the signing to see how fast we get there.”

“Right,” he probably deserves some credit for swallowing his laughter but she sure isn’t going to give it to him. “And you know Granny? From the diner across the bookstore?”

“I’ve only been addicted to her grilled cheese for like 2 years. ‘Course I know Granny, Killian, would you get to the point already?”

“Bloody hell. Fine. Long story short – and trust me that’s no small sacrifice for a writer – Granny used to run a diner in Storybrooke with her granddaughter Ruby. They were doing real well but then Ruby went off to model in New York so they decided to open a… a branch there. But then, one Christmas-“

“Wait, wait. I’m sorry, hold up and take in some air, I didn’t mean get to the point that fast.”

Killian, bless him, actually does need to suck in some air and she shakes her head in fond exasperation.

“So, let me see, if I’m getting this right. Granny, the same Granny who has been feeding me and Henry almost every weekend for years now, used to live in Storybrooke? You used to know each other?”

“That is correct. Is why I chose the bookstore across her charming establishment. And why she was the one keeping everyone there hydrated and nourished.”

Emma snorts. She’s hard pressed to define Granny’s hot chocolate as hydrating. You can eat the thing with a spoon, it’s so thick and creamy… Some days Emma thinks she’d rather part with a kidney than Granny’s cocoa.

“Alright. Let’s ignore how absolutely bizzare that coincidence is-“

“As I told you, lass, no coincidence at all. I very purposefully chose-“

“Right, right. I got it. But still. You know Granny! Our Granny!”

“Well, to be fair, Swan, she was my Granny first.”

His grin is infuriating. And so is the way his hair falls across his forehead. And the light circling under his eyes. And the long eyelashes that swipe over it whenever he blinks at her. How can someone look so innocent and infuriating at the same time?

She knows Killian Jones is far far from innocent. And maybe it’s because she knows his story that sometimes she just wants to reach through her laptop (or Henry’s as the case may be) and brush his hair and wrap her arms around him and smother him with kisses. And that’s just plain ridiculous so-

“Whatever. Why is she here and her granddaughter is in Storybrooke, if she was the one working in New York?”

The granddaughter is still… a question mark. An ex-model question mark.

“As I was just saying, one Christmas Ruby came back and after one too many holiday run-ins with a certain deputy, she never left. But the place in New York was literally ready to open and, if you know Granny, you know that woman never turns down a challenge, so… Granny is there, making sure you don’t starve on your stakeouts and Ruby is here, bugging me closer and closer to an early grave. One mediocre cup of coffee at a time.”

“I heard that, Jones!”

And Emma heard that.

“Granny’s is a chain… Huh. I guess wonders do never cease…”

“Sorry, love, Regina seems to be calling me on here. I’ll just give her a call instead and be right back.”

And that’s how it happens.

Hijack #2: Ruby Lucas taking over for Killian Jones

“Freaking finally! I thought I’d never get my chance.”

Suddenly Emma’s screen is filled with a whole lot of what she will soon know is Ruby Lucas.

“Hey?”

“Hi! I’m Ruby. And you must be the magical Emma!”

Emma sputters. It’s not graceful and it’s not pretty but at least she’s not drinking anything.

The hell? What kind of things has Killian been saying about her?

“Excuse me?”

“Hmmm?”

“Magical Emma?”

“Oh. Sorry. That’s just what I’ve been calling you in my head. Not like to Killian’s face or anything.”

The Ruby girl gets a thoughtful, borderline fiendish look on her face.

“Maybe I should. Can someone die from blushing?”

“Umm… I don’t think so. Can we go back to how we’ve never met but you have like… a nickname for me?”

Eyes darting away just for a second, probably to check that Killian is still occupied with his manager, and Ruby fixes her with a serious look. It’s like watching all the bubble exit a champagne bottle until all that’s left is concentrated alcohol that can really do a number on your head.

“He’s been back in Storybrooke for a few years now. But he’s only been back for a couple of months.”

…

“Oh.”

…

“I don’t know what kinda magic,” Ruby scrunches up her unnecessary perfect nose and waves her hand in what Emma supposes illustrates magic. “you’ve been doing but just keep doing it, yeah?”

…

“I-“

…

“And that’s how Jones ended with a drawn mustache and a perm!”

“Bloody hell, woman!”

“She needs to be warned.”

“Get off. Off. Stay away from my computer and my- Off.”

“Looovely to finally meet you, Emma!”

Ruby leaves with a wink and a wave and a generous view of her retreating back. Killian reemerges with the most sheepish look on his face and she smiles.

She doesn’t call him her boyfriend either. The word feels so… foreign. She is not sure her mouth would know how to form the syllables.

But other parts of her anatomy are definitely beating out the rhythm.

“Bloody hell, why does Regina insist on skyping me?!”

Hijack #3: Roland Hood stealing the whole show

///

He can tell she is up to something. He knows his mom pretty well – has known her all his life, you might say.

She is great at fooling all her “targets” and depositing their asses in jail before they even realized what the hell is going on. She is not too bad at faking it with his teachers and the other parents at his school either. Expect her smile is always like… extra tight and fake-y around the other moms, especially the ones with such long nails that Henry is always a bit apprehensive about shaking hands with them – except they usually prefer to pat him on the head and squeeze him up with something like “poor sweetheart” which makes his mom look even more like an arrow drawn up and ready to fly off. Honestly, sometimes he doesn’t get adults at all.

But he gets his mom and he knows she is up to something. It’s just that… he is as well so he’ll let it slide this one time.

Henry figured (and Killian reluctantly agreed) that just because they are not getting a pet, doesn’t mean that Killian possibly can’t. There is, of course, the small matter of him being in another state but somehow David doesn’t think to ask after any whereabouts when Henry tells him he is picking a cat for his mom’s boyfriend.

Killian asked for more intel before he agrees to tackle the Teacher-Pet case. He also vehemently protested naming it that but, for the life of him, Henry doesn’t understand why – it is all about getting his teacher together with the pet shelter’s owner. It is perfect and Killian is being silly.

It is fun really. To find out that Killian can be silly as well and get cranky when his coffee is “bollocks” (whatever that is, he isn’t supposed to use it). He never really considered the fact that Killian Jones might be genius and talented and super awesome but also… silly. It’s nice.

And because he has seen Killian in action – his mom told him all about Roland hijacking Regina’s Skype and calling Killian non-stop for a full two hours before he was discovered – he knows that his matchmaking skills are the best money could buy – or, you know, puppy eyes since it’s not like he has any money. He feels like he might be getting a bit old for that trick but it seems to work just as well on Killian as it always does on his mom and desperate times…

///

The idea pops into her head about an hour after “meeting” Ruby for the first time. And once there it’s like that little piece of popcorn that’s stuck to the roof of your mouth and keeps annoying you and you just can’t get it off.

And then she goes to Granny’s a couple of days later and the woman looks at her over her glasses and says she heard her granddaughter made her acquaintance. Says she heard someone else has been making her acquaintance as well. Emma is pretty sure that’s not how you use that phrase but she is also too busy dumping half the cinnamon shaker in her cocoa and fleeing as if Granny had turned into a pack of wolves.

And then Ruby adds her on Facebook. And Emma eyes the request suspicious all Thursday and then she does the one thing Emma from like 4 months ago would probably gag at her doing. She asks Killian what he thinks. And frankly? Emma from like 4 months ago can suck it. Because she has someone whose opinion she values and respects and actually wants and she is OK with telling him that the brunette freaked her out a bit and eventually, after a couple of hours on the phone, she even tells him she was a bit “on the fence about this Ruby chic” when he first mentioned her and if his smirk is anything to go by, he knows exactly what that means but just shakes his head and says “Lucas is a pest. The big, fangy kind, not the kind you can swap away”. And really in the end, Killian just tells her to go with her gut – Ruby is cool in his books, her grandmother probably saved him from being homeless both times he rolled into Storybrooke with nothing but the clothes on his back, an unfinished manuscript and a spectacular hangover. In the end, it’s not about Killian telling her what to do at all, it’s about her having someone to talk it out with and make up her mind. It’s new. It’s kinda wonderful.

And then Henry asks if he can invite Killian to his birthday. His birthday. In August. 5 months away.

And then because being his girlfriend or whatever (she still cannot say the thing with adding “whatever” after, she has tried) doesn’t mean that she is not still a fan or whatever (that one is just a bit embarrassing – being a fan of your boyfriend… or whatever). So, yeah, she checks Killian Jones’ blog, which he updates only every month or so but, yeah, she follows him on Instagram and she follows his blog and whatever, he follows her as well and once said something ridiculous along the lines of him being a fan of her, like every part of her or whatever, so yeah. It’s fine.

But then she opens his blog, while on a ridiculously unproductive stakeout and she sees his last post from a couple of hours ago.

The wonder isn’t that love find us, as strange and magical and mystical and wonderful and unbelievable as that feels.

The wonder is that even when we never find it, even when love waits in the wings of dream for too long, even when it doesn’t knock on the door we’ve been staring as for years, or leave messages in bottles or on answering machines or on Facebook walls or in the bloody sand to be washed away by the waves of time, even when love doesn’t put flowers in our hands or tears of incomparable joy or unimaginable heartbreak in our eyes… even then… so many of us never stop believing in love.

Imagine how lucky we are. To have such hope, such faith. And then, occasionally, when we are so very very lucky… such love.

She is doing it.

#cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #cs au #cs fluff #NTOF

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 8 Review: The Road to Cincinnati

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This The Simpsons review contains spoilers.

The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 8

The Simpsons season 32, episode 8, ” The Road to Cincinnati” gets off to a bumpy start. It stars two less-than-charismatic secondary characters, and the Simpson family barely make an appearance. The episode is basically a road trip, but Chalmers and Skinner are no Hope and Crosby, and the destination is a city over-crowded with used punchline fodder: Cincinnati, the “birthplace of Pete Rose’s gambling problem.”

The episode opens at the District Principals Meeting, where Principal Seymour Skinner becomes the center of unwanted attention. He tries to tell a joke, but can’t read the room. He goes for a high five and gets a low blow. The big news at the meeting is Superintendent Garibaldi Chalmers is going to give the keynote address at the national administrative education summit, EDUCON. He’s booked at the enviable Proctor and Gamble room. The scene is loaded with edumacational references, but is further Simpsonized by the “Have you seen this mug?” poster on the bulletin board. The missing coffee cup under the masking tape turns out to figuratively be Skinner, who after having his dignity siphoned off, gets robbed again.

The keynote speaker gets to take one of the local principals along, and Chalmers fixes the criteria so the more affable, and witty Principal Finch (Hannibal Buress) from a magnet school tags along for the ride. Chalmers tells Skinner he was never even in the running. That’s gotta hurt. Chalmers is still much more of a caricature than Skinner, who has a much more central role on the series. The Superintendent has been making more frequent appearances. We’ve gotten a lot more backstory. He’s dated Skinner’s mother. But for the most part, he’s just there to yell “Skinnerrr!” at Skinner. “The Road to Cincinnati” might give us too much information.

We’ve always gotten too much information on Skinner. Everything around him conspires to emasculate him. The turnaround this episode is that one of the biggest conspirators is the one who gives Skinner the clarity to do something about it. Bart may not do very well at school. He’s a troublemaker who spends far too much time in the principal’s office. But in all that time, he’s gained a lot of insight. He’s seen Skinner’s history of humiliation. Hell, he’s at the center of at least half. Bart knows however Skinner is treated, he will come back for more. He makes Skinner see that’s a super power.

The first thing it unleashes is blackmail, even though it’s not said. Skinner only makes the trip because he dangles the non-refundable $65 registration fee over Chalmer’s head, which the superintendent loses before his plane makes it off the tarmac. The emotional support animals in the airplane scene make for very effective gremlins. The atmosphere turns claustrophobic, and when the superintendent realizes they are all going to die in a flying zoo, it is an effective air pressure drop. Chalmers comes off like a lone nut, but it is only an annoyance when it could have been a memorable mini-spoof on The Twilight Zone’s “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet.” It does get him bagged in a “threat sack,” and banned from Cincinnati Air forever. The tragic punchline is that’s the only airline which will fly into Cincinnati.

At the start of the trip, Chalmers wants to die. But just as he’s pondering whether to be or not, he makes Skinner pick up a trio of hitchhiking improvisational Shakespeare performers. This gag is actually quite revelatory about both characters, as we see how accommodatingly easygoing Skinner is next to Chalmers’ Ophelia. The joke also pays off unexpectedly at the end of the episode, with iambic dividends. The Greasy Chain Bar sequence works as a skewering of biker bars. It turns out cyclists are scarier than bikers but not for the most obvious reasons. It’s just what happens when you can’t decide whether you’re a pedestrian or vehicle. It is very funny how, during the getaway, Skinner and Chalmers come to a full stop at a stop sign on a completely deserted road. That’s instructional driving humor, the kind which will save your life. For some reason, all the cars are being winterized, but both Seymour’s mother’s Buick and the judge J.T. Winchester’s Cutlass are convertibles with the tops down.

Throughout the episode, Skinner’s worth becomes apparent. As a mama’s boy, he knows how to charm the Depends off old ladies. Skinner is also pretty perceptive and speaks common truths. Jason Bateman was made for low-resolution screens. Seymour knows para athletes’ biceps are bigger than the cyclists’ quads. His Bed and Breakfast points score the pair great elderberry wine. Chalmers admits Seymour has utilitarian skills. But the betrayal comes as no real surprise. Skinner must have known this was coming from some job evaluation.

While there are some moments where it looks like Chalmers is coming to an understanding of what Skinner has to offer, he’s forever looking for the catch. He always finds it, and ultimately the pair get so far on each other’s nerves they get into a physical brawl at a Bed and Breakfast. They even destroy the brochures nobody reads. The scene feels like it’s missing something, as there are no consequences, or even a bill to be paid after the place gets trashed, and they’ve been running at a loss.

After the ballroom blitz, Chalmers has to deliver the speech which will make or break his career. Through a lazy contrivance, he is forced to go up unprepared, and instead makes a speech about his trip which teaches the superintendent the value of a good principal. It’s corny, especially as he realizes it after a shout from one lone heckler in the audience is all it takes for him to see what a good guy Skinner is. Maybe the jacket is too tight and cuts off oxygen to Chalmers’ brain. It was supposed to be touching but it didn’t quite make it.

While the audience is supposed to be focusing on Skinner’s growth, we really get an insight into what a screwup Chalmers really is. Sure, he comes up with some interesting epithets, like “Satan’s jockstrap,” and his hair recedes in a fully authoritative way, but put him up against some pedal-hardened cyclists and what is he? A Superintendent of a small school district who doesn’t understand the principles of gravity or the gravity of principals.

When Chalmers bumps into the pre-synced bike-computers he is truly cowed. He’d never last a week in a middle school, dealing with kids all day, every day, in hallways, near lockers, and at water fountains. He’s the one who’s screaming about “who’s screaming” on an airplane. All the trouble the pair get into is because of him, whether it’s his inattentive driving, wanton disdain for genetically modified soybeans, or inability to tell Cincinnati from Cleveland from the skyline.

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As god as my witness, I thought turkeys could fly, and believe one of the good things about choosing Cincinnati as the setting is the excuse to hear the two WKRP in Cincinnati theme songs. Sadly, that’s a highlight of a fairly lame trip. This is what remote learning does to The Simpsons. “The Road to Cincinnati” is paved with too many good intentions. The Springfield faculty gets to get out of town but ultimately there’s nowhere to go but Cincinnati.

The post The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 8 Review: The Road to Cincinnati appeared first on Den of Geek.

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mymurderbooks · 4 years

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Five Books for Eid

It's the Eid pumpkin, Charlie Brown!

Eid is this weekend, so I decided to suggest five books by and/or about women in the ‘Muslim world’. I tried to choose books with women as the main focus (one is a YA book about a little girl), that didn’t victimise women or demonise men in Muslim cultures. Although several revolve around war and revolutions, I tried to choose books that covered women with different experiences and opinions. Many of these books are more or less ‘real world’ accounts and although many of them are difficult to read and not all of them are ‘literary’, I would recommend them to everyone, if for nothing but the ideal that through reading we can build empathy and understanding of different peoples and experiences, and these are voices rarely heard in mainstream Western literature.

"Against the tyranny of time and politics, imagine us the way we sometimes didn’t dare to imagine ourselves: in our most private and secret moments, in the most extraordinarily ordinary instances of life, listening to music, falling in love, walking down the shady streets or reading Lolita in Tehran. And then imagine us again with all this confiscated, driven underground, taken away from us." - Lolita in Tehran

I’ll start with the easiest to read:

1. Girls of Riyadh by Rajaa al-Sanea

A casual, light book about women from the KSA. It takes the form of gossipy anonymous e-mails about the lives of a group of four college-age women who were high school friends in Riyadh - mostly their adventures in the world of love and relationships in a country where they have limited contact with men.

If I were to file this under a genre it would be chick lit. It’s fun and easy to read. The women are clearly privileged: they’re wealthy, they travel, they get nose jobs, they wear Elie Saab. The writer wrote this in Arabic for an Arab audience and didn’t expect it to be translated and disseminated in the English speaking world. The characters aren’t meant to represent all Saudi women, and though this was controversial and was immediately banned when it came out in the KSA, this isn’t meant to be a political polemic. It’s a rare pop culture peek into the lives of ‘regular’ women in a country that seldom reveals itself in this way.

2. Our Women on the Ground, edited by Zahra Hankir

This is a compilation of essays by Arab women journalists reporting from the Arab world. The journalists include not just those working for familiar media agencies like the BBC, New York Times and Al Jazeera, but also freelancers and citizen journalists.

These essays are personal and many deal with the realities of living and working in war zones. It's not the easiest book to read, but I think it's an important book. If you had to choose only one book in this list, I suggest this one. Every essay is eloquent. The book presents not just the perspectives of Arab woman journalists about the conflicts they cover, they also share their lives and work conditions honestly and openly. In societies which are gender segregated, Arab women journalists can access places that would otherwise be closed off to Western, and male, journalists, and in this book we hear from people who we would otherwise find difficult to reach.

3. Other Words for Home by Jasmine Warga

This lyrical free verse YA book is about a Syrian girl named Jude. Syria is on the cusp of revolution. After her house is raided, she and her mother go to Cincinnati to live with relatives. There she adjusts to living in a new country, speaking a language she isn't completely comfortable with yet, and becoming American. She faces some Islamphobia, but also meets lovely and welcoming people in her school and community, and by the end she has made friends and is beginning to feel more settled into her new home.

I found the writing to be particularly beautiful. The targeted age group is middle grade. I think some issues would have to be explained or researched by children as they'd be too young to have been politically aware and following the news coverage of the Arab Spring as it occurred, and some background guidance on revolutions and the political situation in the Middle East would be helpful for them to contextualize the story. However the latter half about Jude's new life in America is I think helpful for helping young readers (and adults!) empathise with the day to day struggles of refugee or immigrant children. There are also many children who will identify with Jude's story of immigration and/or escaping conflict, and who don't often see their story represented in children's literature.

More generally, this is a book about home and belonging. The loss of home, the desire for home, and the struggle to build a new home. Although the ending is uplifting, I think it's ultimately a sad book, because the Syria Jude had to leave behind can never be reclaimed, and this loss will always exist for her.

4. Reading Lolita in Tehran

I realise this book is a little controversial. It's been accused of being New Orientalist and neoconservative by Hamid Dabashi (he writes the forward for Dreaming of Baghdad, my last book recommendation below).

This book is the memoir of an English literature professor teaching in Tehran during the revolution. When she's fired from her job for refusing to wear the hijab, she starts a book club/reading group for some of her female students in her living room.

I enjoyed this book, it's very readable. Much of the book are her discussions with her students about literature and their lives, and she directly correlates the books they read to their political experiences in Iran (c.f. the title: Reading Lolita in Tehran). I recommend reading it at least for her funny story of putting The Great Gatsby on trial in her classroom, and other amusing anecdotes, like her student life protests and when her drug dealer neighbour hid in their garden.

This isn't a book that's meant to encompass the experiences of all Iranian women, or a literary critique on Lolita, or a broad political analysis on Iran-US relations. It's a memoir of a woman, who's upper class, educated in the US, and decidedly secular. She seems to like Marx, dislike the hijab, and that is entirely fair and her right to do so and write about in her memoir.

I personally feel that some of the criticisms of her book are a little unfair, and people are reading too much into the book, and expecting too much out of it, but I say this with the caveat that I read this years after its publication, so I read this removed from any expectations the initial marketing/advertising would have inspired. I'll probably write a separate post on how I feel about this book. However I would be remiss if I didn't also I also suggest you read a balancing piece, Jasmine and Stars (Reading more than Lolita in Tehran) by Fatemah Keshavarz.

I recommend Reading Lolita in Tehran to you with the assumption that you are a politically aware, rational adult who doesn't assume that one writer's opinions and experiences are representative of an entire country, and doesn't look to a single book to give you an overview of 'the condition of women's lives in Iran'. Look at it as a literature professor's anecdotes about her life in books, and proceed from there.

5. Dreaming of Baghdad by Haifa Zangana

I left this till the end because this is the hardest book in the list.

Haifa Zangana was an Iraqi Communist Party activist who was imprisoned during Saddam Hussein's regime. She was initially tortured and imprisoned in a political prison, then transferred to Abu Ghraib, then to a prostitute's prison. This is essentially her recollections.

It's not a torture narrative, instead it takes on a dreamlike quality, and switches from the first to third person, letters to herself, disjointed dreams and nightmares, scenes from her childhood, her present, and her time as an activist and in prison.

This is a book I really want you to read. It will haunt you forever. Reading about imprisonment, torture and executions is always difficult, but I felt reading this was like bearing witness to her testimony.

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