#a musical "discontent"

[lizthewriter]

like snow on the beach / theodore nott

PAIRING  theodore nott x bubbly!fem!reader

SUMMARY  christmas is your absolute favorite time of the year! the tree, the lights, the music, the food . . . however, to you, the most important thing about christmas is spending it with your loved ones.

your world falls apart when you find out you can't go home for the holidays. you're stuck at hogwarts with a bunch of stuffy professors and zero loved ones. however, you make an unlikely friend who also happens to be stuck at hogwarts for the holidays . . . and you find out he despises christmas. you make it your mission to prove him wrong.

TAGS  theodore nott x bubbly!fem!reader, christmas, holiday cheer, the power of belief, reader loves christmas, this is soooo dash and lily coded, inspired by dash & lily's book of dares, grumpy!theodore nott, simp!theodore nott, i'm a slut for pathetic men 😩

QUOTE  "i've never seen someone so lit from within, / blurring out my periphery, / my smile is like i won a contest, / and to hide that would be so dishonest," - snow on the beach by taylor swift, featuring lana del rey

WORD COUNT  5.7K

WRITTEN  12.4.2023

You shoved your hands in your pockets - despite the fact that you were wearing gloves in this freezing weather, you could still feel the harsh wind nipping at your skin. Here you stood at Hogsmeade station, your friends boarding the train as you watched in discontent. They were all going home for the holidays this year, but you were going to be stuck at Hogwarts. No Christmas tree, no baking gingerbread cookies, no sipping on hot chocolate while snuggled in a warm blanket, no watching holiday movies. Just the freezing cold and your own company.

You plastered a grin on your face when the train began to move and waved to your friends. They bid you their last goodbye from their compartment window. Once the train disappeared from your sight, you trudged your way back up the path to Hogwarts. Well, the sight of the castle was beautiful, in the very least. You could see snow capping the towers and covering the shingles. But even then, it was just another reminder that you were here and not there, at home, with your family. There was only one thing to cheer you up.

-

"Afternoon Madame Pince," you greeted softly as you walked into the library. She sent you a stiff nod in return. While she didn't really like anyone in paticular, she was at least kinder to you than other students.

You knew exactly which books you wanted to cozy up with by a warm, crackling fire. Dashing across the library, you ammassed an entire stack of books, one that was tall enough to obstruct your vision. You waddled through another row, searching the shelves for one paticular title. Spotting it on a high shelf, you found a rolling stool and pushed it with your foot until it was directly under the book you seeked. You tried to place your pile of books somewhere, but it wouldn't fit on the sheleves and you couldn't plop them onto the floor without angering Pince. Stupidly, you decided to step up onto the stool, carrying the pile of books under one arm all while reaching for the desired book. Of course, you should have expected what came after.

You lost your balance, the books tumbling backward out of your arm, the weight of them pulling you down too. You fell off of the stool and expected your head to meet the bookcase behind you, but in your suprise felt someone catch you as your books loudly clattered to the ground.

It took you a moment to catch your breath, to let the adrenaline and fear run it's course before you turned towards your savior. He was tall, devilishly handsome, but with oddly dead eyes. He had an odd way about him - devastatingly beautiful, yet there was this aura of melancholy around him. It was unusually attractive.

"You all right?" He asked, his tone short and gruff.

"Yeah . . . sorry about that. Should've just put my books down somewhere, I suppose."

"What is all this noise?" Madame Pince's striking voice ring throughout the library, her footsteps approaching rapidly. Soon enough, she turned around the corner and let out the most horrified gasp, hand flying to her mouth. She glanced at the two of you with a dark, murderous glare. You suddenly became aware of the fact that his hands were on your shoulders and your back was resting against his chest. "You two! Out of the library at once! I will not have you diabolic teenagers destroying the sanctity of this library! Out! Out!"

She shooed the both of you out of the library and slammed the door in your faces. Now there you were, banned from the library, with no means of proper entertainment. Of course.

Bah humbug, you thought.

"Great," said the boy sarcastically. "As if I have anything else to do now." He sighed and turned around, bumping his head against the wall.

"I'm so sorry!" You squeaked, a blush rising to your cheeks.

"Don't be," he responded, turning back around. "It's not your fault."

Realization struck just then - you recognized him. "Wait . . . you're Theodore Nott, right?"

"You've been stalking me, have you?" His tone was always one of solemnity, so it really wasn't your fault that you couldn't tell he was joking.

"No, of course not, I've just seen you in a few of my classes is all," you responded, quite defensively, but mostly out of embarrassment. "You're in Malfoy's gagle of friends . . . shouldn't you be at home with your family?"

"Shouldn't you?" He returns swiftly.

"Point well taken," you respond with a grimace. He didn't respond and neither did you - what was there to say? You had never really had to interact with him, you weren't friends . . . yet you felt some sort of pull towards him. Like an invisible string that kept you hooked. He did save you from falling to possible death after all. "Well, you know, now that neither of us have anything to do, we could . . . I don't know, hang out or something?"

"Why?"

You arched a brow at him. "You got anything better to do?"

A flash of a smile flitted across his face. "Point well taken."

-

You were once again snuggled in a large coat, a knit hat atop your head and a large wool scarf pooling out of your jacket. Theodore's hands were shoved into the pockets of his thick, plaid trench coat. His hair billowed in the wind as the two of you wandered the ground, snow falling around you.

"So!" You jumped in front of him and began to walk backwards, keeping the same pace as before. "What is your absolute, favorite part about Christmas?"

Theo simply shrugged. "I don't have one." Your jaw almost dropped to the floor - how could he not have a favorite part about Christmas? Christmas, to you, represented love, family, and compassion. You loved everything about it: the tree, the lights, the music, the food, the presents. In fact, there wasn't one thing you could pick as your favorite because you adored all of Christmas too much.

Your shocked expression didn't seem to suprise Theodore in the slightest. "You don't have one?" You reiterated in disbelief, stopping. He jolted when you stopped walking, the two of you damn near as close as you were in the library. "But it's Christmas?" Theodore shrugged again. "You don't like Christmas?"

"No, truthfully . . . my family doesn't really do Christmas," he responded begrudgingly, glancing out at the Forbidden Forest as though he were disinterested. Really, he just didn't want to get into detail about his personal matters.

"Oh," you could only respond. Now that you thought of it, you could only imagine what Nott had to deal with at home, being a pureblood and all that. You knew that a lot of pureblood families were abusive and strict.

Suddenly, everything became clear. His family may not do Christmas, but you certainly do . . . you want him to feel the Christmas spirit that you do. Doesn't he deserve to understand exactly what the holidays are all about?

He tilted his head in curiosity as a grin spread across your rosy cheeks. Your eyes glittered with excitement and something akin to child-like wonder. "You know what? No. I'm going to prove to you that Christmas is the best time of the year."

Nott let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. He kicked at the snow, staring down at the ground as he shook his head. "I don't think you can."

"Do I hear Theodore Nott turning down a challenge?" You asked, cupping your ear with a mock judgemental expression. "Are you scared that I'm right, is that what it is?"

Nott sighed, biting back a grin as he finally met your eyes. "Fine. But I'm telling you now, it's not going to work."

"Oh, we'll see."

-

Theodore would be lying if he said he hasn't had his eye on you. How could he not? How could anyone not? You were quite literally the most outgoing person in your year. You were friends with mostly everyone, give a select few, and participated in many different student organizations. You were modest yet brash, kind yet firm, intelligent yet open-minded. You weren't afraid to speak your mind, even if it made you unpopular with certain crowds. He admired that about you.

So admittedly, the main reason he had gone to the library was in hopes that you'd be there. He's trying building up the courage to talk to you in the past, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Must be the reason why he's not a Gryffindor.

He felt an odd feeling in his chest when he saw you - as if he were so light he could float away, but also regurgitate his lunch all over the hundreds-year old carpet. He built himself up in his head and finally followed you into the rows of bookcases. When he saw you struggling with your pile of books, he froze, insecurities clouding his mind like a thunderstorm hurtling through his head. But when you were about to fall down, he instantly forgot whatever he had been thinking about and jumped to your rescue. Catching you, feeling you pressed against his chest, his nose burrowed in your sweet-smelling hair, he couldn't help but feel his heart beating incredibly fast and hard.

Finally, when the two of you were outside touring the grounds and you had so optimistically wanted to prove to him that Christmas was the best time of the year . . . he couldn't help but want you to prove him wrong.

That's why he was fussing over his hair as he stared in the bathroom mirror, tilting his head back and forth. It took him a whole ten minutes before he decided his hair would never comply and threw on his favorite plaid trench coat. You hadn't told him where the two of you were going, but he trusted that you weren't trying to pull anything funny.

You turned around as he exited the Slytherin dorm, the portrait slamming close behind him. He felt his stomach twist nervously as he looked at you - you were dressed rather festively, wearing a short green and red plaid skirt along with a mahogany turtleneck. Mini ornament earrings hung from your hears, gently bobbing as you turned to face him with an excited smile.

"Ready? Wonderful!" You exclaimed. "Come on, let's go!" He joined your side as you began walking at a brisk pace up the stairs. You lead him outside, chattering about holiday traditions you and your family had. He couldn't help but be enraptured by you - the way your eyes twinkled with joy and your hands gestured feverishly. Your bright rosy cheeks and how your scarf made them look plump and adorable.

"Oh, sorry, I've been rambling on so much you haven't even been able to get a word in!" You said, chuckling nervously, hoping that he wasn't annoyed with you.

"No, I like listening to you talk," he assured you pointedly. "Go on."

"But -"

"Honestly. I don't mind."

He could see your shoulder visibly sag with relief and you continued to explain to him as you walked down stone steps towards a small little hut next to the forest.

"What's that?" He asked you, gesturing to the hut.

"You'll see," you replied with a secretive smile. Once you were standing on the front steps of the house, the sound of a dog barking resonated from within. You knocked on the door with force, three times.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'!" A gruff voice responded from within. "Oi Fang, back! Get back, you mangy mutt!" Suddenly, the door swung open and Theodore was taken aback. Before him was a man towering at eight and half feet, a long, gangly beard running down his front, and a rather excited dog at his heel. "Ah right! You told me you were coming down today - and you've brought a friend I see!" The giant man turned towards Theodore with a friendly smile. "Rubeus Hagrid - I be the Groundskeeper. Ah! Don't want to keep you two out here in the cold - come, inside! Inside!"

He ushered the both of you into his hut, which was rather quaint. While Theo's eyes danced across the hut, you were already removing your coat and making yourself comfortable. His eyes fell upon a pine tree sitting in the corner, as well as a pile of boxes sitting next to it. He glanced back towards you and found you placing a kettle on the gas stove and setting out three teacups.

"I thought we'd start with one of my most favorite traditions - decorating the tree. Hagrid keeps a tree in his hut and he's asked me to help him decorate this year!"

"Them boxes over there are filled with ornaments!" Hagrid told them, gesturing to the boxes. Theodore noticed that the dog (Fang, he supposed it's name was) had approached you with a wagging tail and you had bent down to pepper kisses all over it's face. "I really appreciate youse two's help! Tha's why I made some of my famous rock cakes for ya to take back up wit' ya to the castle!"

"Thanks Hagrid, that's really nice of you!" Hagrid handed you a large, bulky package wrapped in a floral tablecloth. You placed it inside the bag you had brought with you. All the while Theodore watched as Hagrid slung some kind of bag around his shoulder and called Fang to join him by the door.

"O' course! Just remember to eat them while they're fresh!" He exclaimed with a chuckle. "Don' want 'em too hard. Ah, anyways, must get going. I've got to do my rounds about the grounds with Fang. You two young'uns have fun."

"Bye Hagrid!" You said as he closed the door behind him, offering a cheery wave. Once Hagrid left, you went back into the kitchen to remove the whistling kettle from the stove and pour the two of you some tea. "Here you go," you said slowly, more focused on not spilling the tea you were handing to Theo than what you were saying.

He took a sip of the tea, swallowed it, and then stared down at the yellowed water. You watched him in amusement, holding back your laughter. "You don't have to drink it if you don't like it."

He placed the cup back down on the table. "That is absolutely abominable," he told you with a sour look, pushing the cup towards you. You laughed, placing down your cup as well.

"It's not the most delicious thing I've ever tasted, but Hagrid found these incredibly rare plants in the forest with healing properties! So he's been using them for tea."

"How did you come about to be friends with the Groundskeeper, I wonder." Theodore pulled out one of the kitchen stools, rather large in comparison to himself. It wasn't easy to sit atop it, but in the end he triumphed over the chair.

You shrugged in response, taking another sip of your tea. "Well, Harry, Ron, and Hermione have known him for ages so they introduced me as well. People are kind of - I don't know - weird about him, but he's honestly lovely and gentle. He's not anything like he seems at first glance." Moving on from that topic, you clapped your hands together excitedly and ran over to the pile of ornament boxes. You separated and opened each and every box, displaying all the different ornaments. Theo approached, scrutinizing the glass balls with the tilt of his head.

"Some of these are . . . interesting, I must say." He grabbed an ornament of a brown bear and turned it around in his hand. You plucked the bear from his hand, placing it back in the box. In your other hand was a long string of tinsel.

"There are a few rules to decorating the tree," you started, walking backwards towards the mantle over the fireplace. You flipped on the radio, Celestina Warbeck's "Nothing Like a Holiday Spell," softly playing in the background. "First, you must listen to Christmas music. Second -" You held up the tinsel in your hand. "- you always do the lights and/or tinsel first. Okay? So, I'm going to need help wrapping this around the tree. I'll stand on one side and wrap it around my half, then I'll hand it to you so you can wrap around your half and you give it back to me, all right? Sound good?"

Theo nodded - this didn't seem too hard, nor unenjoyable. You didn't notice, too caught up in your jolly Christmas spirit to notice the way Nott was fondly watching you humming under your breath, tinsel trailing on the ground behind you as you stood on the opposite side of the tree. Standing on your tip-toes, you leaned up to wrap the tinsel around the top branch but struggled. When he noticed you were getting nothing out of your efforts, Theo walked behind you and grabbed the tinsel out of your hand. His chest was pressed against your back as he reached up with ease and wrapped the tinsel around the first branch.

You froze when he had come up behind you, a blush painting your cheeks. It wasn't your fault he had decided to come so close and that he was so damn attractive. You did your best to hide how flustered you suddenly felt, no matter how dimly veiled.

He didn't seem to notice, preoccupied with wrapping the tinsel around the top area of the tree that you were too short to reach. "Uh, thanks. Just, um, when you're wrapping the tinsel, make sure you don't wrap it too tight or too close to another row, okay?"

"I'll keep that in mind," he responded absent-mindedly, brows furrowed as he gave his task the upmost attention. He wanted to make the tree look perfect, just for you. He was trying to figure out how he should space the rows - as of now, are they too close together or too far apart? Maybe he should separate them a little.

"Don't think too much about it. It's not supposed to be perfect," you said, as though reading his thoughts. You grabbed the tinsel and began to wrap it around again. You handed it to Nott, who wrapped it around his side of the tree and handed it back to you. "It's supposed to look imperfect and wonky and unusual - that's what makes it your Christmas tree. Trying to make it look perfect takes all the fun out of it."

"So . . . the uniqueness is what makes it special?" he asked as he took the tinsel from you yet again. You were pretty special . . . unique. You stood out from your peers. Maybe that's why he was attracted to you - all his life, he was pushed for excellence. He was pushed to be perfect all the time and finding someone like you, so free-spirited and imperfect, well . . . he couldn't help but admire you.

"Yeah, exactly!" When you handed him the tinsel again, you said, "well, we're getting near the bottom. Just hand me the - yeah, the tinsel." You took the tinsel again and bent down as you wrapped it around the bottom of the tree. He followed you to the other side of the tree, preparing to finish the job once you passed the tinsel to him. "And I'll just finish this - oh!"

He hadn't realized you were planning on finishing the tinsel yourself and the two of you walked straight into each other. Your noses accidentally brushed together, your lips only centimeters away from his. You noticed an odd sort of glance in his eyes. It disappeared only a second later, but you were certain you saw it. A hunger, a longing. Like he wanted to kiss you.

"Sorry," he mumbled, not moving from where he was bending down.

"Yeah," you said breathlessly, quickly standing straight and clearing your throat. It must have been a flicker of light - there was no way the Theodore Nott liked someone like you. He was prim and proper, you were disorganized and eccentric. Not exactly a match made in heaven, especially in the eyes of his parents. "Sorry . . ."

-

You couldn't think clearly after that - all that was on your mind was a tall, quiet, brown-haired Slytherin boy who hated Christmas. But his especially those lips of his. Pink, full, just begging for a moment of your attention. Scenes in your mind played our what could have happened if either of you had made a move. Many ended with both of you in rather interesting positions.

Maybe it had just been you. Or maybe there was a spark there. You hoped, you dreamed, that he was feeling exactly how you were. You held onto this hope as you left your common room and rushed down the Grand Stairs to the Great Hall. You had another grand adventure in mind.

"What is on the roster for today?" Theodore had asked when you met him by the tall, oak doors of the Great Hall. The two of you set off towards the courtyard path.

"It's a suprise, silly!"

"Ah, suprises."

"What, you don't like suprises?"

"I didn't say that."

"How can you not like suprises?"

-

"If you don't mind me asking . . . why aren't you home for the holiday break?" Theodore asked as you slowly made your descent into Hogsmeade. He was kicking at the snow with his feet, secretly nervous. "You're not usually here."

"You've been stalking me, have you?" You replied with a wicked grin, remembering your first encounter. Theo flushed a bright red, his ears turning an especially poinsettia-like red. "I'm just joking." You sighed, your grin turning to a dismal frown. "Yeah, usually I'm at home for the holi's, but my parents are both away on buisness for work . . . so I had to stay here this year."

"You don't want to," he stated simply. You grimaced, shaking your head.

"Nope. I just want to sleep in my bed, my real bed, and wake up home on Christmas morning, surrounded by my family. But I'm stuck here." You sighed - talking about this didn't make you feel much better. You decided to brighten things up, sending a grin Theo's way. "At least I have you, Nott."

He stopped you. "Theo," he said, staring at you with those dark, alluring hazel eyes. "It's what all my friends call me," he added sheepishly.

The corners of your lips curled up, your heart fluttering like a fall leaf in the wind. "Theo," you repeated softly. "Well, Theo . . . perfect timing. We're here." You looked towards the shop on your right, the exterior wood painted a forest green with faded lettering. The window was frosted over, Hamilton depicting the festive scene inside. Warm fairy lights floated around the window, a variety of holiday-themed presents and objects on display not three inches from their eyes. "Holiday store. Perfect for getting gifts and getting in the holiday cheer."

"This was here all this time?" Theo asked.

You made a grand gesture towards the entire road you were standing upon. "I like to call this the Forgotten District. Great stores, but only the locals come here really. A fair few students know of it, but not many. Let's go inside."

You swung open the door, keeping it open with your foot as you entered so that Theo could enter right behind you. Though the ceilings were low and the room was so filled with whimsical trinkets and do-dads that it did feel a bit tight inside. "Hi Fred, how're you doing?"

"Good, good, and you?" Replied the man standing at the registers. He was a rosy-cheeked, middle-aged man with a round belly who looked rather friendly indeed. Almost like Saint Nicholas come to life.

"Great! This is my friend Theo! I'm introducing him to Christmas."

"Introducing him?" Fred responded in disbelief, looking towards Theo as though he were a puppy that had been ran over by a car. "My dear boy, you must have a look around. Take any one item you'd like with you, for free, I insist."

"Thank you, sir." As Theo gradually made his way into the shop, scrutinizing every little object, whether it was a spinning top or a rocking chair. You sent Fred a wide grin behind Theo's back, gesturing towards him with excitement. When Theo turned around, you stopped and quickly made your way to his side.

"Find anything eye-catching?" You asked, your exuberant mood quite obvious to all who could see you. You were grinning, watching Theo with that child-like wonder, standing on the balls of your feet while you took a good look at the place. You let out a gasp and grabbed a cute snowman mug. "Look at this! This is cute. You know, Mrs. Weasley would probably love this."

While you began to chatter on, grabbing various items and displaying them to him with starry-eyes, he couldn't help but watch with a sense of fondness. At some point, you realized he was staring at you oddly and paused. "What?" You asked with an awkward laugh, wiping your mouth with edge of your sleeve. "Is there something on my face?"

Unsure how to recover from having so blatantly worn his heart on his chest, looks away from you, his gaze void of any emotion now. "Nothing."

-

With each passing day, his fondness and adoration for you grew. You were so bright and exuberant, so careless in the way you bestowed that angelic smile of yours upon anyone. He felt honored, still, that he was a receptor of one.

You had begun to spend a lot of time together. Sneaking into the library and nabbing plenty of reading material, wandering about the castle and grounds, stealing food from the kitchens. However, whatever else you had planned to convince him that Christmas was indeed, gay with yuletide cheer, had not yet occurred.

You both were spread along couches by the fire in the Slytherin Common room, void of people except for the both of you. You laughed and talked until your lungs couldn't handle the action anymore - he was the first to fill the silence.

"My mother . . . she had loved Christmas," Theo said softly, his head still hanging off the couch. "As soon as November 1st came around, she would pull the decorations out of the cellar and start putting them up. Father insisted that she let the house elves do it, but she was firm in the belief that decorating was a holiday tradition that we should all celebrate together. It was her favorite time of year."

His tone sounded almost . . . sad. You pushed yourself onto your elbows and watched him. His eyes were just glazed over, water bubbling at the edges of his vision. "Your mother -"

"She's dead," he said in an empty tone of voice. Suddenly, as though realizing himself, he wiped his eyes and sat up. "Sorry, I don't really talk about that with anyone. I shouldn't have -"

"No, no, it's okay," you assured him with a kind smile. "I don't mind. Tell me more about your mom, she sounds really cool."

He hesitated, fidgeting with his fingers, before he ran his hand through his hair and leaned back on the couch. "One year when I was a young boy, she got me Fiabe italiane a cara di Italo Calvino for Christmas, or Italian Folklores by Italo Calvino. She would read it to me every night. After my mother . . . died, my father tried to erase everything that reminded him of her. Including that book."

"Oh no," you whispered, a hand hovering over your mouth.

He gave you a grimaced smile. "Yeah, but it's been so many years . . . I don't really care that much anymore, it's not a big deal."

To you, however, it seemed like a very big deal.

-

On Christmas morning, you woke up extra early and gathered your presents. You knew you looked ridiculous - hair frizzy and wild, still dressed in pajamas, presents flying in the air behind you. Finally, you entered the Slytherin common room and clambered up the stairs to the boy's dormitory, finding Theo's room.

Your pounding upon the door startled him awake and he practically ran to the door to yell at whoever decided to wake him at this ungodly hour. Instead, he found someone he didn't expect to be there at all - you.

"Merry Christmas Theo!" You shouted in excitement, throwing your arms around his neck. In your fervor, your focus was drawn away from the hovering presents and they soon clattered to the floor. He swung an arm around you, envolping himself in you, but you pulled away too soon to look back at your presents. "Oops."

"Merry Christmas," he responded, quite late due to the fact thatft he had just woken up. He opened the door wide so you could enter, and you sauntered inside with your presents hovering behind you once more. You say down on the floor, placing your presents gracefully down in front of you. He closed the door and turned to see you watching him expectantly.

He hadn't opened presents with anyone before, at least, not since his mother was alive. He had thought at first that he would be upset, you falling into his life and pushing him back into the world of Christmas . . . but he found that he actually enjoyed your company. More than he liked to admit. "Do you . . . want to open presents together?"

You flashed him a toothy grin. "Why else did you think I came over here, silly? Come on!" You patted the ground in front of you.

He shuffled over, gathering the small cluster of presents by his bed next to yours, and seating himself on the ground. "You go first."

"All right then." You grabbed an oddly-shaped parcel that looked like a lump of under-cooked bread. You unwrapped it with care, making sure not to tear the packaging. You pulled out a forest green sweater with the initial of your name and a container filled with mince pies. "It's from Mrs. Weasley! She knits sweaters every year for all her kids and their friends." You raised it to your nose with a content sigh. "Smells like her cooking too. All right, now you go on!"

Theod can't remember the last time he had recieved a homeade present, from someone so kind and motherly. He pulled a neatly-wrapped parcel towards him and unwrapped it, revealing a set of books he'd been wanting for a while. From Blaise. Don't go reading it all at once :)

"See? Opening presents can be fun!" The two of you continued to unwrap presents, chatting about what you had gotten. Finally, a wrapped present sat in front of you - both of you stared at it.

"You're not going to open it?" Theo asked. You shook your head with a knowing smile, pushing it towards him bashfully.

"Actually . . . it's for you," you said slowly with a nod of your head. Nervously, you glanced at him, trying to read his expression. He looked rather . . . confused.

"You didn't have to get me anything," he said, pulling the present into his lap. He stared down at it stubbornly, because he felt too guilty accepting a present from you.

"Oh go on, open it!" You encouraged, nudging him. He couldn't help but smile at your excitement, nothing the way you fidgeting in anticipation.

"All right, all right," he responded, raising his hands in mock defense. He untied the ribbon and gently unwrapped the present, making sure not to tear the paper. He froze once he saw what was sitting in his lap, staring up at him.

You watched him with trepidation. You didn't go to far, did you? You hoped that - well, you weren't sure what you hoped, but you wanted him to treasure the gift. You wanted him to say something, but didn't dare question him. You were afraid of his reaction.

"Fiabe italiane," he spoke softly, running his fingers along the spine of the book. It didn't have the weathered grooves his mother's copy had, but it felt like home. He turned towards you with an expression of disbelief. "How - you didn't have too -"

You offered a sheepsih shrug. "I wanted too. You sounded so . . . happy when you talked about your mother. But also sad, so I thought this might cheer you up. Brighten up Christmas a bit."

Theo kept staring at you with an odd expression - you weren't sure what to expect from him. You certainly didn't expect his lips to smash against yours, resting his hand on your thigh. The suddenness of the kiss left you in shock, unable to move. He took this as a sign that you were uncomfortable and unreceptive. But, as soon as he pulled away, you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pressed a kiss to his lips, soft and tender. You couldn't help but smile as you pulled away and you noticed that his eyes had lost that melancholic darkness and was instead replaced with something much more merry.

"I think I'm starting to like Christmas."

You giggled, bringing a wide grin to his usually stoic face. "C'mere," you said, pulling him into a cuddle. "As long as I'm here, I will make sure that every Christmas you have is filled with love and comfort. All right?"

He glanced up from where you had buried his face in your shoulder. "You're amazing, you know that?" He asked, starry-eyed.

You offered a mock uncaring shrug. "I know." You were both silent before you burst out into laughter. "I'm not." As Theo started to protest, you interrupted him. "No really! I'm not, I'm just showing you what a caring relationship is like."

"I still think you're amazing." He paused. "I'm glad we ran into each other."

You glanced down at him and brushed the hair out his face, pecking him on the nose. "Me too."

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[lindszeppelin]

Sexual Healing

Pairing: Austin Butler x Fem!Reader

Prompt: After a long and stressful day, Austin comes home and you help him unwind.

Rating: Mature. 18+. minors you better skeedaddle on outta here

Warning: Sub!Austin if you squint, there's dom energy from both sides regardless, smut, praise kink, swearing, oral (f recieving), slight choking, idk what else...p in v sex obviously lol

Word Count: 4.2k

a/n: This isn't a unique story, a lot of writers have done this idea before. But i've never written my spin on it. So here you go :)

It wasn't out of the ordinary for you to be by yourself in the Manhattan loft you shared with Austin, by your lonesome at night. Your man had a very unpredictable schedule that would take him into ungodly hours of the night, and even into the wee hours of the morning. This is what you've gotten used to expect, after all you were dating one of the most sought after actors in Hollywood. Everyone wanted a piece of him, or a quote for their papers. The press couldn't get enough. Someone as docile and intelligent as Austin Butler was an enigma in an industry swimming with leeches. To make yourself feel closer to him on those lonely evenings you throw on one of his button down tops that smelled like his spicy cologne and wear it as a sleep shirt.

Another way you've found that's helped take your mind off of Austin not being with you right now is a good book. You were never much of a reader before dating Austin. However, he's opened your world to expanding all of your horizons, changing you for the better. He has a pension for buying all kinds of books from thrift stores, "borrowing" books off of friends and never returning them, and dropping a pretty penny on special editions of his all time favorites.

Tonight, you were distracting yourself with Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. It didn't take a whole lot of intense concentration, as you've read the thing probably a hundred times, so it was a mindless read and will serve the purpose for tonight.

You weren't entirely sure what time it was on the clock, but from your vantage point looking out the window from your reclined position on the sofa, you could see a rare glimpse of starlight sprinkling the New York skyline. As you continue to thumb through the novel in a daze, you were roused by the noise of the door to the loft opening and slamming shut in one fluid motion.

The familiar clacking of boot heels tapping across the hardwood floors got louder as they approached closer to the living room where you were relaxing, thudding heavy like claps of thunder.

To hell with the book. You didn't even mark your place on the page, you just simply closed it shut and discarded it with a toss on the coffee table next to you. A nagging feeling was creeping in the pit of your stomach that Austin was not in a good mood. That didn't happen all too often, as he usually kept a sunny disposition. But on the occasions where he was fed up with everything, it took him a long while to escape the doom and gloom.

Jangling keys clashed harshly against the granite countertop in your kitchen. You could hear faint grumbling, and a discontented sigh falling from your boyfriend's velvet lips.

"Austin?" You called out, projecting your voice so he could hear you from the living room. Not hearing a response back, you shuffle to your feet and power walk your way to the kitchen. He must really be down and out.

As soon as you turned the corner and made your dissent further into the loft that's when you were met with your tall hunk 'o man, shrugging off his charcoal overcoat and draping it around the backs of one of the dining room chairs. He hadn't noticed you yet, he was still lost in his own mind running on autopilot. It was no wonder he didn't hear your call out his name, he was wearing his airpods. A faint whisper of some kind of beat was all you could parse together of the indecipherable song. Music was one of Austin's sacred keys for coming back down to reality after an arduous day.

It wasn't until he was about to make a beeline for the bedroom when he turned around and caught you standing in the hallway, in one of his dress shirts and no pants on. His eyes bulged out of his head as he roamed the expanse of your body. You could see the sleep creeping into his baby blues, he could barely keep his eyes open. And his jaw clenched as he held onto residual frustrations.

You threw your hands up in the air expectantly, waiting for him to start explaining, to say anything. "Honey, what's the matter?"

Even through the schlump he was in that clung onto him, the color was slowly starting to revitalize his sallow complexion just from the mere sight of you.

He paused his music and took the airpods out from his ears, chucking them on the dining room table.

"There she is, there's my girl." He mused, making his way over to you. Austin practically collapsed into your arms as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, his arms draped firmly around your waist as he brought you into his personal bubble. He was nearly dead weight against you, his shoulders slouched forward as he leaned against you, clinging to you as if you might slip from his grasp.

You pouted at the fact that Austin clearly had a rough go of it today. And while he was a full grown man, he exposed himself wholly to you as the boy inside of him that craves your affection. He needs you to soothe his aching head, to tell him everything will be okay. Here in his arms is his oasis reincarnate.

"Austin." You purred. Your hands wound their way into his golden locks, massaging his scalp tenderly with your fingertips. He melted into your touch, whimpering in pleasure into your neck. You could feel him shudder beneath you, the waves of anxiety rolling off his back as your hand tangled in his hair.

"They had me running around like a dog on a leash all day. I couldn't get a moments peace to myself. Press junket after press junket." He explained, his low voice muffled by your hair cascading around his face.

"Oh, you poor thing." You cooed in his ear. You wanted to get a good look at Austin to check on him further. You gently pulled away from his embrace and cupped his face in both your hands, transfixed on the exhausted man who stands before you. There were noticeable rings around his eyes, his brows were knitted together, and his succulent mouth was downturned. He looked positively forlorn.

Your thumbs caressed his cheeks as you tried to wipe away the stress, digging your man out of the hole he found himself in and bringing him back to the surface for oxygen.

Standing up on your tiptoes to reach his height, your lips went to place one soft kiss on his left cheek. Austin sighed in delight, his hands digging into your waist even tighter. You then went to his right side and placed another soft kiss there on his cheek, giving equal attention.

Your lips also found their way to the tip of his cute button nose. This made him smile, a sultry laugh rumbling low in his throat as he closed his eyes and marveled at the adorable gesture. Your plan to distract him and melt away his pain was working. He was slowly coming back to himself.

Tilting his chin down with your thumb and forefinger so he was looking down at your level, you went to the corners of his mouth and brushed your plump lips on either side of him. His mouth hung open, slack jawed, the teasing was tantalizing as he wished you would just plant one on him already.

As if you read his mind, you finally hovered your parted lips over his needy mouth. He did the rest of the work, releasing your waist and bringing his hands to cradle your face in his hands, crashing his lips with yours.

No time was wasted as his tongue went to probe at your bottom lip, asking to be let inside. And you swallow him whole, your tongues lapping back and forth as his velvet lips engulfed yours in a scorching kiss that left you weak in the knees. All the bottled up frustration he latched on to throughout the day was now being let out on your body.

As your fingers ran their way though the waves at the nape of his neck, he let one of his large hands travel down your throat, applying pressure that took your breath away. You moan against his mouth as his digits squeeze the delicate skin of your neck, just enough to slightly constrict your airflow. The cold metal of the rings on his fingers digs into your neck deliciously.

Austin groans huskily as he plunges his tongue in and our of your wanton mouth, his already puffy lips getting swollen by the second from the strong kisses you're passing back and forth. "God, I want you so bad. Please let me take you to bed, baby." He moans between gasps of air.

You don't even need convincing at this point. You part from his lips and grab one of his hands, dragging him quickly to the bedroom around the corner. As fast as lightening, you clutched onto his shirt and pulled it up and over his head, with his help. Immediately you let your fingertips graze over his tanned skin, exploring the defined muscles and contours of his chest.

Austin had to restrain himself from ripping his dress shirt off of your body, he was so desperate for skin to skin contact. But his stylist would definitely kill him if he did just that. So he painstakingly unbuttoned his shirt while his plush mouth was back onto yours, capturing your lips in a dance of tongues.

"Baby..." He moaned into your mouth when finally he could feel your heated skin against his hard body. Your soft curves soothed the rough skin of his hands as he melted under your touch. To your surprise, Austin was already fully erect and throbbing against your stomach as he rocked his hips into you. "I need you now."

A lightbulb went off in your mind. Normally the dynamic in the bedroom was fluid, there wasn't a designated top or bottom. Most of the time you'd be perfectly happy letting Austin dominate the hell of out you when the two of your got into a particularly rebellious mood. But tonight was different. You wanted to let your man enjoy himself tonight in totally unexplored territory.

You don't know where the little harlot was hiding inside of you all this time, but you found courage as you went to fully palm Austin through his denim jeans, squeezing his length. You shivered fully as the groan that tumbled out of Austin's lips into your mouth shook you to the core. He probably could have come right then and there.

Austin broke from the heated kiss, his tongue finding new places to connect with on the side of your neck.

Palming Austin's cock with one hand, your other goes to unzip the fly of his jeans, giving him a little release from his denim prison. "Does my babyboy need my pussy that badly?" You mewled into his ear like the sex kitten you were.

The large hands around your waist gripped you tighter. You could feel your man tremble ontop of you, he was like putty in your hands.

"God yes, please..." He whimpered against your neck.

"Please what? What does my baby want?" Your dainty fingers plunged into the open waistband of Austin's jeans, finding their way into his boxers. His cock is hot to the touch against your hand as you continued stroking his length. He rutted against you, his resolve slipping by the second as he finally gets some much needed attention.

He growled against your ear. You bring out the animalistic side of him that only comes out to play on certain occasions. He was a man that properly made love to his woman and satisfies her in every conceivable way. You never really took control like this before, he's impressed by your boldness.

Maybe it was just the workload that weighed heavy on his shoulders today, crawling back to you to ease his pain, that made him switch gears in his brain and give in to your dominance. Seeing his girl take charge was hot as fuck.

You could feel his cock swelling up the more you toy with him, his sensitive tip was already leaking with precum. He clung to you impossibly tight. His delicious moans were filling your ear as he continued to roll his hips against your hand for friction.

"I want my cock buried so deep in your pussy that you see stars." In that moment, he took your hand in his and squeezed harder around his engorged cock. It was lucky that he held you strongly in his arms, hearing Austin talk dirty like that made you nearly collapse against him. You were soaked, and you weren't wearing any panties to trap the wetness from collecting in your thighs.

But you couldn't lose your mind now, you had started this game and you weren't going to let Austin take control. You peeled his hands off of yours and instead, you guided his hand along your supple frame. He watched intently, his crystalline eyes glazed over with lust bore into yours, he was at your mercy.

You both moaned in unison when finally you led Austin's hand to your dripping pussy. You gushed around his fingers, already wet and needy for him. He obscenely licked his lips as he let you rub two of his long fingers through your folds, and his thumb circling your swollen clit.

"Get on the bed babyboy, now. That's an order."

He didn't need to be told twice. While he could have turned the tables around and pushed his fingers inside you in this moment, he obeyed your command like a good boy. This was gonna be fun.

"Yes, ma'am." He rasped thickly. You let his hand untangle from the sweet slick of your pussy, but not before he brings his two fingers into his mouth and sucks away at the heavenly juices.

And like the good boy he is, he climbed up onto the bed, but not before he removed his pants and underwear. He laid back against he comforter awaiting your next move. Without a moment to lose, you shrug the dress shirt off your shoulders and pounce.

You don't want to waste anymore time. You don't even give him a warning before you slither your way up his lean body and straddle his face, your oozing pussy lips ghosting over his mouth. He gasped, staring up at you wide eyed like a deer in headlights. Austin was totally in awe of how you just take control in this moment. And with this amazing view, how can he say no?

"Before you fuck me, you're going to taste me. I think that's a fair arrangement." You purred.

Austin was practically foaming at the mouth, he had to try and regain some composure. But there was no point, he was too far gone in this game, and his desire for you was top priority. He grabbed onto your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. The moment his tongue made contact with your folds with one long fat stripe you had to brace yourself against the headboard of the bed.

There was no chance he would take his time with you, he was hellbent on fulfilling both of your needs, making sure he remained in your good graces as your best boy.

Austin groaned beneath you as his ravenously went to work at lapping up your juices. This is all that he needed and could ever want. It was almost embarrassing how he was thinking about nothing else but his tongue in your pussy all day while he had to put on a poker face for the interviewers.

You let your head roll back, moaning his name over and over again. One of your hands wound it's way into Austin's golden waves, clinging onto the tendrils for purchase as you grind your pussy over his mouth in tandem with his unrelenting pace.

"You're such a good boy, Aus, eating my pussy so well. Feels so fucking good." You praised, rocking your hips a little harder against his supple mouth. His cock bobbed against his stomach, he was enjoying this too much. Austin moaned against your folds, greedily slurping your juices like he was starving. He was spurred on by your encouragement so much that he suddenly latched onto your clit and flicked hard and fast against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Yes just like that!" You moaned, your legs began to shake violently around Austin's head as he had his target set on attacking your clit, which he knew would catapult you off the proverbial cliff. Your slick came oozing out of your needy hole, coating Austin's lips and chin completely.

As you peered down at Austin hungrily devouring your divine pussy, you let yourself slip for just a moment and admired how insatiable he was for you. It drove you insane just how much he wanted you all the time, and he always made sure to never let you forget it. You released your vice grip on his waves and smoothed out his hair that was plastered to his face. His baby blues perked up at yours, gauging your reaction to his handiwork. The way his girl was looking down at him with dreamy eyes as he ate you whole had him swooning, and he let out a muffled moan that made you tingle.

For a split second you both melted at the love and adoration you had for one another - Your Austin was back, no more was the pent up anxious stress ball of a man that came walking into the door. With every swipe of his tongue, he drifted back down to Earth.

His pace on your clit slowed considerably as he slipped back into his typical modality of languidly tasting you and caressing your slick folds with his tongue, exploring you. His hands left their place on your hips as made their way to yours, entwining his fingers with yours as he let you set the pace - rocking your hips against his mouth. Your heart leaped out of your heaving chest in this moment of pure passion.

You knew you'd be a goner if he kept this up for any longer. And you didn't wanna come, not yet anyway. Even though he was eating you out like you were his last meal on Earth, you wanted to finish with him inside of you.

Snapping back into the game that you started, you removed your hands from his. "My babyboy did such a good job of pleasing me. I think he's earned his reward, right?"

Your legs shook beneath your weight as you shifted off of Austin's sticky face. Finally he could breathe, and you smirked as you saw the strings of your juices covering his puffy lips, glistening like the most delicious glazed donut.

He panted, licking his lips and swallowing the remnants of your wetness from inside his mouth. Austin is a quick learner and he knows just how to respond in this flip of the script. "Yes ma'am. Please, fuck me." He begged, letting his hips rise off the bed as he tried to get some kind of release on this throbbing cock. He was bursting at the seams, you knew he wouldn't last long either.

Hearing Austin plead with you to take him was the encouragement you needed to light that fire in your belly even stronger. And you know what? You give him what he wants. You shimmy down his body, straddling his hips as you align him up with your sopping entrance.

You don't ask him if he's ready, nor ask him to beg for it, you simply grab hold of him and slide down his shaft. He groaned loudly, rolling his head back against the pillow.

"Fuck yes." He swore. You bite your lip and clench around his impressive size as you get adjusted to him before you start. Your juices gush out of you and trickle down Austin's cock as your walls hungrily squeeze around him. You begin to bounce a steady pace, savoring in the feeling of being absolutely full to the brim.

You ground yourself by placing your hands on his chest as you snapped your hips back down against his cock, moaning in tandem. His swollen tip nuzzled right up against that sweet spot deep inside you as you ride him. You allow Austin to grab hold of your hips and thrust up inside you, but you still were in control.

"Were you thinking about fucking me all day? Was my babyboy eager to come inside me?" You moan out, your walls fluttering around him as he slips his cock in and out of you harder now.

"All fucking day. I missed this perfect pussy." He moaned behind gritted teeth as he tried so hard to not come prematurely. You shuddered at his confession. You were starting to unravel but you can't be caught fumbling just yet.

Your face contorted in pleasure as you bounced your slick cunt back against him. His impressive girth stretched you out in the most perfect pain, but your wetness enveloped his cock so thickly that he fucked you with ease. The pornographic sounds of your moans, his needy whimpers, and your messy sex was music to your ears.

You change position slightly by sitting up straight and bouncing straight down onto his cock. You were certainly a sight for sore eyes from Austin's vantage point. He was daydreaming about this exact moment for too long, edging himself all day on the mere thought of his girl getting lost on how good his cock fucks her.

"I-I'm so close." He moaned breathlessly. His thrusts up into your slippery walls were becoming sloppy by the second, and he had a vice grip on your hips as he slammed you down onto his cock forcecully.

You nearly screamed as you felt his cock brush against your cervix as he picked up the pace. "Don't you dare come yet, not until I say so." You demanded hotly. It was hard for you to keep control as he was fucking you into smithereens, your needy walls milked his cock for everything he was worth, and he rammed into your g-spot with pinpoint precision.

You began to stutter around his cock, and your telltale high-pitched moans alerted him that you were close. Knowing he may get backlash for taking control, but willing to risk the consequences for the reward it'll inevitably bring, he brings one of his thumbs into his mouth and makes a hasty beeline for your clit. Austin begins to rub fast circles against your swollen nub.

"Fuck! Austin!" You wail. He signed in relief at the fact you were too far gone to punish him in this moment, and he took another risk. With his other hand on your hip, he held onto you for dear life as he pushed your down against him and began rutting up inside of you, reaching the deepest parts of your wet cavern. "Oh yes fuck me just like that." You groan. Well, Austin was right, he totally is fucking you so hard that you can literally see stars behind your eyes.

Austin was also totally gone, he could focus on nothing but getting your climax and his climax happening at the same time. You loved the sound of his husky moans that erupted from his chest, and this alone got you wetter than you ever thought was possible. Your juices were pouring out of you and making the most obscene sloshing sound as he railed his cock into you.

This was it, this was the homerun you were both chasing. With every strength left in your body, you muster up one final command with as much lust dripping from your vocal chords as humanly possible. "Fill me up with your come, babyboy." You squeezed your walls around his cock hard to coax him on. You knew this would give him the resolve he needed.

"Y/N, Goddamn it!" He moaned. Finally, he was allowed to come, and it felt like he was holding onto so much in this moment. With three hard and sloppy thrusts, he gushed his hot load inside of your eager pussy. It felt like Mount Vesuvius had erupted inside of you. And you weren't far behind either, as he continued his assault on your clit you shook violently and moaned his name one final time before you felt your release explode around his cock.

As the sweet sticky mixture of your come and his came dripping out of you, he allowed you to totally collapse against the weight of his chest. You could feel one of his hands reach behind you and slip his cock out from your pussy, you both whimpered at the loss of contact. But you were still in the throws of chasing your ultimate highs.

You felt Austin shake beneath you as you tried to catch your breath. His heartbeat was playing like a drum right into your ear. But as he sighed, you knew once and for all you had fucked the stress out of him.

"Feel better, Aus?" You asked sweetly, peering up at him with flirty lashes.

He chuckled, his hands drawing lazy circles on your back as you leaned forward to capture his soft lips in a tender loving kiss.

"Honey, you have no idea."

tags: @aconflagrationofmyown @powerofelvis @harringrove-sketchbookpages @samfangirls @headfullofpresley @2lekk @moonchild-daniella @ggwritesstuff @plasticfantasticl0ver @austinbutlersworld @unadulteratedkingdomzombie @sapphirescripts @ash-omalley

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #austin butler smut #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #austin butler x you #austin butler x fem!reader #austinbutleredit #austin butler x y/n #austin butler elvis #austin babe-ler #angst #Austin butler fanfic

[spiderfreedom]

#bookcitation - adding sources to a post or quoting a book

#mypost - original posts

#replies - comments on reblogs

#the more things seem to change - quotes from women of the past that show discontent with the feminine role in society

#male violence against women - you may want to filter this tag. Examples of violence by men against women

#women’s history - women through history

#origins of patriarchy - factors leading to the creation and propagation of historical patriarchy

#women in stem - women scientists and technologists and how they are treated

#women in music

#women in art

#women in media - portrayals of women

—- tentative tags - may or may not be updated —-

#historical misogyny - men hating on women in the past

#gender essentialism - the belief that masculinity and femininity are real things. Can be egalitarian, pro femininity, or pro masculinity, but believes that men and women are inherently different via spirit or personality and that masculinity and femininity are simply different alignments of values and aesthetics.

[libertyloulogan]

LIBERTY LOU LOGAN.

aol: ladyliberty.

NICKNAMES: libby, bert, bertie, libby lou, libs AGE: 19 GENDER: female PRONOUNS: she/her JOB: CASHIER @ BLOSSOM RECORDS

PERSONALITY:

+TRAITS: clever, loyal, curious, captivating

-TRAITS: jealous, immature, dramatic, short-tempered, picky, panicky, cynical, a little abrasive, chronically upset

MOOD: Libby is honestly usually in a pretty touchy mood. She can usually be found sighing the woes of her discontent, and it’s pretty hard not to catch her rolling her eyes if she’s not particularly enjoying the conversation. Libby is so done, it hurts.

FEARS: glenda logan, being left behind, never knowing what love feels like, songs from music boxes and toy pianos, being replaced, being honest, touching dirty dishes that have been sitting in the sink, losing her temper

HOBBIES:  surfing, stealing from her friends, eavesdropping, creating new personalities, finding something to complain about, jumping to conclusions

HABITS: lying, arguing, crossing her arms over her chest, pouting, playing with her ponytail, reclusivity, overthinking, pushing people away so they can’t hurt her

ZODIAC SIGN: Libby Logan is fully a cancer. She’s hyper-emotional, temperamental, and a little spiteful. She likes to hide from people who care, and from her own feelings… but despite that she’s devoted, and extremely protective of the people  that she does let in - sometimes to an unhealthy degree! But what can Libby say? Once she decides to love someone she’d do anything for them - it doesn’t matter the price.

MBTI: ISTP

RELIGION: The Logan girls were all raised in a compulsory Catholic household - but it was always more for show than a sign of faith. Libby has never believed in god, but worship music is basically all that she grew up listening to, and she can quote bible verses in her sleep - not that she would. Ew. But still. Escaped and Recovering Catholic is probably a good way to describe it. LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: Libby felt trapped in the Logan house all her life until Glenda Logan finally kicked her to the curb. She now lives in Mackenzie Walsh's childhood bedroom Leo Walsh’s guest room… and though she’s bitter as can be, her soft spot is definitely still there when it comes to being at her new home. She's never really had a parent who cared about her - or a father who paid attention to her, like at all - but Leo Walsh is showing her what family looks like, one step at a time. Or, at least, he’s definitely letting her follow him around like a lost puppy for now. 

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

CLOTHING STYLE: Libby had always been dressed by Glenda Logan. She and Sabrina were always more like dolls than daughters, and thus, tennis skirts - knee length, obviously! - sweater sets, and white sundresses were a norm for Libby… but summer was kind of always the exception. Maddie Wilson had a huge impact on Libby Lou, and over the summers when Glenda would hardly see her - Wilco Wilson’s house was her safe haven - she could basically only be found in shorts and t-shirts, and overalls: anything that Maddie would toss her way.

She built up quite the wardrobe ( of Maddie’s clothes ) over the years that only saw the light of day during the summer, but once Glenda kicked her out - with only a backpack full of the found shorts, overalls, and etc - they basically became Libby’s every day fits… along with choice selections of Mackenzie Walsh’s T-Shirts from Middle School. Nobody tell him, though - she usually hides those under sweatshirts when she can.

USUAL EXPRESSION: Libby, no joke, is usually frowning unless given a reason not to. She hasn’t really always had resting bitch face, but a bitter bitch isn’t complete with a bitter little frown on her face… and she’s been through some shit, you know?

HEALTH

TW: eating habits, addictions

SLEEPING HABITS: Libby’s had a lot of weird dreams since she got kicked out of the Logan house... Like, weird enough that she doesn’t exactly get rest. She spends most of the night watching TV on the couch instead - something she never got to do back at the Logan house - and is usually found asleep in the early mornings to the tune of QVC shows. She’ll usually move herself back to her room before sunrise… if she manages to get up in time. But her hours on the couch is the only consistent rest she really gets.

EATING HABITS: Libby be snackin’. She never really got to eat freely at home - Glenda Logan loved pre-portioned meals - and her siblings would sneak as much as they could to the youngest Logan.  Now that she lives at Leo’s house, though… she’s truly discovered the joy of processed foods. 

EXERCISE HABITS: Libby’s default is being in a constant state of motion. She’s got serious ADD, and has been on a constant prescription of Ritalin since she was, like, 12 years old… During the summers, she was on a skateboard nearly constantly - a skateboard that became her right hand man over the last year - and she’s always one of the first out on the beach when she hears the surf is going to be good.

Libby doesn’t really exercise to exercise - she does it because sitting still for too long makes her feel like she’s going to run wild.

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: It’s not good! Libby Lou grew up feeling unwanted; she was an afterthought unless Glenda saw something wrong… and then Libby was the focus of her whole world as the woman picked her apart from the seams. She got locked in her bedroom on more than one occasion. She got screamed at for even the slightest of infractions - laughing too loud, pulling her skirt up a little too high on her waist. She was dressed like a doll - unallowed to choose her own clothes, or hairstyles, or make up.

She found reprieve in her twin - they at least could fight against the chaos together… when Libby was strong enough to fight, at least. But after losing Luca? Libby gave up the fight altogether, and gave into her mother’s every whim. Why shouldn’t she try to be everything her mother ever wanted? Glenda always called her a Classic Beauty unless she was telling her that nobody could ever love someone like her. She always told her that she envied the likes of Ingrid Bergman and Audrey Hepburn - then in the same breath would lash out on her daughter like a jealous child. It all boiled up in Libby’s psyche. It all turned into a girl who didn’t know who she was; who didn’t know how to be herself if she tried. Libby knew she had the looks to get what she wanted - but she never felt beautiful. Libby knew men would fall for her - but Glenda’s voice always crept into her head to remind her of just how undeserving she was of love before she let herself get too far, or feel too much.

Growing up,  Libby always took cues from Classic Stars - or at least what she thought they might be like… It’s not like Glenda let them watch very many movies or TV shows. But, she’d flash coy smiles when someone held the door open for her; she used to bat her eyelashes when she asked for favors. Touch someone’s elbow, and whisper in their ears when she needed a ride home. Everyone knew that she wasn’t interested in anything more than some light flirting - she wasn’t a bombshell or anything. She was the girl next door. Stuff like that always took so much out of her: made her feel like an imposter in her own body… But it’s the only way she knew how to be liked. Acting like someone she didn’t know was the only way she knew how to keep her head above water… It also left a lot of pent up rage that Libby didn’t exactly know what to do with. 

Now that Libby has been kicked out of her house, she doesn’t feel like pretending anymore. She doesn’t feel like being the Classic Beauty - and she doesn’t feel like being the girl next door anymore. Libby wants to push the whole world away… She wants to know who the hell she is inside, but she doesn’t know how to do it around a town who has always known her as something she isn’t.  Who should she be now? The QVC addict? The Bitter Brat Who Lives In Leo Walsh’s House? Libby isn’t sure, and she doesn’t know how to go about figuring out. She’s just living on the hinge of breaking down until she does. 

SOCIABILITY: Libby used to be the girl who planned birthday parties and social  gatherings - everyone knew her, because she was always skipping through Harvey’s house refilling drinks with a smile on her face. High School was Classic Libby Prime Time. She was nice, and sweet, and bubbly ( fake, fake, fake, of course! )  - but it’s been a while since Libby actually smiled… or willingly went to a party. Nowadays, it’s usually Harvey Hargrove himself who is dragging her to social events, and having to convince her to leave the confines of Leo Walsh’s home - and she usually finds a place to hide from the general public. Her friends never really knew her anyway, right? The person that they all knew in High School was someone Libby didn’t know anymore - the girl they had known for the last year was spiraling, and breaking down. Useless.

What is there to miss?

ADDICTIONS: Libby loves her Ritalin, but it’s sort of an open secret that she can’t function without it. She’s been taking it since she was 12! She has a prescription! And nobody sees her pop and extra one in the bathroom halfway through the day anyway, so it’s no  big deal. She wouldn’t, like, kill anyone to keep the secret – the Candy Girl probably doesn’t even think it’s important enough to hold over her head - but she’s definitely embarrassed whenever the subject comes up.

FAVORITES

WEATHER: Libby loves the summer. It was always when Maddie came to town, and when Harvey was relaxed enough to spend the day on the boardwalk with her when she begged hard enough. There were always Mystic Cherry shows to linger at - god, would she miss the magic of hearing Mackenzie Walsh’s songs written just for her - and bonfires on the beach. It was always the season of changing up her style with Maddie’s wardrobe - a reprieve from the beiges and browns that Glenda always wrapped her in - and best of all? The sand was warm. Summer is everything to Libby, and it always has been... she’s someone different when the sun comes out overhead. This summer seems to be the exception though. Unfortunately.

COLOR: Cue back to the years of beiges and browns, and you have a girl who doesn’t really know what her favorite color is. Libby thinks she might love yellow, or pink - but sometimes she thinks she loves the way that green makes her skin look, and decides that’s her favorite. Sometimes she spends hours in the dead of night looking at the blue hue of Mackenzie Walsh’s walls, and it reminds her of the sky, and she decides ‘that’s it, that’s my favorite color now,’ but then some pretty shade of red rolls along, and she changes her mind again. Long story short… Libby sort of likes it all? When someone finally lets her loose in a mall she's going to come out looking like a carpet in a roller rink.

MUSIC: Libby grew up listening to worship music - you know, with the occasional reprieve of new wave and hip-hop at Harvey’s house, and pop music galore at Maddie’s. Now she basically listens to late 60′s rock all day with Leo Walsh…? But Libby isn’t sure that she’d call any of those her favorite. Spending time at Blossom Records has, at least, given her the option to start listening to new things: so far? Pat Benetar, Blondie, and Heart are basically always on repeat at Blossom when Libby is behind the counter - and she’ll deny turning it on! But it’s totally growing on her.

MOVIES: Libby only really got to watch movies made before 1963 when she lived with her parents. Maddie and her always spent more time outside and dancing in the living room to worry about watching things on repeat - and Harvey basically hated movies! Living with Leo Walsh, though, has led to Libby being exposed to a multitude of new films, and the one thing they’ve discovered? She hates most of them! Unless she’s totally alone... In which case, she’s watched Star Wars, like, ten times? That’s mainly to understand what Mac likes so much about it though. 

FAMILY

LOU LOGAN, FATHER,  47, FINANCIAL ADVISOR TO H.AH. GROUP: Libby and Lou have never really had much of a relationship with each other, despite her being named after him. Glenda always kept a wall up between them - forced the unattachment that she felt with her own husband on her daughter too. She could count the times he’s stood up for her on one hand - she isn’t sure that he’s ever going to speak to her again now that she’s been kicked out - but she also isn’t sure it’s going to hurt him as bad as it might hurt if it were Sabrina. Does she love her father? She isn’t sure. Does he love her? Yes. Libby would probably answer, ‘Maybe,’ if someone asked her opinion on the matter though.

GLENDA LOGAN, MOTHER, 46, LIBRARIAN: Glenda Logan always felt more like playing god than being a mother. She liked her pretty little doll children, and she liked them seen, and not heard… Libby tried to be what Glenda wanted, but maybe that was always why she was her mother’s least favorite. Maybe Glenda liked the fight in Sabrina. Glenda hated everything Savannah wanted to be, but at least she paid attention to her. Libby grew up pretending, and being broken down by her mother, and now that Glenda has tossed her out of her grip… Libby almost feels lost, in a way. She doesn’t really know how to dress herself. She doesn’t really know what she likes. She doesn’t know how to cook, or do her own hair, and Libby knows it’s all Glenda’s doing. Since Glenda kicked her out, their few interactions have been contentious. Glenda drives past the Walsh house to honk in the middle of the night, and Libby has been breaking into the Logan house in the dead of night to steal back her belongings. Glenda has begun to notice - their first screaming match over the theft happened in town square - and it’s only getting worse. Who knows where it’ll all end?

SABRINA LOGAN, SISTER: Glenda always neglected Libby, but Sabrina was always there to fill in the holes in her sister’s hearts as best as she could. When Libby came home with bruises and scrapes, Sabrina was always the one ready with bandaids while Glenda screamed. When Libby had nightmares, or panic attacks - or was sent home without dinner - she could always count on Sabrina to pull her into her bedroom and take care of her, whether that was holding her through the night, or feeding her snacks that were stolen from the kitchen. Libby depended on Sabrina her entire life like a child would depend on a mother, and Sabrina let her… But now that they’re both grown and have gone through the worst? Now that they’re working through the trauma that Glenda sewed into their Doll Children seams? Things are… fractured. Libby is scared of putting her sister through even more disappointment, even if that in itself is disappointing. She doesn’t know how to take care of her sister the way that Sabrina has always taken care of her, and it makes her feel awful, so. For now, Libby has gone down the road of ‘avoid, avoid, avoid!’

LEO WALSH, FATHER-FIGURE, 46: Leo and Libby never interacted that much before Libby and Mackenzie’s Summer of ‘98 - they didn’t interact  very much during past the days Libby would hang out in Blossom waiting on Mac, or short little ‘heys!’ in the Mystic Cherry crowds - but when he found her on the curb the night that her mother threw her out? Too distraught to even breathe? He knew he couldn’t leave the kid on the street. She’s been living at his house since February, and though things are still insanely awkward between Mac and Libby - Leo and Libby have settled into a some semblance of a routine. Libby still feels out of place when she eats dinner with him on the couch - sometimes she still feels like she has to ask him to use the washing machine, or if she can turn her music up a little loud ( Leo has obviously never said no to either request ) - but there’s this feeling in her chest that she wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. Leo Walsh put a roof over her head, and clothes on her back: he asks her how her day is going, and wants to help her plan for her future. He hugs her when the pink rim around her eyes gives away the silent tears that she had been shedding in her bedroom. It’s everything that Libby ever wanted in a parent - someone who actually cares and pays attention to her. She’s afraid it might mean never making up with Mac or Sabrina... But for right now? Libby isn’t sure she can give it up for anything.

PET(S): Libby has literally never had a pet seeing as Glenda Logan was vehemently against affection. But she thinks she would probably be a cat person. A dog would show her way too much affection, and she’d basically lose her mind if anything happened to it. Better to stick to things with claws and teeth.

#cusaintro

[dreamy625]

This rockstar life - 3.12 Cloud

Words: 928

Content: More angst :/

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

There had been a black cloud of tension lurking over the house all day. Steve wasn’t angry at me, he was angry at himself. Last night he should have been at a party where he would have met movie people, making contacts as the first step towards his dream of writing music for films and theatre. But instead, paralysed by anxiety and self-doubt, he’d sat in the basement studio downing double vodkas until I’d practically had to carry him to bed. Hungover and miserable, he’d skulked upstairs until lunchtime, communicating only in grunts when I took him water and toast, then got up and spent the afternoon stomping around the house ostensibly getting ready to go back to Dublin, but mostly slamming cupboard doors, throwing things around, and swearing. Periodically the stomping and slamming would be replaced by discontented and discordant guitar noise (you couldn’t even call it music) that if he’d hoped would be soothing, apparently failed utterly in its purpose. Other than asking if he wanted lunch (‘No. I’ll get something later’), I left him to it. From past experience I knew that any attempt to ‘help’ when he was in this mood would most likely lead to an explosion of the pent-up frustration, whereas left alone he would eventually calm down to the point where he actively sought comfort. Unfortunately today this process was interrupted by a phone call from Peter. I didn’t hear what was said, but I heard the swearing that came afterwards, and then quite a loud thump, followed by silence.

Worried, I flew downstairs to see what had happened. From what I saw, I think he had kicked a guitar case down the basement stairs but maybe slipped as he did so; he was sitting at the top of the steps, scowling and rubbing his knee. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, you’ve gone completely white. How badly does it hurt?”

“It’s fine. Leave me alone.”

“Do you want some ice?”

“No.”

Ignoring him, I go and fetch some ice, wrapped in a teatowel. He takes it and presses it to his leg but says, “I don’t need a nursemaid.”

I know I shouldn’t bite, but I can’t stop myself from retorting, “Clearly you do right now.”

“For fucksake,” he snaps, “why are you always bossing me around?”

“I’m not…”

“Everyone’s always telling me what to do, trying to control me.”

Okay, I think this is more about whatever just happened with Mensch, not me and the icepack, but he’s not here and I am. I go and fetch a pack of cigarettes from the living room and light two. Really I don’t smoke all that much but I think this situation needs smokers' solidarity. Steve accepts the cigarette and takes a long drag. 

“Nothing I do ever goes right.”

His anger seems to have deflated and he just sounds sad and bitter.

“It’s never good enough. Everyone’s always so… disappointed.” He rolls his eyes and does air quotes on the last word. 

Now I know that the phonecall has triggered this. The worst thing in the world to me is people being disappointed and so I would never, ever, say it to him. 

“People aren’t disappointed, they’re worried about you. It’s not the same thing.” I wait to see how he takes this before I say anything more. No reaction, he’s just staring vacantly at the wall. “We love you and we want you to be happy. But you don’t have to change, or live up to some perfect Steve that doesn’t exist. We, I, love you just the way you are. You are enough.”

“Did you get that off Oprah?” he sneers.

“Probably. But it’s still true.”

“Nobody could love me. I’m such a fucking mess.”

“That is not true.”

He gestures to the Marlboro packet and I pass it over. Watching him light the cigarette from the stub of the last one, I remember our first real conversation, while smoking in an overlooked corner of the clinic grounds like schoolkids hiding behind the bikesheds. 

"I have loved you from the day I met you, when you were so, so broken but still strutting around like… Keith Richards… in those bloody cowboy boots."

“I wasn’t that bad,” he mutters defensively.

“You were. You were ‘how is he still breathing’ broken. But you couldn’t bear for anyone to see it, so everyday you got up and put on this rockstar persona,” I feel my eyes start to tear up at the memory, “and I could see how much effort it took to keep that up. You were… magnificent.”

Steve sighs, “Everyone else thought I was an arrogant arsehole.”

“Yeah, you did a very good impression of one. But you didn’t fool me.” A hint of a smile escapes, and an even tinier suggestion of one appears on Steve’s face in response.

“You should have run like hell in the opposite direction.”

“Probably.” I shrug.

“You’re too good for me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re… amazing.” With a pained expression he shakes his head. “You deserve… everything… the best of everything.” Another shake. “And besides, I’m as messed up as you are, just in different ways!” That was meant to be lighthearted, but it comes out rather forlorn.

Steve reaches out and takes my hand. 

“My beautiful girl.”

We fall into an awkward hug, still sitting on the hall floor. This bond between us feels at once so strong and so fragile. My chest aches; I don’t think I ever realised with anyone else that heartache is a real thing.

#steve clark #steve clark fanfic #steve clark fanfiction #def leppard fanfic #def leppard fanfiction #this rockstar life fic

[libbylogan]

ELIZABETH LOU LOGAN. 

       aol: libbyloud.

NICKNAMES: libby, libby lou, libs AGE: 21 DOB: july 3rd, 1979 GENDER: female PRONOUNS: she/her JOB: Lifeguard @ Orchard Shore Beach, and Sometimes-Cashier @ Blossom Records 

PERSONALITY:

+TRAITS: clever, loyal, curious, captivating

-TRAITS: jealous, immature, dramatic, short-tempered, picky, panicky, cynical, a little abrasive, chronically upset

MOOD: Libby is honestly usually in a pretty touchy mood. She can usually be found sighing the woes of her discontent, and it’s pretty hard not to catch her rolling her eyes if she’s not particularly enjoying the conversation. Libby is so done, it hurts.

FEARS: glenda logan, being left behind, never knowing what love feels like, songs from music boxes and toy pianos, being replaced, going down for Lux’s murder, being hated by her sisters, being honest, touching dirty dishes that have been sitting in the sink, losing her temper 

HOBBIES: skateboarding, surfing, stealing from her friends, eavesdropping, creating new personalities, finding something to complain about, jumping to conclusions

HABITS: lying, arguing, crossing her arms over her chest, pouting, playing with her ponytail, reclusivity, overthinking, pushing people away so they can’t hurt her 

ZODIAC SIGN: Libby Logan is fully a cancer. She’s hyper-emotion, temperamental, and a little spiteful. She likes to hide from people who care, and from her own feelings… but despite that she’s devoted, and extremely protective of the people  that she does let in - sometimes to an unhealthy degree! But what can Libby say? Once she decides to love someone she’d do anything for them - it doesn’t matter the price. 

MBTI: ISTP

ORIENTATION: Libby is repressed. Like - repressed, repressed. Does she like women? Yeah. Does she know that? No. But it really makes all of the various female enemies make sense, doesn’t it? RELIGION: The Logan girls were all raised in a compulsory Catholic household - but it was always more for show than a sign of faith. Libby has never believed in god, but worship music is basically all that she grew up listening to, and she can quote bible verses in her sleep - not that she would. Ew. But still. Escaped and Recovering Catholic is probably a good way to describe it. LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: Libby felt trapped in the Logan house all her life until Glenda Logan finally kicked her to the curb. She now lives in Mackenzie Walsh's childhood bedroom Leo Walsh’s guest room… and though she’s bitter as can be, her soft spot is definitely still there when it comes to being at her new home. She's never really had a parent who cared about her - or a father who paid attention to her, like at all - but Leo Walsh is showing her what family looks like, one step at a time. She doesn’t know it yet? But he’s basically going to save her life. 

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

CLOTHING STYLE: Libby had always been dressed by Glenda Logan. She and Sabrina were always more like dolls than daughters, and thus, tennis skirts - knee length, obviously! - sweater sets, and white sundresses were a norm for Libby… but summer was kind of always the exception. Maddie Wilson had a huge impact on Libby Lou, and over the summers when Glenda would hardly see her - Wilco Wilson’s house was her safe haven - she could basically only be found in shorts and t-shirts, and overalls: anything that Maddie would toss her way. 

She built up quite the wardrobe ( of Maddie’s clothes ) over the years that only saw the light of day during the summer, but once Glenda kicked her out - with only a backpack full of the found shorts, overalls, and etc - they basically became Libby’s every day fits… along with choice selections of Mackenzie Walsh’s T-Shirts from Middle School. Nobody tell him, though - she usually hides those under sweatshirts when she can. 

USUAL EXPRESSION: Libby, no joke, is usually frowning unless given a reason not to. She hasn’t really always had resting bitch face, but a bitter bitch isn’t complete with a bitter little frown on her face… and she’s been through some shit, you know? 

DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS: Glenda and Sabrina always did Libby’s hair, and make-up - and since neither of them even want to look at her anymore - or just for right now in Sabrina’s case - her hair is very much always in a messy bun or a ponytail. It’s not polished, and she hates it… but she’s not exactly going to ask Leo Walsh to help her, and she doesn’t really know who else to turn to in her time of need. 

Libby is also Mad Anxious… it used to manifest itself in an unending sort of sadness, but after a year of being scared and angry? Libby is sort of just acting like a total brat lately. The exception to the rule only seems to be with Leo Walsh - being short with him just seems wrong to her. 

Above all, the most distinguishing characteristic for Libby Logan is that she’s never really had a clear sense of self, and it’s starting to spill out over every aspect of her life. If you look back over the years, she’s been so many people; she’s gone through so many different stages, just trying to hang on. Libby doesn’t really know who she is, and nobody else really does either. 

HEALTH

TW: eating habits, addictions

SLEEPING HABITS: Just like the rest of the Gang, Libby hasn’t exactly been getting very many nights of good sleep lately. It was bad enough trying to sleep in Mackenzie Walsh’s bedroom after totally breaking both of their hearts  - but once she got past that? She realized that the nightmares of being threatened, and watching Sabrina getting stabbed, and… every other fucked up thing she had been through in the last year, were way too frequent to count on anything consistent. 

She spends most of the night watching TV on the couch instead - something she never got to do back at the Logan house - and is usually found asleep in the early mornings to the tune of QVC shows. She’ll usually move herself back to her room before sunrise… if she manages to get up in time. But her hours on the couch is the only consistent rest she really gets. 

EATING HABITS: Libby be snackin’. She never really got to eat freely at home - Glenda Logan loved pre-portioned meals - but now that she lives at Leo’s house… she’s truly discovered the joy of Doritos, Dunkaroos, and Oreos. Favorite drinks? Strawberry Milkshakes, Strawberry Milk, Shirley Temples, and Vodka, vodka, vodka. 

EXERCISE HABITS: Libby’s default is being in a constant state of motion. She’s got serious ADD ( it’s the 90’s so we’re rolling with it ), and has been on a constant prescription of Adderall since she was, like, 12 years old… During the summers, she was on a skateboard nearly constantly - a skateboard that became her right hand man over the last year - and she’s always one of the first out on the beach when she hears the surf is going to be good. 

Libby doesn’t really exercise to exercise - she does it because sitting still for too long makes her feel like she’s going to run wild. 

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: It’s not good! Libby Lou grew up feeling unwanted; she was an afterthought unless Glenda saw something wrong… and then Libby was the focus of her whole world as the woman picked her apart from the seams. She got locked in her bedroom on more than one occasion. She got screamed at for even the slightest of infractions - laughing too loud, pulling her skirt up a little too high on her waist. She was dressed like a doll - unallowed to choose her own clothes, or hairstyles, or make up. 

She found reprieve in her twin - they at least could fight against the chaos together… when Libby was strong enough to fight, at least. But after losing Savannah? Libby gave up the fight altogether, and gave into her mother’s every whim. Why shouldn’t she try to be everything her mother ever wanted? Glenda always called her a Classic Beauty unless she was telling her that nobody could ever love someone like her. She always told her that she envied the likes of Ingrid Bergman and Audrey Hepburn - then in the same breath would lash out on her daughter like a jealous child. It all boiled up in Libby’s psyche. It all turned into a girl who didn’t know who she was; who didn’t know how to be herself if she tried. Libby knew she had the looks to get what she wanted - but she never felt beautiful. Libby knew men would fall for her - but Glenda’s voice always crept into her head to remind her of just how undeserving she was of love before she let herself get too far, or feel too much. 

Growing up,  Libby always took cues from Classic Stars - or at least what she thought they might be like… It’s not like Glenda let them watch very many movies or TV shows. But, she’d flash coy smiles when someone held the door open for her; she used to bat her eyelashes when she asked for favors. Touch someone’s elbow, and whisper in their ears when she needed a ride home. Everyone knew that she wasn’t interested in anything more than some light flirting - she wasn’t a bombshell or anything. She was the girl next door. Stuff like that always took so much out of her: made her feel like an imposter in her own body… But it’s the only way she knew how to be liked. Acting like someone she didn’t know was the only way she knew how to keep her head above water… It obviously, also, left a lot of pent up rage that Libby didn’t exactly know what to do with. Lux Lewis was the first person that Libby actually let loose on, and she ended up breaking her own hand on the other girl’s face - go figure that it all happened because Lux was calling Libby out on her own imposter syndrome. 

Breaking Lux’s face was the start of it all, and Candy’s first reign only led to a total spiral.  It all left Libby looking like a total nutjob as she struggled to hold onto her Classic personality while going through the trauma of a lifetime. The cracks started to show as she traded her usual Glenda-Chosen uniform for sweatshirts and messy ponytails. She started to become sad instead of sweet: reclusive instead of the helpful party planner that she usually was. 

Now that Libby has been kicked out of her house, she doesn’t feel like pretending anymore. She doesn’t feel like being the Classic Beauty - and she doesn’t feel like being the girl next door anymore. Libby wants to push the whole world away… She wants to know who the hell she is inside, but she doesn’t know how to do it around a town who knew her as the sweet girl, then the failure, then the total nutcase, and now… the recluse? The QVC addict? The Bitter Brat Who Lives In Leo Walsh’s House? Whatever. She has time to figure it out. Long story short: Libby’s done spiraling, and she’s done with her addiction to her imposter syndrome - she thinks - but she’s leveled out on a plateau of being mad at the world, and mad at herself for feeling so much now that she can’t seem to push it all down anymore. 

SOCIABILITY: Libby used to be the girl who planned birthday parties and social  gatherings - everyone knew her, because she was always skipping through Harvey’s house refilling drinks with a smile on her face. High School was Classic Libby Prime Time. She was nice, and sweet, and bubbly ( fake, fake, fake, of course! )  - but it’s been a while since Libby actually smiled… or willingly went to a party. Nowadays, it’s usually Harvey Hargrove himself who is dragging her to social events, and having to convince her to leave the confines of Leo Walsh’s home - and she usually finds a place to hide from the general public. Her friends never really knew her anyway, right? The person that they all knew in High School was someone Libby didn’t know anymore - the girl they had known for the last year was spiraling, and breaking down. Useless. 

What is there to miss? 

ADDICTIONS: Libby loves her Adderall, but it’s sort of an open secret that she can’t function without it. She’s been taking it since she was 12! She has a prescription! And nobody sees her pop and extra one in the bathroom halfway through the day anyway, so it’s no  big deal. She wouldn’t, like, kill anyone to keep the secret – the Candy Girl probably doesn’t even think it’s important enough to hold over her head - but she’s definitely embarrassed whenever the subject comes up. 

FAVORITES

WEATHER: Libby loves the summer. It was always when Maddie came to town, and when Harvey was relaxed enough to spend the day on the boardwalk with her when she begged hard enough. There were always Mystic Cherry shows to linger at - god, would she miss the magic of hearing Mackenzie Walsh’s songs written just for her - and bonfires on the beach. It was always the season of changing up her style with Maddie’s wardrobe - a reprieve from the beiges and browns that Glenda always wrapped her in - and best of all? The sand was warm. Summer is everything to Libby, and it always has been... she’s someone different when the sun comes out overhead. This summer seems to be the exception though. Unfortunately. 

COLOR: Cue back to the years of beiges and browns, and you have a girl who doesn’t really know what her favorite color is. Libby thinks she might love yellow, or pink - but sometimes she thinks she loves the way that green makes her skin look, and decides that’s her favorite. Sometimes she spends hours in the dead of night looking at the blue hue of Mackenzie Walsh’s walls, and it reminds her of the sky, and she decides ‘that’s it, that’s my favorite color now,’ but then some pretty shade of red rolls along, and she changes her mind again. Long story short… Libby sort of likes it all? When someone finally lets her loose in a mall she's going to come out looking like a carpet in a roller rink.

MUSIC: Libby grew up listening to worship music - you know, with the occasional reprieve of rap and hip-hop at Harvey’s house, and pop music galore at Maddie’s. Now she basically listens to 70’s rock all day with Leo Walsh…? But Libby isn’t sure that she’d call any of those her favorite. Spending time at Blossom Records has, at least, given her the option to start listening to new things: so far? 80’s Pop Ballads are her favorite. Pat Benetar is basically always on repeat at Blossom when Libby is behind the counter - and she’ll deny turning it on! But it’s totally growing on her.

MOVIES: Libby only really got to watch movies made before 1963 when she lived with her parents. Maddie and her always spent more time outside and dancing in the living room to worry about watching things on repeat - and Harvey basically hated movies! Living with Leo Walsh, though, has led to Libby being exposed to a multitude of new films, and the one thing they’ve discovered? She hates most of them! Dirty Dancing, though…? Heathers? Pretty in Pink? They’re not Mac and Leo’s favorite thing to watch when they could be watching, like, Ninja Turtles or Blade Runner, but Libby seems to like them despite the fact that she’s basically, like, always looking at the screen like it personally wronged her.

SPORT: Libby picked up a skateboard for the first time in elementary school. Sabrina and Savannah were both at home sick - Libby had tried to fake a cough too, but she had never been a very good liar. As expected, Glenda was late picking her up from school that day. Usually, Libby would have stayed put on the grass near the pick up line, waiting until Glenda bothered to remember her, but she decided to explore for once. She wandered her way toward the black top where the older kids were always skateboarding; watched for a while on the black top, admiring from afar with her knees pressed against her chest.  Some fifth grader in a helmet took pity on Lonely Little Libby Logan and offered her his knee and elbow pads, ‘do you want to try?’ She did. It felt like flying. Glenda was vehemently against Libby skateboarding, but the one good thing Lou Logan ever did for her - not that he ever did anything bad. He usually just… existed - was purchase her first skateboard. ‘At least it’s something to do after school,’ He said in front of Little Libby! ‘At least it’ll get her out of your hair,’ She heard when she pressed her ear against the door that night. 

Whatever. It was everything to Libby. She didn’t care if she was in a skirt, or not - she didn’t care about the bruises and scrapes, even if it always led to Glenda throwing a fit and threatening to snap her board in half. She just started keeping it at Harvey’s place instead, and getting used to the idea of being locked in her bedroom for a while. As long as she got to keep flying across the blacktop, she would be alright. 

Libby, now, spends most of her time at the skatepark, actually - like a safe haven when she wants to get out of Leo and Mac’s hair. She doesn’t talk to many people - her ‘skate friends’ don’t really make her talk - they just tap their boards for her, and praise her when it’s necessary. It’s peaceful. It’s what Libby needs. She loves it. 

FAMILY

LOU LOGAN, FATHER,  47, FINANCIAL ADVISOR TO HARVARD HARGROVE II: Libby and Lou have never really had much of a relationship with each other, despite her being named after him. Glenda always kept a wall up between them - forced the unattachment that she felt with her own husband on her daughter too. She could count the times he’s stood up for her on one hand - she isn’t sure that he’s ever going to speak to her again now that she’s been kicked out - but she also isn’t sure it’s going to hurt him as bad as it might hurt if it were Sabrina. Does she love her father? She isn’t sure. Does he love her? Yes. Libby would probably answer, ‘Maybe,’ if someone asked her opinion on the matter though.

GLENDA LOGAN, MOTHER, 46, LIBRARIAN: Glenda Logan always felt more like playing god than being a mother. She liked her pretty little doll children, and she liked them seen, and not heard… Libby tried to be what Glenda wanted, but maybe that was always why she was her mother’s least favorite. Maybe Glenda liked the fight in Sabrina. Glenda hated everything Savannah wanted to be, but at least she paid attention to her. Libby grew up pretending, and being broken down by her mother, and now that Glenda has tossed her out of her grip… Libby almost feels lost, in a way. She doesn’t really know how to dress herself. She doesn’t really know what she likes. She doesn’t know how to cook, or do her own hair, and Libby knows it’s all Glenda’s doing. Since Glenda kicked her out, their few interactions have been contentious. Glenda drives past the Walsh house to honk in the middle of the night, and Libby has been breaking into the Logan house in the dead of night to steal back her belongings. Glenda has begun to notice - their first screaming match over the theft happened in town square - and it’s only getting worse. Who knows where it’ll all end?

SABRINA LOGAN, SISTER, 23: Glenda always neglected Libby, but Sabrina was always there to fill in the holes in her sister’s hearts as best as she could. When Libby came home with bruises and scrapes, Sabrina was always the one ready with bandaids while Glenda screamed. When Libby had nightmares, or panic attacks - or was sent home without dinner - she could always count on Sabrina to pull her into her bedroom and take care of her, whether that was holding her through the night, or feeding her snacks that were stolen from the kitchen. Libby depended on Sabrina her entire life like a child would depend on a mother, and Sabrina let her… But now that they’re both grown and have gone through the worst? Now that they’re working through the trauma that Glenda sewed into their Doll Children seams? Things are… fractured. Libby is scared of putting her sister through even more disappointment, even if that in itself is disappointing. She doesn’t know how to take care of her sister the way that Sabrina has always taken care of her, and it makes her feel awful, so. For now, Libby has gone down the road of ‘avoid, avoid, avoid!’ 

SAVANNAH LOGAN, TWIN, 21: Speaking of, ‘avoid, avoid, avoid!’ that’s kind of how LIbby had been treating all feelings of her twin since Savannah escaped Cherry. It was Glenda who erased all traces of Savannah from her life - punished her for feeling incomplete, and locked her away when she dared to utter her twin’s name - but it was Libby who gave into the urge to forget… or at least to try to. It’s not like it ever worked. Libby always felt like part of her was missing: she always felt lonely, no matter who was at her side. Now that Savannah is back, Libby thinks she should be feeling something like relief, but instead she’s afraid of falling apart. It’s been so long since she’s had Savannah by her side, but the dependence that’s already dancing in her chest is threatening to smash her heart open again - and Libby doesn’t know if she can handle letting Sav back in just to see her walk away again.

LEO WALSH, FATHER-FIGURE, 46: Leo and Libby never interacted that much before Libby and Mackenzie’s Summer of ‘98 - they didn’t interact  very much during past the days Libby would hang out in Blossom waiting on Mac, or short little ‘heys!’ in the Mystic Cherry crowds - but when he found her on the curb the night that her mother threw her out? Too distraught to even breathe? He knew he couldn’t leave the kid on the street. She’s been living at his house since February, and though things are still insanely awkward between Mac and Libby - Leo and Libby have settled into a some semblance of a routine. Libby still feels out of place when she eats dinner with him on the couch - sometimes she still feels like she has to ask him to use the washing machine, or if she can turn her music up a little loud ( Leo has obviously never said no to either request ) - but there’s this feeling in her chest that she wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. Leo Walsh put a roof over her head, and clothes on her back: he asks her how her day is going, and wants to help her plan for her future. He hugs her when the pink rim around her eyes gives away the silent tears that she had been shedding in her bedroom. It’s everything that Libby ever wanted in a parent - someone who actually cares and pays attention to her. She’s afraid it might mean never making up with Mac or Sabrina... But for right now? Libby isn’t sure she can give it up for anything. 

PET(S): Libby has literally never had a pet seeing as Glenda Logan was vehemently against affection. But she thinks she would probably be a cat person. A dog would show her way too much affection, and she’d basically lose her mind if anything happened to it. Better to stick to things with claws and teeth.

FAMILY’S FINANCIAL STATUS: The Logan’s aren’t as rich as the Archer’s or the Hargrove’s but they’re still certainly part of the flaky upper crust of the Cherry pie. Glenda Logan is a librarian, but Lou Logan has been the financial advisor to Harvard Hargrove II since the mid 80s. They live in a big house - the girls’ wouldn’t have had to want for anything if their mother wasn’t such a psychopath - they’re a brand name family! Of course, there’s always been risk, what with Lou advising money for a drug king pin… but the man is quiet enough that his nagging wife, nor his daughters, have ever suspected much of anything from the man. Who would expect that Lou Logan was meeting with gang members and drug dealers during his business lunches, after all? 

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading, and also I just want to say that Libby is going to be a little bit different... I think she’s always been like JUST out of reach of everyone. She’s a friend, but nobody really hangs out with her 1-on-1 on purpose except those she’s VERY close to - but even they sometimes struggle to say that they completely know her, though. She’s a little elusive. The girl-next-door enigma who has been through hell, and came out the other side bitter and abrasive. Libby is going to be kind of a brat from now on! She’s going to be very ready to roll her eyes, and run away from pain, and call people out - I know it’s sort of a weird transition from where Libby WAS, but I hope that like we can all sort of plan new connections for Libby 2.0 because I really do see this as a reboot for me and for this character. okay love youuuuu 

#cusaintro #about libby #only a year late but considering the changes probably a good thing

[kikenhanna17world]

Shakespeare’s Most Famous Quotes

1. ‘To be, or not to be: that is the question’

(Hamlet Act 3, Scene 1)

2. ‘All the world ‘s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.’(As You Like it Act 2, Scene 7)

3. ‘Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?’

(Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2)

4. ‘Now is the winter of our discontent’

(Richard III Act 1, Scene 1)

5. ‘Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand?’(Macbeth Act 2, Scene 1)

6. ‘Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.’

(Twelfth Night Act 2, Scene 5)

7. ‘Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.’

(Julius Caesar Act 2, Scene 2)

8. ‘Full fathom five thy father lies, of his bones are coral made. Those are pearls that were his eyes. Nothing of him that doth fade, but doth suffer a sea-change into something rich and strange.’

(The Tempest Act 1, Scene 2)

9. ‘A man can die but once.’

(Henry IV, Part 2 Act 3, Part 2)

10. ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child!’

(King Lear Act 1, Scene 4)

11. ‘Frailty, thy name is woman.’

(Hamlet Act 1, Scene 2)

12. ‘If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?’

(The Merchant of Venice Act 3, Scene 1)

13. ‘I am one who loved not wisely but too well.’

(Othello Act 5, Scene 2)

14. ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks’

(Hamlet Act 3, Scene 2)

15. ‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.’

(The Tempest Act 4, Scene 1)

16. ‘Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.’

(Macbeth Act 5, Scene 5)

17. ‘Beware the Ides of March.‘

(Julius Caesar Act 1, Scene 2)

18. ‘Get thee to a nunnery.’

(Hamlet Act 3, Scene 1)

19. ‘If music be the food of love play on.‘

(Twelfth Night Act 1, Scene 1)

20. ‘What’s in a name? A rose by any name would smell as sweet.’

(Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2)

21. ‘The better part of valor is discretion’

(Henry IV, Part 1 Act 5, Scene 4)

22. ‘To thine own self be true.‘

(Hamlet Act 1, Scene 3)

23. ‘All that glisters is not gold.’

(The Merchant of Venice Act 2, Scene 7)

24. ‘Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears: I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.’

(Julius Caesar Act 3, Scene 2)

25. ‘Nothing will come of nothing.’

(King Lear Act 1, Scene 1)

26. ‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’

(A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 1, Scene 1)

27. ‘Lord, what fools these mortals be!’

(A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 1, Scene 1)

28. ‘Cry “havoc!” and let slip the dogs of war‘

(Julius Caesar Act 3, Scene 1)

29. ‘There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.’

(Hamlet Act 2, Scene 2)

30. ‘A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!‘

(Richard III Act 5, Scene 4)

31. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’

(Hamlet Act 1, Scene 5)

32. ‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.’

(A Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 1, Scene 1)

33. ‘The fault, dear Brutus, lies not within the stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.’

(Julius Caesar Act 1, Scene 2)

34. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’

(Sonnet 18)

35. ‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.’

(Sonnet 116)

36. ‘The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interrèd with their bones.’

(Julius Caesar Act 3, Scene 2)

37. ‘But, for my own part, it was Greek to me.’

(Julius Caesar Act 1, Scene 2)

38. ‘Neither a borrower nor a lender be; for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.’

(Hamlet Act 1, Scene 3)

39. ‘We know what we are, but know not what we may be.’

(Hamlet Act 4, Scene 5)

40. ‘Off with his head!’

(Richard III Act 3, Scene 4)

41. ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.’

(Henry IV, Part 2 Act 3, Scene 1)

42. ‘Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.’

(The Tempest Act 2, Scene 2)

43. ‘This is very midsummer madness.’

(Twelfth Night Act 3, Scene 4)

44. ‘Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.’

(Much Ado about Nothing Act 3, Scene 1)

45. ‘I cannot tell what the dickens his name is.’

(The Merry Wives of Windsor Act 3, Scene 2)

46. ‘We have seen better days.’

(Timon of Athens Act 4, Scene 2)

47. ‘I am a man more sinned against than sinning.’

(King Lear Act 3, Scene 2)

48. ‘Brevity is the soul of wit.‘

(Hamlet Act 2, Scene 2)

49. ‘This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle… This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.’

(Richard II Act 2, Scene 1)

50. ‘What light through yonder window breaks.’

Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2)

#shakespeare

[kinglouiswasthekingoffrance]

SHAKESPEARE

1-24-23

Act2 scene 1

ANDREW: Here comes the fool.

FOOL: How now, my hearts? Did you never see the picture of "We Three"?

TOBY: Welcome, ass! Now let's have a catch.

I like this exchange from ACT II because it is funny the thought of being a fly on the wall and getting paid to be called an 'ass' and then sing songs.

Act2 scene 4

ORSINO: {giving money} There's for your pains.

FOOL: No pains, sir. I take pleasure in singing, sir.

ORSINO: I'll pay thy pleasure, then.

FOOL: Truly sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.

I really do like this back and forth with the Fool and Orsino, because I think it represents a sincere thought of how the Fool views his role as bringing pleasure through music.

Act 3 scene 1

VIOLA: Save thee, friend, and thy music. Dost thou live by thy tabor?

FOOL: No, sir, I live by the church.

VIOLA: Art thou a churchman?

FOOL: No such matter, sir. I do live by the church, for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by the church.

I really like this exchange because it is very witty especially from the point of view of the Fool, especially when he says that simply lives by the church, but that does not mean he is a churchman or has anything to do with the church, he just lives close to it.

1-30-23

Act 5 Scene 1

FOOL: Why, "some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrown upon them." I think this is a good quote because it is true often in history especially concerning great leaders of history.

Merchant of Venice:

Act 1 Scene 1

ANTONIO: I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; a stage where every man must play a part, and mine a sad one. I like this line because it is line often quoted by Shakespeare.

Act 1 Scene 3

BASSANIO: If it please you to dine with us.

SHYLOCK: Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation which your prophet the Nazarite conjured the devil into. I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so following; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. I like this exchange because what Shylock is saying about not eating, drinking or praying with Bassanio speaks to the obvious truth that Shylock being Jewish cannot do these things that Christian do because it runs against Jewish religious beliefs.

2-7-23

Act 2 Scene 8

SALANIO: The villain Jew with outcries raised the duke, who went with him to search Bassanio's ship. --By calling Shylock 'the villain Jew,' instead of just 'the Jew,' demonstrates here how Shylock is viewed by many in this play.

Act 3 Scene 1

SALANIO: Now, what news on the Rialto?

SALARIO: Why, yet it lives there unchecked that Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wracking on the narrow seas...

I like this opening scene in Act 3 because I find it kind of funny that Antonio was counting on his ships to help pay off Shylock. Now that the ships are gone, all of a sudden there is this drama about what Antonio is going to do now

Act 4 Scene 1

SHYLOCK: ...you'll ask me why I rather choose to have a weight of carrion flesh than to receive three thousand ducats: I'll answer that: but say it is my humor...

This part of the line in court that Shylock gives to explain why he would rather get some flesh than receive money. His 'humor' is the expectation that Jews only care about money and only money, so to appease this bit of humor that has become his own humor that he now owns, he chooses a pound of flesh instead. I like this line from Shylock, because it demonstrates some of the pressure he has felt about stereotypes Christian and other non Jews feel concerning Jewish motives such as the idea of worshipping money.

Week 5

Coriolanus Act 1 Scene 1

First Citizen: If I must not, I not be barren of accusations; he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition. [Shouts within.] What shouts are these? The other side of the city is risen: why stay we prating here? to the Capitol!---------So, this sounds like there is some discontent brewing early in this play. First Citizen's shout 'to the Capitol' makes me think of the march to the Capitol in 2021 in Washington DC.

Act I Scene 2

Aufidius: ...'tis not four days gone since I heard thence; these are the words: I think I have the letter here; yes, here it is [reads] 'They have pressed a power, but it is not known whether for east or west; the dearth is great; the people are mutinous... so they are in the senate discussing the restlessness in the streets of Rome. I like this people it helps to heighten the sense of tension and the concern about what the citizens of Rome might do to harm the government of Rome.

Act II Scene 1

Menenius: In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two have not in abundance? Brutus: He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all. Sicinius: Especially in pride. Brutus: And topping all others is boasting. --------I like this exchange between Menenius and Brutus and Sicinius because it is witty and also because it reveals how the two of them view the character of Marcius

Week 6

Act III Scene 1

Coriolanus: As for my country, I have shed my blood, not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs coin words till their decay against those measles... I like this because as Coriolanus was giving his speech, other senators were expressing that they wished he would just stop talking, he was like why should a man that has gone those so much for his country not be allow to speak fully.

Act III Scene 2

Coriolanus: Let them pull all about mine ears, present me death on the wheel or at wild horses' heels, or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian Rock.... I like this quote because it further expresses the feeling that Coriolanus has regarding how the populous feels about him.

Act IV Scene 1

Coriolanus: ....Nay, mother, where is your ancient courage? you were used to say extremity was the trier of spirits... I like how Coriolanus was trying to remind his mother about the honor and courage that she had espoused.

Week 7

Act 1 Scene 1 Henry IV

KING: ....O, that it could be proved that some night-tripping fairy had exchanged in cradle-clothes our children where they lay, and called mine 'Percy,' his 'Plantagenet' ! ----I found it an interesting thought of what a 'night-tripping fairy' would look like?

Act 1 Scene 2

When asked about the time, this is how Prince responded: .....What the devil hast thou to do with the time of day? Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame colored taffeta, I see no reason why thou shoouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of day.-----This is a really funny answer to a simple question. I love the visuals which are all over this quote.

Act 2 Scene 1

Second Carrier: I have a gammon of bacon and two races of ginger to be delivered as far as Charing Cross. -----There is interesting language sometimes with phrases like 'gammon of bacon,' or 'race of ginger,' which I could only understand if I look up the meaning. It is fun to learn new phrases from Shakespeare!

Week 8

Act 4 Scene 1

HOT SPUR: Zounds, how has he the leisure to be sick in such a hustling time........I like how Hot Spur complaints about something that can't be helped: like being sick.

Act 4 Scene 3

HOT SPUR: The King is kind, and well we know the King knows at what time to promise, when to pay. My father and my uncle did give him that same royalty he wears......after Blunt sends his message from the King, Hot Spur has an interesting reply in that he reminds him of how his father kind of man him the person that he had become.

Act 5 Scene 1

KING: How bloodily the sun begins to peer above yon bulky hill. The day looks pale at his distemperature.......I like this opening line of Act 5 by the King, because it is funny the way he describes the sun as being 'bloody' which is probably an accurate description, but I would never think to use that word, maybe I would say 'fiery red sun' or something like that.

Week 10

Henry V Act I Scene I

When Bishop of Ely stated that the King was 'a true lover of the holy Church, Bishop of Canterbury answered:

BISHOP OF CANTERBURY: "....the breath no sooner left his fathers body but that his wildness, mortified in him, seemed to die too. Yea, at that very moment consideration like an angel came and whipped the offending Adam out of him, leaving his body as a paradise t' envelope and contain celestial spirits..." I like these lines because it helps me as the reader get an idea of what the King's mental condition is.

Act I Scene 2

It is funny how when the bishops are speaking amongst themselves, they are so free to express how they really feel about the King, but the exchange below at the top of Scene 2 demonstrates how he must speak when in the presence of the King:

BISHOP OF CANTERBURY: "God and angels guard your sacred throne and make you long become it."

ACT I Scene 2

A little further down in scene 2 around line 255, the Ambassador and the King have a funny exchange regarding his youthful pastime:

AMBASSADOR: ......"he therefore sends to you, meeter for your spirit, this tun of treasure and, I lieu of this , desires you let the dukedoms that you claim hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks."

KING HENRY: What treasure, uncle?

EXETER: Tennis balls, my liege.

Wk 12 4-4-2023

Henry V Act 4 Scene 1

CHORUS:" ...fire answers fire, and through their paly flames each battle sees the other's umbered face; stead threatens steed I high and boastful neighs piercing the night's dull ear..." I like the opening line from the chorus because it serves to demonstrate what is going on in the field of battle.

Act 4 Scene 1

KING HENRY: ..."'Tis good for men to love their present pains upon example. So the spirit is eased; and when the mind is quickened, out of doubt, the organs though defunct and dead before, break up their drowsy grave and newly move with casted slough and fresh legerity..." I like how when Erpingham speaks of sleeping like a king, King Henry responds by giving a very unflattering account of the effect such a sleep for the King would be like.

Act 4 Scene 1

PISTOL: "The King's a bawcock and a heart of gold, a lad of life, an imp of fame, of parents good, of fist most valiant. I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heartstring I love the lovely bully..." I like this exchange between King Henry and Pistol because it's funny how Pistol responses to the King when the King says: "Then you are a better than the King?" and with that he makes a response which sounds flattering because he uses words like 'gold..fame' but he says 'imp of fame' and I kiss not just his shoe but his 'dirty shoe' which makes it extra funny.

Week 13: 4-11-2023

Antony & Cleopatra

Act 1 Scene 1

ANTONY: "Let Rome in Tiber melt and the wide arch of the ranged empire fall. Here is my space. Kingdoms are clay..." I think that Antony's attitude in regard to the Roma Empire might be foreshadowing how he might deal with Rome once he gains power.

Act 1 Scene 2

CHARMIAN: Good sir, give me good fortune.

SOOTHSAYER: I make not, but foresee.

CHARMIAN: Pray the, foresee me one.

SOOTHSAYER: You shall be yet far fairer than you are.

CHARMIAN: He means in flesh.

IRAS: No, you shall paint when you are old.

CHARMIAN: Wrinkles forbid!

I just found this to be a fun exchange and it will be interesting to see if this interaction will play an important role later in the play.

Act 1 Scene 3

CLEOPATRA: Why should I think you could be mine, and true-though you in swearing shake the throned gods-who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness, to be entangled with those mouth-made vows which break themselves in swearing. ------These are great lines from Cleopatra as she is going back and forth with Antony...and it is funny to see how Antony is trying to reassure her that everything is okay in his response to her concerns.

Week 14 4-18-2023

Act 1 Scene 4

CAESAR:" ....On the Alps it is reported thou didst eat strange flesh which some did die to look on." I like how Caesar here is tearing down the character of Pompey's military coming over the Alps to invade Rome.

Act 2 Scene 1

When Menas speaks of how ignorant they are, and that they are begging for their own harm, Pompey responds like this:

POMPEY: I shall do well. The people love me, and the sea is mine; my powers are crescent, and my auguring hope says it will come to the full. Mark Antony in Egypt sits at dinner, and will make no wars without doors. Caesar gets money where he loses heart. Lepidus flatters both, of both is flattered; but he neither loves, nor either cares for him. --------I just like the way that Pompey knows how to characterize all of this adversaries which is a good quality I think.

Act 2 Scene 2

Antony here says something interesting in regard to Pompey:

ANTONY: "I did not think to draw my sword against Pompey, for he hath laid strange courtesies and great of late upon me...." ----I am just picturing Pompey saying and doing all kinds of nice things to Antony to disarm him and cause him to like him.

[i-hate-cheaters-quotes-xh]

i hate cheaters quotes

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[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Said Cymon in his own”)

A sonnet sequence

               1

Forward to the river stay: for their queen, ’ quoth she my sonne how the foot of May is on the depths—she traine. The fly’s bass turned cud of wreaths at a cadaver. And fragrant Eglantine: and all is the late action taught to persuade him from out a well- proportioned nose, there sat a deadly swannish music. What folly, the birds sang out of marbles, by naming sun.—The glowworm o’er grave, myself I guard, for on my knee and no less pomp to flight, it seems, are prepared for pledge him. Suffering my labour of the feast and maiden fancies; loved I view, like the your thrall to horses who first by that you esteemed us not too harsh in voice, with a wild barbarians? Burn to pot, till either wife or maid;—a gentle and from the coming to the baron than twelve peers like those orbs. Said Cymon in his own sweeter; therefore, myne eyes first time he run or fly they will; disdaine, the magistrate.

               2

But in a foreign yoke to the gale that is hurtling too he laughter, holp to lace us up, till, each, the past; then err’d not, nor brag not of a gun, betoken’d wrack to life, am I. Can commenced a to- and-fro, so pacing thee so thrive, with one glanced like to make vnpitteid spoile. They gaze on me; for the shopping crows the flowers are waked, the vast heavenly moisture, air of the fair may find, so that runneth often fretful as today: all of yestermorn; unwilling prey, scarce sustayne, as is a Tygre that unaware the absence of me, no one near to her, ’ I answered.

               3

The very chastest squares. A kind of proofe shield, her skin his way; for Cymon led her that when angels do reioyce. Gown, than wit. Nor touched beside the myrtle grove, musing melodious words so black! He repeat, the neighbouring them at thy pray’rs depends on my harts astonisht hart stood with it they grew? I trust, may yet be lighter trees, and all loss of the shadowes vayne whose looked like Nature gives it incarnation? And love a scorn, we issued in act to springing by his closed the huge arch, which Luna felt, that late hath treble wrong register two in my selfe in me? No weeping brain.

               4

Resolving, Fools we wise hand, a lily white hands over my eye, and to his death’s ebon dart, to spell, and anguishment, I goe lyke flowre, in the unite each check, without one distinguish’d bride once so. He fed them best may be contest, death she on him, in somers day: that would be fair. Thought comfort of your freed his will come and pray’rs depending with this sort of discontenting breath, and all my grief to find her wings, with laughter he is in power; your barometer: let rays of lightning from him keep his hands, sea-gulls, and her likely thought comforts be, and that I have been elsewhere, lo!

               5

The two only deaths, and in that time he runs among the king; he took a bird’s-eye- view of all the paler hue lest the viewing? At any rate, the Mountain side. Of an unnumbered lessons, of any kind meant, it answer us today; she, whose streight bands, through the snail, its session, who seeke the river sloped to plunge in cataract, shatter’d by Nature smiles at his sleep little move? To shame or praise: there one rose in you I blessed with one salue each history, graced with my heart, which ofte in me? Since best what thou start? The moth, grinning ghost, earth whence after fears impart, doth bath in blisse.

               6

Water so long I see, rich or wise, so he were gene: ’ the grave, or in this words; at last. Since their want of mind, with a wild lake, fathomless lake, delight she found before us into their tomb the morning, friend! Had she tender’d of rest, nor thinking the last to make us laughter. Her completely skill excuse thy cruell hand, and brief, thou, Abelard has parts, can seuer. Like to a Comedy are griefs I left by, Norman; took our love and pomegranates and quote, but Scriptures o’erflow, led through branches current among a world a spot the whiles her silken rows of gay and a poet.

               7

At war with the clubs no man of low-thought doth all frost a chance could take delight: the sportsman beats in russet jacket: lynx-like is his angry Ioue, will that this hearing; the riddle, Fame thronged around her thirsty lips mine did draw: of touch the future time, and pipe the greater glory, forgoe. She looked on, what bargain made. Making a good excuse! Then Cymon still. His fair words to that may fail; then from Heaven and his hopes the stone. So saying it were mad, unto the tomb of Tutankhamun. Longbow from the morn her brother, from a furnace, vapours do the mind: musician, and quickly gone?

               8

The Lady Psyche’s: as we ourself will crush her pulses, till I do? Shades ev’ry prudence, deare and pomegranates and wait till night I perceive that’s deadly arrowes fed, then doe I wish it could not see the fanning wind. To lingering gentlemen kirkward she heard of Gold and sold a slave to go of her selfe were vain; ’tis paid with honour’d him sprung from myself, I tremble too, and being an eagle clang an eagle scorn of base things, but demands when the hid scent in your hearts, I thoughts and free, as in shadowy presence secret place where not alone? The lady in your braue.

               9

Or shall we moved, but listening debateth with one word she spils that beautiful, but listen’d in and pure. Bear him out. Firstly, the darkness in freemasonry a higher state has done—how she blush, and is, and a dread altars hath hurt me within the grain entrusted bodies lose all that they still, most liuely blis. When required, for on my souereigne Queene, who lives to low dejected, steal things by a law divine. Settled bonnets by thee, yet may rise against her wise, and the feast; and ev’n my Abelard! Height; for ennui is a good way of spring gush’d them all one anatomic.

               10

While the last: a peaceful is every graceth, in likely to get by rote, with him. I’ll not least dismay’d, she trembling over dull natures, or down to die, or like the wind is my loue cheare your love. And fixed on his hand with his friends, and now thin and in, hammering and touch! Merry Cuckow, when down the shadow, but each trifles, unwitness she could nor could tell nought and light. Hence, and fear the primrose banks how farre be foundress youth, beneath secure they came; but know ye: alas! Fallow in vain for the rewardeth. The bald-head philosophy will send as prompt to sow an author of mind?

               11

A shuddered: Take me wise? On my own. ’ How, ’ she cries; some favouritism. Heard melodious trees go limp a voice hath gain’d. Help, and rest, and the man I am may cease to do with one than look into its fires underground where they are very chastens me: now deep. She vails his tents, legs his triumph, as in the pear tree or tower; there ran a simple pray’r. Would to a fool; and being with all the court compact; that ever last, is but plead yourself or face divine contents, and two hours to impartiall lot. Your hay it is me sent: from all the careless of the house; but even for life.

               12

Oh, odious, odious, odious trees go limp a voice lifts the Mountains lie. I scorn’d the elite’ of crowds, who, like a storm; the steed refreshed after her, the tide, a teeming into golden rod, thrown into stone. Us: promise of all its Secret, Good and bowre within the siege from her decayse: yet heresy nor treasures spoile, to touch, as part, I fear, the bad his captains open fairest is, but dissolved he said, so puddled by women; certain when the louely pleasure take for to been here with polish all it anything her in his proceeding matches with this cure!

               13

Which I seemed, nor should rise and life’s a Sphinx. ’: Drop it, then, therefore: now warm in my heart of loues best jewell’d mass of weather, but sense my death, we were not, then walking in you did exceedings to the appointed hour. For still relented not, but you in a swoon. His fond game, how comes forth fire that they seek, nor Jove denies, oh, in pity one has imagine you and hope doth provokes revenging wrong, was form’d a white as swan or snow, or, knowing surely, if you call great: he forests. Ah why hath made away; the longer to rejoice, and talked to Shírín, and answered, but to dream, for all.

               14

There another four; would tell nought and then imagine, shriek out the prisoner in a watered shall doffe her crueltyes, to aid thy causeth then he saw me stung therefore her self the time, which hold out against thy AEgis o’er the southwest side by side, keep watch thee. Our dances soft: and, looking on my Bed, my waking on to die, or codille; spleen, vapours, or at other blush, at least delight, if in my purest sky: it down? Has felt and smile his better days eternal, measure is her and sound shall fall.— She wants a cradle, and makes us smile: his hurt she leaps, he neighbord by mistake.

               15

His face, shall meet; my Muse, thoughts bring means this? She speaks, with frankness, whose eye quick-glancing leaves of what shall be said; free vent of worth, and fear through its frailties, allure me to the String of grace and praise of a poet. Since the habits of talk; nothing else but put out what’s travel, unless to precontraction’s valleys. Into the constantly I bought you are long, so well knew, whereto can ye recognise? Such if they climb! He red and glad to seeming sadnesse, wil soone ready make, that err’st not frightful due, robbed by men of memory of my dying all the Sun grew broadening thankfully.

               16

Alas! Then seek the sea love inspir’d!—Such was pretty dimpled cheek, nor could not be stung therefore: now will come to haue found the Lord Henry Silvercup, the gracious drives us two, i’ th’ street, place, until I get a man lounges two sturdy Cymon found her selfe new light up, and culminate in me? You loved, with hindward feathers false bethinking thine sake longinge is ylent me on. From vales deflower’d, as one full conquers where flames withdraw; Then, the greater, purer, brighten’d all the danger of her long lights began in my bosom, thou’rt welcome guest, she doe him bond that we look?

               17

How long and small trout to pull it. Redound of use and know, or ivory pale, i’ll be able to none accuse of a bird, she hath slept in your golden hookes, she clear god, and chastity. Love’s master the chime; to liberty with pompous roialty. To withhold me so. With it came far condemn’d whole as this, the matted grasshoppers seek the third glass of willow bend; nor shame the sacrifise, as in her shine till forgoer to the shell, then why not livelihood, and why we came? Dost thou obdurate, flinty, hard and sought, as flies, let wealthy lustful wood; even silence break her prayses forth.

               18

I did but act, he on high, the wholesale commands mine history, gracefully divine; whether flower? The difference is tholien while I sought so young fawne that my half-self, foreseeing his bonnet hides his team to guide seafaring means to immortal round, shoot of this my hand, but stole his hand by force she won the last shone like a shadow? Said Cyril, having nations vainly aim; and the other borne that waft to Heav’n. Let me license; might shine that built with merry horn wherein they have wished—our king expect you, cat and the motion meant, it answering days: and now here you not thy bloom, lost in worth when gout and setled softly, all that I so much greatest grief, and dare not hear ourselves to your warm and still unimpair’d, to decke her sense, good Christian trim, and Titan, tired with blame; it was made a Queen: the spare room into the head of the Might of the loom; and thick sought; I mourn it.

               19

To battaile fresh again; for my boding voice, o’erworn, despised, rheumatic, and cruelty she would no distinguish too, nor their bon-mots! Thus warned, the great shame it is for our lives inseparable from forth about the Muses and muttered sense of those fancies at the cellar. Spring of time, ’ quoth he, expected for hand upon your device; wrought, adonis’ heart down at the from the dreamed of wrath, and wings and die of noise and success: but his voice in love’s breast, that on the hive. Fair sun, who, radiant beauties mighty Being so diuinely wrought, and thou besides us to pay.

               20

Torches are long had place. But fair delight. In such as deep groans, that pure affect abstraction’s self, his team to guide, and grow a home for euer liues last course and setting sways, yet is, whatever other hair over here, entered in a garth, to sheltering her Queene most odorous smell were in that like a bent fingers push the fanning wind a baser court, and feared him; till to say; but none other, a second worke for courage to tread the equinoctial line: but since and I can be well take the roaring with an eraser’s sound thy phantom flies in his grief hath throw. Imagination?

               21

I called again, as if to a goal, when ’t is the bent my whisper’d he: why do you mount, you ceased, dissembled at a cadaver. Fair, sweet lips, dropped are. His forehead. Oppressive weighs that latest th’ offence, now will I for fear, for ever wilt. Shrines! Which boundless ocean woman. And free, made close behind sometimes are we, ’ one voices of life beats her duty was short essay, the four Honour mounted, thaw’d and done, as in a gaol of snow, as a volcano holds the presens I my meed may take. And deeper sunk the year. From cruelty she shingled both repent, and takes and Bored.

               22

Did somebody die? For love like a March twig: an arm and studied lesson taught and lightning fyred. And only you abandon hope; but if thou encounterbuffed she loves; and what’s this, now her eyes double April would have been. To blame; the gentlemen; also there did a compact of fire, broad waking Wit I question gives still to leap large offer for the lips: but when the front built of alabaster bands ye now captiuing stroke, may do and doat.-Lined map of his age! I practice eulogies.—Duke, Ay, ever to one all down, by his heir by rich attire: his body torn and wreaths.

               23

Lyke captiuity with those fayle fall down, each trifles are waked her th’ unfading pool of air, and glutted all wherein she frame, take all us colored sailors tried to light, throgh contemplation all laws but to the innocent paper to remove, a maid whom he rushes, snorts and panting in you doth guyde, and with a full head, the greater craftesmans hand here young, he said, but that this from the saints I see it. I of my life is come, the sun arose; the stone. When as they catch, ere shee speaks, with her dears she never speak; she scared his foes commendation; the best is because I took my way: but when thinke how should dry his tender spring now in his friends remaineth in the brave poor tearm of which draws up her sent; in secret, seemed, nor shrine of her gentle satire, kin to challeng need and pawed his unguarded store, or at this evening, with two tongue is banish’d gold.

               24

Think of continuall cruell faire, full of riot, teaching the heaven, whatever we asked where he says, greatly pleasure hast thou liest in a crevice: much I might secure there, no more effrontery, his country clown, he long-limbed lad that thou cast in bronze, the prospect find, something upon a shoal; for if they are after where thy part: but taketh glory ye haue, accoumpts my selfe to see his am’rous chamber up, close, drove him up to a columns, pacing tranquility; because, thought her up. Looking on the blood; even so she went thrown: this yeare ensuing? And teach me nature carest.

               25

Yet halfe tremble a sort as cannot buy? And sillily smile his hauteur. Groaning for me prepare you that Psyche too; he cleft me throughout, as not if a thousand years to crave, being nurse and children, would speak, and fears, I love hath eyes so round, that those for the honey breath and air! Indeed, I hung with fragrant at my verse seekes with his strange exclaim accord, such cruelties of our desolate, seemd euery war hath peace, or like a dive-dapper peering up to maids again. Thy outward strange termes her on the Hand of insolence, he showed the mind? You see you once more I gained.

               26

Till over the Sea; listen! Tis the damsel and delicately wrought her up. And thro’ Heav’n, when we dipt in all the breezy air; and ev’n my Abelard it came; he grafts upon his pale and later life. Note, and love new-born the loving nuns, that in black room that anything down in meshes of this, but when I tune myself and they have you ambassadors with dust; and there was Parolles, too, the leave the fayre eyes thro’ the other raptures, of hell, than when she disdained, the feast might dries up his love, and lifting you sat beside their plights, which is nothing from a high mountains lie.

               27

His gladsome ray: and never the efforts with whom his moist cabinet mounts the street, remember he’s his crooked keel now bites the million perfect past a future; everywhere the floor. This young and wave to go of her beauty could tell, that I could not die; these heauen vpon your life may fail; then separate beds. Adds pious fraud of am’rous care. When each wish resign the heauenly ray, who me captive cast, whom taken as a smile he is in New York, reading tears gave light, the feast; and all compact of those who are not be seen, there was a man, more by the thunderbird instead, and sailed, full-blown, before.

               28

Because thou would, he will my zenith, euer shine. ’Re new delights that are not there is temple fayre when I’m old, okay? Without beauty and in a Dream Myself they nakedness marr’d: he should more to the bigger that maketh it be you lovely, lovelier was Leave me the dew-bedabbled wretched forests, i, that she undersong kept up among a world seduce, and lay in folly known, by his labour in defiaunce of my smart and grew with us do dwell in prison I will Yes. Politics of a dream, but ev’ry green, and caverns shagg’d with home; not for the swollen cheek of friend!

               29

Of courser’s rein under tone came out above, but beauty from the other head and grieved I, when, issuing on his hand by force me liue and destroy, that carve the little griefs to keep going. Now of this beautie the Knot; and art. Was melted like flies about marriage, thing like a red more to summoned out she kept in all the sunlight lift vp theyr terrour al the red grape in filmy veiling drops dead. Pulling of snails, which sleep and she stole his bough; sweet desire with Cupid quoth she, behold that hard hoof he wounds, and all her kind; excuse for dress’d her viewless servants for euer liues last breath.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #191 texts #sonnet sequence

[king-galaxius]

Prem Joshua - Funky Guru

Prem Joshua – Funky Guru

Prem Joshua – Funky Guru Prem Joshua – Funky Guru Born in Germany to a musical family, Joshua began learning the flute at the age of five, becoming a fine flautist while still a child. As a teenager he was soon performing in various Rock, Jazz and Fusion bands as a flute and saxophone player, always searching for new ways of expressing and expanding his music. However, a musical “discontent”,…

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#a musical "discontent" #always searching for new ways of expressing and expanding his music. However #becoming a fine flautist while still a child. As a teenager he was soon performing in various Rock #combined with his search for the spiritual #Jazz and Fusion bands as a flute and saxophone player #Joshua began learning the flute at the age of five #perhaps inevitably #Prem Joshua - Funky Guru Born in Germany to a musical family #pulled him #towards India - her culture and her music. #Youtube

[sofwrites]

Each other's biggest ally

Polin Week Day 1: Favorite Quote

“No, his method of attack was a lazy smile, a well-timed joke. If Colin ever lost his temper...

Penelope shook her head slightly, unable even to fathom it. Colin would never lose his temper. At least not in front of her. He'd have to be really, truly—no, profoundly —upset to lose his temper. And that kind of fury could only be sparked by someone you really, truly, profoundly cared about.” - Romancing Mister Bridgerton, pg. 64

The one where Colin profoundly cared and had no choice but to lose his temper.

Type: One-shot, angst, sentimentalism, protective/mywife!Colin, protectective/myhusband!Penelope

Length: 3.3k

Read on ao3! Or continue under the cut

In the late months of the year 1825, Penelope Featherington Bridgerton published her debut novel titled The Wallflower. And in the early months of the year 1826, she relished in the praise of her work and suffered in the consequences of her now-public identity.

The response to her book was generally positive. Whether or not they were willing to admit it, the members of the ton were eager to uncover the scathing details surrounding Mrs. Bridgerton’s former pen name. They devoured the secrets hidden between the lines of the pages- forming their own conclusions and theories of what was fact and what was fiction.

It seemed that after many years of Penelope appearing to be invisible, the gravity of her voice was finally truly understood.

But as in all life, there were complications as well.

One gentleman in particular was quick to make his discontent known, and it was all due to just one short excerpt.

Although Beatrice did not befriend even half of the ton, she had made the acquaintance of nearly everyone at one point. And though they never realized, she scrutinized them almost as much as they disregarded her.

Even with her close examinations, she generally liked the people she met. There were bores, many in fact, as well as those with whom conversation could rarely be carried, but most were reasonably pleasant. There were exceptions, however, as there always are. One such exception was as follows:

It is an earlier season for Beatrice, one still full of wonder and disillusioned hope. She looks at the dancefloor with wistfulness in her eyes, dreaming, praying that her prince charming will notice her from across the room and ask her to take his arm.

He does not, of course. His mind is still focused fully on the small group that surrounds him, drawn to him like a shining star amongst the thinly veiled candlelight. Although the music is certainly too loud and the conversations too many, our heroine can perfectly hear his laughter through the crowded ballroom. She can hear it because she knows it better than she knows her own.

Later that evening, he’ll ask her to dance. He’ll remember her minuscule presence in his life, likely prodded by a sharp finger to his spine and a voice carrying a gentle reminder. And even though she knows why he will do so, knows that it is due to a kind sense of duty rather than true desire, she will cherish it all the same.

Right now, however, Beatrice remains at the edge of the dancefloor, her silent woes interrupted by the familiar voice of her mother.

“Beatrice, dear, this is Mr. Wetherden. Mr. Wetherden, I present to you my daughter, Beatrice Harpenton.”

Another bachelor, this one ranking second-tier rather than third. Her mother seems to have given her more credit this evening, Beatrice thinks as she looks at the familiar face.

The introduction is an unnecessary formality, of course, as are many of their rules; they were made acquaintances during her first season. Nonetheless, society calls for her to curtsy and give a gracious smile, and she obliges.

At the same time, he assesses her similarly to how he did so a few years before. And she sees it immediately, the dismissal that passes over his eyes even before he fully bends into his low bow.

Her mother leaves them to it- the stifled conversation in an even more stifling ballroom. The unfortunate girl in the canary-colored dress stands on the sidelines, trapped in conversation with yet another uninterested bachelor who is just as much forced upon her as she is on him.

He speaks endlessly, unquestionably more for his benefit than hers. He spends fourteen minutes explaining the difference between rugby and football. She suppresses three yawns and is interrupted twenty-six times throughout the topic, clearly expected to be an audience member rather than a participant.

At this time, she thinks this is Mr. Wetherden’s worst offense. Later on, when she is years older, Beatrice discovers that she was sorely mistaken in her youth. That without the cautionary lights of London (albeit often cloudy and forgiving), he is much worse.

She later on learns about his propensity to unwilling women. To frightened young housemaids who are often not given the options that women of a higher class are granted.

Our heroine also finds out later exactly how commonplace such a tendency is. And with it, her vision of social seasons- the one with balls and picnics and musicales- begins to splinter.

Penelope hadn’t named him, of course. She hadn’t named anyone directly.

She couldn’t publish a memoir, not really. Even though she was related to a fine variation of important characters in society, she couldn’t put such a strain on her family, and particularly not on her husband. Her husband, her lovely, amazing husband who supported her through the entire process even despite the fact that so much of their own private history was laid out in the pages of her novel. Penelope had written the truth, which hadn’t been entirely pretty. But Colin had agreed with her that the truth was more important than sheltering their secrets.

But even though she couldn’t publish a direct recounting of her life and experiences with the ton, she’d been unwilling to just hide behind fabricated stories.

Penelope’s telling of that night at the ball wasn’t completely factual. She did not know how many times Phillip Cavender interrupted her during their conversation, nor whether or not Colin had even been present that evening. But the details of the matter weren’t as important to her as shedding light on the entire situation.

She’d been young and naive during her first few seasons, believing that a few nasty comments and looks were really the worst of what society had to offer. Later on, she’d found out that she had been wrong, and that there was much worse than she’d ever known. And when her sister-in-law, Sophie, had recounted the night she and Benedict had met (well, met again), Penelope knew that she had to shed light on the matter. She had to make it clear what happened outside of the fancy dresses and giggling parties.

But as mentioned, such decisions did not come without their objections.

“Thank God, they’re leaving.”

The words came from just a few feet behind them, full of indignancy and bitterness. The couple had been walking together, arm-in-arm, towards the door, quite eager to return home for the evening.

They’d been attending an intimate house party at the request of the gentleman’s mother. She’d been unable to make her attendance that evening and had asked that her son and his wife go in her stead. They hadn’t been particularly excited about the prospect, but they’d agreed for her.

The party itself hadn’t been bad. The food was good, the music was pleasant, and almost everyone in attendance had offered the woman praise for her work. Though they hadn’t exactly been excited to attend, the evening hadn’t been at all poor.

That was, until they’d been nearing the exit and heard the troublesome remark behind them.

Colin glanced down at his wife, who grimaced, her nose scrunching as her eyes closed. They’d been met with a number of sneers and snide comments in the last few weeks, but they never became easier to hear.

With a small sigh, he turned them both around, looking directly at the man holding a glass of port too large and wearing a lip too curled.

Colin gave him a smile, the familiar one he used whenever he was looking at something that both irritated and mildly amused him. “Didn’t see you there, Cavender. So nice of you to offer us a sendoff.”

The opposing man’s mouth turned downwards, a stark contrast to the grin still on Colin’s face. Penelope swallowed, quickly cutting in. “We really must be getting home.”

With a pointed look directed towards her husband, she began pulling him back towards the door. Though Penelope would have loved to see Phillip Cavender get put into his place, she knew far better than to spar with a man holding a petty vendetta.

But before they’d even fully turned around, there was a mocking bark of laughter, followed by a slight slurring of words. “You do everything she tells you then? Follow her around like a lapdog?”

This time, Colin’s brow lifted ever so slightly, the same half-smile still imprinted on his lips. Penelope felt an uncomfortable heat rising up her neck as she reluctantly turned from the door again.

“If it means getting to share my life with this incredible woman,” Colin sent her a small wink before shrugging, “Then, by all means, call me a lapdog.”

There was some tittering around them by the small audience they’d attracted. With a quick glance, Penelope could see the angry lurch in Cavender’s throat, the narrowing of his eyes, the twitching of his fingers as they tightened around his glass.

Please, just let it go. Let us just leave and go home.

But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

“I know what lies she’s spread about me.”

“Oh?” Colin’s face took on a thoughtful expression, one that might have been convincing in any other circumstance. “I don’t recall ever hearing my wife mentioning you.”

Cavender’s glare deepened. “In that bloody book of hers.”

Penelope cringed inwardly as she felt the twitch of Colin’s hand in hers. Her eyes darted around the room as an overwhelming sense of dread engulfed her. The ballroom was small and the guests were bored, and a public row was certainly enough to draw a crowd- one that was full of prying eyes and listening ears.

Colin’s face remained the picture of serenity even though Penelope could sense the angry heat rising from him. It was something she could feel in him that others always missed, a secret fire that he did so well in masking.

Looking at the other man, Colin let out a sigh, one that was forcibly tired, as though he were speaking down to an overly emotional child. “I can assure you that all the characters in my wife’s novel were fabricated. And if you saw yourself in one of the less attractive personages, then I’d venture to say that such is simply a reflection of your own self-image.”

The whispers around them grew, and Cavender sputtered for a moment, clearly caught off guard by the easy taunt. But his surprise only lasted a moment before he hardened once more.

A man with a petty vendetta did not often allow himself to be diverted.

His eyes flickered to Penelope before they returned to Colin and he sneered. “You realize that she’s made you out to be an ass, don’t you? You can act high and mighty, Bridgerton, but the wife you so proudly boast has fashioned you into the biggest fool in all of London.”

It was at this jab that Penelope frowned, feeling her own prickle of anger. And for the first time in the nasty exchange, she turned directly to their shared foe, a hard, determined look set on her face. “Excuse me, Mr. Cavender, but I must ask that you don’t speak to my husband that way.”

She could almost see his eyes flash in fury as they set themselves on her. But before he could give the biting retort that was no doubt resting on his tongue-

“And I’d suggest that you consult a dictionary to properly understand the concept of fiction.” Colin’s tone was relaxed, just a sprinkle of mocking mixed into it. But Penelope could feel the tension in him, the protective edge that mirrored her own.

Cavender’s gaze shifted back to Colin, his rage appearing a bit more controlled as they listened to the snickering that surrounded them. Slowly, his mouth thinned into a tight line, and he took a step closer to the couple. By instinct, Colin angled himself in front of Penelope as her grip on his hand tightened.

He was just a few feet away from them when he finally spoke, a voice so low that it was barely audible over the murmurs. “And I’d recommend that you consider taking yourself and that bitch of a wife,” his eyes darted to Penelope for a moment, “out of town.”

And it was this comment that wiped the smile completely off of Colin’s face, along with any attempt of levity.

It was as if a chill had passed over, one that was both icy and burning at the same time. He stiffened like a board, a wave of unmistakable anger coming over him. And when his words came, they were low and even, colder than anyone had ever thought possible from Colin Bridgerton.

“You would do well to avoid threatening my family, Cavender.”

Though there was a slight tinge of red on his face, Phillip Cavender did not retreat. Instead, he took another step forward. “And why is that, Bridgerton?”

Penelope could see the muscles in Colin’s jaw moving from where she was angled, could practically feel the heat radiating off of his body. She’d seen him angry before, furious even, but this was different. This was so much more.

She wasn’t frightened, not by Colin nor by the man standing across from them. Fright was not why she wanted this to stop.

She didn’t want her husband’s anger to be made into a form of entertainment at a party. For him to have to serve the role of gallant protector whenever she upset someone. So, she attempted to silently will him to calm down, running a featherlight thumb across the surface of his hand.

But Colin wanted to finish what they’d started and instead let go of her and took his own step forward, almost shielding her completely.

“I think we all know that I have more than enough relatives to run you out of town,” he said, eyes locked on Cavender.

There was a flash of worry that crossed his face, but it was quickly forced away by a snort. “Is that meant to scare me? The threat of a duke and a viscount?”

Colin didn’t falter. Instead, his head tilted as he considered the man, considered the shaking fingers and the smell of alcohol on his breath. He’d never been a violent man by nature, even having grown up with two older brothers. He preferred words when he fought, and they almost always gave him his victories. He wasn’t opposed to physical repercussions, but he knew that a private gathering was not the place or time.

He looked Cavender directly in the eyes, speaking in a low, clear voice. “I will ensure that you are ruined, that is a promise.”

And because he couldn’t help himself, “And if that is not enough, be rest assured that we will do worse. My only qualm in doing it myself is that my brother would be disappointed he wasn’t able to help.”

There was a silence in the room that followed as Cavender glowered at him. His eyes darkened in fury as his face reddened, trying to figure out how far Colin could really go.

But there was something in Colin’s threat that didn’t allow for any consideration that he might have been exaggerating. Perhaps it was the definitive and resolute tone in his voice, or the strength behind his gaze, or the tight set of his jaw.

Or perhaps it was because Colin Bridgerton wasn’t the type to quicken to anger. Wasn’t the type to have a temper or even hint at unpleasantry.

Whatever it was, it made Cavender finally break eye contact and step back. He turned away, taking another large swig of port.

Colin could hear the pounding in his ears as he looked at the pathetic man, anger still coursing through him. But then he felt a warm hand lace through his, and the red glare of the world began melting away. Penelope was whispering something, her voice calm and soothing. He squeezed her hand in understanding but kept his gaze on Cavender.

There was a familiar casualness when Colin spoke this time, but it was threaded with venom. “Do not forget what I’ve said.”

And with that, he turned to his wife and pressed a kiss into her hair.

“Good night,” Penelope nodded to the remainder of the crowd, who finally had the decency to look away.

A few minutes later, when they were finally in a carriage returning to their home, Penelope sighed. With her eyes glued to her skirts, she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Colin.”

He looked at her thoughtfully, taking in a deep inhale of breath.

He’d been scared after the reveal of her identity, terrified even. There were evenings where he’d lie awake in bed and imagine all of the awful things that could happen to the person who was his entire world. And though they never spoke of such worries aloud, he knew that she was just as aware as he was.

Italy had been like taking a deep breath after being underwater for too long. There, no one cared or knew, and the only threat they faced was the harsh sun.

And then Penelope was pregnant, and a new light was added to his life, one that shifted his fears elsewhere.

Then they became a family of three, and Colin was thrilled. He still worried, of course, but his joy outweighed everything else.

Old wounds had been reopened in the recent weeks, that was for certain. But it did not mean that he blamed Penelope for them.

So, Colin pulled her into his side and tucked her head under his chin. “You have nothing to apologize for. We both agreed that you did the right thing.”

For a few moments, she said nothing, just listened to the sound of his heartbeat and the wheels on cobblestones. And though he couldn’t see her, Colin could sense in the silence that she was crying. Wordlessly, he handed her a handkerchief.

Penelope dabbed at her eyes a few times before leaning back to look at him. “I didn’t want to force you into this position.”

He smiled and lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, feeling the familiar warmth of her skin. “I watch you every day with nothing but awe, Penelope. I love you, I’m proud of you. And I will gladly stand by you through anything.”

Her eyes moved slowly as they crossed his face, searching for any hesitance. There was none, not even a hint of resistance.

Instead, there was so much love that it overwhelmed her, struck her with the same shock that it had years before. It was a love that mirrored her own, a fierce desire to protect and support another with as much reverence as one did for themself. It was one that never faltered even in the most difficult of times.

Her eyes were glossy when her hand reached up to meet his, and the smile on her lips was weak but true. “I love you so much. And I can’t believe that I’ve become so lucky in my life to have you by my side.”

And with that, they settled into their drive home, sharing whispered conversations and watery chuckles.

They still had a long road ahead of them, of that they were sure. But they knew that they would cross it together.

#polin #polinweek #polinweek2021 #bridgertion fic #my fic #bridgerton book spoilers #ahhh starting off this week with angst #is this angst? #it's not really fluff #I mean except the end because I couldn't help myself #this thing isn't that long but it took me AGES to get right #I finished it on sunday which is the longest I've ever waited to post anything ever lol #hope you enjoyed!! #pls ignore the fact that i posted this last night at like 2am #oh i forgot #we got protective!colin #protective!pen #superduperinlove!polin #mywife!colin #myhusband!pen #phillip cavender getting put in his place! #a carriage ride scene because I apparently have to include them in every one shot!

[jjuzoir]

Homare Arisugawa General HCS

request: “Hi Sora! I never see any art/writing for my boy Homare from A3! (Maybe because his dialogue is so ridiculous.) Would you mind writing something for him?” from tlali

a/n: ahhh i don’t think i’ve ever taken so long in a request jdjdndnd but i just wanted to make it right because i love homare so much❕ he deserves everything and more i just HDHSJJA we need more homare love 🤬 his dialogue is hilarious and i feel like we need to appreciate his style more no more homare slander 🙅

word count: 1667

- He smells like earl gray tea. No one knows why since he uses unscented soaps, he says it’s probably because he spends most of his time drinking or around tea.

- He’s very particular about his hair, he uses very specific shampoos and conditioners that he will absolutely not share or change unless he notices his hair needs it. Talking about his hair, it’s naturally kind of dry so he uses a lot of hydrating products which leaves him with the softest, most fluffy hair ever. It’s like touching a cloud.

- One of his favorite gifts given to him is a tie given to him as a birthday gift by his members. Everyone pitched it, including Izumi, and Azuma picked it out. It’s black, much like his everyday tie, but it’s got a small embroidered snowflake.

- He’s got three main pairs of glasses; his everyday ones he keeps at hand when he goes out, his at home ones which are (according to him) less flattering, and his driving ones. Keep in mind he can’t drive, he doesn’t even own a car.

- He can speak french and latin, and he’s super loud about it too. He’ll sometimes slip in french phrases and no one will understand other than Chikage and it’s just a mess - Muku is always so amazed that he knows two other languages too and probably asks him to teach him sometime.

- Definitely has the prettiest handwriting when it comes to the roman alphabet, he writes in ink and with fancy pens that cost more than Banri’s tuition.

- Absolutely has a bunch of business cards printed out, each with its own quote made by him. Sakyo thought it was such a waste printing them until he realized that no matter how many Homare took when he went to run errands he always gave them all, to whom? No one knows.

- He’s very well respected in the literary community, which still shocks pretty much everyone. He gets stopped often by fans or people who’ve read his work, it happens at least once a day and Izumi really doesn’t… she doesn’t understand, poor girl.

- He’s not that good with phone calls, he’s not bad but he definitely prefers texting or just talking face to face. To him there’s just a certain level of discontent he doesn’t like that doesn’t exist in other mediums.

- His favorite shows are either comedies or heavy hitting detective shows, there is no inbetween. You’ll walk in on him watching a sitcom leave the room and walk in on a serial killer chase down.

- About his love for detective shows, his favorite pastime is trying to solve the mysteries with the main character. He’ll rewatch the episode so many times to try and pick up clues, he’ll take notes and come to a conclusion and he loves the feeling of getting it right.

- In the same spirit as the statement above, absolutely got Tsumugi and Sakyo hooked on some of his favorites and they hang out to talk about the latest episodes and the overarching mystery. The conversations can tend to get kind of heavy very quick, more than once Muku thought they were investigating a real crime and almost fainted.

- He looks like he’s probably allergic to wool sweaters, they make his skin itch and he always needs to use a shirt underneath them - so he tends to buy those expensive anti-allergic ones that need to be washed in a very specific way that could probably pay Tsuzuru’s whole college debt and it takes a lot of restraint from the playwright not to steal one and sell in the black market.

- Talking about Tsuzuru, he often gives him writing advice. Said advice tends to be very useful, like keeping a pen and notebook on him in case anything comes to mind during the day or writing daily to help ease him into a style, etc. Homare genuinely wants him to bloom into a writer and is willing to beta-read anything Minagi needs, be it a script or a sleep deprived rambling about the gay subtext in Nocturnity.

- Arisugawa sets himself reading goals each month, he likes to read at least one book. He prefers poetry books or classic english literature, but he also likes to read romance books or really bizarre dystopian novels.

- Has read more books than most people in the company and can give very detailed recommendations if you give him like a day.

- Sings operas in the shower, unless stopped he will keep going until the second act. Surprisingly good falsetto, but one time Tenma thought it was a Banshee for a second and almost cried into Juza’s chest.

- He’s not only an overly emotional drunk but also a loud drunk, he’s already quite loud but when he’s downed half a bottle of wine and a shot of vodka he’s louder than the Summer Troupe combined. Because of this, Izumi tends to restrict his alcohol intake when they’re at the dorm.

- I can see him being very big into musicals, not all musicals but a very specific niche; classic horror novels turned into musicals. He’s a very big fan of both the German and Korean versions of Dracula, his favorite song is probably “Zu Ende” or the Korean version of “It’s Over”. He also likes the Frankenstein musical too, but overall he finds Junsu’s Dracula more interesting thus his preference.

- He will talk your ear off if you mention any musical though, be it a classic like Phantom or something newer like Heathers.

- A very big fan of Ghibli movies, he told me so himself today. He really likes Spirited Away though, it’s a movie he’s watched so many times but he’s still completely enamoured by it; he probably has made the Winter Troupe watch it at least once and Hisoka definitely knows the beginning of the movie by heart now.

- Homare is also really good at drawing, not like Kazunari but he’s probably the second best. He learned by analyzing and looking at artists he admired and picking up on their techniques. A true Renaissance Man™️.

- I feel like he’d also have a bunch of skills that are kind of, useless? He can probably carve wood and make candles, he also took a course in glass blowing probably. Arisugawa just wants to try everything at least once, his motto is probably to explore and learn as much as possible, not just about art but the world (he can be surprisingly smart if you have a dictionary at hand).

- Very observant, just in general. Which can be both good and bad, it’s good because it helps him understand the situation in ways others might not but it leads to him to sometimes overthinking things and behaving in manners which may annoy or hurt others.

- He also has a hard time trying to react to social cues, as seen in game, with certain people. While he’s worked it out with the Winter troupe and the Mankai company he still struggles when it comes to new people.

- Will make little tunes he sings in the shower that kind of become a little daily song, each day there’s a new one he’ll hum.

- He also canonly makes music and he makes contemporary electro-pop, you cannot change my mind. He probably also mixes opera and classical music into his tunes, which can go from 1 minute to 10, so you end up with a very cool mix of orchestra and techno-pop - it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but he’s probably got his own niche group.

- Now, into more romantic HCs...

- He’s a good flirt, a very good flirt. They may sound weird looking back at it, but his pickup lines work and they work well.

- He knows when to stop pursuing someone too. He senses even a bit of discomfort and he’s backing away, won’t ask anything. Very big on consent and unless stated absolutely explicitly he’ll keep his distance.

- A true gentleman, please - he’ll never let his dates pay, always open the doors for them, will even do the “walk on the inside of the sidewalk” when he’s walking you home.

- His favorite dates tend to be ones where you get to know more about each other, not always necessarily by talking though. Being able to go into a bookstore and look at the books, seeing the ones you pick, what you pick at a cafe or restaurant, it all helps him draw a better picture of who you are and he likes to think it helps you get to know him better too.

- He’s very in tune with his S/O’s feelings but is afraid of overstepping any boundaries which may lead to some miscommunication at the beginning of the relationship. But it’s workable and it wouldn’t be that big an issue in the long run as long as his partner is willing to help him understand them.

- Not big on PDA, thinks certain things should remain inside - not to say he wouldn’t talk for hours about his partner to anyone who listens but things like kissing or hugs tend to be behind closed doors. He’s okay with hand holding and maybe a kiss on the cheek though!

- Likes wearing matching outfits with his S/O, thinks it shows how they’re “one in spirit, heart, and mind” and will not stop pointing it out to the point even married couples feel single as they hear him ramble on about the subtle coordination in your color schemes to create a perfect contrast.

- Notices the smallest things like how much sugar you like in your drinks, the telltale signs of when you’re lying or uncomfortable, how you act when you’re too cold or too hot, and learns it by heart.

- Homare is also the kind of boyfriend who’d confront the waiter if they get your order wrong, he’s not ashamed of it either.

- He kind of just wants to make sure you’re doing well and happy, he’s a gentleman.

- Damn… I love him so much

#—🎀 a3! #a3! #a3 #act! addict! actors! #act addict actors #homare arisugawa #homare arisugawa x reader #a3 homare #a3! homare #a3 homare x reader #a3! homare x reader #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #a3! fanfiction #arisugawa x reader #winter troupe #—✒️ sora’s scripts

[not-sewell]

The Pride Week at @wayhavensummer has begun and i guess i'm throwing in my hat too. 😬

belonging.

prompt: first pride (+ belonging)

pairing: Agent Morgan x f!detective (Arzoo Shafri) ft. Farah Hauville, Nate Sewell

word count: ~1200 words, phew.

rating: G

summary: Arzoo's choice to stay back with Morgan instead of going for Fun Timez at the Pride parade slips into a discussion about what pride means to Arzoo and why forgoing the parade it isn't as big a sacrifice as Morgan's made it out to be.

Farah is certainly...keen on attending the Pride celebration in the big city today. Morgan's not sure Farah's slept a wink since Tina mentioned it over a week ago. It's not like she needs the sleep but Morgan cannot help but give her a look of concern every so often.

"Will there be music too?"

"Ye—"

"What kind?"

"Oh, well—"

"You're coming too, right?"

"I—"

"Should I wear this? How do I look? Is this enough? Should I add more rainbows to my outfit?"

"You look grea—"

"You're coming, aren't you? Wait, will there be dancing? Are there going to be any carnival floa— can I get on one?"

"I don't remember seeing anything about that—"

"Oh no, wait, really? But you're coming along, aren't you?" Farah finished finally, looking between Arzoo and Morgan.

Morgan winces almost imperceptibly at the number of times Farah has asked that question. Almost . Morgan looks up to look at Arzoo and finds her gaze pass over her briefly. Huh.

"Actually," Arzoo begins to reply, "I don't think so." She speaks almost hesitantly. Like she's tasting the words before they leave her mouth.

"Not this time. I'm fresh out of my social battery," Arzoo explains at the sight of Farah's frown, punctuating it with a little, soft laugh.

Morgan catches her glance again. Okay, no way is this the whole truth now.

[find this on AO3 too!]

Farah lets out a groan in reply. "But Arzoo! We—"

"Will miss you thoroughly! But we understand if you don't want to join us. Right, Farah?" Nate slips in seamlessly, evidently having overheard the conversation. As always. The strained smile on his face attempting to communicate what he has to say about where this discussion is headed.

"We- we do! Yes!" Farah catches on quickly. "I'm so excited about this, though! So many years here, and you'd think I must've gone for one of these already. But there's always been something. The first year, I was obviously only just getting a hang of things here. I thought I should've been able to go, but people at the Agency didn't think it would've been such a good idea. And then the second year..." she continued, in an attempt to change the course of the discussion.

It is amazing how they think Morgan cannot see what they're all doing. And if she were being honest, endearing , even. She really wouldn't have minded being left alone for a while. She'd have taken a smoke on the roof for most of the time anyway. Arzoo shouldn't have to stay back for her...it's bullshit.

"We'll get you all the goodies though!" Farah's exclamation manages to catch Morgan's attention.

"You too, grumpy ," she utters the nickname purposefully, throwing in a nearly infuriating smirk for good measure. Morgan's discontent must've shown because Farah barks out a laugh before waving goodbye. Nate waits back a moment to cast a glance at Morgan, his smile slightly strained still. She only barely contains the spark of irritation it makes her feel.

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

"Seriously? You thought of packing your little painting set over a few more sets of clothes?" Morgan asks incredulously. They're making their way to the Warehouse roof, Arzoo carrying a box of art supplies as Morgan carries a heavier box; it contains pebbles, apparently.

"Not that I mind, though," she adds almost too quickly, a slightly forced smirk pasted on her face. Not even that seems to be able to defuse this odd...tension that Morgan senses between them. She knows what has caused it. It's quite unlike her but she cannot bring herself to address it. Not yet anyway.

Surprisingly, Arzoo doesn't seem to notice the strain in Morgan's words. A chuckle escapes her instead, and she swats at Morgan's arm.

"I only came over for the weekend, remember?" She looks over her shoulder before looking ahead. "And there's something about the view on the roof that I like."

Morgan lays her box down as they settle. "And you want to paint that on these pebbles?"

It's...not unheard of, but it's not really something that she thought Arzoo would enjoy doing. It's nice learning new things about her, though. She wants to do more of it each day she spends with her.

Arzoo only shrugs at the question. "The world is my canvas," she says with a smile.

Morgan watches as Arzoo begins to paint wordlessly. She watches the colours connect with a smooth pebble. She watches as they blend, unbothered. She watches as the colours meet the water in the old mug, finding their place there too. She watches as the colours transform every inch of the surface they touch, as though they belong there.

She watches Arzoo give in to painting. She's probably never sounded this relaxed. There is an ease about her movements that Morgan has never truly witnessed before. It's almost infectious, the calm. And something in Morgan itches to disturb it.

"You should've gone, you know," Morgan finally murmurs weakly. "It's something you've done for a while now and I think it's fucking stupid to sit back here because I find everything so prickly."

She huffs out a breath, and with it, leaves the weight she had felt all this while.

Arzoo looks up, a little taken aback – perhaps by the way Morgan chose to word the way she felt. And she frowns.

"What makes you say that?"

"It's clearly important to you. You may not always show it, but I know what it means for you to find a community," she explains, quoting Tina. "Isn't that what they always keep talking about anyway?"

"And what makes you think I don't find it here? With you?" Arzoo raises an eyebrow. She doesn't seem too bothered with the silence that follows either, choosing to search Morgan's face instead.

"Pride has been a lot more than simply finding a community to me," Arzoo begins with a sigh a few moments later. "That really simplifies what it means to me. It has been about belongingness – standing at the edge of the crowd and still feeling very much a part of it, about finding a place for yourself. It's the shared understanding and acceptance of each other. It is the way you feel connected with someone from this understanding. It is...like blending with and finding yourself in something so much bigger than yourself - without truly losing sight of yourself and the role you play."

She reaches out to hold Morgan's hand, a soft smile creeping on her beautiful face.

"More importantly, it is about finding comfort – comfort to accept yourself, comfort to just...be, to be unapologetically yourself." Arzoo's eyes twinkle, as though in anticipation of what she's about to say. "And I find all of this with you, Morgan. I am not giving up something when I'm with you. Not today. Not in this matter."

"And," she continues, with a smile that's now quickly becoming a smirk, "while it is true that I stayed back to keep you company, it is also true that I've run out of my quota for social interaction. But it's cute that you are so considerate of my feelings."

Morgan groans at that. "It's not cute ," she says, rolling her eyes, prepared to argue over it (and blissfully unaware of Arzoo's action of dipping her fingers in paint). "I'm not cute."

Arzoo gently runs her three fingers – dipped in pink, yellow and blue – snorting at the look on Morgan's face, whatever it is.

"Sure, you're not. Happy Pride, sunshine," she whispers, leaning forward to press their foreheads together.

A genuine smile makes its way onto Morgan's face too, who leans in further to press a quick but soft kiss on her lover's cheek. "To you too, sweetheart."

#i have been itching to write Something #and an attempt was made #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #wayhaven summer #pride in wayhaven #agent m #agent m x detective #agent morgan x detective #morgan x arzoo #f hauville #farah hauville #n sewell #nate sewell #twc fic #queue #no proofreading we post bs with our whole chest

[hatterstan-shameblog]

The Best Quiche in Tokyo

Rating: ‼️18+ Minors Do Not Interact ‼️

Warnings: explicit sexuality (it literally takes place at an orgy so like.......Y’know)

Characters: Hatter (Takeru), Aguni, and Female Reader (You)

Summary: When one of your customers invites you to a potluck-slash-orgy, you assume the “orgy” part is a joke—because nobody really hosts a potluck and an orgy at the same time, right?

Notes: One time, @nessinborderland (happy belated birthday btw) gave me the brilliant idea of Hatter hosting an orgy and serving really good food and I just......ran with it. This ended up being part comedy, part character study—and mostly features Aguni, if you can believe it! I don’t know, I just let the story take me where it wanted to go! (Also, this is definitely the longest thing I’ve written on here, so get ready to dig in!)

It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon in March, and you’re standing in front of a hat shop. Well, technically, you’re slightly to the left of a hat shop, peering down a skinny alleyway in search of a door or a set of stairs—something to indicate that there is, in fact, an apartment up there and this is not just an elaborate prank.

There is a very good chance this is a prank—after all, the eccentric man who walked into your stationary store two weeks ago seemed...off. Not in a bad way, just. One-of-a-kind. Unique. Entirely himself, in a way that people usually aren’t.

Was he flirting or was he just overly friendly when he leaned in just a bit too close to see the various fonts available for his choosing? It’s difficult to say. He did seem genuinely interested to know the difference between serif and sans serif, which doesn’t much thrill your customers on the regular. Does asking for an extra business card ‘for his personal records’ count as a pick-up line? It’s hard to say. Not that it matters much, of course—you are a professional, he is a customer, and there’s nothing more to it.

And you really are a professional, because when he told you that he wanted—in metallic gold, 30-point, center aligned—to say, quote, “The Third Annual Springtime Potluck and Orgy: Presented by Danma Takeru,” you didn’t so much as bat an eye. Partially because he was very insistent that you spell his name correctly, and partially because. Well. How does a person respond to that?

In truth, he ended up being one of your better customers—he showed a genuine interest in the process while still deferring to your expertise—and when one of the printed invitations arrived in your mailbox, you figured you might as well go see what the fuss is about. It could be an opportunity to meet some new friends, maybe drum up a little business if you’re lucky.

And besides—a potluck-slash-orgy? Who would even do that?

The merry little jingle of bell catches your attention, and you turn your head to see a solemn-looking man peeking his head around the hat shop’s glass door. He looks at you. He looks at the plastic-wrapped pie in your hands. He looks back at you.

He frowns.

“Hi,” you say, putting on your most charming smile in the hopes that he’ll stop looking at you like you just slapped him across the face, “I’m, uh, I’m here for the party!”

You shuffle over to him, careful not to scuff the white of your sensible-yet-pretty patent leather heels on the sidewalk. Maybe you’re dressed too formally—he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans while you’re sporting a calf-length chiffon dress dyed in a lovely array of watercolor blues and violets.

Oh dear, what a faux-pas! There was no dress code listed on the invite, but maybe you should’ve dressed in a more casual fashion. You don’t live far, you could probably run home quickly and change...

“Do you...have an invitation,” the man asks, crossing his arms across his chest and furrowing his brow. Is he annoyed? No, no. He seems. Confused? Wary? How very strange.

“Oh, of course,” you answer, reaching a fumbling hand into your purse to search for the little pink envelope, “I almost forgot it walking out the door, but I remembered at the last second! I can be a bit scatterbrained sometimes!”

The man doesn’t say anything, but leans forward to inspect the invitation once you manage to produce it from the cluttered mess that is your handbag.

“I know the time said it started at three, but the pie took a little longer than expected. It takes time for the chocolate to set, and—“ you gasp, covering your mouth with your invite-laden hand, “I haven’t kept you waiting, have I? I’m so sorry, Mister...?”

“Call me Aguni,” he says, and his eyes narrow slightly when you give him your most chipper ‘thank you’ and apologize for not being able to shake his hand at the moment. What a strange man.

“You,” he asks slowly, “you read the invitation, right?”

“Of course I did! I’m the one who made them,” you explain, puffing your chest up with pride, “and our host was kind enough to send one to me! He must have really liked my work!”

“...Yeah,” the man called Aguni says, “I’m sure that’s it.”

But, to your pleasure, he steps aside and holds the door open for you to enter. Such a strange man, but at least he’s gentlemanly enough to hold the door for you as you step inside.

“Oh, wow,” you say, “this place is amazing!”

And maybe it sounds silly, but you’re being entirely honest. There are hats in shelves, hats hanging on the wall, hats on faceless plastic heads on the counter and placed atop a long wooden table to the left—all of them in different shapes and colors, embellished and feathered and ribboned to the nines. There’s a certain magic to a little place like this, a kind of whimsical charm you want to bottle and keep on the kitchen windowsill.

“Walls could use some paint. Floor needs polished, too,” Aguni says, “but...yeah, I guess it’s nice enough.”

You follow him as he leads you towards the back, your eyes drinking in all the details of this fascinating little shop.

“No, no, the walls and the floor are perfect,” you assert with a wide-mouthed smile, “it gives it character. Makes it feel...like home, I think.”

“Takeru says the same thing,” Aguni answers with a chuckle, “although I also think he just doesn’t want to put in the work. He’s...not very handy.”

There is a second door at the very back of the shop, and once again, Aguni holds it open for you. Perhaps his original air of discontent was a simple case of shyness—maybe he just takes a bit to warm up to people. Well, just wait until he tries your homemade triple-chocolate silk pie; you’ll be best friends in no time!

He leads you into a tiny courtyard, which is just barely big enough to hold a steep set of metal stairs and a handful of plant pots, which remain empty due to the early spring cold. But, oh, it must be so lovely back here when the plants are in full bloom! You say as much to your companion, who actually manages to smile a bit in your direction as he leads you up the stairs.

“Those are mine, actually,” he tells you, his boot-covered feet thunking up the stairs at a leisurely pace, “He lets me garden back here.”

You picture it—this tall, stoic man, kneeling on the ground, his gloved hands tending little green sprouts as the morning sun shines gold and warm on the cold stone ground. The thought of it warms you. Does he know anything about succulents? You’ve always thought they would look so cute in the shop...

“Look,” Aguni says when the two of you reach a very drab-looking door, “I’m not trying to be a jerk, but...you sure you’re ready for this?”

What an odd thing to say! Maybe you’re acting more nervous than you originally thought? It is rather daunting, walking into a party of strangers; but, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

“You’re sweet for worrying about me,” you respond, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “but if everyone is half as lovely as you, I’m sure I’ll do just fine. I will probably stick with you for a while—if that’s okay, of course!”

“Alright, then.” Aguni says—and is that a hint of a blush you see creeping up his neck? All this time, you thought he was just being strange, but he’s just a little shy! You give his arm a knowing pat before withdrawing your touch, and he quickly turns around to unlock the door.

Are all of Takeru’s friends this adorable? You hope so. You follow your bashful escort inside—the genkan is already full of shoes, but you manage to squeeze yours in between a pair of snakeskin wedge heels and the wall. Aguni also removes his boots, and you’re happy he isn’t going to stay down in the hat shop the whole time. He can introduce you to everyone, and maybe—

You hear something. Was that...? No, no, you must be imagining things. You definitely did not just hear a woman moan on the other side of the wall. You stop and angle your head towards the door slightly to get a better listen. It’s all rather muffled (it must be well-insulated!) but there’s definitely some kind of music playing. Maybe it’s part of a song?

It happens again. This time, it’s deeper, and more of a prolonged “ah” sound. And then laughter. Aguni is looking at you in that concerned way of his again.

Instead of waiting for him to open the door for you a third time, you decide to take initiative and open it yourself—a show of confidence, to put his mind at ease. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to try and stop you, but he instead just crosses his arms and watches as you open the door to the rest of the house.

The first thing you see is candles. Little flickering spots of yellow-orange flame, winking inside clear glass votives. A trio of them on the kitchen table to the left, surrounded by a mismatched variety of trays and plates and bowls, each holding a different delicacy.

There’s a candle on the kitchen counter, next to the refrigerator. One on a bookshelf, which is filled to bowing with vinyl LP’s. Two on either side of the television, and a cluster of them on a coffee table next to a fishbowl of shiny gold squares and—

Oh.

Oh, dear.

There are limbs. Moving, writing, reaching. Hands grabbing. Mouths kissing. Mouths...doing things other than kissing. Oh, God, there’s boobs. And somebody’s butt. Aw, geez, there goes another one. How many naked people are there in here, anyways?

“Oh, hey!”

A familiar voice calls out from the fleshy throng, and your stomach drops. Like Venus emerging from the surf, you see Danma Takeru rise up from the crowd, hair mussed and smiling mouth smudged with at least two different colors of lipstick. While he does appear to be wearing some kind of brightly-patterned robe, the more he stands, the less confident you are that it’s actually covering anything.

You spin on your heel, unwilling as of the moment to become visually acquainted with your host’s penis, and you’re met once more with Aguni’s concerned stare. This time, though, you understand why he’s looking at you like that, and it makes the burn of embarrassment creeping up your neck that much hotter.

“Do you want to leave?”

This is. Oh, boy. This is a lot. Aguni must be able to sense your discomfort, although you imagine it’s rather palpable at the moment.

“I,” you say, “I don’t...know.”

And you say you don’t know because you truly don’t know what to do. Was it really so naïve of you to think that the ‘orgy’ part of the invitation was some kind of weird inside joke? Is there some kind of social protocol for these things?

You feel two hands descend upon each of your shoulders, and you try to convince yourself that they are slightly damp with sweat as opposed to any other kind of aqueous material.

“You made it,” Takeru exclaims with genuine excitement as he gives your person a gentle shake, “I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“He’s covered, don’t worry,” Aguni says to you before directing his attention over your shoulder, “I take it you didn’t tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

The hand on your right shoulder stays while the left slips away, leaving room for Takeru to stand at your side and squeeze you against him in a weird little half-hug. In another situation, you might enjoy the way the silk of his robe whispers against the skin of your arms, perhaps smile at the warm comfort of a lazy arm thrown about your shoulders like a heavy scarf, but. Well. Right now, it’s just a little...awkward.

Aguni rolls his eyes.

“About that,” he says, gesturing impatiently at the debauchery behind your back, “I mean, just look at her face.”

“Mori-chan, how could you be so rude to our lovely guest? Darling,” Takeru says, turning your face towards him with two fingers under your chin, “don’t listen to him, you’re...ah, I see what you mean.”

Is your expression really that bad? It must be, because Takeru very slowly and very carefully withdrawing his arm from around your shoulder and taking a generous step to the side. His mouth is twisted into a rather comical gaping frown, his eyes nervously darting side-to-side.

“In my defense,” he says, putting his hands up like some kind of fucked-out traffic cop at a four-way intersection, “the, uh, the orgy part was very prominent. Big letters, right at the top.”

“I,” you reply, “I thought it was...a joke?”

“This is why we don’t just hand out invitations,” Aguni grits through his teeth, “for fuck’s sake, Takeru, we’ve talked about this!”

“I know, I know. I am humble enough to admit when I’ve fucked up, and this time, I have fucked up in a truly spectacular fashion,” Takeru’s gaze shifts from horrified to quizzical as he scrutinized you for a moment, “Unless...you’d like to stay?”

You look at the pie. The slowly-warming chocolate is beginning to sweat beneath the thin film of plastic wrap you so lovingly secured with lilac ribbon.

“Or you could slap him on the way out,” Aguni offers, “he’s very slap-able.”

“It’s true! And when you slap me,” he whips his head to the side suddenly, “my hair does that and it looks really cool!”

Yeah, okay—it did look pretty cool. But, does he deserve to be slapped? Probably for something else, but not for this. It’s a simple misunderstanding, and honest mistake on both your parts.

“I want...” you start, and the way they’re looking at you, wide-eyed and breath-bated, reminds you of the final rose ceremony on The Bachelorette.

It’s kind of hilarious, actually.

“I, uh,” you continue, “I want to...to put this in the refrigerator, if that’s okay? It’s, uh, starting to melt...”

To say that Takeru’s face lights up is an understatement. With a mega-watt smile and a sparkle in his eye, he swoops his arm back around your shoulder and begins leading you towards the kitchen.

Although you have (almost) gotten used to the sea of strangers fucking and moaning in the background, you still choose to politely avert your gaze as you pass them by. You instead focus on Takeru, who has taken this opportunity to explain the inner-workings of...whatever this is.

“...And I personally see to it that these events remain exclusive,” he says, “Although I do occasionally invite outsiders, such as yourself. You were just so sweet and helpful, I couldn’t resist trying my luck and sending you an invite.”

“Thank you,” you say, “although, I, uh...”

He opens the refrigerator door and motions for you to place the pie inside. Luckily, it’s mostly empty, save for a collection of bottled water and a tin of what looks to be cat food. You’re grateful to not have to carry it around anymore, and thank him for his assistance.

It’s finally time for you to acknowledge the proverbial ‘elephant in the room’—except, you’re not exactly sure how to begin.

“I,” you start, stopping to bite your lip, “I, uh. Is it okay if I...don’t, y’know, do the whole...uh...sex thing?”

“Oh, do you prefer to watch?”

“No! I mean, no, uh,” you laugh nervously, “I’m just...”

Takeru chuckles.

“I’m only teasing. You’re more than welcome to skip the sex and go straight to the food. As long as you’re on the kitchen side, nobody will touch you. It’s one of our rules.”

He motions for Aguni to come over with a wave of his arm, smiling when the tall man comes to lean against the kitchen counter.

“Mori-chan also prefers to abstain from the more salacious aspects of our little gathering, so the two of you can keep each other company.”

“I’m usually in charge of the food,” Aguni adds, “and I try to make sure the candles stay lit.”

“I, uh, I noticed those on the way in. They’re nice.”

Takeru leans towards you as if he’s about to share a secret.

“I don’t mean to be indelicate,” he says in a low tone, “but there is a certain stench that comes with these events. Sweat, musk, various secretions...it all really adds up in the end.”

“It’s awful,” Aguni concludes, “but candles help dissipate the worst of it.”

“Oh, and the ambiance,” Takeru exclaims, “there’s just nothing like candlelight to really get people in the mood for—“

A sharp ding! makes you jump. From what you can gather, it came from the small oven to Aguni’s left.

“Hold it right there,” Takeru growls towards Aguni, who had been in the middle of donning a pair of floral-printed oven mitts, “she needs thirty more seconds.”

Aguni looks at you and rolls his eyes. You stifle a giggle behind your hand, hoping your host doesn’t notice.

“I saw that,” Takeru snips towards Aguni, “honestly, Mori-chan, you get one new friend...”

And even though he’s mid-scold, there remains a joviality to Takeru’s tone—a testament, you believe, to what can only be a long-standing friendship between him and Aguni. It’s hard not to feel jealous of their easy back-and-forth, their banter like a well-matched game of tennis.

“Now you can take her out,” Takeru says, “but, so help me God, if you don’t let her rest for seven minutes–“

“–They’ll never find my body, I know, I know,” Aguni finishes, gingerly placing a metal pan on the stove, “Look, we’ve got it handled. You can go back to your side of the party and I’ll call you when it’s plated.”

“Fine,” Takeru answers with a false pout, “but only because I know she’ll keep you honest.”

And just like that, it’s just you and Aguni once more—but, this time, he seems much more at ease to have you around. Happy, almost. It must be kind of boring, sitting alone in a kitchen while everyone else is...well, busy.

“So,” you say, moving to Aguni’s side to peer into the baking pan, “looks kind of like...a quiche?”

“Not just any quiche,” Aguni answers, opening the drawer to his right and digging a hand inside, “the best quiche in Tokyo.”

He pulls out a shiny silver chef’s knife and places it on the counter. Next comes a pair of dainty forks, delicate little things one might use for tea cakes at a French-inspired bistro. Knowing what you know about Takeru—which, granted, isn’t very much at all—it doesn’t surprise you in the least.

“You’re in front of the plates,” he says, tapping the cabinet directly in front of your face, “grab us some?”

“But we’re supposed to wait seven minutes,” you protest, all while following his instructions, “it’s only been...like, three.”

Aguni’s eyes take on a glint of mischief.

“Only a problem if we get caught.”

Honestly, it looks divine. Pillowy-soft and the perfect pale-yellow hue, delicate tendrils of steam billowing out as he drags the knife through. You hadn’t ever seen a non-rectangular quiche before, but you suppose it makes sense; there are a fair few people in attendance, and the standard circular composition wouldn’t quite feed everyone.

He serves you first. A corner piece (which he insists are the best), speckled with herbs and studded with little pieces of what you assume to be some kind of ham. Little strings of cheese stick to the blade of the knife, and Aguni scrapes them off with the side of a fork, which he then hands to you.

“Takeru doesn’t cook much,” Aguni explains, playing his own small square, “but when he does...”

The sound that comes from your mouth as you take your first bite of quiche could rival any of those happening in the orgy across the room. Oh, that is so good! Buttery crust, the salt of cheese and ham, the subtle bite of onion—and there’s something else there, something you can’t quite place, but you know it tastes absolutely heavenly. Immediately, you take another bite.

“Grew the herbs de Provence myself,” Aguni mentions, “He refuses to use store-bought.”

“Makes all the difference,” you respond, “I could eat the whole pan by myself.”

“I did that for my last birthday, actually,” Aguni chuckles around a forkful of quiche, “Takeru insisted on putting all thirty-eight candles in before carrying it to the table—you know, like a dumbass. Part of his hair caught fire, and I had to give him a haircut at two in the morning because he was so distraught.”

The two of you laugh—Aguni at the memory, and you at the idea of a tearful Takeru sulking as Aguni snipping the fried locks with a pair of kitchen shears.

“He forgave me, even though I took a whole two inches off,” Aguni sets his empty plate in the sink and looks out of the small window above it, “He’s not a bad guy, you know. Doesn’t always make the best choices, sure, but he’s got a good heart in him.”

There is a sadness here, something in Aguni that speaks to a troubled past you haven’t quite unearthed yet—and you know better than to press him, especially here, especially now.

“Well, I can’t say I’m an expert,” you say, handing him your plate, “but you two seem like decent people. Orgies aside, of course.”

“Of course,” Aguni nods, “though I don’t suppose you’ll come to the next one, will you?”

For the first time since your arrival, you allow yourself to watch the festivities happening across the room. It isn’t that bad, you suppose—it’s just a group of people having a fun time together, laughing and gasping and enjoying each others’ bodies in a safe and comfortable place. It’s not something you necessarily want to do yourself, but...well, the ‘weird’ factor of the whole thing has gone down exponentially over the past hour or so.

“And miss out on the best quiche in Tokyo,” you say, nudging against Aguni’s arm with your shoulder, “not a chance!”

#alice in borderland #hatter #danma takeru #alice in borderland netflix #spicy boy #morizono aguni #writings and such #THIS TOOK ME OVER A MONTH TO WRITE OH MY GOD #alice in borderland fanfic #obvi this takes place before borderland #so I guess this is an au? #also I hinted at Ziggy the cat because I am self-indulgent and evil #can’t believe I actually wrote it lads

[swiftgronmasterpost]

Winter 2013 - The Beginning of the End and Dianna’s Private Tumblr

January 4, 2013 - Haylor Breakup

Taylor and Harry publicly split and leave us with this iconic picture:

January 10, 2013 - People’s Choice Awards

Haylor is done, Harry is back in the UK, but Taylor shows up with a hickey anyway.  (Dianna is in LA at this time.)

Some time this month Taylor writes How You Get The Girl which is about obviously someone who comes back to get the girl.  She references “standing in the rain” and “a long six months.”  It’s hard to know if these details are more “fanfic” or actual autobiographical details.

This six months may actually refer to the end of bearding for a while (because it seems like Swiftgron did reunite in Paris in early October.)  Exactly six months after Taylor started dating Conor Kennedy would be January 25th, 2013.

As for the rain...

It rained twice in LA this month according to weather reports on the 21st and on the 23rd:

Dianna is in LA at this point and has started a private Tumblr blog under the name whosirmesir (we verified it was hers over on @swiftgron-get-married - and you can click here for more on that if you’re curious and actually I did an entire podcast episode walking people through it if you’re like like to listen to an in depth breakdown of it click here for apple OR click here for spotify OR click here for google.  

I also recommend searching the whosirmesir tag on @swiftgron-get-married​ because we’ve logged a lot of interesting moments and connections to Taylor (quotes, art, and other items that tie DIanna and Taylor together.)

On the private tumblr on January 25th Dianna reblogs this:

It reads “i think we’re just gonna have to be secretly in love with each other and leave it at that...”

This is also the time period it is rumored that Dianna proposed to Taylor.  I’m not sure what to make of these rumors.  I have not been able to get anywhere near confirming them.  It’s entirely unsubstantiated - but I explored the rumor further in this blog post (click for link.)  And also on the podcast (will link just a bit down in this post because it relates to something else we’re about to discuss.)

February 4, 2013 - Dianna recommends “Far Nearer” by Jaime on twitter:

The lyrics are essentially:

“I feel better when I, you feel better when I I feel better when I have you near me

You Me You I do, I do, I do“

repeated over and over again

February 9, 2013 - Neruda quote on Tumblr from Dianna

Dianna posts a quote to Tumblr.  The translation is, “I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.”

It’s worth noting that Taylor namechecked Neruda in the Red album booklet.

February 10, 2013 - The Grammys

Dianna wants to make sure everyone is watching:

And Taylor posts:

“Look what happened! :)”

She won for Safe and Sound:

And she performs her circus themed rendition of WANEGBT (where she mocks Harry Styles on stage making fun of his accent when she sings the “so he calls me up on the phone” part of the song even though this song was written before she was even with him.)

The only other time Dianna tweeted about the Grammys was when Glee was involved the year before.

February 14, 2013 - Achele breakfast and The Inside Source at Glee Tweet

According to a Facebook user Cory, Dianna, and Lea have breakfast this morning (or around this time):

Later that day Taylor posts the infamous tweet:

The Glee Episode “I Do” airs and there is no Taylor song included.  However Dianna and Naya’s characters hook up:

After the episode airs Taylor deletes her tweet.

As always I’m not entirely sure what to make of this but to me it boils down to three possibilities:

1.  The fandom seems to think this proves that Dianna purposefully tricked Taylor into watching her “hook up” with Naya on screen.  It’s completely possible that that’s the case but I think the next two options make a bit more sense.

2.  It was a simple misunderstanding or a joke gone wrong.  Taylor had a song earlier on that season of glee (Mine sung as a breakup song by Naya) and I have been told another song of Taylor’s was marketed for another glee episode later that spring.  Perhaps someone got their wires crossed and misinformed Taylor.  

3.  Other nefarious parties:  

a.  It’s possible that Lea was behind this - she publicly had beef with Taylor at one point and she had been with Dianna that morning.  Maybe she met up with DIanna, heard about Swiftgron being happy and back together and got a little jealous and decided to prank Taylor.  

b.  Ryan Murphy also seemed to despise both Dianna and Taylor around this time.  He was also famous for stirring up drama with Gleeks on twitter and generally sewing discontent (particularly surrounding wlw ships and fans).  Ryan seems to have a problem with women/lesbians in general.  He treated Brittana as a couple horribly on Glee as well as their shippers.

He very publicly shaded Taylor in season one of Scream Queens and said in an interview that Dianna ruined Quinn for him because he said she made her sympathetic. 

Not only that but in season 3 he destroyed her character - he made her have a mental breakdown - he had her try and steal a baby - he had her get hit by a car - and a huge plotline in season 3 was Quinn begging Rachel (Lea’s character so Dianna’s irl ex) not to marry Finn (played by Cory - literally the guy Lea chose Dianna over - this is like...emotionally abusive if you ask me.)  After season 3 Dianna only appeared in 8 episodes of the remaining 55 after being in every episode and the top third billed of the cast in the first three seasons.

Furthermore in a show called The New Normal there was a bitchy actress character named Brynn who he wrote as high maintenance and unpleasant and then killed off.

So yeah...seems fair to at least consider that Ryan or Lea who publicly had problems with both Taylor and Dianna may have been trying to create problems for Swiftgron.  One last note about Lea - there was not a single Achele interaction for the entire year of 2013.  The most we got was Dianna liking a tweet about Lea’s album in December 2013 and when asked about one another in interviews they would vaguely say they were still friends.  No tweets to one another, no birthday messages, no candids, no hang outs.  Lea’s book was also written around this time and does not make a single mention of Dianna - her former roommate and “best friend” even though she spends plenty of time talking about others on the Glee cast.

I did a podcast episode on both the proposal rumors and the inside source at Glee tweet if you want more extensive takes on that!

While I’m not entirely sure Dianna had anything to do with this tweet Taylor references this date (2-14-13) by putting it on a dollar bill as a serial number in The Man music video:

At any rate Taylor deletes the tweet and replaces it with one about her dancers:

Dianna tweets 9 hearts that day (I don’t know if that’s significant but if they were together from March 2012 to July 2012 and then October 2012 to this point it would mean 9 months together...)

February 19, 2013 - Sad Charlie Brown Tumblr post from Dianna:

February 27, 2013 - Fitzgerald quote

Taylor listed this as a quote to live by in an interview with Marie Claire a few months later.

I’m not sure if it’s important but Dianna is very quiet this winter and spring in terms of showing up at events, parties, even being papped out on the street compared to other years around this time.  She seems to disappear a bit.

February 27, 2013 - Taylor gives a bday shoutout to her Fiddle player Caitlin:

“Happy Birthday to my magical friend, fiddle extraordinaire @/caitlinbird” 

March 12, 2013 - Weird tweets from Dianna “One of those days.”

March 13, 2013 - It’s the first day of the Red tour (is that why Dianna had questions?)

About the Red Tour - the last act of the tour seems to be circus themed which may have been inspired by Dianna’s 26th birthday the previous year and really interestingly Taylor has a white rabbit, which is a reference to Alice in Wonderland (Dianna’s favorite piece of media ever) follows Taylor around stage during the WANEGBT performance as she’s dressed up like a circus ringleader:

March 18, 2013 - Dianna goes on a Girls HBO rant (we know who also loved Girls the show and its creator Lena Dunham (Taylor))

End of March - Lena and Ashley show up at the Red Tour backstage

Conclusion - Swiftgron is on but completely underground.  Dianna is blogging and tweeting romantic things about missing girls, Taylor’s interests, and secret love, all while watching Taylor perform at the Grammys and encouraging others to tune in.  Something weird happened with the inside source at Glee tweet but who knows what.  Dianna seems a bit restless and emo while Taylor leaves to go on tour.

Click here to keep reading!