#and my teacher was a dick so i stopped writing my fiction. he even had a short story club that i was in and he just didnt care about | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rowan-sins · 1 year

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For my lovely friend @swampstew who is completely unaware of how good I’ve gotten at crack fiction as a genre.

Unfortunately for you, the physics teacher next door was as loud as he was obnoxious. And between the insanely loud projects and his yelling (out of excitement or anger you couldn’t tell between the brick walls that separated your classrooms) and his love for “pranking you”, you rarely knew a moment’s peace. You’re still angry at him for using a master key to get in your classroom while you were on a fieldtrip and having his egg-drop competition project on all your desks. So many eggshells… They even got in the beanbag chair in the corner. How?

But still, despite how he glared at you from across the teacher work room, you knew you had one thing over him. You could grade papers and tests faster. He’s tried everything, from scantrons to making all the answers “C”. Still, with your red pen moving across papers, adding commas and breaking up giant paragrahs and writing a “???” when something made no sense, you knew you were faster. It was the one up you had against the buff red-head. If his personality wasn’t so atrocious, you’d probably spend your free period ogling his muscles through his white dress-shirt, buttoned enough that the principal wouldn’t complain but you could still see the defined muscle of his neck and how flawlessly the connected to his chest.

He looks up from the desk in the teacher work room, and from the face he makes, smug with white teeth that tightens his eyes. You just noticed he wore eyeliner and you feel heat spread across your cheeks. And you can tell he knows how flustered you are by the way he flexes the arm that was resting across the desk. No, you can’t let him have that ego boost. So, you blow a raspberry across the room at him. Luckily it’s just the two of you, so the affectionate ‘dumbass’ that slips through his lips like oil into water goes unheard by everyone. Including you.

The rest of your free period goes uninterrupted, and even though it’s during your lunch, and you could stay and grade papers with the man you loathe most, you knew that at least three kids would be lined up outside your door, eager to get their hands on some of the new books you ordered. Did you need to buy Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe? No. But the library only had one copy and it hasn’t been on the shelf for two months.

You couldn’t help but resist the urge to go back and spend your lunch with your kiddos. When you go to stand up, grab your stuff and leave, Eustass clears his voice. “You’re not going to eat your lunch in here?”

You tilt your chin up. “No. Why would I?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t realize I’d ruin your appetite.”

“On the contrary, this is the only time of day I can be in my classroom and not hear your yelling. I’d like to savor it.”

He retreats to his own bag, to pull out his lunch. “Suit yourself, Elizabeth Bennet.”

“My name is not Elizabeth Bennet!”

He smirks. “Sorry I forgot we were in a professional setting, Ms. Bennet.”

You just throw him the middle finger as you walk out the door. That man was almost as stubborn as you were. Almost.

Your lunch period went off without a hitch. When you came to the door the students were just filing down the hallway to come visit you, and you couldn’t help but smile and wave at them as you opened the door, a silent invitation to come inside and spill 2% milk all over the yoga mats you kept behind your desk just so they could sit in a circle and eat lunch.

The lunch period went off without a hitch, discussions varying from drama to books to scathing hot-takes like: “I hate Shakespeare it’s simultaneously high-brow literature and filled with dick jokes” and “if everyone read pride and prejudice women wouldn’t view dating men as a fix-it-project”

You hummed in thought, “well, I suppose so, but not everyone can be a-“ You were interrupted by the lunch bell, and had to quickly usher out the students. Although before your next class began, one stopped in the doorway and looked at you. “You need to be an Elizabeth Bennet,” they said firmly.

“Pardon?” You asked.

“You need to be an Elizabeth Bennet because you can’t be a Mr. Darcy.”

“I’ll be as much of a Mr. Darcy as I please,” you joke with a scoff, “you should head to class, young person.”

The student still stands there, beanie askew on their head as a wide toothy grin takes over their face. “You can’t be a Mr. Darcy because your Mr. Darcy is Mr. Kidd!” And then before you can say anything, the runoff. They had already seen the blush take over your face, and as you sit their in your cheap swivel chair, processing the words they had just said, you notice Eustass Kidd leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, watching the whole thing go down.

“So, I’m you Mr. Darcy, huh?” He says with a chuckle, kicking up off the wall.

“Go to class!” You shout with embarrassment. Students had started watching.

“Fine, fine,” he relents with a lose wave of his hand. You can see the veins flex in his forearm, and were you a weaker woman, you would have drooled. “But I’ll be back.” It sounds like an empty threat. You wish it was an empty threat, but you know in your hearts of hearts that you’ll see him soon.

Soon turns out to be 20 minutes later, three slides deep into a presentation about how an author’s outside biases and experiences can affect the themes of their literature, with student’s throwing out examples of books you’d already read that semester and some other student trying to answer. “Since all these people are dead, there are no right or wrong answers,” you had told the class before your and everybody else’s head whipped over to the door that had been abruptly opened.

“How’d you get that door open? I locked it!” You shriek in indignation.

He’d caught you frozen in a startled jump, and couldn’t help but laugh and dangle his keys in the air. “I’m the head of fire safety for this wing,” he states before taunting, “so I get a master key to every single door in this building.”

“Regardless, you’ve broken into my class mid lecture,” you say, stiffening up your posture and brushing invisible dust off your dress shirt, “what could you want?”

“I’m here to pass out tests, obviously,” he says with an eye-roll, holding a manilla folder with about six or seven tests in it.

“Heat!” He calls out and weaves through the rows to get to the outlandishly tall boy sitting in the back, who wasn’t paying attention before this. “You got a 96, good job kid!”

“Wire!” He calls and weaves himself to the front of the class again. “You did awesome to, don’t forget that!” He places the paper down on the his desk, with the giant 100 and a smile face visible to you from where you were standing. You make a quick stride over to Eustass and grab him his tie and drag him out of the classroom before he can open his mouth.

That man is a behemoth, and you’re surprised he lets you drag him through the open door, slam it, and pin him to the wall next to it.

“Eustass.” You push him closer. “Fucking.” You look up through your lashes to glare at him. Your chin is at his chest and you’re craning your neck for eye contact but you are not afraid of him. “Kidd.”

His smirk only grows with the growl you let out. Tugging his tie so he’s even closer to eye level with you. “Why would you ever do that?”

He doesn’t even gulp, completely unafraid of your very genuine rage. “Because,” he drawled out.

“Because what.”

“You didn’t eat lunch with me in the teacher work room today.”

You paused. Genuine shock on your face. “What.”

“And I’ll do it again tomorrow if you don’t get dinner with me-“ He couldn’t finish his sentence, his lips colliding with yours.

You had tugged on his tie once again, using it as leverage to not only pull yourself up but tug him down so you could slam your lips against his, in what was very much a kiss that could get you both fired. It was a clashing of teeth and tongue and rage. Partially over why you didn’t do this sooner, why you were doing this at all, and why the fuck this man was incapable of using chapstick.

You pull away from each other, mutually gasping for air.

You step back and release his tie. “Come pick me up at 6, don’t be late.”

His eyes crinkle when he smiles, a genuine smile instead of shit-eating grin. “And?”

“If you’re late I’ll start dessert without you.” You turn around, and waltz right back through the door, and Kidd’s eyes are left staring at were your ass used to be, dress pants stretched a little too tight around it. He takes a deep breath before standing back up fully to go to his classroom before the door opens again.

He’s hit with a flash of beige before paper flutters all around him. “There’s your damn tests, Eustass!”

#unknown event #eustass kid x reader #kid x reader #highschool au #but the fun kind where they're teachers #enemies to lovers #so proud of this #not my magnum opus #but this is getting close

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bogunicorn · 1 year

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I posted 2,242 times in 2022

That's 736 more posts than 2021!

260 posts created (12%)

1,982 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@sandraugiga

@jellydishes

@potatowitch

@dingdongyouarewrong

@dreadfutures

I tagged 2,238 of my posts in 2022

#queue - 1,249 posts

#dragon age - 628 posts

#funny - 464 posts

#da fanart - 399 posts

#dai - 352 posts

#bog post - 283 posts

#truth - 222 posts

#da2 - 178 posts

#solas - 168 posts

#the inquisitor - 136 posts

Longest Tag: 130 characters

#bw and the da team specifically are very very good at creating characters with flaws and prejudices that are emotionally realistic

My Top Posts in 2022:

the "soldier boy good homelander bad" hot takes and/or confusion is predicated entirely on the fact that jensen is more fuckable than antony

123 notes - Posted June 24, 2022

oh also culturally fenris would have more in common with dorian than he would with someone like krem, because after he lost his memory, most of his time was spent with danarius and around danarius's high class social circle. it's why he sounds Like That and is generally well-informed on how tevinter is actually ruled. he was actively prevented from learning to read, but he still took in information like a sponge and learned enough qunlat to effectively communicate with native speakers just by hearing it over a short period of time. he didn't spend his time before escaping just plugging his ears and tuning out.

125 notes - Posted November 14, 2022

listen just

just

kaz and inej are just the peak of pining. they desperately want intimacy but what stops them from reaching out for it or accepting it is all wrapped up and internal, caused by situations entirely out of their own control, and they're both at a point in their respective recoveries where they have the desire for emotional vulnerability and physical touch but not the ability to tolerate it. and it's all internal shit they barely articulate to themselves, let alone each other.

so you get the over-the-top drama of the two of them consistently risking their physical safety or deep-seated morals for each other, or fucking up in a high stakes situation because they're too busy thinking about each other to concentrate, but also one time kaz touched her bare skin and immediately got so embarrassed he went "I'M GONNA GO DIE NOW DON'T FOLLOW ME" and inej responded by stalking him and spending pages of narration basically saying "god he's so fucking stupid, we're married now".

164 notes - Posted December 11, 2022

No spoilers but what I had thought was Dorian's voice in the trailer is actually Matt Mercer doing such a terrible French accent that he sounded like Ramon, which is infinitely funnier.

174 notes - Posted December 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

(ETA: I stuck a read more on this because my #1 post of this year is about darkfic/triggery kink fic lmao anyway proceed)

when we get into conversations of "liking this fictional thing means you support it IRL/want to do it to real people", i immediately get a red flag off the person making that argument.

because, like... i write a LOT of stuff i have no interest in doing IRL. scary stuff, kinky stuff, a lot of super mundane stuff, too. my physical sex life doesn't resemble the smut i write at all, even a little because my boundary between real life and fiction is solid. and it's not like a "oooh i'm so good at resisting temptation" thing, i mean like, i write a lot of oral sex scenes and have zero interest in sucking a dick IRL. i write a lot of dark subject matter and unhealthy relationships, and i'm living in a happy, pretty boring marriage that i wouldn't change for anything.

but someone who goes hard on "you like (noncon/incest fic/idk fucking teacher/student storyllines), you must want to (assault someone/fuck your sibling/bone down with your teacher or student)" stuff, it makes me think that person has a shaky boundary and they're not very safe to be around. i become deeply worried about their impulse control and their ability to contextualize.

i've said it before, but i'd honestly rather spend my time with people who write triggery darkfic but have basic respect for others vs. people with a "good and virtuous" media and fanfic diet who can't shut the fuck up about all those kinks no one is forcing them to read.

5,617 notes - Posted July 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #bog post

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide.

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone.

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue.

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but, not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink.

A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood.

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you.

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places.

Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room.

The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host.

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone.

With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream.

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything.

“Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat.

“Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall.

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne.

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize.” You bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination.

Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Alongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background. And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby.

You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway.

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his.

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes. With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!"

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet.

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away.

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask.

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system.

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow.

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission.

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you, Sweetheart? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did.

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even,

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out three vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby.

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end.

The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his.

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** Part 2

#murder he wrote #j's haunted house 2020 #dark ransom #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #reader insert #chris evans #chris evans characters

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couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name · 4 years

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Ya know, I truly hope Miss Renesmee Carlie Cullen fully dedicates herself to just....being as out there and iconic as possible

first things first- ANYTHING with the loch ness monster on it, she owns. Posters, shirts, jackets, shoes, folders, buttons, iron-ons, there is always at least 5 pieces of Nessie merch on her at all times

once she gets old enough to start high school, the cover story is her and Edward are siblings that Carlisle and Esme took in, and sometimes her classmates will ask her what her biological parents were like and she will flat out be like 'oh, they're vampires' and Edward and Bella are like. 5 feet away trying not to scream

every Halloween she'll show up to school in an elaborate Nosferatu costume

goes out of her way to photobomb people in increasingly ridiculous ways so there will Always be a photographic record of her and in like 100 years she can get a huge kick out of teens on the internet trying to make a conspiracy about her

joins as many school clubs as she can, even if she has no interest in them- she just Really wants a concrete record of herself to exist lmao

ICONIC at school theater though. One of those demon theater kids that come to rehearsal purely to cause chaos and nothing else, but her voice is incredible so she secures every lead. One time she somehow managed to star in a show while also playing in the school band for it- her classmates still have no idea how she pulled it off

Always brings blood out in public in a CLEAR THERMOS and it stresses her family out so much but everyone else thinks she's just like, weirdly into tomato juice so the Cullens can't stop her

to everyone's surprise...her biggest chaos enabler is Jasper lmao. everyone thought he'd be a logical, responsible uncle but they're just. A Problem together. He'll 100% assist her in any prank she wants to pull, he gets her fake id's when she wants to sneak into a club with friends, he bails her out of jail without telling her parents, they figured out if she gets high and he reads her feelings he'll get high too and it's. So fucking funny.

she's always carrying some random instrument around school- like for a while it's a guitar or a harmonica, fine, but then she'll start lugging a cello around, a tuba (she doesn't even play, she stole it off a guy who was annoying her) and it escalates until one day she's wheeling a piano around the building. no one's even sure how she got in in the doors of the school. She keeps running kids over in the hallway with it

You know the Catherine Tate Lauren Cooper skit with David Tennant? Where she's being a terrible student and then perfectly recites Shakespeare? 100% Nessie

when she starts getting dates Jacob keeps trying to wing man and be over supportive and give her a ton of girl advice and it's embarrassing as hell so one day when he was on a spiel about How To Woo A Lady she looks him in the eyes and goes 'oh really? did that work on my mom?' and the Cullens fucking LOSE IT. Jacob had to go live in the woods for a few days because he couldn't cope

Emmet and Jasper: arrive to school in their jeep. Rose and Alice: arrive in a convertible. Edward: arrives in his dumb volvo. Bella and Jake: arrive to school on motorcycles. Nessie: arrives to school on a unicycle while juggling

one year she ended up getting nominated for prom queen and Edward read the minds of the teachers tallying the votes so he knew she won and he and Bella were so excited!! they're like we're gonna take so many pictures of our baby looking like a princess! And then she emerges from her room, actually drenched in pigs blood. Like she just did it to herself and went to the dance and accepted her crown like that

she regularly commits crimes against fashion. If she comes out of her room and sees Alice contemplating turning herself over to the Volturi, she KNOWS she's picked a great look

somehow gets ahold of Aro's cell number and sends him selfies of her blatantly breaking vampire laws captioned 'whatcha gonna do'. he keeps blocking her but she keeps managing to get through to him somehow

she illegally sells soda out of her locker and does people's homework for cash, while also paying other people to do her homework for her. she organizes every single senior prank. she's never gotten a detention in her whole immortal life because every teacher just Adores her for some reason

had 100% used her powers for deserved evil before. Like, if someone's being a dick at school, she'll sneak into their room at night and give them nightmarea threatening them to be a better person lol

sometimes she'll show up at the hospital unannounced and ask Carlisle, in front of his coworkers, 'yo can I raid the blood bank?'

her bedroom looks like a library. every wall, floor to ceiling books.

she's been publishing trashy romance novels under a fake name for almost 40 years now and no one in her family knows

one birthday Jacob takes her on a trip to vegas and they get wasted, at some point they were laughing about how ridiculous their lives are and they're like 'wouldn't it be fucking hilarious if we had a baby'. they then black out, hangover style, and wake up like a week later with a payment on her card to a fertility clinic. Jacob's like 😱 and Ness is just like 'you get to be the one to explain this to my parents'

Their kid is absolutely hilarious, they were correct, and at some point they realized 'wait...drinks blood..doesn't sparkle...can shape shift...we've somehow created a classic pop culture vampire' lmao

Edward had to threaten them to get them to not name the kid Vladimir

Also to be clear: Nessie and Jacob have the EXACT same dynamic as Will and Grace. that's canon.

says its her goal to star in a live action all female production of mamma mia and Carlisle is like 'honey you know you can't do anything on broadway or in hollywood' and she's like, 'no, in real life. I'm gonna go to greece and attract a bunch of women with abba songs' and he's like,,,,,ah

she loves all music but she goes out of her way to Only play stuff she knows Edward hates lmao

one day she remembers she doesn't need to breathe and can see under water and just. books herself a ticket to scotland and Finds The Loch Ness Monster

she actually personally finds a lot of monsters and cryptids like her hybrid aura just attracts all kind of weird shit and she LOVES it. She stops writing trashy romance novels and starts writing autobiographies of her traveling and hanging out with paranormal beings and everyone just assumes its fiction so she becomes a best selling fantasy author lmao

100% she's very into witchy stuff and only like...half in a trendy way. She's like what if on top of everything I've got going on I can cast spells? Think I deserve that power

when she's a couple decades old she catches Edward looking grossed out one day and she asks him what's up and he's like 'I really dont need to hear what creepy teachers think about my daughter' and she's like. oh. Dad we are gonna get SO MANY pedophiles arrested shdndjdn she gets him to expose teachers and she baits them then calls the police. queen.

She finds out she can get tattoos but they fade completely out of her skin within 5 years so she's always getting crazy tats

posts selfies on social media of her just like. hanging out with mountain lions or chilling on top of the space needle. her classmates think they're all photoshopped obvi but it drives her family insane

imagine you're 15 and you're on a nice hike in the woods and you come across your one classmate half naked, sacrificing a bear in some ritual, blood dripping down her face, bigfoot chilling on the rocks behind her filming the ritual on her phone...like on one hand, what would you do, but on the other hand. you've known this girl for a bit and you aren't surprised at all

anyway. stan Nessie Cullen.

#twilight saga #renesmee cullen #nessie cullen #breaking dawn #twilight #molly mumbles

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potatosoldier · 3 years

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Are you still there?

/Part 1 /

Richard Winters x reader

Okay, I know that some of the things about her enlisting are completely unrealistic, so forgive me, but in the end this is fiction so I hope you understand.

If you want to know more, here is a link :): ANC

Four years since 1939. That’s how long I have been training to become a nurse or as the soldiers called me a Red Cross Girl.

36 months of basic training with informal military training after. I did it to become a being who could do something in the middle of this bloody play of power.

I had given it up, the dream of becoming a teacher, for this. For the fact that in November 1939, my father and brother got locked down into Finland, to fight. To fight for their roots. I want to do my part now, in here. To bring back peace, for it hopefully can be brought back.

“You are on the opposing sides”, you may think. No, I am not. Both of my countries were attacked, and I don’t blame either for responding. You see, for four years, I lived in Finland, from the age three to the age of seven. My fathers side of the family is Finnish. My great grandfather came to America to look for a job, married another Finnish immigrant and started a new life. Then my father was born, later on he found a beautiful wife from Minnesota, and when I was three, we came to look for our roots. Being the first ones from our family to come back. I am fluent in Finnish, my father made sure of that.

Now here I sit, at the age of 24, in a train, going towards Camp Mackall. My heart was racing and my palms were damp with sweat. This was truly it, here I was going to see Colonel Robert Sink, and be an unhappy surprise once again.

“Ma’am we’re here” a young boy with a kind smile said at the door. I must have been more in my head than I thought. I give the boy a soft smile: “Thank you”

I take my suitcase and slowly step out. The more you know, there is a jeep waiting at the station. With a dark haired gentleman behind the wheel. “Sir, pardon? Are you possibly from Camp Mackall?”, I ask softly. He did not look happy and I had no intention of making his day any worse.

“Captain Herbert Sobel. I was assigned to bring you to Colonel Sink Mrs.Winters”, how did he manage to make such an easy sentence so mean spirited I have no clue. I just continue smiling and step in. “Pleasure to meet you captain, it seems you already know my name, but still allow me to introduce myself. Sonja Winters”, I say kindly.

He just nods and starts the vehicle. The rest of the ride is very quiet. But if someones eyes could set fire to their view, boy oh boy, there would be a fire hazard in North Carolina.

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

My breath catches as we arrive at the camp. I gulp and let Herbert help me out from the jeep. “Follow me, Mrs Winters”, he says curtly and starts leading the way. The place was huge! Completely and utterly giant!

We walk for quite a while till we come to stand in front of an office. From the door and my orders I already knew who was in. As we get a permission to enter, my heart stops at the door. There inside, I see a familiar red head. The head of the man who had the hold of my heart. I only just notice Herbert salute the colonel and then take his leave.

When I come to stand at attention in front of the Colonel, I can feel the baby blues burrow into my brain. Sink just smiles and says “At ease, you better sit now, we have much to discuss”

“It’s lovely to meet you in person, sir” I smile and timidly sit beside my husband, who is looking more broken inside than ever. He nods and takes out some papers, some of them being letters from me and my head nurse.

“Lt. Winters I know that this is a surprise for you, a big one at that”, he begins, “but your wife is here to work as a nurse for the Easy Company.” He can clearly see the pain in my husbands gaze even as he remains stoic.

“With all the respect, sir, do you think it’s safe to have her in that position?”, oh how I’ve missed his voice. His soothing voice. I bite my lip and dare not look at him.

“We have been ordered to try to raise the morale of soldiers and at the same time raise productivity and resources in the army. Having the nurses from the ANC and the red cross, would do both “ Sink sighs, “I don’t necessarily agree with the idea of women being assigned like this, no offence Mrs. WInters, but we have to try. And Easy is a remarkable company, with you there keeping her safe”

“It’ll be easier for you to know where she is, and at the same time your assert will keep the men from harassing her. She is a married nurse, a risk on itself. This is only a try and if she becomes a distraction, she will be removed”

I look at Sink in the eye at the last sentence and I see the clear weight he put on those words. “Sir, I believe both me and my husband will be able to focus on our duty at hand. I have come here to do a job the same as everybody else”, I reason.

Sink nods. “You both have damn good marks. I trust both of you on this, and that is why I chose you”. After a long discussion and some paperwork we are done. But only with two sentences from Dick. I knew my husband, he was mad. He wouldn’t shout, but this demeanor oozed his distress.

“Take Nurse Winters to the officers barracks, that will be the safest place for her lieutenant. Welcome to the company! Dismissed”and with that I was left alone with my dear husband.

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

The first steps we take in the hall are very quiet. Then I open my mouth. “I miss you”, I whisper and keep my eyes ahead. Dick gives a long sigh while carrying my suitcase. “This is not the place for such discussions, Nurse Winters”

I keep my eyes ahead, but I can feel them watering. His voice is like a whip to my heart. “I understand, sir”, I say louder this time. I can see his expression falter. We walk quietly side by side to the barracks. I can feel the long looks and hear the questioning as we pass people.

When we make it to a barrack, he lets me in first. I can see that there are three beds in there. Two filled, one empty. From the belongings I can see that one of the beds is definitely my husbands. I hear the door being shut behind me as Dick too steps in.

Once the door is shut I open my mouth. “Dick, please, we have gone through this once already”, I beg as I look at him. For the first time he looks me straight in the eye. “You know that I love you, you know we can’t do this like this”, I rasp.

“Sonja, we did discuss you joining the nurses, and yes you going near the battlefield, but we never had any conversation about you joining a company full of men”, his voice was stern as ever, eyes not holding their usual warmth. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he continues: “You could be attacked by your own comrades, you could become the reason they are too distracted to do their duty” He is looking down at me. His tall stature towering my 5′5 frame.

“I want to do my duty too, Dick. I want to help!”I shake my head as I speak “I was deemed fit for this program, I-I don’t want to be useless”,I whisper looking down at my hands.

My heart skips as he raises his hand to take mine. “You were never useless”, he whispers back raising my chin up. We take our time just looking at each other. He breaks the silence. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? We’ve been writing, why didn’t you write to me”, he looks so confused it hurts.

“We weren’t sure of it till couple weeks ago, I didn’t want you to... well get worried and react like this”, I say tenderly cupping the side of his face. There are no words to describe how good it feels to be near him. Smell him, hear him, feel him. “I miss you so”, I sob. My sob does it for him, and he pulls me against him. My arms around his waist and his cheek on top of my head. My sobs turn into a small giggle. “I love you, god I love you”I whisper. I feel his hold getting tighter at my words.

“I love you too”he whispers and kisses my hair. All I can think is the fact that he is holding me again, my Richard is holding me, telling me he loves me. Until the door opens with a bang and we jump apart.

We are met with a chuckle and a man with a smirk and bushy eyebrows.

--- This will probably be rewritten, but for now I want to see how people react to this idea---

#dick winters x reader #richard winters x reader #Band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #lewis nixon #herbert sobel #robert sink #band of brothers imagines

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collegeburnoutsuperstar · 4 years

Text

Social Distancing Book Recs

I’ve been getting tons of book recommendations from friends and family to help get through social distancing/self-quarantine, so I thought I should share some of my favorite books with everybody!

Horror/Apocalyptic: *all books are ADULT*

- The Stand by Stephen King “This is the way the world ends: with a nanosecond of computer error in a Defense Department laboratory and a million casual contacts that form the links in a chain letter of death. And here is the bleak new world of the day after: a world stripped of its institutions and emptied of 99 percent of its people. A world in which a handful of panicky survivors choose sides -- or are chosen” (Goodreads Summary).

- Inferno by Dan Brown “Harvard professor of symbology Robert Langdon awakens in an Italian hospital, disorientated and with no recollection of the past thirty-six hours, including the origin of the macabre object hidden in his belongings. With a relentless female assassin tailing them through Florence, he and his resourceful doctor, Sienna Brooks, are forced to flee. Embarking on a harrowing journey, they must unravel a series of codes, which are the work of a brilliant scientist whose obsession with the end of the world is matched only by his passion for one of the most influential masterpieces ever written, Dante Alighieri’s The Inferno” (Goodreads Summary).

- World War Z by Max Brooks “The Zombie War came unthinkably close to eradicating humanity. Max Brooks, driven by the urgency of preserving the acid-etched first-hand experiences of the survivors from those apocalyptic years, traveled across the United States of America and throughout the world, form decimated cities that once teemed with upwards of thirty million souls to the most remote and inhospitable areas of the planet. He recorded the testimony of men, women, and sometimes children who came face-to-face with the living, or at least the undead, hell of that dreadful time. World War Z is the result. Never before have we had access to a document that so powerfully conveys the depth of fear and horror, and also the ineradicable spirit of resistance, that gripped human society through the plague years” (Goodreads summary).

- It by Stephen King “It’s a small city, a place as hauntingly familiar as your own hometown. Only in Derry the haunting is real... They were seven teenagers when they first stumbled upon the horror. Now they are grown-up men and women who have gone out into the big world to gain success and happiness. But none of them can withstand the force that has drawn them back to Derry to face the nightmare without an end, and the evil without a name” (Goodreads summary).

- The Shining by Stephen King “Jack Torrance’s new job at the Overlook Hotel is the perfect chance for a fresh start. As the off-season caretaker at the atmospheric old hotel, he’ll have plenty of time to spend reconnecting with his family and working on his writing. But as the harsh winter weather sets in, the idyllic locations feels ever more remote... and more sinister. And the only one to notice the strange and terrible forces gathering around the Overlook is Danny Torrance, a uniquely gifted five-year-old” (Goodreads summary).

- House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski “[House of Leaves] focuses on a young family that moves into a small home on Ash Tree Lane where they discover something is terribly wrong: their house is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. Of course, neither Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist Will Navidson nor his companion Karen Green was prepared to face the consequences of the impossibility, until the day their two little children wandered off and their voices eerily began to return another story -- of creature darkness, of an ever-growing abyss behind a closet door, and of the unholy growl which soon enough would tear through their walls and consume all their dreams” (Goodreads summary).

Comedy:

- Good Omens by Neil Gaimen and Terry Pratchett “People have been predicting the end of the world almost from its very beginning, so it’s only natural to be skeptical when a new date is set for Judgement Day. But what if, for once, the predictions are right, and the apocalypse really is due to arrive next Saturday, just after tea? You could spend the time left drowning your sorrows, giving away all your possessions in preparation for the rapture, or laughing it off as (hopefully) just another hoax. Or you could just try to do something about it. It’s a predicament that Aziraphale, a somewhat fussy angel, and Crowley, a fast-living demon now finds themselves in. They’ve been living amongst Earth’s mortals since The Beginning and, truth be told, have grown rather fond of the lifestyle and, in all honesty, are not actually looking forward to the coming Apocalypse. And then there’s the small matter that someone appears to have misplaced the Antichrist... “ (Goodreads summary).

- Dad Is Fat by Jim Gaffigan *PG-13* Dad is Fat is a comedic memoir that details Jim Gaffigan’s life growing up in a large Catholic family to his experiences as a husband and father (specifically parenting his five young children while living in a tiny walk-up apartment in New York). I highly recommend the audiobook (which is narrated by Jim Gaffigan), my family and I always listen to it during road trips. It never stops being funny.

- Bored of the Rings: A Parody of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings by The Harvard Lampoon *ADULT* “A quest, a war, a ring that would be grounds for calling any wedding off, a king without a kingdom, and a little, furry ‘hero’ named Frito, ready -- or maybe just forced by the wizard of Goodgulf-- to undertake the one mission which can save Lower Middle Earth from enslavement by the evil Sorhed… Luscious Elfmaidens, a roller-skating dragon, ugly plants that can soul-kiss the unwary to death-- these are just some of the ingredients in the wildest, wackiest, most irreverent excursion into fantasy realms that anyone has ever dared to undertake” (Goodreads summary).

Middle-Grade:

- Percy Jackson and the Olympians series by Rick Riordan (book 1: The Lightning Thief) “Percy Jackson is a good kid, but he can’t seem to focus on his schoolwork or control his temper. And lately, being away at boarding school is only getting worse - Percy could have sworn his pre-algebra teacher turned into a monster and tried to kill him. When Percy’s mom finds out, she knows it’s time that he knew the truth about where he came from, and that he go to the one place he’ll be safe. She sends Percy to Camp Half Blood, a summer camp for demigods. Soon a mystery unfolds and together with his friends-- one a satyr and the other the demigod daughter of Athena-- Percy sets out on a quest across the United States to reach the gates of the Underworld and prevent a catastrophic war between the gods” (Goodreads summary).

- The Heroes of Olympus series by Rick Riordan (book 1: The Lost Hero) “Jason has a problem. He doesn’t remember anything before waking up in a bus full of kids on a field trip. Apparently he has a girlfriend named Piper, and a best friend named Leo. They’re all students at a boarding school for ‘bad kids.’ What id Jason do to end up here? And where is here, exactly? Piper has a secret. Her father has been missing for three days, ever since she had that terrifying nightmare about his being in trouble. Piper doesn’t understand her dream, or why her boyfriend suddenly doesn’t recognize her. When a freak storm hits during the school trip, unleashing strange creatures and whisking her, Jason, and Leo away to someplace called Camp Half-Blood, she has a feeling she’s going to find out. Leo has a way with tools. When he sees his cabin at Camp Half-Blood, filled with power tools and machine parts, he feels right at home. But there’s weird stuff, too-- like the curse everyone keeps talking about, and some camper who’s gone missing. Weirdest of all, his bunkmates insist that each of them--including Leo-- is related to a god. Does this have anything to do with Jason’s amnesia, or the fact that Leo keeps seeing ghosts?” (Goodreads summary)

- The Children of the Red King series by Jenny Nimmo (book 1: Midnight for Charlie Bone) “Charlie Bone has a special gift-- he can hear people in photographs talking! The fabulous powers of the Red King were passed down through his descendants, after turning up quite unexpectedly, in someone who had no idea where they came from. This is what happened to Charlie Bone, and to some of the children he met behind the grim, gray walls of Bloor’s Academy. His scheming aunts decide to send him to Bloor’s Academy, a school for geniuses where he uses his grifts to discover the truth despite all the dangers that lie ahead” (Goodreads summary).

- Things Not Seen by Andrew Clements “Bobby Phillips is an average fifteen-year-old boy. Until the morning he wakes up and can’t see himself in the mirror. Not blind, not dreaming. Bobby is just plain invisible... There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to Bobby’s new conditions; even his dad the physicist can’t figure it out. For Bobby that means no school, no friends, no life. He’s a missing person” (Goodreads summary).

Science Fiction:

- Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick *Adult* “It was January 2021, and Rick Deckard had a license to kill. Somewhere among the hordes of humans out there, lurked several rogue androids. Deckard’s assignment-- find them and then... ‘retire’ them. Trouble was, the androids all looked exactly like humans, and they didn’t want to be found!” (Goodreads summary).

- Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton * Suitable for Young Adults* “An astonishing technique for recovering and cloning dinosaur DNA has been discovered. Now humankind’s most thrilling fantasies have come true. Creatures extinct for eons roam Jurassic Park with their awesome presence and profound mystery, and all the world can visit them-- for a price. Until something goes wrong...” (Goodreads summary).

Fantasy:

- The Magicians trilogy by Lev Grossman *ADULT* (book 1: The Magicians) “Quentin Coldwater is brilliant but miserable. A senior in high school, he’s still secretly preoccupied with a series of fantasy novels he read as a child, set in a magical land called Fillory. Imagine his surprise when he finds himself unexpectedly admitted to a very secret, very exclusive college of magic in upstate New York, where he receives a thorough and rigorous education in the craft of modern sorcery. He also discovers all the other things people learn in college: friendship, love, sex, booze, and boredom. Something is missing, though. Magic doesn’t bring Quentin the happiness and adventure he dreamed it would. After graduation he and his friends make a stunning discovery: Fillory is real. But the land of Quentin’s fantasies turns out to be much darker and more dangerous than he could have imagined. His childhood dream becomes a nightmare with a shocking truth at its heart” (Goodreads summary).

- The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater *YA* (book 1: The Raven Boys) “What do you know about Welsh kings?” This incredibly atmospheric story centers on a seemingly random group of teens as they uncover the mysterious and magical secrets of their small Virginia town.

- A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab *Suitable for Young Adults* “Kell is one of the last Antari-- magicians with a rare, coveted ability to travel between parallel Londons; Red, Grey, White, and, once upon a time, Black. Kell was raised in Arnes-- Red London-- and officially serves the Maresh Empire as an ambassador, traveling between the frequent bloody regime changes in White London and the court of George III in the dullest of Londons, the one without any magic left to see. Unofficially, Kell is a smuggler, servicing people willing to pay for even the smallest glimpses of a world they’ll never see. After an exchange goes awry, Kell escapes to Grey London and runs into Delilah Bard, a cut-purse with lofty aspirations. She first robs him, then saves him from a deadly enemy, and finally forces Kell to spirit her to another world for a proper adventure. Now perilous magic is afoot, and treacher lurks at every turn. To save all of the worlds, they’ll first need to stay alive” (Goodreads summary).

- The Lord of the Rings trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkien *Suitable for middle-grade through adult* “In ancient times the Rings of Power were crafted by the Elven-smiths, and Sauron, the Dark Lord. forged the One Ring, filling it with his own power so that he could rule all others. But the One Ring was taken form him, and though he sought it throughout Middle-earth, it remained lost to him. After many ages it fell by chance into the hands of the hobbit Bilbo Baggins. When Bilbo reached his eleventy-first birthday he disappeared, bequeathing to his young cousin Frodo the Ruling Ring and a perilous quest: to journey across Middle-earth, deep into the shadow of the Dark Lord, and destroy the Ring by casting it into the Cracks of Doom” (Goodreads summary).

- The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss *Adult* “Told in Kvothe’s own voice, this is the tale of the magically gifted young man who grows to be the most notorious wizard his world has ever seen. The intimate narrative of his childhood in a troupe of traveling players, his years spent as a near-feral orphan in a crime-ridden city, his daringly brazen yet successful bit to enter a legendary school of magic, and his life as a fugitive, and his life as a fugitive after the murder of a king form a gripping coming-of-age story” (Goodreads summary).

- The Lies of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch *Adult* “An orphan’s life is harsh-- and often short-- in the mysterious island city of Camorr. But youge Locke Lamora dodges death and slavery, becoming a thief under the tutelage of a gifted con artist. As leader of the band of light-fingered brothers known as the Gentleman Bastards, Loke is soon infamous, fooling even the underworld’s most feared ruler. But in the shadows lurks someone still more ambitious and deadly. Faced with a bloody coup that threatens to destroy everyone and everything that holds meaning in his mercenary life, Locke vows to beat the enemy at his own brutal game-- or die trying” (Goodreads summary).

Fiction:

- The Stephanie Plum series by Janet Evanovich *ADULT mystery-thrillers/romance* (book 1: One for the Money) “You’ve lost your job as a department store lingerie buyer, your car’s been repossessed, and most of your furniture and small appliances have been sold off to pay last month’s rent. Now the rent is due again. And you live in New Jersey. What do you do? If you’re Stephanie Plum, you become a bounty hunter. But not just a nickel-and-dime bounty hunter; you go after the big money. That means a cop gone bad. And not just any cop. She goes after Joe Morelli, a disgraced former vice cop who is also the man who took Stephanie’s virginity at age 16 and the wrote details on a bathroom wall. With pride and rent money on the line, Plum plunges headlong into her first case, one that pits her against ruthless adversaries - people who’d rather kill than lose” (Goodreads summary).

- The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown *Adult* “While in Paris, Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon is awakened by a phone call in the dead of the night. The elderly curator of the Louvre has been murdered inside the museum, his body covered in baffling symbols. As Langdon and gifted French cryptologist Sophie Neveu sort through the bizarre riddles, they are stunned to discover a trail of clues hidden in the works of Leonardo da Vinci-- clues visible for all to see and yet ingeniously disguised by the painter. Even more startling, the late curator was involved in the Priory of Sion-- a secret society whose members included Sir Isaac Newton, Victory Hugo, and Da Vici-- and he guarded a breathtaking historical secret. Unless Landon and Neveu can decipher the labyrinthine puzzle-- while avoiding the faceless adversary who shadows their every move-- the explosive, ancient truth will be lost forever” (Goodreads summary).

- Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle *Adult* Sherlock Holmes stories are always fun when stuck at home.

- 11/22/63 by Stephen King *Adult* “Life can turn on a dime-- or stumble into the extraordinary, as it does for Jake Epping, a high school English teacher in Lisbon Falls, Maine. While grading essays by his GED students, Jake reads a gruesome, enthralling piece penned by janitor Harry Dunning: fifty years ago, Harry somehow survived his father’s sledgehammer slaughter of his entire family, Jake is blown away... but an even more bizarre secret comes to light when Jake’s friend Al, owner of the local diner, enlists Jake to take over the mission that has become his obsession-- to prevent the Kennedy assassination. How? By stepping through a portal in the diner’s storeroom, and into the ear of Ike and Elvis, or big American cars, sock hops, and cigarette smoke... Finding himself in warmhearted Jodie, Texas, Jake begins a new life. But all turns in the road lead to a troubled loner named Lee Harvey Oswald. The course of history is about to be rewritten... and become heart-stoppingly suspenseful” (Goodreads summary).

Non-Fiction:

- The Men Who Stare at Goats by Jon Ronson *Adult* “In 1979 a secret unit was established by the most gifted minds within the U.S. Army. Defying all known accepted military practice-- and indeed, the laws of physics-- they believed that a soldier could adopt a cloak of invisibility, pass cleanly through walls, and, perhaps most chillingly, kill goats just by staring at them. Entrusted with defending America from all known adversaries, they were the First Earth Battalion. And they really weren’t joking. What’s more, they’re back and fighting the War on Terror. With firsthand access to the leading players in the story, Ronson traces the evolution of these bizarre activities over the past three decades and shows how they are alive today within the U.S. Department of Homeland Security and in postwar Iraq. Why are they blasting Iraqi prisoners of war with the theme tune to Barney the Purple Dinosaur? Why have 100 debleated goats been secretly placed inside the Special Forces Command Center at Fort Bragg, North Carolina? How was the U.S. military associated with the mysterious mass suicide of a strange cult form San Diego? The Men Who Stare at Goats answers these and many more questions” (Goodreads summary).

- Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert *Adult* (I recommend listening to the audiobook, which is narrated by Elizabeth Gilbert) “To recover from [an early midlife crisis, divorce, and depression], Gilbert took a radical step. In order to give herself the time and space to find out who she really was and what she really wanted, she got rid of her belongings, quit her job, and undertook a yearlong journey around the world-- all alone. Eat, Pray, Love is the absorbing chronicle of that year. Her aim was to visit three places where she could examine one aspect of her own nature set against the backdrop of a culture that has traditionally done that one thing very well. In Rome, she studied the art of pleasure, learning to speak Italian and gaining the twenty-three happiest pounds of her life. India was for the art of devotion, and with the help of a native guru and a surprisingly wise cowboy from Texas, she embarked on four uninterrupted months of spiritual exploration. In Bali, she studied the art of balance between worldly enjoyment and divine transcendence. She became the pupil of an elderly medicine man and also fell in love the best way-- unexpectedly” (Goodreads summary).

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goldenraeofsun · 4 years

Text

we can follow the sparks

More of this verse!

As they sit down to lunch, Alicia asks in a hushed voice, “Have you guys seen the new Latin teacher?”

Josephine shakes her head as she bends down to pull out her history textbook. She’s one of those miraculous people that can study, gossip, and eat all at the same time.

If Alicia tried that, she’d dump bits of tomato on her book, ask “what?” every two minutes, and absorb zero percent of the reading.

“I have Latin tomorrow,” Aidan says as he digs into a container of leftover spaghetti.

“Oh, you don’t count,” Alicia waves him off and nudges her brother with to pay attention. Max looks up from haggling with Krissy for half of her pastrami sandwich.

Aidan's brow furrows. “Why?”

“Because you’re straight,” Alicia dismisses.

Krissy dumps the pastrami in front of Max and grabs half of his grilled tofu and veggie sandwich and his kale chips in return. Max’s face falls.

Aidan scowls at Alicia. “What, is the new teacher hot or something?”

Alicia scoffs, “Or something.”

Max’s face lights up hopefully. “Hotter than Mr. Winchester?”

“Mr. W isn’t hot,” Krissy points out, nose wrinkling.

Alicia rolls her eyes. “You are literally the only senior who thinks that.”

“The only student,” Max corrects as he takes a hearty bite of pastrami.

Alicia holds out her hand, which Max slaps obligingly. Thank god Alicia has her twin.

“Maybe Kaia has had him,” Josephine points out as Kaia takes the only free seat at their lunch table, Claire close on her heels. They both squeeze in, content to practically sit in each others’ laps.

Alicia rounds on the newcomers. “Have you had Latin?”

“I take Spanish,” Kaia says, shrugging. “Why?”

With her nose already buried in her book, Josephine supplies, “Alicia says the new teacher is hot.”

Claire chokes on her own spit.

“I heard from Patience he also teaches French and Spanish too,” Max says in a hushed voice.

“Oh,” Kaia says with a sidelong glance at Claire, “I have Spanish tomorrow.”

Claire silently hands Kaia half of her wrap, saying, “I’m not taking a language this year.”

“You can do that?” Krissy asks.

Kaia passes Claire her yogurt without looking at her because they are truly the most disgusting couple ever. Claire shrugs. “I was taking Mandarin at my old school, but obviously I can’t do that here.”

“At Carver,” Aidan spits.

Claire ignores him. “I’m taking AP English and Creative Writing instead.”

“Nice,” Max raises his fist for her to bump, “double Mr. Winchester.”

Claire makes a face. “I’m with Krissy on this one. I don’t get the appeal.”

Max shakes his head despondently. “Of course you don’t. You’re a lesbian.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes,” Claire snorts. “He’s old.”

“Nobody’s had Latin, French or Spanish yet?” Alicia asks, aghast.

“Hey!” Adian calls, “Alex!”

Alex looks up from the next table over where she’s squished between Patience and Tracy Bell. “What?” she demands, annoyed at the interruption.

Aidan smirks and says out of nowhere, “Do you think Mr. Novak is hot?”

Patience giggles and elbows Alex in the side as she splutters, “No!”

“That’s a yes,” Alicia says smugly.

* * *

Josephine approaches Mr. Novak’s desk cautiously, a little nervous to be talking to her new teacher one-on-one for the first time. She tries, “Professeur?”

Mr. Novak pauses wiping down the board. “Est-ce que tu as un problème avec les devoirs?”

Josephine shakes her head, saying slowly as she mentally translates, “Je n’ai pas ma copie de l'étranger. Je l’ai acheté le weekend dernier, mais il y a un… delay.”

“Retard,” Mr. Novak translates for her. He smiles and adds, “Pas de problème. Je garde toujours une autre copie dans mon bureau. Si tu voudrais bien me suivre.” He gestures for Josephine to follow him to the Language Office, but they stop short at the sight of Mr. Winchester standing in the doorway, staring at Mr. Novak with wide eyes.

“Dean,” Mr. Novak says in surprise. “Qu’est-ce qui s’passe?”

Mr. Winchester goes bright red. “Cas?” he asks weakly.

Mr. Novak gives his head a little shake. “My apologies. It’s been a long day. Is there something you need me for? I was just about to give Josephine my office copy of The Stranger.”

Mr. Winchester’s mouth opens and closes before he stutters, “N-no, it’s nothing. I’ll just… catch you later.”

Josephine glances up at Mr. Novak as they turn the other way down the hall, towards the Language Office. “C’est bizarre,” she mutters.

Mr. Novak laughs lightly under his breath. “Peut-être il a oublié ce qu’il voulait me demander.”

Josephine inwardly frowns at the suggestion that Mr. Winchester “forgot” why he stopped by Mr. Novak’s classroom.

Josephine had Mr. Winchester for English as a freshman. He never forgot anything. He had an endless supply of Vonnegut quotes on hand, and he always remembered to ask Krissy how her dad was doing after he had a close call with cancer over spring break that year.

This time, he didn’t look like a man who couldn’t remember something; he looked embarrassed.

“Peut-etre,” Josephine echoes because she wasn’t about to just say all that to a new teacher. And in French.

In his office, Mr. Novak hands her a copy of Camus. “Voilà,” he says, completely straight faced. “Si tu as besoin d’autres choses, viens me voir.”

Josephine bobs a nod. “Merci beaucoup.”

“Au revoir,” he says with a little wave as she leaves the office.

Josephine meets up with Krissy by the front doors, half-heartedly fending off Aidan’s shitty flirting. “Hey,” she says. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No problem,” Krissy says easily. She pushes off the wall. “Aidan was keeping me company.” She smiles at him, and Aidan perks up like Pavlov’s dog hearing the dinner bell. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Aidan says faintly as Krissy and Josephine take off towards Josephine’s car.

Josephine waits until Krissy is buckled in to say, “You’ll never believe what happened after French today.”

* * *

Krissy has never regretted taking German more in her life. Edlund’s a pretty small high school with a little over 500 students in total, so all anyone’s been talking about for the first two weeks in September is the new language teacher, Mr. Novak.

Alicia and Max think he’s hot.

Josephine thinks he’s nice.

Aidan thinks he’s cool.

Kaia thinks… well, she’s been pretty mum on the subject, but she’s not the gossipy type, so Krissy isn’t surprised.

Only Claire rolls her eyes every time Mr. Novak’s name comes up.

Krissy hasn’t met the new language teacher. If she’s lucky, she can catch a glimpse of messy hair and a rumpled suit while she speed-walks from Calculus to World History.

While investigating Mr. Novak himself might be difficult, Krissy is close with Mr. W.

She can still remember how Mr. W’s footsteps sounded down the hospital hallway in the oncology wing; how her heart pounded in her chest the first time she got in his car; how he talked for forty-minutes about “his baby” all the way to Josephine’s house.

Once a week for a month in freshman year, Mr. W chauffeured Krissy from the hospital on Tuesdays (Josephine’s parents took her on the weekends). Occasionally, he stopped in to talk to her dad, since they both went to Edlund High years ago. Edlunders, as Mr. W said, always took care of their own.

On the car ride to Josephine’s, they talked about Vonnegut, surrealist fiction, dystopian sagas… They only skipped over classic literature, since Mr. W thought everything written before the 20th century was boring as fuck. Mr. W did allow Shakespeare, though, because of all the dick jokes.

Krissy knocks on the door to the Language Office three weeks into the school year. While she’d like to pretend to herself her visit is to get Mr. W’s opinion on Mr. Novak (his opinion would be more reliable than Alicia, Max, and Aidan combined, and on par with Josephine’s) she can’t pretend the mild haze of panic clouding her head has anything to do with a teacher she doesn’t even have on her schedule.

“Come in!” Mr. W’s voice calls.

Krissy steps inside, nodding to Frau Allen at her desk by the window. Otherwise, the office is empty.

“Hey, Krissy,” Mr. W says with a smile as she fiddles with the strap of her back, hovering by the door. “You wanna take a seat? Cas already left for the day.” He gestures to what Krissy assumes is Mr. Novak’s desk, next to his.

Krissy sits. “Thanks.”

Mr. W’s lighthearted expression turns serious as he reads her face. “Is everything okay? Your dad doing well?”

“Oh yeah,” Krissy says quickly, “still in remission. Everything’s looking good.”

“Good,” he says emphatically, and he means it, not like Ms. Masters or Mr. Trent after the news went around school that her dad was sick.

Krissy taps her fingers on Mr. Novak's vacated desk. “What happened to Mr. Turner? Did he finally retire?”

“Mm hm,” Mr. W hums. “He still goes fishing with Bobby - Principal Singer - so I heard he’s doing well.”

“How’s the new guy?” Krissy asks as she spins the seat around.

Mr. W frowns at her question. “He’s good,” he says as he pins her in place with a long look. “Why the interest? Don’t you take German?”

“I’ve been considering switching,” Krissy lies. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Frau Allen make a face.

“Because that makes sense,” Mr. W says, clearly not believing a word. “Aren’t you in AP German?”

Krissy ignores the question. “I heard Mr. Novak came from Carver.”

“He did,” Mr. W says cautiously. “So what?”

“Maybe he’s a spy.”

“This is high school, not the USSR,” Mr. W says with a snort. “Plus, Cas was an Edlunder first.”

Krissy blinks. “He was?”

“He was a student in my year.” He smirks. “He actually tutored me in Latin, if you can believe it.”

Krissy mulls that over. “So you know him pretty well.”

“Well enough,” Mr. W says, back to being cagey as hell. “I know he’s a good teacher and this school’s lucky to have him.”

“Okay,” Krissy says dubiously.

Mr. W rolls his eyes. “Now we’ve got that out of the way, and god knows why you wanted to talk about Cas, why are you really here?”

“Everyone’s talking about him!” Krissy protests.

Mr. W leans back in his chair and surveys her with a cool eye. “Since when have you been interested in gossip?”

“Uh…”

“That’s what I thought,” Mr. W says, satisfied. “Just spit it out, kid. I promise it can’t be that bad.”

“Would you write me a recommendation letter for college?” she asks in a rush. “Please.”

Whatever Mr. W had been expecting, it wasn’t that. He laughs, and Krissy almost dies of embarrassment before he says, “Well duh. I have a draft of the thing I’ve been sitting on for two years.”

“Really?” Krissy asks, her eyes round.

Mr. W nods. “After everything with your dad, I thought this might come up. And there were parts I didn’t want to forget so I wrote ‘em down.”

“Great,” Krissy says faintly. She shouldn’t be so surprised. Mr. W told her he always liked to be prepared. A true boy scout, he’d say before laughing to himself.

When she’d voiced her confusion - Mr. W being a boy scout wasn’t all that outrageous, if you take away the minor swearing (he was a lot worse when she was a freshman). He said they didn’t take men like him.

Krissy tactfully changed the subject, but the next week she went to GSA for the first time.

It was worth giving up her Thursday lunch period to see Mr. W smile when she walked into his classroom for their weekly meeting.

* * *

Max winces as Krissy elbows him in the ribs. He’s giving up his Thursday lunch hour for this?

Alan Corbett’s been going on and on for the past twenty minutes. Sure, he’s President of GSA, but that does not mean everything he says is worth listening to. It’s a shame. He’s too nice for anyone to tell him how boring he is.

Kaia and Claire are playing footsie under the table.

Thank god Krissy gets it. As their only Straight rep of the Gay-Straight Alliance, Max was highly skeptical when she signed up at the end of freshman year. But Mr. Winchester liked her, so it was enough to convince Max not to give her the cold shoulder when she sat next to him. Plus, whatever Mr. Winchester says goes, since Max could listen to him read the dictionary with that ruggedly deep voice of his.

Max doubts Krissy’s heard a single word out of Alan’s mouth. Instead, her whole attention has been riveted on Mr. Novak, who’s attending his first GSA meeting. He sits off to the side, by the big poster of Game of Thrones (Mr. Winchester says it’s based on a book, so it counts).

Krissy scrawls in all caps on the back of a history assignment: HEART. EYES.

Max subtly shakes his head and picks up his pencil. WTF?

Look at how they’re looking at each other!

They’re not tho

Exactly! Krissy taps her last message forcefully. They keep look at each other when the other one is looking the other way

Why do you care?

Krissy frowns.

If I wanted gossip, I would’ve stayed in the cafeteria with Alicia

It’s Mr. W. I know you like him

I like to look at him Could care less about his love life I thought you were the same What gives?

You only pretend to be a shallow man whore I know you like him You started this club with him 3 years ago

How else could I find questioning dudes to fuck?

But all I ended up with was… Max nods at Alan in disgust.

Krissy hides her smile behind the fist propping up her chin. You have the best gaydar in the city limits. So does Mr. W have a chance with Mr. Novak?

Mr. W flipped a closeted Republican, so… And I’m not talking about politics.

Seriously?

You didn’t hear it from me

You don’t even like gossip Who the hell told you that?

Alicia. Who else? She knows everything.

Max smirks as he starts his next note.

It’s why her hair is so big. It’s full of secrets.

Krissy doesn’t manage to stifle her laugh in time.

Mr. Novak frowns disapprovingly, but Mr. Winchester doesn’t notice since he’s too busy staring at Mr. Novak.

Maybe Krissy’s onto something.

Max looks down at their notes to find another message: Josephine told me Mr. W has it bad for Mr. Novak

Max scrawls incredulously, Josephine??? Since when does she pay attention?

That’s what I’m saying He’s got it so bad even Josephine can see it

Aromantic Josephine, who took a year to figure out Aidan was into you

Yup.

I bet they’ll be banging in 2 weeks

Can you not

$5 says I’m right

Make it $10.

* * *

Aidan sulks against the wall of the gym. He finally got Krissy to agree to go to a dance - Homecoming! - and all she wants to do is hang with their friends.

And fine, it wasn’t like he expected them to sneak out and make out or do more stuff when they were alone… but he kind of did.

At least he got a couple of dances in. Before Krissy dragged him away, he even got to grind up against her. It was fucking magical.

Now, he’s at a table with Kaia and Josephine. Krissy is waving over Alicia, so Max can’t be far behind. Only Claire is a no-show, but Krissy told him a few minutes ago she was in the bathroom. Girls always take a bafflingly long time in there. Maybe there are snacks?

“Where’s Max?” Aidan asks loudly over the music. There’s only two of them; the Y chromosome reps gotta stick together.

Alicia vaguely waves her hand toward the dance floor. “I think he mentioned something about Ennis Ross.” She spins the folding chair around to straddle it and rest her arms on the back.

Aidan draws up short. “Ennis is gay?”

Kaia snorts. “Does it matter?”

“Not to Max,” Krissy says with a grin. “You know he’s always happy to play the baking soda volcano.”

“Huh?” Aidan asks.

Krissy rolls her eyes. “He’s always happy to be someone’s experiment.”

“Oh.”

Alicia’s lips purse but she doesn’t comment.

“Did you see Mr. Novak and Mr. W?” Krissy asks, tipping her head towards where the two teachers lean against the wall underneath one of the basketball hoops, talking with their heads bowed together.

“They are cute,” Alicia agrees, looking grateful for the subject change.

Mr. Novak dressed up for homecoming with a tie the school colors, and Mr. Winchester has Edlund's mascot, Peppy the Pigeon, painted on his cheek.

“Do you think if Aidan spikes the punch, it’ll,” Krissy waggles her eyebrows, “make things happen?”

Josephine frowns. “I don’t think Mr. Novak could ever be drunk enough to make a move in front of students.”

“But Mr. W for sure,” Krissy says.

“Oh yeah,” Alicia says.

“Hey,” Aidan protests, holding his hands up in the T formation for timeout. “I’m not giving up my booze.”

“Speaking of,” Alicia holds her hand out, “Gimme some.”

“What? No! Get your own.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” she asks, eyebrows raised. “Mom doesn’t even allow Coca Cola in the house because it brings ‘negative energy.’”

Krissy nudges Aidan in the ribs with a pointy elbow, and he sighs. He fishes his flask out of his suit pocket and hands it over. Alicia takes a swig and promptly passes it to Josephine, who gives it to Kaia.

“Hey, save some for the guy who brought it!” Aidan says as he snatches it back.

“Not too much,” Max’s voice says from behind him. He grins as Aidan jumps. “Whiskey dick is a real thing.”

“Hey,” Josephine greets. “No go with Ennis?”

“Got spooked right as we were getting to the good stuff,” Max says with a shrug.

“Sorry,” Kaia says sincerely.

“It’s alright,” Max says as he throws himself into the last empty chair. “I only got one more year here, and then there’s gonna be a whole freshman class of questioning dudes ripe for the taking.”

Krissy wrinkles her nose. “You do you, I guess.”

“Thank you, Kristine, I will,” Max says.

Alicia rolls her eyes.

“We were just talking about Mr. W and Mr. Novak,” Krissy says, jerking her head to the basketball hoop. “Huh,” she says, her eyes widening a she scans the gym, “Where’d they go?”

“Probably to go make out,” Aidan says bitterly with a significant look at Krissy. She frowns.

“We can only dream,” Alicia says wistfully.

The song changes to something with a thumping baseline and a catchy chorus, and there’s a deafening cheer from the dance floor.

Aidan glances around, but nobody at the table moves to join in. He taps his feet to the beat. A few of the teacher chaperones have meandered closer to the dancing group, eyes peeled for inappropriate activity.

“Wanna get some air?” Aidan says in a carrying undertone (the music is very loud) to Krissy.

Max groans. “Yes, please.”

Aidan glares.

“Where?” Alicia asks.

Adian's mood sours further. He is never going to touch Krissy’s tits at this rate.

Kaia sets her phone down on the table. “Claire’s already out by the football field. She says nobody’s there.”

“Alright then,” Josephine says as she gets to her feet and stretches.

Krissy holds her hand out to Aidan. “Come on, you,” Krissy says with a small smile, “This was your idea.”

Aidan grumbles but follows the group. The halls are weird in the dark, still festooned with banners and streamers from Spirit Week. Everyone is oddly quiet as their footsteps echo off the rows of closed lockers. They pass one of the lab rooms, and a shadow moves across the window, accompanied by a hushed giggle.

Max smirks. “Wanna bet how many are getting it on right now?”

“I’d steer clear of the supply closets,” Alicia says with a shudder.

“Talk about a cliche,” Krissy complains as they round the last corner before the large double doors to the field. “If I was sneaking around, the roof is the way to go. No one ever looks there.”

Aidan files that fact away for later.

The fall breeze hits them squarely in the face as they step outside. Aidan shrugs out of his jacket and puts it around Krissy’s shoulders, ignoring her eye roll and smiling at Josephine’s thumbs-up behind Krissy’s back.

Max gallantly gives Alicia his jacket too, and Josephine and Kaia huddle together as they pick their way across the field, stepping over bits of confetti, torn bits of streamers, and a few abandoned signs. The crowd had been particularly enthusiastic since they’d been playing Carver Preparatory.

Edlund High won, of course. For the fifteenth year in a row. Carver sucks.

They find Claire at the top of the bleachers, wearing her normal leather jacket over her midnight blue dress.

“Hey,” Kaia says, kissing her on the cheek. “What’re you doing up here?”

“I don’t like crowds,” Claire says, hugging her arms to her chest.

“Me either,” Josephine says as she sits next to Claire.

“You didn’t have to bring the cavalry,” Claire complains to Kaia.

Kaia shrugs. “They wanted to come.”

“The dance was lame,” Max says as he bounds up two bleachers at a time.

“Because you’re too cool to do the electric slide,” Alicia says as she plops down on the row below.

Krissy wanders around, searching for the best spot to sit out of the wind, Aidan’s coat still wrapped tightly around her shoulders. “Hey,” she hisses, hand flapping in their direction. “Look!”

“What?” Alicia leans over to see what Krissy’s spotted. “Holy fuck,” she breathes.

Aidan, Max, and Josephine peer over the railings to see the shadowy area below, leaving Kaia and Claire to their whispered conversation.

Holy fuck is right. That’s Mr. Winchester. And Mr. Novak.

“What are they doing?” Aidan asks before he can stop himself. It’s not like he doesn’t know what a heavy duty make out looks like.

Max snorts.

Alicia throws him a despairing look.

Krissy swivels around to face Claire. “Did you know they were down there?”

“Yeah? So what?” Claire says, frowning. “I wasn’t about to perv on a couple of teachers.”

Krissy’s mouth falls open as she stares at the group as a whole. “Do you think this is the first time?”

Max sneaks another peek. “Probably not,” he says critically. “Either that, or Mr. Novak’s way more randy than I ever gave him credit for. A real freak under that suit.”

Claire’s face spasms.

“Or maybe Mr. Winchester just brings it out in him -” Alicia starts.

* * *

“They’ve been dating for three years!” Claire explodes.

Everyone turns to stare at her.

Two months. Two goddamn months of this.

When she transferred to Edlund from Carver, she thought the worst part would be her family’s disapproval. They all told her it was stupid to throw away her future at a good school for a girl. They always said it like that, like Kaia didn’t have a name. At least Uncle Cas supported her, not that he had a single leg to stand on, since he was switching jobs and taking a pay cut to be with Dean. Claire would have preferred if her uncle didn’t follow her from school to school like the dorkiest duckling ever, but it was nice to have him in her corner.

But no, the absolute worst part was all the gossip she had to listen to. About Uncle Cas, aka the biggest doof on the planet.

Maybe Grandmother was right, and Edlund was filled with a bunch of idiots. Claire throws up her hands, saying through gritted teeth, “Castiel transferred from Carver to spend more time with Dean.”

“How do you know that?” Krissy asks, her mouth falling open.

Claire purses her lips. “Castiel’s my uncle.”

“Your what?” Aidan gapes.

Claire rolls her eyes. “He’s my uncle. Dean’s his boyfriend. They’re gross together all the damn time - but not in school because Uncle Cas has opinions about it.”

“If Mr. Winchester could make out with him all the time, he’d do it,” Kaia adds because she’s had dinner at Uncle Cas’s way too many times and has seen it for herself.

Krissy leans over the railing. “Get it Mr. W!”

Alicia cackles as Dean and Uncle Cas jump apart, glancing around for the voice.

Dean’s Peppy face paint is nothing but a smear of grey and black on his cheek. Double gross. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters as he spots the group on top of the bleachers. “What the hell are you guys doing here?”

“I wanted to make out with my girlfriend,” Aidan complains. Krissy rolls her eyes, but Claire doesn’t miss the regretful expression on her face before she turns back to the pair of teachers below.

“Just getting some air,” Josephine explains pleasantly as she aims a kick at Aidan’s shin.

“Don’t let us interrupt!” Max calls wickedly.

Dean runs a hand down his face and nudges Uncle Cas with his shoulder. “We should escort them back, right?”

Uncle Cas sighs. “It would be irresponsible not to.” He glares at Dean. And even in the dark, Claire can see how red his face is. “I told you sneaking off was a bad idea.”

“Be thankful we didn’t get to my real bad idea before the Scooby Gang found us,” Dean says, eyebrows waggling suggestively.

“We can still hear you,” Claire reminds them loudly.

“Alright, alright,” Dean says, flapping his hands at them like a giant mother hen. “Get down from there and back to the dance. I heard someone spiked the punch.”

“Really?” Aidan asks as he offers Krissy his hand to help her down.

“No,” Dean deadpans. He mutters to Uncle Cas, “I can’t believe we got cockblocked by a bunch of kids.”

Claire makes a noise of disgust as her feet hit the ground. “Are you incapable of whispering?”

Uncle Cas shoots Dean a warning look before saying calmly, “Nothing was going to happen. We were, ah, getting some air.”

“That’s not all you were gonna get,” Dean says in an undertone.

Claire groans.

“Stop,” Uncle Cas tells Dean reproachfully. “I know you’re goading her. It’s inappropriate.”

“I’ll show you inappropr-”

Uncle Cas actually slaps his hand over Dean’s mouth. “Not another word, Dean.”

They are the worst. Claire pretends to trip Dean up as they pass her, and Dean flips her the finger when Uncle Cas looks the other way.

Claire waits for Kaia and the rest of the group, dawdling after the pair of teachers. Bemused, she watches as Krissy, Max, Aidan, and Alicia hand Kaia money. “What’s going on?” Claire asks.

“Your girlfriend fleeced us,” Aidan complains as he pockets his wallet.

Claire raises her eyebrows.

Kaia shrugs, but her face is as smug as Claire has ever seen it. “I just bet everyone else was wrong.”

Claire’s mouth falls open. “Were you betting on them?” she hisses, pointing at Uncle Cas and Dean.

“I thought it would take them two weeks to sleep together,” Max says.

“I bet two months,” Krissy adds.

“One month,” Alicia supplies.

“A year,” Aidan says with a helpless sort of look.

Claire swivels to glance at Josephine. “What about you?”

Josephine raises her hands in a gesture of innocence. “I had no idea, which is why I didn’t get involved.” She studies the pair ahead of them for a few steps, her eyes narrowing as Dean reaches over to ruffle Uncle Cas’s hair. “I would’ve said something stupid like ten years.”

Claire bursts out laughing.

“What?” Krissy asks, annoyed.

Claire nudges Kaia, who looks stricken. “Come on, you know she nailed it.”

“I did?”

Claire snorts. “They got together after their high school reunion,” she says as Josephine’s face lights up. “It took ten years for those dumb fucks to get their shit together.”

Without missing a beat Uncle Cas calls over his shoulder, “Claire, language!”

Kaia smothers her giggles into Claire’s shoulder.

#fanfic #destiel fanfic #destiel #teachers au #teacher castiel #teacher dean #kaia nieves #claire novak #minor claire/kaia #profoundnet #outsider pov #aidan #krissy chambers #max banes #alicia banes #josephine barnes #the story of us verse #rae writes fic

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elk-ambrose-scott-writing · 3 years

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Top Five “Overrated” Classic books

*Disclaimer: I’m an opinionated bitch, but these are value judgements on the books (and the racist ass authors), not the people who like them*

Genre: Garbage Gothic Tragedy

Author: Emily Bronte

Year Published: 1847

Plot in 20 Words or Less: A rich family adopts an orphan, love drama ensues, and nobody has a good time

Problematic-o-matic: Slurs against Romani people/travelers, romanticizing of abusive & toxic relationships

Why (I think) it’s Over-rated:

This book pushed some buttons for me. I’m a survivor of domestic violence, and Heathcliffe’s behaviour was so shitty and abusive that if I wasn’t reading it for school I would have set the whole book on fire.

Cathy was also toxic too, but Heathcliffe took it all the way to eleven.

I wished the teachers would have trigger-warned us, and I kind of hate the prick for not doing that, don’t think I don’t see you Mr. A, you dickhead

Beyond that, I didn’t like a single character in this book. Nobody. Not a one. Half of the characters were barely developed, and the ones that were developed were so unlikable that I hated them as much as they seemed to hate each other.

I also thought the pacing wasn’t great, though that might be due to the differences in novels then and now.

Still, I thought this book was over-rated because all the characters sucked ass and I hated reading the book because of it.

Genre: Nonsense Science fiction, dystopia

Author: George Orwell

Year Published: 1949

Plot in 20 Words or Less: Big brother is watching you, and he’ll torture you if you hurt his feelings

Problematic-o-matic: Orwell was a grumpy old man who hated LGBTQ people, women, vegetarians (why), people who wear sandals (?) and communists. Didn’t appear to be racist though, so that’s...good.

Why it’s Over-rated:

This book had a lot of hype. And I read it, and I hated it.

I thought the pacing was terrible, and that there was a whole lot of talking, then a cringey, over the top saccharine romance (bleck) and then torture.

That is terrible pacing. The whole story just grinds to a halt so Winston and Julia could fall in instalove. Ugh. Even now, instalove is a trope that’ll make me DNF unless it’s done expertly. This was not done expertly.

My husband has argued with me that the point of the romance was to point out how the totalitarian state doesn’t allow love to exist and turns people against each other, but the fact remains that it was boring and dumb.

Also, the ending is anti-climactic and a big let down. There, I said it.

Genre: Tripe Science Fiction

Author: Aldous Huxley

Year Published: 1932

Plot in 20 Words or Less: In a drugged up caste based society, a vacation goes horribly wrong

Problematic-o-matic: This book is ableist and racist. Like, so fucking racist, holy shit. Also, Aldous Huxley was racist, and may have been a plagiarist. (more in the link below)

Why it’s Over-rated:

This is one that made me hella uncomfortable.

I’ll be honest, folkx, the racism in this book took me right out of the story. You see all these people defending it, but white people need to be quiet in this instance and listen to what the people being hurt by this work are saying.

And the idea of free love, but only if it’s hetero, rubbed me the wrong way too. Free love means free for everyone, baby.

The writing itself is fine, but for one thing; characterization.

I found the characters really hard to like; even John, who was probably the most likeable character, was a total asshole by the end. Lenina was just...there. You could have replaced her with a lamp and it wouldn’t have changed much. Bernard was so, so annoying. Helmholtz was probably the only character I didn’t want to see kicked in the balls by a donkey, and he was barely in the book.

So TL;DR: this book is so goddamn racist, and everyone sucks.

Genre: A goddamn mess Adventure/Mythology

Author: Homer (the boring one, not the yellow one)

Year Published: 8th Century BC, translated into English in 1488 (and the world was worse for it)

Plot in 20 Words or Less: Supposed smart guy gets lost for ten years, doesn’t listen to directions, and gets all his friends killed

Problematic-o-matic: Racist against cyclopes, I guess? The Ancient Greeks general distaste towards women?

Why it’s Over-rated:

This one is petty, but Odysseus SUCKS and the book is BORING.

Sure, he’s smart and stuff, but apparently not smart enough to find his way back to his house and keep his men alive.

My dog found it’s way back to our house when I was a kid, and that dog wasn’t very smart. Odysseus can’t do what a dog can do, and that’s really sad.

Also, while his wife is waiting for him, staying celibate, despite all the suitors coming after her, Odysseus goes off and bones Circe and stays with her on her island.

Which is funny, because my ex was like “oh, he was looking out for his bros and keeping this crazy woman happy” and then he cheated on me, because he thinks irony is something you use to press your clothes.

After that point I wanted the book to end with Odysseus being eaten by a pack of wild boars and then shit out on the front lawn of his stupid castle in Ithaca. I bet his castle was ugly too.

This book would have been better if Homer Simpson wrote it.

Genre: Dumpster fire Coming of age fiction

Author: J. D. Salinger

Year Published: 1951

Plot in 20 Words or Less: Teenage boy whines for way too many pages and almost gets shot by a pimp

Problematic-o-matic: J. D. Salinger was an abusive dick, and this book got banned at one point. And serial killers like it. So that’s...cool.

Why it’s Over-rated:

Holden Caufield is a whiny douche.

This book is so goddamn boring and the best part about it is that it’s short.

The only controversy is that Holden Caufield is an asshole, and acts like a self-centered prick and talks about sex and stuff, which by today’s standards is really, really tame.

He’s pretty realistic to a lot of teenagers; he thinks he’s the smartest, the best, that he sees through all the bullshit and he knows the right way for everything.

But I also read this book as a teenager, and like Holden, I also had depression. I thought his portrayal was insulting on both fronts. He was incapable of seeing beyond his own world-view, and he acted like a jerk to people, even when they were nice to him. Not all people with depression are nice, but this wasn’t just not being nice, this was going out of his way to be negative to everyone around him.

I just wanted to grab the kid, smack him, and tell him to stop moping around and go spend more time with his sister.

Read the Full Post Here and Argue with Me about Books: https://elkascott.wordpress.com/2021/02/19/el-listicle-my-top-5-overrated-classic-novels/

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thefudge · 4 years

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Just out of curiosity, did you read JK's essay? I don't support everything in it but many parts resonated with me. Not to mention the horrific online abuse hurled at her, especially the countless, countless "choke on my dick" phrases thrown at her which are so violently misogynistic, it left me with a deep seated feeling of not only discomfort but fear as well. Idk I guess I just felt safe sending this because your blog seems more open to discussion from the other side instead of instant cancel.

i’m glad you think so about this blog and i hope that remains the case.

i didn’t have a chance to read JK’s essay until today (my previous ask about her was written before that) but here are some very, very imperfect thoughts on it:

the essay confirmed my previous take that she has inoculated herself against certain outside arguments but it’s also made me wonder about JK’s understanding of gender and sex. She is very attached to “natal women” and calling all people who menstruate “women” because of “common experiences”, despite the fact that her beloved de Beauvoir, whom she quotes in the essay extensively, acknowledged that “woman” is a social construct. JK herself at one point complains about having to comply with the rules of femininity while growing up and how it made her want to stop being female, so what is the truth? She argues that young girls shouldn’t be thinking about transitioning just because they are made to hate their femaleness but that’s!!! exactly what!!! pushing the term “woman” as sacrosanct does to girls!!! most of what JK felt in her childhood was the kind of misogyny which connects women strictly to their uterus. it made being male a better alternative precisely because of the gate-keeping of penis/vagina. a young girl who acted like a tomboy, for instance, would be criticized for trying to deny her sex, because deep down her biology still made her a “woman”. both sex and gender cannot be divorced from socio-cultural realities, because we act with our bodies and embody what we act. so, if we expand what it means to be a “man” and a “woman”, we liberate, not confine. JK wants young people to feel free to be whoever they want to be, but they must be called “women” when discussing menstruation or else (i won’t even go into the obvious addition that many cis and trans women exist who cannot or no longer menstruate).

Now, she does bring up some fair points about cancel culture and freedom of expression that I will level with, but the problem is that the nuancing she is trying to achieve also serves as weirdly specific dog-whistling. So let me address that:

(warning: spoilers for the Cormoran Strike series)

Right off the bat, we have this explanation added in her intro:

“On one level, my interest in this issue has been professional, because I’m writing a crime series, set in the present day, and my fictional female detective is of an age to be interested in, and affected by, these issues herself (...)”

and already, i’m asking questions. how is Robin Ellacott, one of the protagonists of the Strike series, “affected" by these issues, personally? she’s “of an age” to...what? be gender critical? there’s not a lot of that in the novels (unless you count Robin being tall and knowing how to drive well being framed as anti-girly...). How does crime relate to it? How is she connected to this really?

the real connection JK wants us to see because she’ll reveal it later in the essay is that Robin was r*ped in college. she’s a sexual assault survivor, which must make her critically engaged with the fate of trans women because....because underneath JK’s empty statement about her female detective....is the correlation that men “disguised” as trans women can perpetrate the same sort of horrific abuse. she keeps making this correlation throughout the essay.

Here she talks about various people who’ve reached out to her:

They’re worried about the dangers to young people, gay people and about the erosion of women’s and girl’s rights. Above all, they’re worried about a climate of fear that serves nobody – least of all trans youth – well.

And again here:

“So I want trans women to be safe. At the same time, I do not want to make natal girls and women less safe. When you throw open the doors of bathrooms and changing rooms to any man who believes or feels he’s a woman – and, as I’ve said, gender confirmation certificates may now be granted without any need for surgery or hormones – then you open the door to any and all men who wish to come inside. That is the simple truth.”

This one is my favorite because it’s so twisted (here she’s listing her charity work):

“The second reason is that I’m an ex-teacher and the founder of a children’s charity, which gives me an interest in both education and safeguarding. Like many others, I have deep concerns about the effect the trans rights movement is having on both.”

“safeguarding”

hmmmm

What JK wants to spell out with these “common sense” arguments is that she fears that trans women are predatory, and the most convincing argument she can bring, ultimately, is that she herself has been the victim of sexual abuse and therefore, that potential fear never goes away. That’s a very dangerous leap to make. The climate of “fear” she mentions is also connected to cancel culture, of course. She fears women won’t be able to express their opinions online without receiving various amounts of vitriol. But you see how she has merged all three issues together? So that if you agree with one, you must agree with the others. Because yes, cancel culture often goes too far, and yes it is a real issue, but to say that the trans community shutting her down foments the same atmosphere of “fear” as boogie trans women hurting children in bathrooms and her being abused by her cis husband… that’s a veeery slippery slope. Instead of sticking to “freedom of speech” and whatnot, she keeps correlating these issues that should not be correlated (some of them being false issues, as well).

Is there too much opprobrium around discussions of trans identity? Yes. Are there worthy discussions to be had about young women, homophobia and gender dysphoria? Absolutely. Can being trans become a fashionable trend/identity among kids, like the bygone goth and emo labels? Sure, but these discussions shouldn’t be had at the expense of trans people who have to constantly prove that they “mean” it. Because by stringing up all these issues together, JK is saying “the kids don’t know any better, and the adults are faking it”. Yes, cancel culture is impeding dialogue, yes, we shouldn’t shy away from discussing young teens’ identity problems, but if you pile up all of these things in a giant “trans women are the problem and they might be predatory too” milkshake, you won’t get anywhere.

I want to come back to this quote:

The second reason is that I’m an ex-teacher and the founder of a children’s charity, which gives me an interest in both education and safeguarding. Like many others, I have deep concerns about the effect the trans rights movement is having on both.

Beyond the (in my opinion) not very tasteful enumeration of things she’s done to help, JK’s mention of “education” there is veeery interesting. On the one hand, she probably feels that schools will try to censor “free speech”, but on the other hand, I bet she’s also concerned schools will not do enough censoring, so that impressionable kids become pressured into adopting a trans identity. You see how it flips on a dime? What does she ultimately want children to learn about this? Does she want them to be kept in the dark completely? Does she want them to be allowed to critique or invalidate trans identities without being censored? On this second point, things get complicated. Schools and institutions will naturally censor free speech. Kids are there to learn how to express that free speech; they will be told “hey, don’t say that to your colleague, it’s not very kind” or “you need to structure your argument appropriately instead of just saying “I don’t like it””. Is there room for criticism in how schools operate that benevolent censorship? Obviously. Hell, Foucault & co. have been talking about this for decades. So what does this argument about education ultimately mean? What are we protecting the kids from? Imo, it goes back to that covert argument about sexual violence.

Since I’m a teacher too, I’ll talk about my own experience: I brought some texts to my undergrad class about the trans experience with the goal of 1) building empathy, because literature is the grand unifier of experience and 2) showing different literary perspectives which i also included within literary theory. ultimately, the trans experience is about being human. we were learning about being human, nothing more, nothing less. if younger kids end up treating it as a fad it means that a) they need more, not less education, b) parents and schools should work together to make them understand that being trans is not the same as being “emo”, for instance. this partially resembles the trend of white kids adopting black culture just because it’s cool, but not actually engaging with the black experience. who do you sanction for this? black people? because in this analogy, the trans community should be responsible for children not benefiting from education and parental support.

oh, I know what JK is saying. the trans community is responsible for shutting down conversations about this. it’s part of the general climate of tiptoeing around trans issues. yes, here I can agree with her that Twitter discourse either helps build sympathy or loathing for the “cancelled” person instead of seriously grappling with what that person has done. it’s the nature of Twitter and I hate it, but to go from that to saying women and young girls are in danger from other “fake” women really undermines her own argument. There are normal pitfalls as we try to incrementally do some good in this world. Cancel culture and the deplatforming and ruining of lives of certain individuals will not promote the cause and is certainly to be frowned upon, but JK will be absolutely fine. there are hashtags right now like “istandwithJK” and there’s a slew of people who support her. the misogyny she faces is deplorable, but we shouldn’t conflate valid criticism with trollish vulgarities. I don’t want to minimize the dangers of online culture; I know people have lost jobs and livelihood, but that is a discussion to be had under different parameters, admitting the responsibility of both parties (for example, maya forstater realizing that maybe saying some hurtful things about public figures and proudly talking about the “delusion” of transwomen will come back to bite her in the ass) and the fact that under capitalism, your job is always at the whim of appearances and simulacrums. essentially, you are the job. this is a state of things that deserves a larger discussion not on the back of the trans community. should we live in a world where you are allowed to say anything, free of consequences? some of us do, because we can say whatever we want in our head, in our room, in our house (other ppl aren’t so lucky), but the trouble starts in the public sphere. even if we wanted to build a public sphere where everything goes, we’d be at each other’s throats in five seconds anyway because we’re human. the most we can do is educate and correct where we can. “facts don’t care about your feelings” discourse is often not informed by facts at all and forgets the vital importance of feelings.

anyway, that’s my incomplete take. still lots to think about and debate. ultimately, i think any fair points JK brought up were tainted by other bad-faith arguments and i wish she’d use this time to self-reflect because this isn’t a topic that should be breezed past in 3k words. nor should young trans ppl be called “adorable” (facepalm). i myself have many questions and constantly grapple with all of this, but since she’s a writer (and for better or worse, i still like her books), she is in a perfect position to investigate the matter with kindness and stop giving ultimatums. and i hope this post fosters discussion and doesn’t shut anyone down.

( forgot to mention that other nifty subplot in the Strike series about these really unlikable kids who are transabled and experience BID ( Body integrity dysphoria) and want to have a disability. Strike is super-offended by them since he’s genuinely disabled and we as readers are meant to think they’re real pieces of shit, and while transableism is suuuuper complicated and my thoughts on it vary wildly, i do think those BID kids also stand in for other folks in her mind..again, food for thought.)

#jk rowling #j.k. rowling #tw transphobia #replies #tw r*pe

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valkerymillenia · 4 years

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Hi, I asked about jason’s memory in my last ask in cbds. Thanks for answering. It made me wonder would jason gets flashes about his time with dick and the twins?I really admire your patience in writing your story. This is why i’ll fail as a writer, because i have absolutely no patience. I mean I would probably rush my story and that would make it turn bad.

Ok, so, no. At first Jason has no memory between his death and the Pit. Eventually though some things start to trigger pieces of memories that he doesn't really understand, his full memory takes quite a while to return and by then he's dug himself into too deep a hole.

Also, you sound EXACTLY like me when I started writing.

So I'mma ramble now. Feel free to ignore the boring story time beneath the cut but I promise it has a point, it's just bound to be long because I don't know what brevity is and when I'm sleep deprived I talk to much.

Before I started writing I always wanted to put stories down into words but I never ever considered writing books, I used to make elaborate fantasy worlds, characters and lives in my head that dragged on for weeks on end, slowly becoming more and more complex, it was pure escapism, but I never thought about writing those stories down precisely because I though "I'll never have the patience to develop this, I'll just rush it or quit halfway".

Then when I was in 10th grade there was a writing contest in my school and two of my cousins were teachers there and writers themselves and encouraged me to enter (there were 3 categories actually- teachers, 7th to 9th grade and 10th to 12th grade). I figured, why not?

The story had to be handwritten under a pseudonym with a 5 page limit (no word limit because it was handwritten, you just had to use standard test paper for 5 pages, and yes, this was normal because not everyone had access to a computer to type their work), it was fiction under the theme "stories of our people" and the judges were a panel of teachers and one famous writer (he had a very popular YA adventure series and some great mythology based novels, unfortunately he passed away a few years later).

Now, bear in mind 2 things. This was a school surrounded by forest in the hills of a small rural city but it was the biggest rural city around and all the other towns and villages sent their kids to high school there, the second thing to remember is that high school is mandatory education in my country so dropping out isn't really an option. Therefore we had hundreds of kids in the high school grades (somewhere between 600 and 800 kids, I think, there's less nowadays because the next town over grew immensely and has its own high school now).

You'd think kids wouldn't be interested in a writing competition but the author that was coming to judge was very popular at the time and, well, it was a high school in the middle of the woods in a small countryside town. Things were boring, ok? We didn't have a mall or a movie theater or anything, so when something popped up to break the boredom (or someone even remotely famous showed up) everyone jumped at it.

So a lot of people participated and me? I was just dragging my feet because "I didn't have the patience", I waited until the last two days before the deadline and poured out a story last minute with a shitty penname based on my mythology obsession (Valkery Thot, you can laugh about it nowadays but Thot was the Egyptian good of scribes and I was NERD).

The story was about two kids that never liked each other growing up even though they lived close to each other, they end up crossing paths on the same adventure to a local inaccessible waterfall we have here in the mountain, they were looking for treasure based on stories and maps from each of their grandfathers and find a cave together where they discover etchings left by said grandfathers and, long story short, the treasure was friendship.

(Sappy as hell, I know, but I was thinking the whole YA adventure mindframe, ok? Plus, it wasn't my preferred writing language, which is English, and I was 15 and literally improvised the whole thing last minute, didn't even draft anything, I just wrote it directly and barely proofread for typos.)

So I entered the contest last minute with no real hopes, it was just an experiment but it proceed to be way more entertaining than I though, without the pressure of actually wanting to win it was easier than I thought.

Award day came and we all gathered in this fancy huge auditorium we had, it was the fanciest part of the whole school but it still couldn't fit everyone in there, then again most students that came just wanted an excuse not to go to class that morning. Anyway...

One of my cousins won in the teacher category and I was all proud. I watched the 3 winners of the 7th to 9th grade category being awarded and started getting distracted (because unless I was drawing or stimming I had the attention span of a goldfish). Then the 10th to 12th grade category came and I was so distracted that they had to call me twice before I realized I'd won second place!

First place went to 12th grade boy that wrote a story called "The Message", very purple prose and perfect grammar, lovely story, but I digress.

Anyway, the famous author was the one to give me my prize and told me my story was very vivid, there were some typos but he was impressed by the creativity and the amount of action I packed into 5 pages while still giving it a satisfying ending. I barely grasped what the heck he was saying at the time because I still had this certainty that I bullshitted the whole thing last minute and couldn't even remember half of what I wrote but I asked him if he thought I "could be real writer someday" and he just said I already was a "real writer" because all it took to be a real writer was putting it it words, that and actually enjoying the world I made up.

It stuck with me. I didn't realize right away that that was my dream, that I wanted to be a novelist, I still wanted to be an artist and was stuck under all those expectations to choose a proper college path and career (I thought I could do law, AH! what was I thinking?!) but it really stuck with me and shortly after I started getting really deep into a side of fandom that I hadn't experienced before (because I never had much access to internet before that) and started to want to put my stories into words even if I never finished them, I still didn't think I had the patience or the originally.

A few years later I realized that when it comes to something I'm passionate about I do indeed have the patience, by age 12 I had already been writing long comprehensive character bios, story details, transcribed quotes, meta theories, summaries and collecting tons of info of all my favorite fandoms and not to share, just for fun (and probably OCD) this went on for years before I even found out that the internet had whole websites and encyclopedias for such things (not like today though but yeah), and it had never occurred to me the patience that that in itself required.

My first fics were atrocious! Mostly because I made A LOT of typos due to not being used to writing in English full time but my thoughts came more naturally in English and I didn't enjoy writing fiction in Portuguese anyway (poetry though? Absolutely), I also used extremely exaggerated plot points, be it drama, angst or romance. But people liked the stories for the content and not the accurate spelling so I kept at it. I never used to finish my fics back then, not due to lack of patience but mostly because I put too much pressure on myself to make a story perfect and would stop having fun.

When I started writing purely for fun and passion (and realized that not every story needed to be a novel length epic) that's when I started churning out my best (and ironically longest) stories and getting better and better.

I won't lie, having readers encouraging me was key, it's half of the fuel I need to keep going, outside interest is an incredible motivator, but mostly I just realized that the key to good writing is:

Less pressure + more passion = all the patience you need

This doesn't just apply to original work though, it's also about fanfic.

Holy crap, that was a lot of words just to sum everything up on that one bold sentence... See, I could never have written this much when I was in high school, that's also a matter of practicing until letting your thoughts out into writing becomes second nature but that's a whole other story.

Anyway... Thanks for the lovely message. It's the story of thing that means the world to me ❤️

(and PS- no, I haven't won any other contests since that one but I have published articles on magazines, no published novels yet though because I don't think my original ideas are ever good enough to follow through).

#CBDS fic #rach rambles #writing woes #writing contest story

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vesuviannights · 5 years

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Hello Claire, I am trying to write smut, and I blame (thank) you. I've never written it before and I'm feeling kinda unsure about how to go about it. Because you're such an inspiration, I was wondering if you had any advice for a someone just starting out like me. 😅 Thanks so much 😊💖

I accept (welcome) that blame.

I’ve written this post for similar purposes, but it’s focused more on getting comfortable with writing it without squicking out as soon as you start. I can definitely add onto it though, with some specific things that worked for me?

Same with the other post, not everything works for everyone and eventually you’ll spread your sexy wings and probably not use any straight advice anyone has given you - and when that day happens, it’ll be the best feeling in the world.

In the mean time, here’s things that worked for me and some things that I still do now:

Establish your preferred language very early on.

You probably won’t feel comfortable writing about sex if you don’t like the words you’re using, so figure out your preferred word for absolutely everything. Start with the genitals and work your way out from there. Some people prefer cock, others dick, some people stick with a plain old penis. Are you a pussy, sex or cunt person? Do you like breasts or boobs? Come or cum? Asshole, second hole, back hole? Write ‘em down. Play around with them. Say them outloud and roll them around on your tongue and in your head. You might find that you like one specific word for everything, or it might change depending on the mood of the piece you write, or even the character you’re writing.

Don’t be afraid to send the plot packing

Plot? Don’t know him. Get straight into the fucking. Don’t even worry about how they got there or making it believable. You’re here for the practise and to get comfortable with what you’re doing, worry about why your character is dropping to their knees in the back of a masquerade ball later.

Do little bitty baby smuts!

Headcanons! 200 word drabbles!! Two sentence stories!! All so amazing. Good ways of getting an idea out that you might want to use later and, just like above, good ways of being able to write smut without having to think about the nuances of plot, or even how the smut is going to end. Just write tiny little things. Tiny.

Refresh your creative writing techniques!!

This is the teacher in me popping out. We teach creative writing techniques for a reason - they work, even if you don’t realise you’re doing them. Want to create suspense or emphasis? Use truncated sentences ( “She cried out. Tight. So tight.”). Want to create a flow? List adjectives and verbs (“He sighed, moaned, keened as they thrust into him.”).

But also, don’t listen to the rules of the English language? It’s dumb. Start every sentence with ‘and’ if that’s how you want to make it flow. Have a sentence that’s 4 lines long, who’s fucking stopping you? Use repetition over and over and over and over again until your point is across. Use italics and capitals in literally any part of the sentence you want to create emphasis on, “Especially when your characters are talking during sex and you ne-eed them to–AH—be heard!”

Don’t be afraid to mimic

I’ll start off by immediately saying this doesn’t mean directly copying/pasting huge chunks of text and dialogue and calling it your own. What it DOES mean is that it’s okay to see a phrase or line in another smutty piece of work, go “oh I’d like to try that”, and play around with it in your writing. This can be from one line to a whole fic concept. No one is expecting anyone who is learning anything to come up with shit on their own, that isn’t how the world or learning works, people learn by seeing examples, scaffolding, doing and practising.

Hell, use my writing for this. Find a line you love but feel too unsure to write and just throw it in there. Work with it until it fits your work. Change a few of the words around. It’s a skeleton and you’re a god creating the meatsuit. You won’t know exactly what you like until you read or write it, and you can mimic another writer or even porn if you watch it, because what’s the harm?

Write it with whoever you feel comfortable

Depending on what you feel comfortable doing, the people you write smut about will change. I personally (and this is in no way shaming ANYONE) have never been able to write about real people because it makes me feel uncomfortable, and as I’ve grown in my twenties I can’t even really write about non-animated characters who are represented by actors because that also feels weird to me. What I DO feel comfortable writing about, though, is fictional characters who derive from books, comics and video games. So that’s what I do. Don’t write something or someone you don’t feel comfortable writing, you won’t have a good time.

Similarly, this can be extended to POV. If using first person makes it feel like too much of a self-insert for you and you don’t feel comfortable, skip to second person. If you don’t like the idea of writing to specific readers, skip to third person.

Use prompts

If any of you are old enough to remember, and it’s very possible this is still a thing, on Livejournal there used to be a thousand communities that were basically just multi-fandom prompt challenges. One of my faves was 50KinkyWays, which gave you a bingo card of 50 prompts and you just wrote a lil drabble or a huge fic for each using whichever pairing you wanted. And when I started writing smut, this was really helpful for me because it challenged me not to just do the ‘kiss, oral, missionary sex’ situation a thousand times over, and also forced me to research what I was writing about.

Way back when I first started this blog, I used this prompt list to steer what people requested. It was great, and gave me plenty of new material to use as a foundation for the requests.

If that’s too kinky or not your cup of tea, here are some other ones I’ve got saved in my drafts that are pretty fantastic too, ranging from mild smut to super kinky:

Simple kisses prompt list

NSFW alphabet meme

Simple sentence starters

Mildly steamy sexy sentence starters

NSFW sentence starters - punishment edition

Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk and I am always so happy to talk about creative writing and how amazing and dumb it is.

Biggest lesson: honestly just disregard anything I have told you that doesn’t work and just fuckin’ go nuts love u boo xx

#creative writing with ms claire #longpost #claire speaks #asks #user: stormqueen93

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im-whatchamccallit · 5 years

Text

Like in the Stories//Lucas Wong (WayV/NCT U)

Request: can I request something with either Lucas from Wayv or Mingyu from SVT. A noona who’s a little older but not as experienced as them and they’ve known each other for a long time so they’re comfy with each other. Please & Thank you!!--Smut & Fluff I forgot to add

Pairing: Wong Yukhei (Lucas) x Reader

Genre: Smut, some fluff but not really (my bad)

Warnings Unprotected sex, virginity loss. Nothing too crazy.

Words: 4.2k

(A/N: Should I write one for Mingyu? I thought about writing two separate pieces for both of them but idk.)

“Lucas pressed you to his mattress as his hands tightened around your throat.” Lucas read from his phone, a squeal leaving your mouth as you cringed further into your sofa, Lucas trying not to show his blush but failing miserably.

“It’s hilarious that they think you’re dominant.” You commented, Lucas’ fingers scrolling through the various post tagged with his name.

This was a game you and Lucas have been playing since he debuted: going onto Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram to search his tags, finding any and everything his fans could post about him. Over time, Lucas has managed to save various fan edited videos and pictures, one currently being his lock screen, and even found himself subject to many of their sexual fantasies.

Although he was flattered, you found it bizarre. The way everyone describe him in their writings was nothing like his true personality, instantly making you cackle at the idea that he could ever be authoritative and bossy. He was just a human-sized puppy in your eyes, easily flustered and shy from something as simple as a woman’s touch. He even flinched as you placed your feet into his lap, his hips trying to move farther from them despite your couch preventing him from doing so.

Lucas continued to scroll before a certain fanfic caught his eyes, an amused laugh erupting from his mouth as he passed his phone to you. Your brows furrowed as you took the device, curious as to what he found so funny. Probably another story about him and Jungwoo.

Nope! It was you and Lucas.

Your eyes skimmed over the wordy text, catching a few phrases that showed a more sexual side to your friendship, your teeth gritting as you laughed awkwardly, pushing his phone back towards him as to cleanse your eyes of the narrative. You knew Lucas mentioning you in his Vlives and tagging you in post on Instagram would come back to bite you in the ass someday.

“Let’s read it.” Lucas suggested, scrolling back to the top.

“You read it.” You said, reaching onto your coffee table to grab the half empty bag of chips.

Lucas began to read through the lines, not realizing you meant to himself, but you couldn’t help but listen. Whether it was about you and Lucas or him and someone else, you still managed to find amusement in it, the lines and actions nothing that either of you would do in reality.

“’(Y/N) crawled forward, staring up innocently at Lucas as she wrapped her lips around his dick, taking all of him in her mouth. “Noona, you’re taking my dick so well.” Lucas moaned.’”

You screamed out in a mixture of embarrassment and disgust as Lucas read that line, your body shivering at the word ‘noona’, something about it being the most sexual phrase in the fiction.

“Oh god, just end it there. It’s so weird.” You chuckled, shifting uncomfortable in your space and placing the chips back as you no longer had an appetite.

“I forgot virgins don’t like this kind of stuff.” You tried to laugh the situation off but couldn’t help but glare at Lucas’ smug smile.

Despite you being a year and a half older, Lucas was more experienced than you when it came to sex. But a virgin? He knew of your sexual exploits and vice versa, yet he always managed to mock the fact that you’ve only, in his words, experimented at 17. Honestly, it wasn’t a big deal but you still felt demeaned, almost as if it was something you should be ashamed of.

Nonetheless, you took a deep breath, tying not to show how upset you were despite your lips forming a deep pout.

“I’m not a virgin, I just don’t like the idea of people wanting us to fuck.”

“Why not? If we did, you’d probably learn a thing or two.” God, why were you friends with this smug asshole again?

You rolled your eyes and swung your legs off of him, standing from the sofa and heading to your bedroom to avoid punching him.

“Come on, (Y/nickname). Just sit on daddy’s lap. Or, if I call you ‘noona’ will you do it? Would you do it for me, noona?” You felt like you were going to explode, your hands visibly shaking as he continued, your feet suddenly stopping you just before entering your hallways. You suddenly remembered why you were friends.

You turned to face him, the simple smirk on his plump lips as he egotistically pat his lap, as if you were some kind of cat. Lucas smirk slowly faltered as you began to move closer, your hands gripping the hem of your t-shirt before lifting it over your head and tossing it to a random corner of your living room, your body stopping just in front of him to push down your sweatpants and kick them away, leaving you in only a black bra and panty set.

The way his eyes scanned over you, his tongue darting out to moisten his quivering lips, body sat straight as if he were in the presence of a teacher, the overall bashfulness. That was why you were friends. You knew underneath his cockiness and playful attitude, he was just a shy boy, that simple fact causing you to smirk as you climbed into his lap, feeling him jerk away slightly as your clothed crotches met. Lucas’ head turned slightly so that your faces weren’t as close.

“What’s wrong, daddy? I thought you were gonna teach me a thing or two?” You mocked, bringing a hand to his face, gripping his chin to make him face you, your eyes locking as he swallowed hard, almost audibly.

“Or you can just call me ‘noona’.”

Honestly, you weren’t sure what happened. You were only teasing him the same way he did you, using a few tricks that you’ve seen in porn, just trying to get him riled up and a bit frantic. But you never expected his large hands to grip your wrist, twisting your bodies until your back laid flat against the sofa, his body towering over yours as you stared wide eyed at him. Being in this position, Lucas’ body between your spread legs while your chest rose and fell slowly in anticipation, made you realize how virginal you truly were. The farthest you’ve ever gone was oral sex and maybe fingering in a public space, so this situation, and the possibilities of what could come of it, made your breath hitch. From the way things looked, you were excited for his next move.

But Lucas had no idea what was to come either. Sure, he was joking before, overplaying his confidence to agitate you, but he never thought he’d have you here, his eyes struggling to focus on your face as they dropped to your cleavage, the blood draining from his face to his lower regions, his body making their plans as his brain tried to decide if he wanted the same, his lips hesitantly opening to finally break the silence.

“D-do you want me to keep going?” You nodded softly, Lucas leaning down as if he was preparing to kiss you, only to lift himself once more to stare at you again.

“Are you sure?”

“You’re really ruining the moment.” You sighed, Lucas hurriedly pressing his mouth to yours just before you had time to change your mind, a soft moan slipping through your lips at the softness of his own.

He slowly let his tongue glide inside, brushing over yours to distract you from the way he shifted his body, his jean covered knee pressing to your damp panties, something you didn’t feel until it touched your clit, your mouth opening wide as a breathy, laugh-like moan filled the space between you, Lucas staring at you with confusion.

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Oh, sorry. K-keep going.” You couldn’t help but giggle slightly with him before he returned his lips to yours, moving them slowly and fluidly while his knee began to grind against your heat, a tingly sensation in your lower regions causing you to lift your hips, the pressure more intense as you embraced the new sensation.

Lucas’ hands slowly released your wrist, slivering down your waist and to your hips, pulling them down gently just so you could feel the pleasure of his covered kneecap as he nudged it against you so slow yet so hard, his mouth no longer on your own as he moved down to your neck, biting on a sensitive spot just by your ear that you had no clue was there, the surprised moans from you urging him on.

You didn’t know what to think of this situation, only knowing you didn’t want it to end. The feeling of Lucas’ rotund lips making trails down to your covered breast, your hips and his knee grinding with one another to practically soak your panties, the realization that you’ve never experienced pleasure at this level, even if you haven’t had sex yet, it made you want more.

“Lucas, more.” He froze at your command, bring his head up to see your shut eyes and wide smile, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as if you were trying to suppress your moans, failing horribly.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked cautiously, bringing his knee to a halt while his hands slowly released your frame, much to your dismay.

“Anything. Everything. Please.” You begging was honestly a delight for him.

Your statement made his body shudder at the thought that he could do anything to you, the various positions and acts he wanted to perform on you crossing his mind until he remembered that you were new to this. Sure, he’s had sex enough times to figure out what he liked and dislike sexually but this was like a learning curve for you. He needed to show you the universal pleasures of sex before you found your personal ones.

“I’ll keep going. Only if I can call you ‘noona’ until we’re finished.” You groaned out, mainly in annoyance.

Why wasn’t he continuing? And why was he suddenly so interested in honorifics? You never used them before but the way he said it, it did things to you. Things you couldn’t comprehend or dismiss, your head immediately nodding in agreement, just wanting to hear him say it once more.

Lucas wasted no time continuing down your body, pressing his lips to your warm flesh, kissing your navel just before reaching your panties. He took his time removing them, almost like he was defusing a bomb, carefully moving the cotton fabric down your legs, straight past your calves and finally off your body, your legs instantly opening for him to view. Was pretty the right word to describe someone’s pussy? If yes, then that’s exactly what it was, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watched the fold glisten with your juices.

As if he was testing it, he stuck one finger inside, producing a high-pitched moan from you, your hands unsure of where to go, reaching for his wrist before finding a place above your head, gripping the arm of your sofa as he slowly slipped another into you, your walls swallowing his long digits. He knew you never had full blown sex but the tightness of your pussy around his fingers, making it hard for them to thrust in and out of you as it clenched onto him, was 100% proof of it.

Lucas placed one hand on your knee, predicting your next move as he blew gently on your clit, your lower body convulsing at the odd sensation before his tongue swirled around the pinkish-red button. He began to pump his fingers inside of you, twisting and curling them to find your g-spot, a satisfied grin on his face as your hips bucked at the feeling of the hidden ball of pleasure inside of you being found, his fingertips tapping and rubbing against it teasingly while his mouth latched onto your clitoris, sucking gently as his tongue flicked over it, a shaky moan exhaled from your mouth as his hand’s movements became faster.

The contrasting feelings, his light and careful mouth working against you as his hand thrusted into your body, fingers practically abusing the sensitive spot within you, were driving you crazy. The wetness his hand began to collect from your arousal made his movements seem so fluid, the only thing stopping it was Lucas, those two digits buried deep inside of you while his palm laid close to your heat, fingers angled to massage the delicate parts of your walls viciously, his mouth slowly growing rougher and his hand moving from your knee and up to your clothed breast, slipping beneath the wired material to cup your fleshy and soft mound.

“X-Xuxi,” You tried to speak, your hands gripping his hair in an attempt to make him slow down, your thighs tensing as your lower body uncontrollably elevated to meet his lips and fingers.

Your body was growing hot, your head thrown back and back arching, allowing his hand to knead more of your doughy breast, moans bouncing off the thin apartment walls, some louder than others to let him know you were close, the burning and pleasure scaring you a bit, never having been this close to an orgasm in your life. Sure, you’ve cum plenty of times, but this was intense. You could feel the energy draining from your body with each of his movements, a cry leaving your lips as you dug your nails into Lucas’ head a bit too roughly.

“Ow!” He gasped as he sat up, his hands leaving your body as your eyes flied open when the sensation began to die down.

You looked up to see Lucas staring at you as if he needed an explanation for the sudden pain he felt, your mouth falling open as you realized what you’d done.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to.” You said, sitting up to check his head, making sure he wasn’t bleeding.

Lucas could only laugh at you, reaching up with the only hand that wasn’t coated with your juices to grasp yours, dragging it down to return your focus to the situation at hand, a more painful feeling bothering him.

“Noona,” He said, loving your wide eyed response to the simple name.

“I’m in pain and it’s your fault.” You were ready to apologize once more before he led your hand to the bulge in his black pants, a sigh of relief leaving your lips as you were thankful you hadn’t truly hurt him.

You didn’t question him or make a witty remark as you stood to trail down his body, palming his erect length through his constricting pants as you sat on your knees, making a home between his spread legs as you stared up at him. This felt like déjà vu, life imitating the art of his fan’s salacious writings.

Lucas watched impatiently as you began to undo his pants. Once you brought the zipper down, he raised his hips, pushing away the tight jeans and boxers from his waist and to his knees, your eyes tracing over his exposed member.

Were you really going to do this? Did you want to do this? You’ve done this a few times and, from your experience and feedback, you’re pretty good at it, so why not?

You hesitantly wrapped your hand around the veiny muscle, genuinely shocked by its size. Your tongue poked out at the slit of his bright red tip, tasting the saltiness of his precum and growing accustomed to it quickly, your lips clasping around the head and sucking as if more would come out, a hiss filling your ears as Lucas leaned further into the couch so his hips were forward, silently begging for you to do more.

Your eyes shut as a small moan croaked from your throat, your mouth opening just wide enough to let your tongue out to swirl around the tip, a long wet stripe being dragged down to his shaft, your lips pursing on the prominent vein, sucking at it as if you were trying to leave a hickey, your hand securing itself at his base as you finally gave in to his needs, trailing your moist lips back to his tip and taking him into your mouth, going down until you felt him at the back of your throat, a whispered ‘fuck’ exiting Lucas as his head fell back, enjoying the feeling of your saturated mouth.

You weren’t sure how someone could taste so good. It was indescribable yet addictive, your hums of satisfaction vibrating through his writhing body, more droplets of precum dripping into your mouth where you eagerly licked at them, bobbing your head and pursing your lips around his thick length, stroking the solid flesh that couldn’t fit down your throat. Lucas loved this but it wasn’t enough. Your pace was too slow, even if you were doing everything right to bring him to the edge. He didn’t want to seem too demanding but he was desperate at this point, his mouth dry as he tried to speak your name.

“No-Noona,” You hummed once more, his hips jerking a bit at the feeling as he adjusted his head to stare down at you, his cock still in your mouth as you continued to suck before releasing it with a thin trail of spit connecting from his head to your bottom lip, your hand pumping him as you waited for him to continue.

“Yes, Xuxi?” You asked breathlessly, knowing you should have stopped for air sooner.

“Can I fuck your throat?” The question caught you off guard but you hesitantly nodded. You had never been throat fucked but the idea of it made your body quiver, your legs closing together to manage the throbbing between them.

“Make sure you breathe through your nose.” He warned, your head nodding although you mentally face palmed. You forgot you could breathe through your nose while doing that.

Lucas sat up straight as he cupped your face, bringing your mouth back to his cock where you opened it happily, him wasting no time going to the back of your throat, your body shifting as you tried not to gag. You began to breathe through your nose like he said as he thrusted into your mouth, your eyes rolled upwards to stare at his face, eyes shut and lips parted as he enjoyed the warmth of your throat, moving your head along with his hips so he could go deeper.

“Your mouth feels so good.” He moaned out, praising you as he increased his speed, a loud moan leaving you and his cock dipping further inside, your nose touching his pelvis and making him groan.

So moaning helps too? That’s another thing you needed to keep in mind.

Lucas was very verbal, more than you expected. He swore under his breath as he continued to thrust into your mouth, leaning back into the sofa as his hips lifted further up, the narrowness of your throat feeling good around him and his hands running through your hair. You moaned against him, your hands digging into his thighs as you tried to steady yourself while he continued. The throbbing of his cock, the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, the heat burning through him as his movement grew rougher, he was close. And he knew he was close. He wasn’t sure if he should stop but he couldn’t, he didn’t want to. You felt too good and he was too focused on the twitching of his member immersed deep into your esophagus to end this.

“Noona, I’m going to cum.” He moaned, not giving you a chance to react as he brought your face to his pelvis, your nose pressed to his warm skin as he let out strangled moans, releasing down your throat as you moaned quietly around him.

You sat like that for a few seconds, his dick in your throat with his cum ready to be swallowed, his head thrown back while he slowly unclasped your head. You pursed your lips around him, moving back carefully as to not spill his seed before reaching his tip, Lucas’ pained moan from how sensitive it was making you smile slightly before pulling back completely, swallowing the salty fluids.

You sat there for a bit, waiting for Lucas to recollect himself before he finally looked down at you, a lazy smile on his face.

“Thank you for making me cum, noona.” He said teasingly, your eyes rolling in amusement.

“You’re welcome, Yukhei.” He cringed a bit, not used to you using that name with him.

There was a small silence before he looked at you once more with a raised eyebrow.

“This is the part where you say ‘Thank you’.” He joked, your bottom lip being sucked into your mouth as you tried to find the least embarrassing words for this moment.

“I actually didn’t…” You started, letting him figure out the rest on his own and his expression went from playful to confused to shocked and, finally, sad.

One thing Lucas prided himself on is his need to satisfy everyone before himself, so to learn he didn’t at least make you cum was devastating.

“I’m so sorry.”

“No! It’s my fault! I was about to, but I scratched you.” You laughed awkwardly, hoping your laughter would reach him but it didn’t, an obvious feeling of guilt still on his face.

“It’s fine, I promise.” You said, slowly standing as your eyes scanned the floor for your discarded panties, only for Lucas to grab your wrist, causing you to look at him.

“I have to, (Y/nickname). Just tell me anyway I can do it and I will.” He spoke pleadingly, his eyes wide like a puppies, a loud sigh leaving you at how easy you were to convince, especially with him.

You placed your legs on either side of him, your lower half straddling his as he stared up at you.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Plus, you’re kinda still hard, and I don’t think you want to deal with that for the next few hours.” You said light-heartedly, finally managing to get a smile from him.

Lucas’ hands reached for your hips as yours held onto his shoulders, your eyes shut as you waited for some kind of pain. But there was no pain. As soon as he lowered your hips, the tip of his cock slipping through your folds and into your core, you felt nothing but satisfaction, your face burying in his shoulder as you whined. Lucas guided your hips to repeat the action, slowly rising and falling onto his member as he helped roll your hips forward, your mind and body soon catching on and doing so yourself, Lucas moaning at the feeling. He wish he hadn’t came so soon, his body sensitive and susceptible to overstimulation, your tight walls already bringing him back to the edge as he tried to hold back from fucking you himself.

You sat up and gasped, your hips lurching forward at the random sprout of pleasure. You rolled your hips forward again and moaned out at the feeling, resting your hands behind you on Lucas’ knees as you continued to roll your hips against him, his hands gripping your waist as he lifted his own, thrusting upward as you moaned at the simple but electrifying sensation. You ignored his hand leaving your waist as you moved faster, letting your moans turn to screams as you felt the same feeling as before, your pussy clenching around him just as he placed his thumb on your clit, rubbing at the fragile nerves as to bring you just as close as he was.

“Lucas! Don’t stop!” You cried out, nails seeping into his exposed skin as your stomach began to twist into knots, the sounds of his cock slipping in and out of you with ease as your skin collided filling the room.

You gasped as he brought his hand back to your waist, pulling you up so that your chest were pressed together, his hips slamming into yours at an inhuman speed, his moans growing louder to match your own as he felt the pressure of his orgasm coming, trying hard to hold back as you sank your teeth into his clothed shoulder, hands moving back to his hair as you felt the contractions of your lower body increase, driving you crazy before an unfamiliar feeling hit you. Like you were at the peak of rollercoaster and it just dropped, a series of breathy cries leaving your mouth as your body convulsed against Lucas’, his thrust not slowing down even as he came, pushing himself further inside of you as he squeezed your hips, possibly leaving marks.

His hips finally came to a halt, your sweaty bodies holding one another as you tried to catch your breath, minds blank for the moment as you let exhaustion engulf you, your eyes shutting peacefully until you felt a tap on your lower back, humming in response.

“Now you can say it.” Lucas whispered, your eyes rolling beneath your eyelids.

“Thank you.”

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norcumii · 5 years

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Yet more meta from the prior tumblr, originally posted on 12/11/2017.

Mmkay. There’s this post floating around about Obi-Wan’s characterization (link coming up in a minute). I want it on the record that I am all for people characterizing fictional characters however they want, on whatever criteria they have including “because I was in the mood for it,” ‘cause going ‘there’s only one true interpretation’ is totally a dick move.

Nonetheless this post has been slowly driving me bonkers so I’m trying to do the polite thing and make my own post deconstructing it rather than adding to theirs.

Hell, it starts off with “Please can someone explain to me why there’s this fandom thing where Obi Wan is nothing but angst and sads for 20 straight years on Tatooine?”

You betcha.

First off, OP is basing character assessment on the Myers–Briggs Type Indicator. Look. I enjoy personality tests as much as the next person, but that thing is just as useful to behavior prediction as a Facebook quiz about which Disney Princess you are. Here’s a nice convenient article about why which a minimum of digging on Google netted me. MBTI presents archtypes that are sometimes useful for casual commentary, but that is not a diagnostic tool.

So let’s take a look at Obi-Wan, as we see in the movies (and Clone Wars), just after Revenge of the Sith. We have a man who is anywhere from 33 to 38 years old (depending on your version of canon), who has spent the last three years overworking himself at the heart of a hideous civil war that he was essentially drafted for, and oh yes, his side lost. Not only did his side lose, but it got massacred. Yoda was able to feel the death of the Jedi Order as it was happening, do not tell me that Obi-Wan had no idea what was going on too. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan was also dealing with the betrayal of his closest friend (his brother), who tries to kill him. Meanwhile, said brother does kill his wife (pregnant wife) who is a close friend of Obi-Wan’s, right there in front of him. All this leads to Obi-Wan doing the unthinkable: mutilating and then killing his brother – or worse, not being able to kill Anakin, leaving him in torment for another two decades.

There is so much PTSD fodder here, and that doesn’t even touch the betrayals from the clones, nor the question of ‘did he feel the psychic backlash from the chips kicking in and twisting the clones’ minds?’, nor the mental trauma from The Phantom Menace wherein he was replaced, failed his teacher who died in his arms but only after saying ‘that kid what replaced you, you need to train him now,’ and then 10 years of raising a kid when he was literally just sorta-kinda-not-exactly declared an adult himself. He was not prepared for that.

So once Obi-Wan’s handed over Luke (the last remaining link to his brother, who he is now not allowed any contact with since Luke expresses he’s never really met Old Ben) – that’s the first time he’s had to really stop and breathe in over 13 years. Ten years to raise a responsibility he never asked for, was not prepared to handle, and was a reminder of his greatest failure. Three years of running at least a literal third of a galactic war that was stacked against him (did he realize that by the end? That they were being played, and could never have won?).

Yeah, he’s got 20 years to work at recovering from that, but without a skilled therapist that I don’t think you’re going to find on Tatooine, you’re going to be lucky to be functional. I know that Star Wars as a whole doesn’t concern itself with mental health (seriously, mind healers are becoming one of my most cherished additions that Re-Entry brings to the table). That doesn’t mean ignoring it will get you a good character assessment.

Depression and PTSD isn’t going to make someone “a sad, bitter, lonely man” nor does it mean that one will metaphorically “be playing All By Myself on repeat for 20 straight years while sobbing into a cup of Bantha milk.” Depression expresses itself in any number of ways. It can mute things, so that while you laugh and even enjoy life, that joy doesn’t linger, or pales quickly. It can add a haze to everything, so you feel numb and distant. It can make someone who once expressed themselves exuberantly seem calm instead of manic. It doesn’t have to affect one’s wit, or habits of cracking jokes even if those jokes might feel flat and hollow to the speaker.

Sometimes it just leads to going through the motions of living, how one would have approached things Before – but it’s just empty motions.

PTSD can express itself as flashbacks. It can look like nothing until it is reactions to a different time and trauma instead of what is now and present. It can be a person haunted by their past, it can be explosive, it can be quiet and turned inwards. There are days when it doesn’t hit you, there are days when it’s so heavy on your shoulders that it feels like all you can do is sit, stare at a wall, and hope your brain shuts off. Then there are the days when despite that weight, you still need to go get groceries, or make dinner, or fix a vaportator, or fight off wayward Tuskens or something.

Nothing says that depressed and traumatized Obi-Wan wouldn’t sometimes take delight in lightsaber play, or practical jokes. I just don’t think that it would overtake the depression and PTSD.

On top of all of that is what you get when you take a look at the EU. Obi-Wan’s been traumatized since he was a kid. He was bullied through his tweens. He was rejected by the ONLY teacher he could hope to have until the Order booted him to the AgroCorps, at least a week before the official deadline. Then that shuttle crashed, and he saw his first major battle which led to approximately FOUR HUNDRED dead.

At not quite 13. Over the next year (probably less, but let’s be generous), he had to deal with: kidnapping, enslavement and hard labor, an attempted mind wipe, an actual war accompanied by abandonment by his teacher, and his teacher’s prior student trying to blow up his home. By the time Phantom Menace rolls around, we can include: several more wars, 6 months to a year on the run across war-torn Mandalore trying to keep a teenage Satine alive, taking responsibility for the death of Qui-Gon’s Love Interest – and that’s just what’s off the top of my head.

Y’know what’s interesting? During Attack of the Clones, what I see is a man just barely holding his shit together. That scene in Dex’s Diner breaks me, because all I can think of is my time doing food service while going through my own PTSD and depression – and I recognize that empty smile he has for Dex. I know it’s all interpretation, but I can’t help but think he’s faking that smile. That sure, he means it: he’s happy to see a friend, he wants to reassure him, but that doesn’t change the hollow inside that he knows if he lets go and falls into it, he will never climb out.

The war provided an alternative focus. It gave him clear, concrete goals: beat back enemies here and here, keep as many of these people alive as possible, here are resources and here are the end goals. He could legitimately bond with brothers in arms who could grok black humor, who wouldn’t look askance at someone covering long-standing grief and discomfort with banter and flirting, “who winked and witticized his way out of death and imprisonment a million times, who always found something to laugh about or make fun of even in the most difficult situations” – regardless of how inappropriate or relevant that might be to the circumstances.

Sometimes, that laughter is all that keeps you from breaking from all the pain.

Yes, people heal. Yes, he had 20 years to work through that trauma and injury. He’d also be doing it alone, with a legacy of stoicism and philosophies about releasing his emotions into the Force. The last major friendships he had ended in betrayal or in death, and people he depended on tended to either die or betray him.

That’s not something you blithely overcome to play pranks on the locals while watching over the kid of your best friend what you almost killed as he was trying to kill you, like he killed most everyone else you knew and loved. There is so much trauma and pain he’s had to see over the last 20 plus years, and Tatooine is the first time he ever gets to breathe and react.

If you want to write trickster archtype Obi-Wan, I applaud you. Without any sarcasm or mockery: you do you.

Meanwhile, I’ll be writing traumatized Old Ben.

(Many thanks to @morgynleri and @elegantmess-southernbelle who provided brilliant points and conversation, though I suspect I phrased it with much less grace and coherency than they did)

#star wars #meta #reviving from the purge #Norcumi has Opinions again #thinky thoughts #obi wan #character analysis #ptsd #trauma #depression #mbti #myers briggs

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preserving-ferretbrain · 5 years

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When Harry Met Enid

by Dan H

Wednesday, 20 December 2006

In which Dan dismisses Harry Potter as a jolly hockey-sticks boarding school romp.~

My childhood was almost embarrassingly suburban. We lived in a semi-detached house with privet hedges. I spent my evenings doing my homework, watching Children's BBC or reading. To fully round out the picture of cosy BBC normalcy, I should add that my preferred reading material, as a child, was a mixture of Roald Dahl and Enid Blyton.

I always preferred Dahl. His stories were strange, macabre, often surreal. His worlds were familiar yet peculiar, whimsical and disturbing. They were nice places to visit, but you most certainly wouldn't want to live there. It is perhaps interesting to note that, Great Glass Elevator aside, Dahl never went back to his worlds once the book had finished. His stories were self contained, they began at the beginning, and stopped at the end.

Blyton, of course, created a very different world. Teams of children with solid dependable names like Dick and Anne had very proper adventures while drinking lashings and lashings of ginger beer. Unlike Dahl, Blyton did write long-running series, the St Clare's and Malory Towers books followed the same cast of characters through their stint at boarding school, and of course the Famous Five and Secret Seven had endless adventures. Unlike Dahl, Blyton's world was ultimately a safe place, and gender aside I would have been quite happy to spend a summer term at St Clare's. I was and still am guiltily fond of Enid Blyton's 1950s utopia: it's nice sometimes to forget about the troubles of the real world, and escape to one where hardened criminals get their comeuppance at the hands of a gang of plucky twelve year olds.

A lot of people (JK Rowling first amongst them) like to talk about how much more there is to Harry Potter than to other children's books. They talk about the real danger that Harry faces, about how terribly, terribly dark Rowling's world is, and about how it's all very serious and mature. One Times reviewer, comparing Potter to the Worst Witch series writes:

But though Mildred, the Worst Witch, like Harry Potter, gets into scrapes with bullies and teachers, there is never a twinge of real terror in Murphy's imaginary world. Harry Potter experiences not only the ordinary trials and triumphs of the boarding-school genre, but repeated attempts to murder him.

This critic, I think, misses two important points. Firstly, while I admit that my memory of The Worst Witch is a little hazy, I am fairly certain that there actually is a villain in TWW who actually does have a plan to kill everybody in the school. Secondly, the repeated attempts to "murder" Harry are carried out by the most ineffectual, bungling, non-threatening group of incompetents ever to grace the pages of a children's book. Harry Potter's encounters with the Death Eaters are no more frightening than the Secret Seven's frequent run-ins with thieves and smugglers, and they represent no greater physical danger.

Now, I don't think this is a weakness in itself. When Harry and Ron confront the troll in Philosopher's Stone it's a genuinely exciting scene. We understand that Harry and Ron are willing to risk their lives for their friend thereby displaying the cardinal virtues of Courage and Friendship and Pluckyness. This scene is in no way marred by the fact that I do not on a rational level actually expect Harry, Ron, or Hermione to be killed. However, I do not think that the troll-fighting scene involves any more danger or sacrifice, or has any greater merit than (for example) the bit in The Naughtiest Girl in the School where Elizabeth risks detention in order to buy a birthday present for her less wealthy best friend. Both sequences involve the protagonist choosing to place themselves in danger (either physical danger in the case of Harry, or social danger in the case of the Naughtiest Girl) in order to help a friend. It doesn't matter whether the risk is of death or of detention, the point is the decision that the character makes, and the consequences that follow from it.

Thinking about it, it's this fixation on the physical events of the series (Harry Gets Attacked, Harry Goes Into The Dark Forest, Harry Fights Death Eaters), rather than the narrative points behind those events, which is responsible for most of the utter tosh that gets written about Harry Potter. The fans say "Harry Potter is placed in real, physical danger, this means that the Harry Potter series is Dark and therefore Good" the detractors say "Harry Potter is not placed in real, physical danger, this means that the Harry Potter series is Not Really Dark and therefore Not Really Good." Both of these groups of people completely miss the point. Harry Potter is a children's series about the importance of friendship and courage. Whether it chooses to illustrate those points with midnight feasts and ginger beer or with trolls and dragons and the occasional deaths of significant characters is completely beside the point. It is what it is, a children's adventure story set in a boarding school, with some wizards in it.

And that should be the end of it, and it would have been had something peculiar not happened to the series around about book four.

Harry Potter books 1-3 are excellent children's books. They combine exciting adventure with boarding school cosiness to produce thoroughly engaging stories about wizards and magic and the importance of friendship and courage. Books four to six (and I strongly suspect book seven will follow suit) are sub-par fantasy about Wizards and Magic.

Normally, this wouldn't annoy me as much as it does. It'd be a shame, but I'd cope. However I actually think that the course taken by the Potter books has actually had a detrimental effect on Children's Fiction as a whole.

It is absolutely right and correct to say that books for children are in no way inferior to books for adults. It is absolutely true that children are capable of dealing with issues far more complicated than adults give them credit for. Unfortunately this leads some people to the conclusion that there should be literally no difference between children's books and books for adults or, worse, that the merits of a children's book should be weighed according to how similar it is to a book for adults.

So many of the things which the later Harry Potter books are praised for the richness of the world, the complexity of the overarching plot are attributes which belong to adult, not children's fiction. That is not to say that children's fiction cannot be complex, but that its complexities should lie in areas other than the intricacies of the backplot and the precise functioning of Horcruxes.

To put it another way: Snape in the first book is complex in precisely the right way for a children's book. We start out thinking that he is Bad, but it turns out that he is Good. This is a nice twist, and children are smart enough to appreciate the moral complexity of it. Snape is horrible, but he is a good person. Snape in the later books is "complex" in precisely the wrong way for a children's book. He is a tangle of conflicting motivations, which may or may not actually make very much sense. He's probably going to wind up having been in love with Lily Potter, and blame himself for her death and blah blah blah.

Now I'm not saying that children are incapable of understanding characters with complex motivations. I'm saying that children won't gain anything by being asked to understand characters with complex motivations (particularly when said motivations are spurious and rather cliched). When you hear children talk about the Potter books, they always talk about how much they love the wizards and the broomsticks, you hear remarkably few people saying "well I'm really interested in the formative childhood experiences of Severus Snape."

Just look at the great classics of children's literature (particularly fantastic children's literature). We aren't asked to analyse the motivations of the Mock Turtle, or wonder whether the Queen of Hearts is really as bad as she seems. Nobody expects us to be interested in the political climate of Oz (well ... Gregory Maguire does). Children's books shouldn't be preoccupied with the same petty minutiae which fill up so much adult literature (particularly fantasy literature). In pandering to the fans' desire to speculate about the inner workings of her magical world (guess what folks, it doesn't have any, it's completely nonsensical) Rowling is breeding a generation of "book lovers" accustomed to the worst excesses of the fantasy genre.

Dahl, Carroll, Baum and the others may not have had the "moral" heart of the Harry Potter books (at least, that's Miss Rowling's analysis), but they had an imagination which far exceeds the few simple ideas which JK spins out over the Potter series. They may not have had long running plots, or complex character arcs (like the "Lupin shacks up with Tonks" arc or the "Harry goes out with Ginny for all of five minutes" arc), but for pity's sake children get enough of that sort of thing watching Eastenders.

JK Rowling is raising a generation of children to value world above plot, plot above meaning, and volume of written material above everything.Themes:

J.K. Rowling

Books

Young Adult / Children

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Rami

at 14:07 on 2006-12-20I don't read Harry Potter, but I agree with your points about Children's Fiction As A Whole - it *shouldn't* just be adult fiction with shorter words and more colorful packaging!

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Wardog

at 13:04 on 2007-01-01And Harry Potter, of course, has its range of "adult" covers, as if to further distance itself from the rest of children's fiction. As I shall surely write in an article of my very own, JK seems to be no longer writing books for children, she's writing books for Harry Potter fans which is actually a completely different thing.

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TheMerryMustelid

at 17:59 on 2012-04-21"Snape He's probably going to wind up having been in love with Lily Potter, and blame himself for her death and blah blah blah..."

Wow! You're a prophetic genius! How _do_ you do that? ;)

You hate JK Rowling as much as I hate Dan Brown. Let's get together and do coffee! :) Though I actually enjoyed the Potter series *ducks* I recognize it for the big magic soap opera it is. I have no illusions that it's great literature, but I think fellow fantasy writers like Terry Pratchett are just a _mite_ jealous that she captured the youth market before they did.

Whatever you may think of Rowling, you gotta give her credit for getting young kids around the world excited about

reading

. That's no small feat. Sorry if the visual image of a 5 year old hugging the latest Harry Potter tome to their elated breast gives you the vapors, but I find it inspiring. :P

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Dan H

at 22:32 on 2012-04-21

Whatever you may think of Rowling, you gotta give her credit for getting young kids around the world excited about reading.

Obviously getting kids to read is good, but I'm genuinely not convinced JKR actually increased the amount of books read by children - I strongly suspect that the sorts of kids who read Harry Potter are the sorts of kids who would have been reading anyway. I think the anecdotal evidence gets skewed here in the sense that for kids-who-read, there is likely to be a particular author who you remember as being the author who got you into reading (for me it was Dahl with a side order of Pratchett) and while I think there's a generation of kids for whom that author was Rowling, I don't think that's quite the same as Rowling getting kids to read. It's like the Yoko Factor in reverse, the kids got themselves to read, Rowling was just there at the time.

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Arthur B

at 00:31 on 2012-04-22Plus: getting lots of kids to read is benign enough. Getting lots of kids to

all read the same stuff

brings me out in chills.

As a young person the most valuable books I read were the ones which were strictly speaking not actually intended for people my age.

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Sister Magpie

at 06:03 on 2012-04-22I could swear I remember reading some actual research about this idea with HP. The basic result was, unsurprisingly, that while HP did certainly get kids interested in reading those books (just as Star Wars got kids interested in seeing Star Wars), the number of readers (meaning kids who read for pleasure) was basically the same.

So essentially the same idea--there are now a lot of adult readers whose first amazing books were HP, but the generation that were kids when HP came out don't have a higher percentage of readers as a result.

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James D

at 06:56 on 2012-04-22Man, that's kind of depressing. There must also be kids out there whose 'first amazing books' were the Twilight series.

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http://fishinginthemud.livejournal.com/

at 15:17 on 2012-04-22Yeah, some kids are just readers. They'll read whatever's in front of them, whether it's Harry Potter or the cereal box. Kids who don't like to read because reading is hard or boring will just wait to see the movies, as always.

I'm honestly impressed with Rowling for tapping exactly the right cultural vein at the right time. I mean, the woman literally wrote books that managed to appeal to *every kind of person everywhere*. Even people who hated the books enjoyed hating them, and often for very different reasons. She tried to give everyone everything and failed spectacularly, but she did manage to give everyone something. And she did it just by being herself and writing the kind of books she would want to read.

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TheMerryMustelid

at 16:22 on 2012-04-22I'd like to see those statistics about how the number of kids reading Potter were "reading kids" anyway. I'm writing from the states and let me tell you, seeing American kids

under

7 years old _pack_ bookstores (and I'm talking the

big

chains here) just to read a story was a new phenomena to me. Kids that young usually are not into reading as a rule.

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Arthur B

at 16:25 on 2012-04-22

I'd like to see those statistics about how the number of kids reading Potter were "reading kids" anyway. I'm writing from the states and let me tell you, seeing American kids under 7 years old _pack_ bookstores (and I'm talking the bigchains here) just to read a story was a new phenomena to me. Kids that young usually are not into reading as a rule.

Were they packing the bookstores year-round or just around the Potter release dates? Because if it's the latter, that might just be a side effect of them all being keen to read the same books by the same author rather than being particularly more keen to read than their forebears.

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TheMerryMustelid

at 16:28 on 2012-04-22

James D: Man, that's kind of depressing. There must also be kids out there whose 'first amazing books' were the Twilight series.

I see what you did there. :P

God, that would be even

depressing, wouldn't it?

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Sister Magpie

at 17:17 on 2012-04-22

I don't have the actual statistics, but the upshot of what I read was the opposite. It wasn't that the books were read by kids who were readers anyway. They were also read by non-readers because they were a huge thing everyone wanted to read. But they didn't get kids interested in reading so much as interested in Harry Potter. So it didn't create readers, it created HP fans who read that.

Though in my experience having worked at a kids' bookstore there are plenty of kids who would pack a bookstore to hear a story. There just aren't huge events where a specific book coming out brings in the crowd all at once--which of course was true for adult readers with HP too.

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http://fishinginthemud.livejournal.com/

at 17:21 on 2012-04-22I think if the goal was to get kids to start reading Harry Potter and then graduate them to actual good books, it didn't work. There are kids who read Harry Potter and nothing else, which doesn't quite make them "readers."

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http://roisindubh211.livejournal.com/

at 20:09 on 2012-04-22

I have no illusions that it's great literature, but I think fellow fantasy writers like Terry Pratchett are just a _mite_ jealous that she captured the youth market before they did.

That was never the problem- Pratchett, at least, was annoyed at the way she was presented in the news as if she was the first person ever to put MAGIC in books for CHILDREN, etc, in pieces obviously written by people who do not read fantasy (and yet think they know what's what in the genre).

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http://lonewolf-eburg.livejournal.com/

at 21:07 on 2012-04-22The main problem with Harry Potter isn't that the books stop being "children's books" halfway though. "These books are no longer for children" is a statement that implies something that is nor positive, nor negative.

The problem is that in the later books, "childlike" elements inherited from earlier ones uncomfortably mesh with the new "adult stuff". I'd argue that in HBP and DH this is particularly noticeable, though two previous books suffer from that as well. As a result, both the series and every particular post-PoA book taken in itself have a hard time realizing who the hell is their primary audience. That results in a lot of dissonant Mood Whiplashes, aborted storylines and themes as the narrative merrily goes from "childlike" to "adult" and back again, and inconsistent characterization.

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TheMerryMustelid

at 21:19 on 2012-04-22TheMerryMustelid:

I have no illusions that it's great literature, but I think fellow fantasy writers like Terry Pratchett are just a _mite_ jealous that she captured the youth market before they did.

http://roisindubh211.livejournal.com/

Didn't Pratchett also take Rowling to task for effectively saying her books

weren't

fantasy? Like she was trying to distance her series from the "taint" of the genre or something. If she did say something as bone-headed as that, I don't blame him for jumping down her throat.

I love Pratchett and am happy to see him finally getting a wider audience in the States. For many years it seemed he was almost the American fantasy geek's best kept secret. I used to sneer at Terry Brooks readers while I clutched the latest then-hard-to-find Pratchett tome. But that was way back and Pratchett has had good american distribution for at least a decade now.

Ogg is my Co-pilot. :D

To get back on topic, if it's statistically true that Rowling didn't inspire more kids to read beyond her series, that is too bad, but is it necessarily her fault? One of my little pet theories is that fantasy in general has benefitted from the Harry Potter frenzy, because during the waits between Potter books & after the series ended, readers needed something to fill the void. So in effect, Rowling did help other fantasy writers by making fantasy more popular than ever before, even mainstream.

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Sister Magpie

at 00:04 on 2012-04-23I don't think anybody would say it was her fault. It came up, I think, because there were a lot of people crediting her with single-handedly boosting literacy rates etc. That idea has gotten repeated a lot, so it just gets corrected. Blaming her for not performing that feat is like blaming her for not actually being able to fly a broomstick--I don't think anybody could do it!

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Dan H

at 09:37 on 2012-04-23

The main problem with Harry Potter isn't that the books stop being "children's books" halfway though. "These books are no longer for children" is a statement that implies something that is nor positive, nor negative.

I think I disagree, but only margainally. I think "these books are no longer for children" does in fact imply something negative, simply because it implies - well - all of the stuff you mention later.

The reason I would suggest that it was bad for a series of children's books to become a series of books for adults is simply that it is inevitable that the "for kids" stuff doesn't fit with the "for adults" stuff. Part of the problem here is that people seem to forget that you can have a dark, serious story in which bad things happen to people which is still fundamentally a children's story, or a lighthearted wacky romp which is still for grownups.

Rowling's error - essentially - was that she mistakenly believed that the only way to engage with the "serious" themes she wanted to engage with in her children's stories was for her to stop writing children's books.

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http://lonewolf-eburg.livejournal.com/

at 15:16 on 2012-04-23I agree that JKR's OMGADULT!change was always going to have some problems, but I also think that she could've done more to alleviate the problem of thematic discordance. She didn't seem to be aware that she has a problem that needs fixing at all.

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Frank

at 17:04 on 2012-04-23I, too, recall reading that HP did not increase readers. My understanding is that the series may have increased literacy within age groups. Increasing one's ability to read books does not necessarily make one a reader of books.

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http://fishinginthemud.livejournal.com/

at 17:24 on 2012-04-23I agree that after about book three Rowling was no longer clear which market she was targeting, and it didn't matter because she was solidly hitting all of them. I can imagine her and her publishers having their minds blown by their success and wanting more of it, without really being sure what was working and shouldn't be changed and where they had room to let her go crazy and do what she liked. There may not have been a conscious choice to turn the books "adult," but an organic growth in that direction, which no editor ever bothered to sit down and take a good look at and realize just how fucked up it was.

Basically, I think Rowling was a decently talented newbie who was deeply injured by her early success, and it'll be interesting to see whether she ever recovers from it as a writer.

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http://fishinginthemud.livejournal.com/

at 17:34 on 2012-04-23

She didn't seem to be aware that she has a problem that needs fixing at all.

I think closer to the end, her only thought was "finish these fucking books so I can get the fuck on with my life." It's probably more that she simply didn't care what she wrote anymore as long as she got words on paper, and her editors cared even less.

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http://scipiosmith.livejournal.com/

at 20:06 on 2012-04-23

She didn't seem to be aware that she has a problem that needs fixing at all.

Given that her next book seems to be a satire on the State of the Nation, I'd say she does at least realise that a work primarily for adults will allow her more room to engage with the ideas she wants to in the manner which she would like. As Dan and others have noted, the social commentary in HP was hampered by the fact that it was ultimately a story about the Chosen One defeating the Dark Lord.

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http://lonewolf-eburg.livejournal.com/

at 20:29 on 2012-04-23I think that Scipio is correct here. To make her later books truly "grow" and be consistent at least in themselves (even if we disregard the earlier ones), JKR needed her books to change from "ultimately a story about the Chosen One defeating the Dark Lord". But while some fanfiction writers could do that (with varying degrees of success), Rowling, understandably, couldn't afford it.

That's why GoF and OotP weren't as bad as DH. In then, JKR could allow herself to deviate a little. HBP, IMO, is just plain badly written.

"I'd say she does at least realise that a work primarily for adults will allow her more room to engage with the ideas she wants to in the manner which she would like"

To be fair, sometimes fantasy can be a good vessel for real-world commentary. But then, see the previous points made on the thread.

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http://scipiosmith.livejournal.com/

at 19:05 on 2012-04-24

To be fair, sometimes fantasy can be a good vessel for real-world commentary. But then, see the previous points made on the thread.

Oh, definitely. One of my favourite fantasies of the moment is Shadows of the Apt, which tries very hard to engage with race, privilege and the nature of prejudice and discrimination in general. I just think that a series for children is perhaps not the best medium for that sort of thing.

#Ferretbrain #Harry Potter #Roald Dahl #Enid Blyton #J.K. Rowling #Dan H

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awhitehead17 · 6 years

Note

Hello! I love your fan fiction, you write really well! Sorry for my bad English, i'm italian...XD I would have a TimKon Prompt for you: AU - No capes; Conner has just moved to Gotham, at the same high school as Tim and at the beginning the two hate each other. But when he finds Tim hurt by a group of bullies in their class, Conner decides to help him defend himself. The Bat-family supports Tim, helping the kid to clarify his feelings for Conner. ♥

Hi and thank you so much! It’s always fantastic to hear that peopleenjoy my writing, it means so much to me.

Sorry it took me a little while to answer this, but the prompt’s awesomeand great timing too, because I’ve been wanting to write another high schoolstory for a little while now. This story took a turn all in it’s own but it wasfun to write, I hope you like it!

Of course the one guy who gets his attention turns out to bean asshole. He’s only been at the school for four days and he has alreadydeveloped a crush on someone and that someone happens to be the son of thefamous billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne.

Even though its only been four days Kon already knows thatTim is an asshole. He’s seen it by the way Tim acts in class and the way heacts during lunch breaks. The guy pushes everyone who tries to get close away,he’s stuck up and clearly thinks he’s better than everyone else just because hehas money. Kon’s fairly sure he hasn’t seen Tim interact with more than fiveother people in school in a way that wasn’t mean.

How Kon has fallen for him he has no idea, it probablydoesn’t help that Tim is hot. Piercing blue eyes, medium length black hair, alean figure (though Kon has seen him once at the school’s gym and knows thathe’s packing some serious muscle and strength even though it doesn’t show).Maybe it’s because Tim Drake-Wayne is appearing to be a mystery person that Konhasn’t come across before and its made him intrigued.

Damn him and his mysterious ways.

It was on his fifth day at his new school that somethingactually exciting happened. Well not exciting but something interesting. Halfway through the day he was in biology and asked to go to the toilet, thankfullythe teacher let him go and Kon headed out to look for the closet toilets. He wasstill new and was yet to remember the school’s layout.

He was walking down the empty hallway when a group of guysenter from the side. They were being loud and all of them were laughing. Konrecognises them all from the football team. While they all look like a good groupof guys, Kon’s heard rumours about them being bullies and general dick heads.He has yet to see them bully anyone, but the rumours are just enough to makehim want to stay away from them. He doesn’t like bullies.

As they cross the paths the one at the front spots him andpoints at him, “Kent, you better be trying out for the team next week. The wayyou played the other day was fantastic.” He praises Kon.

Kon appreciates praise but he gets he distracted by seeingblood on the hand that was pointed at him. “Yeah, maybe.” He says.

“You better.” The guy laughs and then he and his friendscontinue down the hallway.

Kon walks down the hallway and turns to the side, where thefootballers had just come from, and follows it through to the end where thetoilets were at. He gets to the door but pauses after seeing something smearedon it. He bends down and gets a closer look to find that it’s blood, and thatit was still wet.

Frowning he enters the toilets and finds a sight he neverexpected to see. Leaning over a sink was Tim Drake-Wayne. From where he stoodKon could see the blood dripping down the side of his head and down his neck. Whenhe looks in the mirror he sees Tim looking down and holding a hand to his nosewhile blood seeps through his fingers and into the white bowl below him.

Kon stands there for a minute before he realises that he’sstaring. Making himself move he goes over to the toilets and does his business.At the same time he feels something inside him pulling at the fact TimDrake-Wayne was bleeding in the school toilets and how he should somehow helphim.

As Conner was zipping up his jeans he made the connectionthat any idiot would be able to. Blood on footballer’s hand, blood on the doorand blood running down Tim’s face. Tim had gotten beaten up.

He takes it back, he’s now seen them bully someone, butwhether this was a one-time thing or a regular thing he’s not sure.

Kon leaves the toilet to find Tim still at the sink exceptthis time he’s continuously wiping his nose with a now red tissue. He walks upnext to him and starts to wash his hands, he glances at Tim through the mirror,“Why did they do it?”

“Why does it matter?” Came the sharp reply.

“Just curious.”

“Well take your curiosity elsewhere.”

“I was just asking okay. No need to be so hostile.”

Tim turns and glares at him, “AndI’m telling you to get out of my business, so fuck off.”

Kon turns the water off and faceshim, “Look there must have been a reason to why they punched you, I was justasking that’s all.”

“I get that you’re new here butlearn that people in this school are assholes and they don’t need a reason todo anything.”

“Like how you’re one?” Conner shoots at him. He watches withamusement as Tim blinks, taking in what he had said.

Tim moves away from the sink over to the toilets to grabmore tissue before coming back to the sink, “It doesn’t matter why they didit.” He says quietly, this time with no anger to his words, “Nothing will getthem to stop.”

“I could teach you how to fight, if you want.” The offercomes out of nowhere, so it shocks Kon just as much as it apparently shocksTim.

“I know self-defence.” Tim tells him sharply, like Connerhad insulted him.

“Okay, but do you know how to fight?”

“I have brothers.” Tim tells him.

Conner lets out a frustrated noise, he isn’t getting anywhere here. It’s clear that Tim isn’t interested so he decides to give up withhim. He tried, so no one can say that he didn’t do anything. Conner starts towalk towards the door, “Well if you change your mind let me know.”

With that Kon leaves Tim to his bloody tissues and exits thetoilets. He heads back to his class while repeating their conversation in hishead. Once he’s sat down again he shakes his thoughts away and tries to focuson what the teacher was babbling on about.

Tim hikes his bag up on his shoulder and exits the school.Another week over, another step closer to finally finishing this hell hole. Hesighs as he looks around for his eldest brother, this was something he wasn’tlooking forward too. His brother will see the bruises on his face, question it,then get protective and try to get him some help.

Too soon for his liking, there was a hand frantically wavingat him. Sighing, Tim makes his way over and sees his brother’s smile drop offhis face and as it’s replaced with a frown, “Timmy what happened?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

Tim doesn’t stop the hand that reaches out to him and gentlygrabs his face. He lets Dick do his examination before he slaps the hand away.“Can we go?”

Dick looks like he wants to ask more questions but wiselykeeps silent. Tim sees him look over his shoulder and then he cocks an eyebrow,“Who’s that?”

Tim turns to look in the direction Dick was looking at. Hesees the new kid, Conner he believes he’s called, standing by a truck lookingat them. Seeming to have realised that he’s gotten caught, he quickly advertshis eyes and climbs in the truck.

Tim turns back to face Dick, “He’s new.” Tim tells himreaching for the door handle of the car, “Just joined this week.”

“Oh yeah?” Dick says as he walks to the other side of thecar and climbs in, “He seemed to be checking you out.”

Tim snorts, “As if.”

Dick grins, “I dunno baby bird, it seemed pretty obvious.”

Tim decides to not say anything but that seems to encouragehis brother, “Oh! You like him!”

Tim snaps his head to look at him and glares, “No I don’t.”

“Yes you do!”

“No. I don’t.”

“Oh you do! Wait until Jay hears about this, he’s going tolove it.”

Tim gives up. If he opens his mouth again he’ll only beadding fuel to the fire.

Finally Dick starts up the car, “It’s okay to have a crushTim. There’s no need to be embarrassed about it.”

“When they see you beaten up and bleeding in the toilets,there’s plenty to be embarrassed about.” He snaps, glaring out of the window.

Dick seems to take this in consideration, “Okay, what didyou say to him?”

“I told him to stay out of my business.” Tim tells him, hethen quickly adds on, “And then he offered me to teach me how to fight and Ideclined.”

Dick face palms, “Why did you do that? That was a perfectopportunity to be with him and get to know him.”

“I panicked!”

“Have mine and Jason’s lessons been going over your head orsomething Tim? Just let him know that you’ve reconsidered and want to do it.Invite him over to the Manor, do whatever you’re going to do and then bam, it’sall sorted!”

Tim rubs a hand across his forehead, “No Dick, it’s notsorted. Things like that just don’t work out.”

“Why not? What have you got to lose?”

“He already thinks I’m an asshole.”

“So show him you’re not.”

Having had enough of the conversation Tim shakes his headand looks out the window.

Later that night Tim brings up Conner’s Facebook account and starts tostalk through it. He wanted to see what the guy was like. From his Facebook Timgather’s that he seems to be pretty chill, often outside enjoying the sun orwalking his dog. He has lots of friends back in his home town, they had oftentagged him in lots of comical pictures of him.

Deciding, Tim sends him a friends request. He hasn’t got hisnumber to text him so this seemed to be the next best thing. He would speak tohim in school on Monday but that was two days away and he kind of wants to speakto him now.

His brothers had manipulated him into saying yes to Conner’soffer on the fighting lessons. They told him if he doesn’t ask Conner himself thenthey’ll do it and Tim doesn’t want that.

Half an hour later Tim gets a notification saying that Connerhas accepted his friends request. A minute after that he gets a message throughfrom him, “Have you added me becauseyou’ve reconsidered on taking my offer or because you want to have a go at meagain?”

Tim frowns at the message and replies back, “I didn’t have a go at you, I just told yousharply that it wasn’t anything to do with you. If the offer is still availablethen yes, I have reconsidered.”

“Yeah, the offer isstill there, that’s good to hear I guess. When do you want to do it?”

“How about Wednesdayafter school if that’s good for you. You can come back to my place.”

“Sounds good. See youthen I guess.”

“See ya.”

Tim sits back and looks at their conversation, well that waseasier than expected. Maybe Dick was right about it being simple after all.Though he can’t help but wonder what Conner is thinking right now, maybe he’sfreaking out over it, maybe he’s laughing at Tim and how pathetic he is,perhaps he’s just as confused about the situation as he is.

With that sorted Tim goes ahead and does his nightly routineand prepares for bed. Tomorrow he’s at his adoptive father’s company, so heneeds to not be over tired to deal with that.

Before he knows it, it’s Wednesday and he’s waiting forConner outside of school. They haven’t spoken since Friday night over Facebookso Tim has no idea if this thing is still even on, he hopes it is and he hopesthat it wasn’t all just a set up. As nervous as he is for it, he’s lookingforward to it.

A few minutes Conner comes up to him, “Hey, sorry, I got heldback in class. The teacher was being a dick.”

“Who did you have?” Tim asks, he knows all the teachers andknows that about 90% of them can be dicks.

“Mr. Public.”

Tim makes a face, “Yeah he’s an asshole alright.”

“Yeah…”

They fall into an awkward silence for a minute before Connerclears his throat, “Um, shall we? I, uh, have my truck so I can drive us there or are you getting picked up?”

Tim shakes his head, no I’m not getting picked up. Inormally walk on Wednesdays anyway, so if you’re happy driving then we can go.”

“Okay then let’s go.”

Conner leads the way to his truck and Tim follows. They stayin silence for the whole ride, the only words shared between them is Tim givingConner directions on how to get to his home. They get there and make their wayinside. Tim is fully aware of Conner gaping at everything around them. Comingto Wayne Manor can be overwhelming for the first time, Tim remembers his firsttime arriving at the mansion. The shock and awe that falls over you at seeingeverything so grand can be overwhelming, just the size alone is enough to getpeople looking like gold fish let alone the interior décor.

Tim leads them through the halls and down to the Manor’sgym. It was a wide room full of a variety of equipment, ranging from cardio toweights and then in the centre there are floor mats. Tim turns to find Connergaping at the room, “Holy shit dude. I knew you were rich, but this is, this isreally, fucking hell…”

Tim lets Conner marvel at the room for another minute or so.It was entertaining watching how people react to his home, especially the oneswho go all speechless and gape at everything. After a moment of silence heclaps his hands, “So shall we?”

That seems to bring Conner back to himself, “We shall…”

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the gym. Conner wentthrough teaching Tim the basics of street fighting and how to executecertain moves. When Tim had questioned him on how he knows how to fight theother teen had shrugged and said, “I was involved in several fights at my old school,also I looked them up on YouTube.” Tim had left it at that, there’s no need topry into his life.

By the end of their session a few hours later Tim wassporting new bruises over his body and his crush on this guy had increaseddrastically. He walks Conner back to the front door, after making the samearrangements for the following week Tim waves him off. Once his truck hasdisappeared from sight Tim closes the door and leans against it with hisforehead against the cool glass.

In a rhythm Tim starts to smack his head against it. Whatthe hell is going on? He has a crush on a guy he doesn’t even know. Said guy isteaching him how to fight so he can fight off some stupid school bullies whodon’t really bully him they only occasionally beat him up like once or twice amonth.

Tim groans as his head hits the door again, when had thisbecome his life?

When his head hits something other than the solid glass ofthe door he looks up confused and finds Dick staring at him with a raisedeyebrow, “You okay there Timbo?”

Tim turns and faces him. He slaps his hands down on hisbrothers shoulders sags into him while exclaiming, “Help me, I’m feeling!”

Dick simply laughs and grabs Tim by the arms to keep him onhis feet, “Alright kid, you’re okay. Feelings are normal.”

“I don’t want them!”

“Well tough because you got them.”

Tim makes a whimpering sound and lets Dick carry him throughthe Manor to wherever the man is deciding to take them. Crushes suck.

It became a regular thing between the two of them. Everydayon Wednesday after school Conner would go to the Manor and teach Tim how tofight and every time they meet Tim’s crush grows on him as he gets to know himmore.

Tim has made a lot of progress since Conner had started toteach him how to fight properly, so at least his lessons weren’t being wasted andhe often goes on YouTube to try and improve on the days that Conner isn’t withhim. He has yet to use his new skills on the people they’re originally intendedfor, but he knows he’ll be ready for when he needs them.

It was their third week of meeting up and Tim is waiting forConner outside the school. Like normal on Wednesdays, Conner has Mr. Publiclast period so he’s always a little later, however this time Tim spots himcoming out a piece of paper in clutched in his hands and his head is dippedlow. Tim walks up to him, “Hey you okay?”

Conner looks up at him, “What? Yeah I’m fine.” He thenplasters a fake smile on that pretty face of his.

Tim rolls his eyes, “There’s something wrong because youlook like you have a rain cloud over your head.”

Conner sighs, “I, um, I failed my test.” He admits andshakes the paper in his hand, “which sucks because I actually studied for itand I still get bad results.”

Tim looks at him for a moment and decides on something, “Ifyou like, I could tutor you?”

“You would do that?”

“Yeah sure, think of it as pay back for teaching me how tofight?” Tim smiles at him, while inside his head it’s like a bomb had gone off. What the hell was he doing? This is justsetting himself up for a disaster! Abort! Abort!

Conner gives him a small smile which makes his heartflutter, “Yeah okay. If you don’t mind. What day?”

“How about Fridays? Wednesday’s, we carry on fighting andFridays we can study.” Tim suggests.

“Yeah okay, sounds good.”

“Awesome let’s go.”

So that became their routine for the next couple of weeksand yet again every time they meet Tim’s crush grows more and more and it’s atthe point where it’s killing him. His brothers tease him about it on a regularbasis and often try to ‘help’ him get hooked up, they unhelpfully leave him newpackets of condoms and lube around his room and even in his school bag. What makesthis crush even worse he doesn’t even know if Conner likes guys, knowing Tim’sluck he’s straight as an arrow.

It was their fifth week of meeting up that Conner’s lessonscome into use. It was Tuesday and school had just ended and Tim was outsidewaiting for Alfred to pick him up. He silently watched as students mil about aroundhim, talking excitedly in their friendship groups, some waiting to be picked upand others already walking away.

Tim was minding his own business as he stood waiting forAlfred, books in one hand, his bag over one shoulder and listening to somelight music through his earphones. Then out of no where he lurched forward as something collided against his back.Tim stumbles a few paces before he gains his balance, he spins around to find someof the footballers standing there sinisterly smiling at him and Tim knew whatwas coming. Was it that time of the monthalready?

“You know what Drake, I’ve had a pretty bad day today. Youknow what’ll make me feel better?” Peter asks him.

Tim looks at him, completely bored of the situation, “I don’tknow Peter, perhaps a facial lift maybe?” He quips unable to help himself.

The first punch he didn’t see coming. The strike collides withhis right cheek and knocks him down onto the floor. He’s aware of laughinghappening around him as he tries to comprehend on what just happened. At thesame time he hears a voice break through the laughter, “Tim!”

Conner. Tim starts to pick himself up off the floor when twohands are suddenly on him helping him up. He looks up to find the other teen looking athim with worry, “You okay?”

Tim brushes Conner off him, “Fine.”

“Got the new dog as your bitch now have we Drake?” Peter comments.

Tim turns around and glares at him, it’s one thing to punchhim and call him names but calling Conner a bitch was not okay.

“Tim?” Conner frowns at him.

Tim ignores him and pushes his books into Conner’s hands anddrops his bag by his feet, “Hold these for me.”

With that Tim launches himself at Peter and proceeds topunch him in the face twice and then knee him in the stomach. When Tim stepsaway Peter smirks at him, “Oh, the dogs learnt how to bite.”

Tim snarls at him and launches his own attack again but thistime the other was ready for them and dodges them, he then starts to throw outhis own punches which Tim is able to dodge.

Normally Tim would let them beat him until they were satisfiedso they would then leave him alone, but this time he’s fighting back. With Conner’straining and his pent-up anger, he throws punches and kicks at the bully and is able to beat him onto the floor. Seeing that he isn’tgetting back up Tim steps away and wipes the blood off his lips with hissleeve, “From now on you aren’t going to touch me anymore. I’ve had it with you’reconstant bullying. Next time I’ll beat you until your unconscious.”

Breathing heavily he turns away from the teen on the floorand the gaping mouths of his friends to face Conner who is also gaping at him. Ignoringat how badly he is shaking Tim smiles at him, “Looks like your lessons cameinto use after all.”

“Apparently.” Conner supplies still looking at him withshock.

Tim watches him for a moment and a sudden wave of boldnessrolls over him, he leans up and places a kiss to Conner’s slightly open mouth. Ashe goes to pull away he feels a hand capture the back of his head and force himback towards Conner’s mouth. Their lips meet again and this time Conner iskissing him back.

Tim can’t help but moan at the warmth of Conner’s mouth. He figuresthat it can’t be that great of a first kiss because he can taste blood in hisown mouth and no doubt that Conner can taste it too. Soon enough they breakapart and look at each other, “You are so hot.” Conner comments with a grin.

The smile is contagious and Tim grins back, “Not so badyourself.” He looks back to find all the footballers staring at them turningback to Conner he says, “Come on, lets go. Alfred is picking me up and you’recoming along.”

Conner lets Tim drag him away to where Alfred was nowwaiting. Tim smiles, getting beat up that day weeks ago wasn’t such a bad thingafter all.

#timkon #prompt #Tim Drake #conner kent #no capes au #high school au #fanfiction #humour #dick grayson

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