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jimblejamblewritings · 2 years

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the muggle | part 2.

Summary: Y/N L/N just moved to London from America. Everything was new and weird. London had weird food, weird slang, weird ways of driving. But the weirdest were the people. Especially, the ones in strange robes who always had sticks with them.

Warnings: some smut and a bit of violence

Pairing: Bill Weasley x black!reader, Bill Weasley x muggle!reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

You loved university. Well, not really but you loved some of your professors. You loved your friends and you loved the different life that London was bringing. The only things that sucked were the time difference between your friends and family back home and the food. British food was interesting. Some of it was fantastic but then someone offered you beans on toast and you had to question your entire existence.

You were studying in the library instead of going to the Halloween party. You went to the one on Friday so you felt no need to go to another one on Saturday. You learned from your freshman year that partying all weekend was not the way to go. Especially if you were a double major— getting ahead gave you a peace of mind when exams and the end of semesters came. You were doing literature and creative writing, two sides of the same coin but necessary. You already had a job secured back home with your high school’s headmaster saying you could come back to teach when you graduated— perks of attending a close-knit private school. The thing was, creative writing wasn’t enough.

So, you were doing literature as well and then you’d be ready for a classroom of obnoxious high schoolers saying how much they related to Holden Caulfield or how much Mr. Darcy is what men should strive to be like in the present day. You didn’t really want to teach but it was a good backup because there was no guarantee that you were becoming a best-selling author and you still wanted to be able to eat and live in a house.

Even though you were in the library finishing up your essay on the subtle similarities between Shakespeare’s tragedies and comedies so you could begin your poem portfolio, you were in a costume. You did meet your friends earlier because the English department was showing Halloween-esque movies that were based off of books. Everyone had dressed up for that— you went as Dionne. You were going to be Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz to go with the whole movies adapted from books theme, but then your friend had never seen Clueless because it was only popular in America since it literally just came out. You immediately went to the nearest DVD store and bought it. She loved it so she went as Cher and you were Dionne.

You closed your powerbook— it was a present from your grandfather for getting into a prestigious college last year. The laptop literally just came out and of course everyone wanted it, technology was really getting advanced. You wished your phone matched but Apple didn’t make phones so you had mismatched tech. You packed up the laptop and your notes, ready to leave the library. The Dionne outfit, while cute, was definitely impractical now that it was night time. The wind was determined to attack you and you were beginning to think it was personal.

You decided to take a shortcut home and go through the cemetery so you could cut through the park and be at Grimmauld in less time than walking all the way around. Walking through a cemetery, on Halloween, wasn’t something you would ever do. Hell, you were taught not to even whistle past a graveyard but it was windy and started to rain out of nowhere. You’d quicker fight a ghost with your Dionne heels rather than be shivering and wet. You didn’t run— in case spirits saw it as a challenge— but you quickly walked through the cemetery, keeping your eyes on your shoes.

You grabbed at the gate when a searing pain went through your entire body. You heard a man cackling and then a word you had never heard before. Flashes of light flew over your head and suddenly the cemetery was full of people. You weren’t sure if you were seeing correctly because of the pain but you were positive light was coming randomly from their bodies.

Nott apparated away and the Order huffed. They believed Harry when he said Voldemort was back and it was obvious by the amount of Death Eaters that the Ministry had cleared all those years ago coming back to wreak havoc. They had been searching for the Order and for Harry. He was protected by Hogwarts and Lily’s love when he was at Privet Drive, they were protected by Grimmauld but Voldemort was working tirelessly to find a way to break one of those charms. They were getting closer and closer to the headquarters each day. Moody looked down at you shivering on the ground. The Death Eaters must have been stalking the area they assumed Grimmauld was and had seen you enough times to start trailing, hoping there would be a slip up. You were holding your hand that looked like it had just been burned.

“Weasley, the gate,” Moody directed.

Bill checked the gate. There was, in fact, a curse on it. Nott and whoever was helping hadn’t cut corners. He kneeled down to help you stand up. More words you didn’t understand were muttered and the pain subsided enough that you were only gritting your teeth.

“We need to take you home and get that properly fixed,” Bill said.

You tried to joke through the pain. “This is what I get for walking through a graveyard.”

Bill held onto you the entire walk back. Your eyes widened as you watched your building move and a new door appeared next to your flat’s door. You chuckled to yourself. So that was where the number twelve went. You had been wondering how they forgot and skipped that number because your building wasn’t just odd numbers.

You were led up the stairs and through the hall into the living room. Bill directed you to a large armchair, setting your backpack down next to you. You watched him pull out a stick and continue with the weird words while the large man with the glass eyeball walked off. A woman who seemed close to your age— maybe even the same age— with purple hair came out with multiple drinks and set them on the end table next to you.

“You need to drink this foul looking one, other two are butterbeer and pumpkin juice. Didn’t know which one you wanted,” she spoke quickly and left just as quickly— almost like she disappeared.

Bill watched you stare at the spot that contained Tonks moments ago. He had to admit, you were taking this better than most muggles. You just seemed confused which was much better than the screaming and sputtering— those took the longest to obliviate because of how much the muggles were moving around. You looked down at the guy kneeling in front of you.

“This is going to sound stupid but… what the actual fuck is going on?”

He chuckled. “Drink the potion.”

“If this is to drug me, when I regain consciousness, I’ll kick your ass. Don’t let the outfit fool you, I will dropkick you.”

“Dropkick?”

“Yeah, I kn— wait, do you not know what that is?”

“Drink the potion.” Bill waited for you to put it to your lips. “Dropkick, is that American or muggle slang?”

You choked. “God, that’s awful. What’s in it, goblin spit?”

“Unicorn spit, actually.”

You froze before setting the cup down. “Okay, that’s nasty. Um, yeah, no— that’s…”

“So, what’s a dropkick?” Bill asked as you reached for the pumpkin juice before spitting it back into the cup and picking up the butterbeer.

You swirled around the drink, scared to take a sip of it after the first two. This was beans on toast and blood pudding all over again. The warm drink made it past your lips. You hummed at the pleasant taste, head bobbing as you drank more. You set it down after draining the cup.

“You kick someone like a kangaroo. It makes you fall to the ground too since we don’t have tails but trust me, it’s effective.”

“Hmm, dropkick.”

“What’s a muggle?”

Bill waved his wand. “Someone who can’t do magic… I’m surprised you’re not screaming by now.”

“It’s Halloween, weird shit always happens on Halloween. So you’re a witch, does London have a lot of those?”

“It’s wizard. The women are witches.”

“Um, if you’re a wizard, where’s the staff?”

“Staff?”

“Yeah. Big stick. Gandalf… ‘you shall not pass’, no?”

Bill snorted as he let go of your now healed hand. “Whatever muggle rubbish you’ve read, it’s not true. Do you want another butterbeer?”

You nodded. Bill walked into the kitchen to get another drink. You stayed in the armchair but let your eyes wander around the entire room. It looked very normal for a bunch of wizards and witches. Not that you knew what their house would look like but you expected more… magic? You looked down at your hand, good as new. You were going to believe it was the guy helping you and not the drink that apparently had unicorn spit in it. Because you were going to die if you had to acknowledge the fact that you might have just drank unicorn spit. The guy came back with another butterbeer for you and one for him.

“So do my rescuers have names or is it just hot wizard , wizard with the eye, cool witch with purple hair?”

“Thanks!” A voice called from upstairs.

Bill laughed. “Cool witch with purple hair is Tonks. The other man was Moody, I’m Bill.”

A door closed, something sounded like it got knocked over, and you heard the obnoxious screams of a woman followed by ‘shut up, Mother’. The yelling stopped and another man strolled in. You looked at the older guy with the leather jacket and then back at Bill.

“And Jacket Wizard?” you asked, pointing.

“Sirius Black,” Jacket Wizard answered. “What’s she doing back here?”

Sirius sat down confused. You stopped drinking as you processed his words.

“Back here? Why would I be back here?”

You set the glass down, close to you. Moody and Tonks came downstairs. You pretended to scratch at an itch as Moody explained what happened the last time on a night you didn’t remember. Really, you were unclipping the straps on your heavy, chunky heels. You scoffed as he finished.

“Obliviate? Guys, so not cool. That’s literally a violation.”

“If we didn’t, yo—”

“How do we know you don’t just obliviate the memory of you. You could be taking whatever you wanted. Violation. Don’t try to say otherwise.”

Moody shrugged like he didn’t really care. Pulling out his wand, he pointed it at you. “We’ll only take tonight, I promise you that. Nice to meet you, you’re an interesting muggle. Let’s not make this a habit of saving you. Obl—”

Your shoe hit him in the face and made him drop his wand. You threw the glasses on the table and your other shoe at Sirius. Grabbing the lamp, you held it out like a sword and swung it around to stop them from getting near you.

“Absolutely not!” You yelled. “There will be NO erasing of anyone’s mind, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Sirius started laughing as he held his face. “Are all American muggles like this or is it just you? She’s great.”

“Hey,” Bill held his wand up in a sort of surrender. “Can we put the lamp down?”

“Nope.”

Bill nodded and then looked at the others. Hurting a muggle wasn’t how they handled things and you were also in a corner with lots of throwable objects. Bill held out a hand to the others and they all gave him their wands. He showed you the little collection and then set them down on the armchair that you had been sitting in.

“Can we set the lamp down now?”

You slowly put your weapon back on the table and grabbed the wands. “You get these back when I walk out.”

“Your shoes,” Sirius called as you started to walk away.

You shoved their wands in your backpack so they couldn’t grab them while putting your shoes back on. Tonks’s face changed from surprised at your fight to amused as you took the butterbeer bottle with you before walking down the hall. You set down the four wands when you had reached the door. They watched you quickly dart out of the house and down the stairs. The slam of your own flat door could be heard. Tonks laughed.

“I like her.”

You passed out, hoping everything was a weird dream. The morning brought the strange reality that it wasn’t a dream. But it was Sunday, which meant grocery day. You sighed as you looked out of your window to see rain. You got dressed accordingly, choosing a raincoat instead of an umbrella. With reusable bags in hand, you locked the door to 11 Grimmauld and left.

Sirius and Bill caught you looking at the space where 12 Grimmauld should have been. You tilted your head and frowned. They watched you shrug once before swinging your empty bags and walking off. Sirius turned his head when he saw Bill shrug on jacket and grab an umbrella.

“Where are you going?”

“Someone has to make sure she doesn’t go telling everyone.”

Sirius chuckled. “That’s the face of some bloke who just saw a pretty girl.”

Bill rolled his eyes and left the house. He saw you turn the corner and began walking. Bill froze when you turned suddenly. Your eyes narrowed as you walked up to him. You stuck a hand out, palm up. He pulled his wand from his pocket and placed it in your hand.

“How did you know I was behind you? I barely took five steps.”

“We don’t just walk places in America without checking your surroundings. I don’t know how you do it here but it’s called safety measures where I’m from… where do you store this?”

“Special pockets. I’m not—”

“Don’t trust you. Have you heard of a hair stick?”

“What?”

That answered your question. There was no place to store Bill’s wand without possibly breaking it. You were glad you chose to take out your braids early for a proper wash and deep condition because now you could put your curls up in a bun. Bill watched you stick the wand in your hair. You moved to walk next to him under the umbrella, now that your jacket hood was off and it was still raining.

“So, why am I being stalked by hot wizard and how did you get stuck with babysitting duty?”

“My nam—”

“Bill. I remember. Do you not like the nickname? I can stop.”

“No, it’s fine— Hot wizard’s great but if someone hears.”

“I mean no one’s going to believe in…” you waited for the couple on the street to walk past. “Wizards. No offense. I’m just saying if I said I met a wizard, they’d think it was a joke. And then they’d send me to the loony bin if I kept insisting. Not even a good mental health place, I mean the literal loony bin. Make a left.”

You reached your grocery store, grabbing a small cart and putting your bags down in it. Bill wasn’t prepared for that answer. Why wouldn’t people believe in wizards? The magic was right there, his wand was in your hair for heaven’s sake. One look at that and people should believe in it. You looked through all the eggs in the carton to make sure they weren’t broken and set it in your cart.

“Oh, thanks for fixing my hand. I have a Mary Shelley that needs annotating for my class and doing it with the other hand would have been such a pain in my ass.”

“A Mary Shelley?”

“Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein… holy crap, you’ve never heard of Frankenstein?”

Bill shook his head.

“Being a wizard blows. How have— there’s so many Frankenstein movies. Just pick a DVD and watch it, I’ll lend you the book when I’m done with it.”

Bill scratched his head as you finished scratching the last item off of your list. He watched you pay and then the two of you left the store to be greeted by a no longer raining sky. Bill waited till you weren’t around customers trying to get into the store.

“Uh, what’s a DVD?”

You stopped and looked at him. “Are you serious?”

He nodded.

“Bill, you’ve gone from hot wizard to clueless wizard. Tell you what. I don’t have class on Tuesday and lucky for you I do my work at least two months early, so come over and we’ll watch Frankenstein. This is a date, by the way.”

You took the wand from your hair and tried to get your curls into a non-bun shape. Bill took the wand back and watched you go inside your flat. Sirius was laughing from the window when he came in. Bill brushed him off and went to look at the letters that the owl just dropped off.

Tuesday rolled around and Bill sat awkwardly in the living room. You just said Tuesday but never gave a time. Did muggles just expect everyone to know a time or did it mean come over whenever? He waited until dinner time and grabbed some butterbeers before leaving the house to walk back up the stairs and knock on your door. He felt silly when he could literally apparate next door but Sirius said that would probably be a bad idea.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” you said as you opened the door.

You held out a hand and he immediately knew to cough over his wand. Your flat looked very different from Sirius’ one. The first thing he noticed was it seemed more modern.

“Shoes off at the door… make yourself comfortable, don’t worry about breaking anything. It’s all IKEA.”

Bill wasn’t even going to ask this time. He just took a seat and set the butterbeers down on the coffee table. You brought over a large bowl of popcorn, having dropped off Bill’s wand on your kitchen counter. Bill watched you pick up one of the various DVDs and started to wonder how he got here. You came back to the couch, grabbing two blankets from your blanket basket and handing one to him. It was a date or that’s what you said. But he seemed so confused when you were talking yesterday that you were going to take it one step at a time. You hoped that one step at a time involved more dates and maybe some making out— which someone said snogging once and you laughed at the funny term— because Bill was attractive. You stayed up the other night, just to be in the same timezone as your friend when you called her.

Leaving out the wizard detail, you told her about your rescue and the grocery store. Your friend said that you should go for the handsome and mysterious British man. You had already been on some dates while here but nothing had gotten very far. A lot of guys seemed to think that you were on exchange and would be leaving soon no matter how much you insisted that you had completely transferred universities.

“It’s the black and white version. I was going to pick a recent edition but nothing wrong with a good classic,” you said as you leaned down to grab some popcorn.

Bill nodded and mimicked you. At this point, the popcorn was the only thing he knew for certain that he understood. The DVD, as you called it, was playing and he thought that movies were a bit like their wizard pictures. Only a lot longer. The movie finished and you turned to look at him.

“I’ve got more movies if you want to watch another one. Also, dinner. There’s more food than popcorn, we could order takeout.”

“Sure.”

You told Bill to choose a movie while you went to the house phone on the wall. He kept switching from looking at movies to watching you play with the cord of the phone as you asked for various containers of Chinese food from the restaurant down the street. You hung up and went to the kitchen to grab glasses for the butterbeers that Bill brought. He looked up when his own wand was pointed in his face.

“Here.”

He took it back, carefully, not wanting to scare you into thinking he was going to use it. He went back to the movies and picked up one to show you. You grinned.

“I love this one. ‘You come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married’… it’ll make sense in a minute,” you said as you grabbed The Godfather movie. “Can you get the door? Money’s on the table somewhere.”

Bill got up to get the food as you switched out one DVD for another. He came back with a bag of takeout and sat back down on the couch, a little more comfortably than last time. The movie started up again and you both were chowing down on food while watching. You seemed to be enjoying the movie way more than he did. He wasn’t getting it— he didn’t really get Frankenstein either. There was a weird insistence that the doctor revived the monster without magic. It was a creature made of dead parts. Magic had to be involved. At least this movie wasn’t doing that. He liked the acting and the outfits but he didn’t see why this plot was so adored.

You finished eating and reached for the fortune cookies. You had seen The Godfather enough to quote it and you were positive that Bill didn’t care if he missed part of it. You held both packets of cookies in your hands.

“Left or right?” you asked.

“Right?”

Bill took the fortune cookie from your right hand. He followed your instructions about breaking it and eating one half before reading the fortune.

“What’s yours say?”

“Ask a friend to join you on your next voyage.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Okay, then eat the other half of the cookie.”

“Why?”

“Well, you eat the first half before reading it to show the universe that you have faith in the fortune. Then, you eat the second half after so you can say thank you for the good fortune.”

Bill chewed the second half under the advice you gave. The messages weren’t enchanted so he wasn’t sure how they could actually come true. You took a chance and moved a little closer so that your knee was brushing against his. Bill looked down and then back at you but you weren’t even paying attention, reaching for the butterbeer.

“I love this stuff,” you said after taking a swig. “You guys should sell this to, what did you call us, muggies?”

He chuckled. “Muggles.”

“Hmm, well you should sell this to muggles. It would make a fortune, so good.”

“I’ll bring it to our next date. When are you free?”

“I don’t have classes on Tuesdays and Fridays.”

“Keep those days open, then.”

You and Bill didn’t move any closer that night but you finished the movie with his hand on your knee. He was kicked out when it was over because you had an 8 a.m. class. Bill headed back to Sirius’ where the Order members that were there— Sirius, Tonks, Hestia Jones, and Lupin— began to question him. Tonks didn’t know if it was the best idea, even if she did like you, considering Bill only seemed to work dangerous jobs. Hestia left after giving her opinion that Bill shouldn’t have established a second date. Lupin groaned when Bill admitted there was an ongoing schedule of free dates established, not just a second one. He tried to tell Bill that he saw his mother give up her life basically for him and his father. He didn’t know if he agreed with that.

“Do you even know what her ambitions are in life?”

Bill recalled the talk to the grocery store. “She writes, wants to be an author. School teacher is her backup.”

“He wouldn’t really be impacting her life, Moony,” Sirius said.

Bill shrugged them off. It probably wouldn’t even last much longer. You were an interesting girl and he hadn’t dated in a minute— he was going to enjoy his time. Sirius and Tonks could get behind that and eventually so did Remus.

Not lasting much longer turned into Bill seeing you every Tuesday and Friday for the entire month of November. He only missed once or twice because of an Order mission. The two of you usually were watching movies in your flat which he noticed was slowly accumulating more books. You explained that being a double major in literature and creative writing turns houses into libraries rather quickly. Whenever it was a movie date, he brought butterbeer. If you two went out, it was to a pub where he would learn about you before going on a walk where you could freely talk about him without others listening in. November rolled into the first week of December. Bill apparated into your home— getting permission to do so.

“William Weasley, it is the start of the most magical time of year!” you laughed as you stepped out from the kitchen when you saw him in the living room.

Your flat was decked out for Christmas— you were one of those people that got really into holidays. Bill looked at the pile of DVDs on the table. They were all Christmas themed. He picked Home Alone and relaxed on the couch. The blanket you two were sharing was fleece and decorated in tiny pine trees. One of Bill’s arms was wrapped around you and the other was draped over the top of the couch.

“Did you finish your poem portfolio?” he asked while the previews were playing.

“No, I still have two more until I meet the quantity requirement. Poetry’s hard.”

“But after that, you’re done with the semester?”

“Yep, I finished all my final papers. There’s nothing worse than struggling last minute, I learned that the hard way last year. Never doing that again.”

“Are you going home for Christmas, Muggie?”

Ever since you called muggles, muggies, that name stuck. Bill thought it was cute because it was one thing you were clueless about. Usually, he felt like the clueless one because you seemed to quickly adapt to whatever he said about the wizarding world while he was just confused about muggles.

“No. We all thought it’s best if I stay here for a year before coming back, before homesickness sets in and I don’t want to return. My family’s coming over in spring, though.”

The two of you got quiet as the movie started. You weren’t quiet for long. Bill asked lots of questions and you tried to answer all of them before the next scene started and he asked more questions. He chuckled as the robbers were bested and declared that he liked Home Alone. You turned over to look up at him when the movie finished. It was Friday so you could stay up longer and watch more movies. It also meant more time to talk in between them. Bill looked down when you started to chuckle.

“What’s funny?”

“My friend was asking about you when she called earlier… I think she thinks you’re black and I forgot to correct her.”

“Hmm? That matters?”

Your eyebrows knitted together. “I mean it shouldn’t but yeah it does. She means well though. She’s more concerned that you’re not a racist, doesn’t actually care about you being white.”

“Oh,” Bill said, simply.

“Is racism not a thing for wizards?”

“I don’t even think I remember what the word racism means. We learned about it in Muggle Studies once, I’m sure of it.”

“Hating people because of skin color is a basic definition.”

“Oh, like blood purity… yeah, wizards have racism then.”

“What’s blood purity?”

Bill began to give you a breakdown on the different categories of wizards and witches. You thought it was just magic and no magic. Witches and muggles. But there was a whole system behind it. Purebloods sounded like supremacists to you which is why your jaw dropped when you asked Bill what his family was considered.

“But they all call us blood-traitors, not like we care.”

“That’s insane. Just because you don’t have trash views? They should check themselves instead of your family.”

Bill smiled. “I can never tell what’s muggle and what’s American with you. Yeah, I mean it’s not all purebloods but most think it’s wrong to associate with muggle-borns and the lot. They’re missing out on meeting some amazing people… I fancy you.”

You tilted your head. “What?”

“I fanc— you don’t know what that means,” he chuckled.

Bill muttered ‘American’ before leaning down. His hand tilted your head farther back as his lips connected with yours. You felt dizzy. In that moment, you decided butterbeer tasted better on someone’s lips than it ever could from the bottle. You pulled apart for a moment. You moved to straddle him and continued kissing. Bill’s hands gripped your waist before one snaked down to your butt. You moaned into his mouth as his hands squeezed you and he began to move you back and forth over his lap. You could feel everything through your thin shorts, especially because Bill was wearing jeans. His hand moved to your front, going past your shorts and right into your underwear. Bill smirked as you gasped when he inserted a finger. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your head dropped to his neck. A loud moan left your mouth as you shuddered around his hand. You looked up with blown-out pupils to see Bill sucking his own fingers. He grabbed your chin with the wet hand and kissed you again.

“Bill, Bill,” you muttered when he went to take off your shirt. “I have a bedroom.”

You yelped when he smacked your ass and held onto you as he moved to the bedroom. There was no hesitation once the back of your legs touched the mattress. Your clothes were shed right away— Bill taking a little longer because he was in jeans. He kissed down your body, teasing with light kisses on your thighs before returning to between your legs. A hand snaked into his red hair and you tried to pull Bill closer as if he wasn’t pressed flush against your body. He pinned you down with an arm over your stomach while he enjoyed himself and the way you gasped out his name. His other hand gave attention to your chest that he felt had been neglected. When he was satisfied, Bill moved back to your face. He looked you in the eyes as he grabbed his wand from the nightstand.

“Do you trust me? We can do this the muggle way if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I trust you, Bill.”

He pointed to himself and then you, mumbling words that you were sure you would never understand. You caught something that sounded like the word temporary. The wand was put back on the stand and Bill brushed his thumb over your cheekbone.

“It’ll only last a day, promise.”

“I trust y—”

Your mouth dropped open, no sound coming out, as Bill pushed into you. He wasn’t just tall but was big all over. Bill waited for a nod from you before rocking his hips. The bed creaked as he went faster. He blindly reached for his wand and mumbled two silencing spells against your lips. The wand fell off the nightstand when he missed as he blindly tried to put it back. Your nails marked up his back as he kept going. You kissed at his collarbone, knowing and happy that you would leave a hickey with no problem.

Your moans went from loud to breathy to silent as you came. Bill finished with a shout of your name. He rested on top of you for a moment, kissing at your neck. You winced a bit as he pulled out. Bill told you sorry before sticking his head over the side of your bed to try and find where his wand had rolled to. You smiled— still a bit out of breath— as you felt your body get cleaned off.

“Do you want clothes?” he asked.

“Yes, please.”

“Accio Muggie’s pajamas.”

Your drawers opened and closed. Bill bent and straightened your arms and legs to help put your pajamas on. He got off of the bed briefly to put on his own underwear. You groaned.

“My hair.”

“What do you need?”

“My headscarf, put my hair up in a pineapple.”

“Accio headscarf. Let’s get Muggie’s hair all pretty.”

Bill watched the scarf move. He had seen you twice before with it on when he showed up early Tuesday morning and remembered the style. Your head was lifted for you as your hair went up before you were gently returned to the pillow.

“I love magic,” you sighed.

Bill looked down at your half-closed lids and chuckled. He moved you both underneath the duvet. You started off with your head on his chest before both of you moved into a spooning position. Bill kissed your shoulder blade before letting sleep start to consume him. He had fallen hard for you and decided he wouldn’t have it any other way.

(Part 3)...

#bill weasley x black!reader #bill weasley x reader

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nihilnovisubsole · 2 years

Note

[POSSIBLE SPOILERS FOR CONTRITION]

I'm EONS late to the party but I just played through contrition and it was SPECTACULAR but the ending got me wondering about the stranger's identity a lot. bcuz at first I was just thinking that he might just be a serial killer, then it shifted to him being a vengeful serial killer... but after finishing the whole thing, I'm beginning to think that the stranger might've actually been God? It might be a hot take, but after a couple more replays, I can safely say that some of the dialogue the stranger delivers makes so much more sense if you think of him as God or at least a representation of God. If I'm not quite right, then so be it 😅 I just thought that it was interesting is all!

the ambiguity is intentional! i couldn't decide who the stranger should be, and i thought it might be more effective if i never revealed it. so all interpretations are valid. it's also a pretty short game, and sometimes shorter works benefit from being impressionistic. vibes, man.

the game was inspired by mindhunter, though, specifically holden's interviews, which is why the stranger comes off so strongly as a murderer. i often worry that my writing is only as good as the work that inspires it, but luckily, mindhunter is really strong. if the subject matter doesn't put you off - and i wouldn't blame you if it did - it has great understated character writing. i learned a lot from it.

since you bring it up, it always warms my shriveled little heart to see people find older [in internet terms!] stuff like contrition again. i dashed it off in a few weeks to fill a hole in my portfolio, and people did ask me about it in several interviews. so it did what it was meant to do. anybody who plays it and has a decent time with it is icing on the cake.

#asks #anon #contrition

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pastedpast · 5 months

Text

Home Bargains.

Mandy Payne, 20??

In an earlier post a few days ago, I mentioned that in this new year of 2024 I'm going to follow a similar pattern as the last, by featuring the artwork of one artist throughout the year and posting one piece of their work at the beginning of each month. Last year, I was fortunate enough to be able to include Edith Holden’s delicate drawings from nature, which, because they were from a diary, also happened to correspond with each month. For this year, I considered Peter Brook’s paintings of Pennine landscapes, as he was born around the same neck of the woods as me and he did a series of paintings called ‘Twelve Months of the Year’. But, as I pointed out in my previous post, I had already posted a few of his paintings from the series prior to this brainwave idea, so I had to come up with something new.

I was looking for something with continuity and uniformity, so it would be instantly recognisable who the artist is, and that’s why the work of Mandy Payne immediately sprang to mind. I have posted her artwork once before (of a scene quite local to me - link here), but she has an abundant portfolio of images that I can tap into. And it’s perhaps interesting that her work is in stark contrast to the gentle countryside sketches of Ms. Holden, for these paintings focus entirely on inner city areas, Brutalist architecture and bleak, modern urban decay. And like Peter Brook, she has a (fairly) local link, as although she is, I believe, based in Sheffield and much of her work centres on that area, Mandy Payne has painted at least two scenes in Huddersfield, which is the closest large town to where I live. Indeed, the painting above is of a central block of high-rise flats called Buxton House as viewed from the ring road which encircles the town (it is the same block of flats which appears in the other painting - see link above - from a different angle). The location is just past the top of Chapel Hill - a landscape, incidentally, captured – albeit very differently! - by another painter of industrial and urban scenes, LS Lowry (1887-1976).

So - I intend to post a painting by Mandy Payne at the beginning of each month and let’s see what other ideas may be inspired within our eclectic, serendipitous minds.

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assignmenttutoronline · 2 years

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Case study

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tetro-oxin · 2 years

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━ jason peter todd.

“Tell me you love me,” he says later, hands and eyes focused on lacing up your boots. He shouldn’t feel as shy as he does but his cheeks go hot anyway.

inspired by @prettylittlebrownskingyal fanfic 'live by loving'.

#jason todd #jason peter todd #holden's portfolio #dc comics #love #drawing #draw #art #artist #digital art #sketch #red hood #batman

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ashleys-doodle-corner · 2 years

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So while I do have other art lined up that I can post or I can finagle something to post, the Wedding DLC for Our Life came out, and after staying up until 4 am to finish it, I was immediately possessed by the spirit of Cove to draw my MC’s wedding fit, and then later Cove’s, because I haven’t drawn him properly before.

My MC’s name is Hazel Summers, and chose to wear a suit because everyone looks good in a suit, and went with a gold, black and purple theme, while I slapped red on Cove’s wedding outfit because it complements his hair and matches his very blushy face.

#Cove Holden #Our Life: Beginnings & Always #Our Life Beginnings & Always #GB Patch #Our Life #visual novel #digital art #fan art #portfolio #the creativity process #i spent like #a day on my mc's art and then today went hm! i probably should do coves!#and here i am done with coves like hours later in the same day #im gonna post more OL stuff (like my MCs sprite through the steps) and maaaaybe extra stuff #but for now have my first officially posted OL art!

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skrltwtch · 3 years

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Muse

Prompt 1: Just like some people sleep-walk, you tend to paint or draw while in your transformed state because it calms you down. And apparently, people really like your art.

Prompt 2: A is a popular artist, and B messages them without thinking one day. They didn’t expect to become friends, and they definitely didn’t expect to become more. Person B just felt that connection between the two of them.

Prompt 3: A/Werewolf has a tendency to curl like a dog in front of the fireplace a lot (usually in their werewolf form, but it’s not uncommon for them to do it as a human). (Sources in master list)

Word count: 3,721 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, supernatural

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I put up with the long commute to and fro between home and work for two reasons, and two reasons alone: the decent rent for a place with a picturesque view and that catered to my monthly needs, and the glut of time to catch up on my reading. And by ‘reading’, I meant ‘scrolling through the handful of social media feeds that survived my latest cull of shit that was taking up my time and storage space unnecessarily, and occasionally attempting (and failing) to pay attention to my Kindle’. Hey, at least I was aware I had a problem …?

Instagram was my first hit of the day. I flicked past images of makeup, friends in situations I wouldn’t be finding myself in anytime soon, and cute animals. The occasional meme and comic draw out an exhalation of air from my nostrils. I marvelled at artwork and photography, half wishing I were half as good as the people I followed and admired, half chiding myself for not practising either enough and losing interest quicker than I’d dropped money on new equipment in the name of my new endeavours. You could say one of my hobbies, the ones I’d been consistent about, was amassing gadgets obtained to indulge my whims and fancies.

My heart skipped a beat — or was it the pothole the bus went over? — when I came across a new post by George. I didn’t know him personally to refer to him by his first name like that, but hadn’t social media broken down boundaries between people, making them seem closer to each other than they really were? He was an illustrator whose work I chanced upon on Reddit a while back. His portfolio was a patchwork of subjects, often portraits, rendered mostly in traditional media like watercolour and oil paint. He sometimes shook things up with abstract, contemplative pieces. He had something for almost everyone. For me, it was his attractive, angular yet distinctive faces and statuesque figures, use of watercolour, and versatility: one piece could be superhero fanart, followed by a collection of moody, atmospheric paintings of the English landscape with some fantastical additions.

It also helped that he seemed to be a nice, chill person, and a handsome one at that, too, based on the smattering of pictures he had of himself on his feed. Please, let me imagine a world in which someone as ideal as him — or what I knew about him — wasn’t beholden to anyone for a moment.

His latest post was a drippy bust of a snarling wolf with full moons for eyes. The caption simply read: ‘Mood.’ I smirked as I hit the like button. Did I mention that he drew wolves a lot as well? Sometimes his wolves were feral; sometimes they were humanoid, but still wild. The latter featured heavily in his conceptual works, albeit as hazy, indistinct forms, like blurry photographs. In any case, I liked that he had a fondness for wolves and werewolves, as the constant presence of the full moon in art of the latter would suggest. Anyone who liked wolves was a-okay in my book. Anyone who liked werewolves was even more so. Because.

An interrupted connection between my brain and my reflexes led me to visit his profile. Instead of returning to my feed, my thumb gravitated toward the message button at the top of the screen. Not a single cell in my body resisted this turn of events despite the restored connection. Oh, what the hell. Why not? Like, what were the chances he’d read my message? He had tens of thousands of followers, a likely considerable chunk of them being bots aside. He must receive DMs every other minute. I’d be another sycophant in his sea of fans. Or he’d see my homely mug and locked profile, and he’d think I was driven to add to his never-ending count of unread messages simply out of misguided thirst.

The beauty of the Internet was that it made ‘out of sight, out of mind’ fairly easy to put into practice.

I got the following out of my system and into his inbox: ’Hi! Hope you’re doing well. I’ve been following your Instagram for a while, and your latest post just made me want to say your art is amazing. (I can totally identify with the sentiment behind it.) I especially love your more abstract pieces. There’s something so … raw about them. And I like that you seem to like wolves a lot, too. They’re beautiful animals, and your art really captures that about them. Anyway, keep up the great work! Take care.’

I exited Instagram, not caring about the rest of my feed anymore and not wanting to feel like I was stalking my notifications for something that’d never come. My phone buzzed with several notifications as I went down my Reddit homepage. I swiped away the banners with green icons that pelted the top of my screen. Those could wait. What couldn’t were the banners stating that I had a new message and a new follower request from —

‘Oh, my God!’ I said, loudly enough for me to hear my own voice above my music (the chorus of Walk the Moon’s ‘Shut Up and Dance’ at half of maximum volume, so … loud). Not one soul on this lightly populated bus acknowledged my exclamation — not even the woman sitting next to me. (Come on, lady, the front was mostly empty.) Thank God for technology making hermits of us all. Or my sudden outburst paled in comparison to the shit that could happen and had happened on public transport. When you took long journeys as I did every day, you’d see some real shit in due time, too.

I launched Instagram for the second time this morning (stop judging, Screen Time) and the first time ever with trembling hands. The notifications were real. I approved his request first. My mind raced to recollect anything on my profile that might make him regret his decision to let my piddling photos of food, myself, my cat, and random junk take up precious space on his feed. Nope, couldn’t think about that now, because I was now staring at an actual, honest-to-God message from George:

’Hey! Thanks for reaching out, and thank you for your kind comments. They mean a lot to me, especially what you said about my experimental stuff and wolves. They are stunning creatures, aren’t they? And yeah, I drew that last picture after a particularly rough night. You could call it a self-portrait of sorts, I suppose.’

I snorted. Change the fur colour and make the eyes normal, and it was a portrait of myself every full moon. Okay, not something I could tell someone I just met, let alone a popular artist on the Internet …

Before I could recover from the shock that my inbox held an actual, honest-to-God message from George Holden (that was his last name — the oxygen made it to my brain for me to remember that he had his last name on his profile), he sent another one: ’Anyway, how are you? I took a look at your profile, and it looks like we have quite a number of things in common.’

What, really? No way. Was it the lashings of sweet treats I subjected my stomach to every weekend? The horror and science fiction titles, celebrity memoirs, and comics, sometimes paired with an iced coffee at either a café I put down roots for the afternoon or the one-bedroom house in Waltham Forest I called home, I showcased to put forth some form of air of intellectualism? The cross-stitch projects featuring memes and popular culture icons? His profile was quite barren of anything that could provide insight into what else he enjoyed doing besides his art. Which, hey, was perfectly fine: no one was obligated to share their personal life online.

I replied, ’I’m fine, thank you. I’m on my way to work. Favourite part of my day, really. And really? Like what?’

Most of my notifications that day were from him.

✦✧✦✧

I was a bustling hub of activity in my seat: A sip of my drink. A shake of my knee. A lift of my phone. A turn of my neck. A shift of my weight from one butt cheek to the other. I was certain I was generating enough electricity to power a lightbulb in five-second intervals. I couldn’t help it. I was so, so excited — and so, so nervous. This was my and George’s first time meeting each other in person. There’d be no screen between us. Actually, what difference would that make? We’d been talking to each other for months, either through text or video calls, the latter more common in the weeks leading up to today. We’d seen each other even on our ‘I’ll put on a clean shirt, brush my hair, and hope for the best’ days. What could either one of us do in person that would irrevocably alter our friendship for the worse? Well …

The sound of someone entering the café stopped me from starting on a list of things that I could do to fuck things up. I looked up, probably the seventh time I did so in the last ten minutes. This was on me. I grossly overestimated the amount of time it’d take me to get somewhere as usual; a natural by-product of living far from the city. Seventh — probably — time was the charm: it was George — and right on the dot, too. His punctuality added to his attractiveness, which had already gone through the roof and was heading straight into the stratosphere. I bit my lip to suppress any unfortunate exclamations. He was a friend, Evelyn … just a friend, and I had no illusions otherwise.

I called out to him. He waved at me and joined me at the table I picked out for us. And the second our eyes met, devoid of any barrier between us, everything about him — and everything about us — clicked.

He was just like me.

And I was just like him.

And he was as astonished about it as I was, going by the long silence that passed between us, a first since we got to know each other.

‘Hi! Oh, my God, it’s so good to finally meet you!’ I said with a grin to break the tension. He broke out into a smile, his posture relaxing. Success. Should I go in for a handshake? No, that’d be too stuffy for a months-old friendship. A hug? No, that’d be too intimate for a months-old friendship, and an online one, too, no less. Was it obvious this was my first time meeting someone I met online?

‘It’s good to meet you, too,’ he said, his expression of cheer unabating. ‘I’m going to get myself a drink first, and then we can shoot the shit.’ His smile turned into a grin. ‘Do you want anything? My treat,’ he added as he spotted me reaching for my wallet.

‘I was thinking a red velvet muffin, please.’ I didn’t know why I didn’t get one earlier. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. I’ll be right back.’

As he left, my nerves turned into happiness that I met another werewolf. It was rare to meet other werewolves just about anywhere. What were the odds that two werewolves, one of whom was Internet-famous, would become friends because the other one had a brain fart one morning to send a message to the Internet-famous one? You couldn’t make this shit up. In all the years I’d been a werewolf, George was the first one I knew. I didn’t even know the one that turned me. I got bitten one night, and that was my life changed forever. I figured everything out on my own — I had to. And my puny social network of werewolves made sense: this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing anyone would advertise about themselves.

Once George settled down and courtesies were out of the way, the first thing out of his mouth was ‘I never thought I’d meet another one like me’.

I moved my chair closer to him so that we could speak at length about what we were without the fear of being overheard. ‘Me neither.’ Then it hit me, and I quickly said, ‘It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, though.’ Personally, I was okay with what I was. No existential dread here, contrary to what one might expect of a werewolf. It happened. I learnt to manage it in a way that made it not have any kind of significant impact on my life. I refused to let it define me. And honestly, I lived for particularly bad days that coincided with full moons.

‘Are you kidding me?’ His face lit up with boyish glee. ‘I’ve been waiting for this day for so long! As in, us meeting up in person for the first time and me getting to know another werewolf. Two birds, one stone: the only kind of killing I endorse. And I’m so fucking chuffed it’s you. I always felt like I could talk to you about anything, and now that really, really means anything.’ It was his turn to be able to power a light bulb, but in twenty-second intervals this time.

‘Same. How were you turned?’

‘I was bitten during a camping trip with friends a couple of years back. You?’

‘Secondary school. I was walking home from the library.’

‘Shit, that was some time ago, huh?’

‘Almost half my life a werewolf.’

‘Do you know the werewolf that did it?’

‘Nope. How about you?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah. Kind of sucks, doesn’t it, that you’ll never get to know the person who’s changed your life so … deeply? They won’t remember either that they turned someone. If only having kids was like that, yeah? Absolutely no sense of responsibility whatsoever.’ He gave his teaspoon a lazy twirl, causing a faint plume of milk to rise and sink into the dark, bittersweet depths from whence it came. ‘I struggled with what I’d become the first couple of months. The transformations were one thing.’ Oh, yeah. ‘I felt … grotesque. God, the amount of self-pity, like, why was I the only one who had to go through this every month when there were four other guys ripe for the picking? So, I decided to start incorporating wolves in my art to get to know and reclaim that part of me. I didn’t want to see it as something ugly. I mean, you get to experience a kind of rebirth every month. That’s extraordinary if you think about it. And I told myself that like myself, the wolf didn’t ask to be born. Ha, ha. Millennial humour. Anyway. Then the most miraculous thing happened one full moon: I woke up next to a coherent painting that wasn’t there the night before.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘Right? My more artsy stuff? The ones I hate coming up with captions for? Almost all done while I was transformed. I’d started some of my art — bet you can’t guess which one — on full moons, too, and I finished them after I changed back. It’s as if the wolf knew we were now cool with each other.’ He took a big chunk out of his apple crumble and jammed it into his mouth. ‘Sorry if that sounded like spiritual woo-woo. I’ve been wanting to tell someone about this forever.’ Crumbs fell out of his mouth as he spoke. ‘Shit, I’m such an’ — he shot me an impish look as he swallowed — ‘animal, aren’t I? Fuck, I can make stupid references like that now, and someone would get it!’

I laughed. He was such a dork. ‘It’s not “spiritual woo-woo”. It’s amazing. How is that even possible?’

‘I have no idea.’ He held out his hands in front of him. ‘So thankful we get to keep our hands and not have them turn into paws.’ He waggled his thumbs. ‘Fuck, yeah, opposable thumbs. And I want to say it’s like when artists get high and make stuff. I do know artists who do that, and hey, no judgment. To them, I do the same thing, too.’

‘And here I am, feeling accomplished whenever I make it through another full moon without waking up in a trashed place. Seriously, that’s amazing.’

‘I think that’s what’s keeping me from losing it while transformed. I was surprised people liked those pieces when I started posting them, considering they’re such far departures from what I usually post.’

‘That explains why they’re so … visceral.’

‘Yeah? I figure you’d appreciate them even more now.’ He smirked. ‘And you know, no one really talks about my wolf art, and especially my werewolf pieces. Maybe if I didn’t make them blurry and made them more explicit …’ Oh, he’d get a different breed of followers altogether. ‘But that’s fine. I don’t want my lycanthropy to define me and my work. It’s just a part of who I am.’

‘My turn to say something possibly corny: I like your wolf art because … they make me feel seen, because they’re drawn by you.’

He put a hand on his chest. ‘That’s not corny. I’m happy my art makes you feel that way. You know I don’t care about the likes or comments. It just so happens I like drawing things that make me get likes and comments.’ He pushed his plate toward me and motioned at me with his fork to try some of his apple crumble. I obliged him. ‘Did you ever suspect anything? Not that, you know, I purposely drew wolves and werewolves as a kind of signal for other werewolves to pick up on. That’d be giving me way too much credit.’

‘No, I just thought you like wolves a lot.’

‘Same here. What you said about wolves being beautiful creatures when you messaged me the first time … that made me feel something, too.’

‘Then I’m very glad we got to be friends,’ I said. Born from the same blip in brain activity that set us on this path, my hand found itself on top of his. His touch had a pleasant, almost familiar heat to it.

‘Me too.’ He turned his hand over and clasped mine.

‘I have an idea,’ I said, mostly to distract myself from how right this felt. ‘Do you want to meet on the next full moon?’

‘Sure. I can’t wait to see what kind of inspiration will strike with another werewolf around.’

‘Your place, then?’

He nodded. ‘Unless you’re cool with me possibly trashing your place with paint and stuff. That hasn’t happened before, but who knows? What if wolf-me doesn’t like change?’

I stared at him in disbelief.

‘I can’t help it. You have no idea what kind of beast this has unleashed. Oops.’

We sat and talked in the café the entire afternoon; we took turns treating each other to food and drinks to justify our occupancy. Our conversation moved on to other topics besides the one special, biggest thing we had in common. Just like we didn’t want it to define who we were as people, we made a promise to each other, and we did so over a strawberry custard tart, that we wouldn’t let it become the foundation of our friendship from this point on. It’d be unfair to the moments we shared before this. We were friends because we cared about each other, we brought out the best in each other, we could truly be ourselves around each other, and, honestly, I didn’t think anyone else would have the patience for his goofy in-jokes.

✦✧✦✧

I lay in front of the fireplace, rejoicing in the warmth it offered on this cool night, while George was working on his newest painting. Since getting to know each other in these forms, we’d been able to exercise better control. For me, that meant greater peace of mind; for him, that meant a more refined grasp of his artistic sensibilities. As with much about our condition, we didn’t question this. What could possibly be a drawback of us spending more time in each other’s company? I now understood why animals curled up by a fire was a common sight in media and real life, too. Wait, what if this, and not George’s presence, was what I’d been missing all my life?

My tail wagging like a fiend when I felt his breath on my skin begged to differ. I licked his face. He gently parted my lips and slid his tongue onto mine. Our tongues engaged each other in a playful scuffle; the fire crackling in the background could only dream of coming close to causing the rise in temperature in the pit of my stomach. The tussle between our tongues didn’t get to turn into something more: he’d had a long night. I nuzzled him to convey reassurance. He lay down beside me and wrapped his arms around me, his hold firm yet tender. We fell asleep like this, keeping each other warm long even after the fire had died out.

We wished each other a good morning with a kiss — no, two kisses, and we got ourselves ready for the day. As we were having breakfast, George piped up, ‘Do you want to see what I painted last night, love? I’m really proud of it, and I think you’d love it, too.’

I nodded excitedly, my mouth too full of scrambled egg to speak.

He returned as quickly as he’d left the table. His hands held on to a painting … of me curled up by the fire last night. The figure was the clearest, most detailed he’d ever done; the lighting was phenomenal. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, tearing up a little, frankly. ‘I love it. It’s going to look so good in our new place’, along with the recent paintings he’d made of a similar nature. He’d come so far from the gauzy forms that once populated his attempts at capturing his — our — condition on canvas.

‘Of course, when I have the most stunning model.’ He gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘I love you, my muse, my mate.’

#exophilia #terato #werewolf #monster love #monster romance #mine #fun fact #I wrote this story in early october last year #and it's kind of truth in television for me now

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fckinmuses · 3 years

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@drivc

grief was a hell of a thing, it’d been around 4 months since they’d lost the baby; 4 months of endless recklessness, 4 months of spiraling, 4 months of doing any and everything without thinking twice if it were a good idea or not. needless to say, it’d been a fucking wreck in the de jager household for quite some time. holden himself had gone back to snorting up painkillers, going down a k hole with ket, he was pretty positive on more than one occasion - especially before work lately - he’d done coke again. johan, well, he had a drink in had any time that holden saw him, or he was going out with the girls again for the night out and holden was left at the house alone, which meant he would dig deeper into the drug hole until he crashed on the sofa. today was a pretty big deal, holden had spent all night working on his portfolio because he had some sketches that were worthy of going in the book - sketches in fact that he’d spent all fucking night drawing for his clients that were supposed to be coming in today to see what holden had drawn up for them.

he could have sworn that he left his sketch pad on the kitchen island after he and johan got back from a run to mama rosa’s - it seemed to be their go to place for any sort of food these days - but when he went back, there was nothing there. and holden was in no mood for this; the man hadn’t had his fix in about a day and he was feeling the repercussions of that. so he walked into the kitchen, again and searched high and low. “fucking christ.” he mumbled under his breath as he looked on the counter tops. “johan, have you seen my sketch book?” holden asked as he turned to look at the man.

#ＩＮＴＥＲＡＣＴＩＯＮＳ — ＨＯＬＤＥＮ #johden

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tetro-oxin · 2 years

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#holden's portfolio #art #drawing #sketch #artist #digital art #draw #dc comics #batman #dick grayson #robin #nightwing

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presidentlauraroslin · 4 years

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Chapters: 11/12 Fandom: The Expanse (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Chrisjen Avasarala/Bobbie Draper, Camina Drummer/Naomi Nagata (mentioned) Characters: Bobbie Draper, Chrisjen Avasarala, Cotyar (The Expanse), Camina Drummer, Alex Kamal, Naomi Nagata, Amos Burton, Jim Holden (The Expanse), Jules-Pierre Mao, Sadavir Errinwright, Joe Miller (The Expanse) Additional Tags: AU, why yes it's a Devil Wears Prada AU, slow-burn, basically all the ladies are queer, what more could you want? ;) Summary:

After being in the army, Bobbie wants to be a journalist, but without training or a decent portfolio, the only job she can get in publishing is working as an assistant. She lands at a job at the last place she or her friends expected her to, a fashion magazine with a very demanding and very attractive boss.

But she only needs to do this job for a year and then she can get her career launched. It should be easy. Right?

#the expanse #chrisjen avasarala #bobbie draper #fanfic #it's heeeeere #no but forreal #i tend to write angst or smut #it took me 10 fucking chapters before i got to the smut part #but here ya go

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justtrans · 3 years

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Finding Best Place for Manual Transmission Rebuilds in Melbourne

Manual transmission rebuilds services give your car a new life. However, you must select only the best service provider in Melbourne for that. Consider the points explained below to find the best place for such services in Melbourne. After all, it will help you save cost, time, and endless efforts to manage the mechanism of your favourite car. Get done to free road test: The company must agree for a free road test with your car having transmission issues or in need of transmission repair and rebuilding services. Through road tests, the engineers get an idea about fluid, visuals of the car moving ahead on the road, and the comprehensive transmission band condition. Through the car’s test drive, they also judge and diagnose the noise, slipping, late/early shift patterns. Availability of the lift check: The technicians must provide necessary checks before completing dismantling the transmission. These lift checks include inspections on: • Neutral switch • Modulators • U-joints • Fluid retention • Throttle linkage • Electronic controls Clear and impeccable process available for dismantling the transmission: After a detailed inspection, if there is any problem with the current transmission band, it has to be removed. For this, technicians must work closely with the hundreds or thousands of precision parts assembled and operating together. The dismantling might take a lot of time, depending on the precision parts assembled together. Ensure that your chosen technicians know how to clean and examine each part: You have to know if the chosen engineer will work on cleaning and examining each transmission part. When you ask, you will know. Check their knowledge. Or read their portfolio for detailed information on the process they execute for handling each manual transmission rebuilds service in Melbourne. Validity to replace, rebuilds, and handles the problematic part: The chosen service provider in Melbourne must ensure that they will repair, rebuild, handle each problematic part of the transmission. With this stage of the manual transmission builds services, your worry is off. You can trust the engineer more. After all, with proper maintenance of the problematic part, such issues won’t reappear for a long time. Plus, that’s why most car owners opt for the manual transmission builds services. They help diagnose and repair those problematic parts that go undetected often in the automatic transmission repair services. Assurance must be there to reassemble the parts as per the blueprint: The technician’s job does not end at simply repairing the part. So, find that manual transmission builds services provider in Melbourne who completes the reassembling stage too. They must put together each part of the transmission and put the car on the final test drive. This is necessary to know if the repair, replacement, and reassembly of the parts are just or not. Conclusion: Check the link https://www.justtrans.com.au/rebuilds-holden-transmission/ for reading more info on the manual transmission builds services offered by Just Trans in Melbourne.

#manual transmission rebuilds

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kannibalkrunch · 4 years

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Model: Holden Lower at Ford Models NY Photo: Hudson Rennan

#Holden Lower #male model

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sportsv · 5 years

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「奇怪，離開籃球之後，我怎麼更忙了？」45歲的Steve Nash談退休人生

文／中壢小跑車

退休之後的NBA球星，都過著怎麼樣的生活呢？

其他人我不是很清楚，但身為節目主持人（broadcaster）、商業家、球團顧問、製片人，還有，籃壇傳奇… …，我們如今45歲的Steve Nash，似乎沒有變得比以前更清閒，反而… …還更忙了？

喔對了，我們是不是沒提到，他同時還是5個孩子的爸爸？

Nash目前擁有Vancouver Whitecaps和Real Mallorca的所有權，而後者近期重返了西班牙頂尖球隊之列。而在他待在Turner Sports的第二年，Nash同時參與了NBA和足球的相關報導－－此外，他也是CTRL的共同創辦人，是一家以體育報導為專攻的媒體公司。

嗯對沒錯，他還身兼勇士隊的團隊顧問，不久前都還是。不曉得今年的NBA冠軍戰，是否令他感到五味雜陳呢？一邊是團隊，一邊是故鄉，煎熬啊。

「我不是一位夠優秀的代理人（not a great delegator），尤其是我常常把所有的東西都塞在我的手機和腦袋裡，」當Nash談到他那擠滿滿的時間表時說道。

「至於我人生No. 1的熱情跟優先事項，還是扮演好一位父親的角色，」Nash補充著。

他的孩子們年齡差距可大了，最小的是六週大的新生兒，最大的則已經滿14歲了��沒錯，就是2010年讓他成為「國民岳父」的雙胞胎女孩兒們。

「所以，我盡我所能的，讓所有事情的安排，讓schedule能圍繞在孩子們身上。我也盡量限縮我的長途旅程，即便是真的要出遠門，我也盡量找能帶上他們的那種。」

「總而言之，我們啊，就是會讓這些事情都能達成啦！但是，不得不說，這些事情林林總總加在一起，真的會很忙。」

「當我們面對如此多的興趣與熱情，不斷進行整合與提昇（refine），是過程中不可避免的一部份，也必須不斷地對自我提出why和how的反思，來讓整體過程變得更好。」

「這些工作都在持續進行中，而我也清楚，我正在做的，是很多我所熱愛的事情。」

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換句話說，宛如他在NBA「倒吃甘蔗，愈挫愈勇」的籃球生涯一樣，別人眼中遲暮又轉隊的31歲，卻是他開始連拿兩屆MVP的開始，我們的Nash在「人生」這場Game當中，端出一年比一年還要更好的「比賽內容」，為了家人也為了自己，仍然在不斷地在「進化」著。

這位入選名人堂的球員，還在大街小巷推廣著DAZN，將英超足球聯賽（English Premier League）納入其在加拿大的體育轉播服務（sports streaming service）當中。

這讓Tottenham的狂粉，Steve Nash自己，得以觀看Real Mallorca的賽事，而這支隊伍，在2016年初被Nash買下，合夥的商業夥伴有鳳凰城太陽的老闆們（ownership group），以及退役的美國足球運動員Stu Holden和Kyle Martino。

【註】DAZN是一家總部位於英國的跨國OTT服務提供商，主要提供體育賽事直播和視頻點播服務，from Wiki（有關足球的一切我不是很熟悉，歡迎大家指正，感恩！）

這個來自西班牙的隊伍，當時正處於第二級別（the second division），還一度在他們升到更高的級別之前（climbing back up the ladder），被降級至第三級。

「這真是令人難以置信，」Nash說。

這位充滿熱情的老闆，每年還會前往西班牙三次，只為了親眼看看他的球隊。這樣的熱情，不免讓人聯想到他小牛時期的老闆Cuban，也是對自家球隊有著滿滿的愛。

久遠又經典的一張老照片，承載著Dirk、Cuban和Nash年少輕狂的小牛歲月，連畫質都模糊得這麼令人陶醉。

壓垮Nash職業生涯的最後一根稻草，是他背部長年磨損累積下的傷病，不過在退休後的現在，他那擾人的背傷看起來不見了，至少外表看起來挺健康的。

「喔現在的話，我感覺還不賴啦」Nash說，「但有時候它們跟蟲一樣，時不時就會叮我一下，每天一點一點。其實就偶爾啦，但有時我狀態好得像飛起來一樣，有的時候我要移動身軀會有點困難。」

「只是我這個人天生坐不住，所以我每天還是會做點運動，打點球，或者應該說『不只一點』吧，哈哈哈。」

「我練習跟準備得很非常勤，因為這樣我才能下場打球。我可以做得更好，對此我深信不疑。這真的是構成我，Steve Nash，這個人很大的一大部分（指的應該是籃球），所以我仍然會保持自己的活躍。」

「肯定的是，有時我當下的狀態不是最好的，但整體而言，若要當個『週末戰士』（weekend warrior），在這樣的level上場奮戰，現在的我保證是沒問題的（笑）。」

Nash在2015年的3月正式退役，由於背部神經損傷，當時的Nash在球場上處處受限，甚至無法穩定地上場比賽。

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在與鳳凰城太陽（兩次）和達拉斯小牛的比賽中，面對他曾經幫助他發光發熱的兩支隊伍，Nash意識到「我雖然還能打，但要在這樣高水準的比賽中，穩定做出貢獻，可能… ….真的不太行了」。

於是他以湖人球員的身分宣告退休，毅然決然地離開這個讓他奔馳了十數年的舞台。

延伸閱讀：【Steve Nash 退休聲明】籃球之後的第二人生

「我啊，花了整整2年才瞭解到這一點，」Nash說。

Nash的成長過程，多半在加拿大維多利亞渡過，12、13歲前，他僅接受過足球和冰球的訓練，籃球的話，要再過一些時間，才會走進他的生命。

在維多利亞那裡，他開了一間以自己名字命名的運動健身俱樂部「Steve Nash Fitness World and Sports Club」，也時常更新自己的社群媒體。或許，某種意義上來說，我們Steve Nash啊，也是一位喜歡跟粉絲互動的「館長」（笑）。

只是現在的他，不在加拿大，也不在他出生的南非，而是跟妻兒定居於洛杉磯一帶。

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Steve Nash作為一位劃時代的、獨樹一幟的Playmaker，在生涯期間一共入選8次明星賽，雖然在30多歲的年紀，黯然離開了充滿回憶的小牛，卻一如他所加入的新隊伍「鳳凰城太陽」，浴火重生地拿下2次MVP和年度助攻王，像顆烈日一般冉冉升起，再攀人生新巔峰，並在去年9月入選了籃球名人堂。

「回想起來，當時的我絕不會猜到，我竟然會打了18個賽季。我真的是很幸運，不可思議地幸運。」

「但這說來也很奇怪，因為在過去的一年半，甚至兩年的時間裡，我真的很掙扎，真的真的很想（找回籃球），一如既往（As bad as ever）。於是，我花了很多的時間和精力，盡可能多去碰球，多多去Play」。

「我有點像是那種『什麼都是最後一個知道的，最後一個看到』的人（I was kind the last to know, the last to see）。但從某種意義上說，這也讓我凡事都不留遺憾。」

延伸閱讀：從來就無需打得像誰！Steve Nash 就是無與倫比的時代標竿

就像其他對NBA感興趣的觀察家（observers）一樣，Nash在今年夏天，也親眼見證了NBA自由球員又一次像「移民潮」（migration）一般的遷徙，因應這個球星們的合縱連橫，會導致改朝換代的10’s潮流，還有即將到來的、未知的20’s。

「我覺得很不錯啊（I’m fine with it），這是一件好事。我認為這是市場和聯盟，及其全球化、社群媒體和關注量所帶來的，自然而然的演變（natural evolution）。」

「球員們開始意識到，自己在這台『機器』中是不可或缺的一部分，因此他們可以展現自身的力量（flexing their muscle），可以這麼說吧。」

為此，Steve Nash抱持著樂觀的態度，他相信聯盟和球員工會（players association），將會根據彼此的需要，逐步去適應並找到屬於他們的那個共同點（common ground）。

「如果人們還在思考著『改變』是否是必須的話，那我們可以肯定地說，『是的』，而且這也是令人感到興奮的。這使得NBA在很多方面，都已成為了一個『為期12個月』的聯盟，」Nash說。

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當被問及，他是否願意將自己的投資組合（ownership portfolio）擴展到NBA時，Nash表示他很感興趣，但實際上可供的選擇是有限的。

「30支隊伍，也就只有那麼多的球團的經營權（franchises），而根據現在比賽進行的方式（the way the game’s going）、聯盟帶來的成功和能見度、球隊的概況、球隊的經營者主人，... ...我認為現在並沒有太多人，會馬上想要脫手不玩兒了。」

另外，雖然說他作為勇士隊顧問一事，是個一年一簽的合約，但Nash還是希望他能夠回歸這個團隊，「我們大概在下個月左右就會知道了。」

正如我們前面所述的，身為加拿大人的Nash，面對剛剛結束的總冠軍賽，他的情緒顯然難以保持平靜，那種複雜的感覺實在是難以用言語形容。畢竟他心繫的還是勇士隊，本人也表示「我對勇士這個團隊的忠誠（loyalty），是不會改變的」。

「但看到多倫多暴龍的勝利，以及整個加拿大彷彿被點燃、爆發－－那樣的光景，著實令人動容，令人慷慨激昂，」Nash說。

多倫多暴龍在季後賽有多麼出色，全世界都有目共睹，但是那種「一個國家，擁抱著一支隊伍」的氛圍，以及那樣的團結，所帶來的回憶與感動，對於大半生在美國打拚的Steve Nash來說，想必是心中無以取代的寶藏吧。

＂Very proud＂，驕傲、自豪，Nash這麼形容著。看來這一座冠軍，對他來說，恐怕不只是一座冠軍、一座金盃，或是一枚閃亮亮的、身為籃球人都夢寐以求的戒指，這麼簡單而已。

最後，順帶一提，大家在往後的日子裡，會更常看到Nash喔。因為不久前Associated Press報導，Nash除了將繼續為Bleacher Report講評足球賽事，也即將加入同屬TNT，參與NBA的播報。

沒錯，就是那個有著O'Neal、Barkley、Reggie Miller、Steve Smith、Kenny Smith，還有Chris Webber、Grant Hill和Kevin Garnett的「夢幻NBA播報團隊」，TNT。

至少對我來說是「夢幻」啦，加了Nash之後，我更是找不到其他形容詞了。

：下班後要不要跟O'Neal他們打一場？我、你、 Hill跟Weber，加上攝影大哥這樣。：好啊，但我不打五號喔，看你們誰要去扛中鋒，我隔天不想坐輪椅上班。（設計對白）

總之，不知道為什麼，Steve Nash的退休生活，比還沒退休以前更忙碌了。但值得高興的是，45歲的他似乎樂在其中。即使隔著螢幕和冰冷的文字，我彷彿還是能看見他的笑容，那種發自內心的快樂。

就像他總能算準時間，不多不少，就在發球後的7秒鐘之內，輕鬆寫意地，為隊友送上那渾然天成的助攻那樣。

「啊，又完成了一次快攻呢，」他微微笑著。

而這次，Nash的助攻，將不只帶給兩個人快樂。可能是一群孩子、一個家庭，也可能，是一整個世代。

祝福Steve Nash。

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#NBA #YAHOO #運動視界 #Steve Nash #飄髮哥

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