#just touched my heart n transcribed what's inside | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 8

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 8 - This Venerable One Gets Punished

Mo Ran lay in bed like a dead fish for three days. Just as his wounds started to heal, he was summoned to Red Lotus Pavilion to do manual labour.

This was also part of his punishment. During the punishment period, Mo Ran couldn't go down the mountain, but he also couldn't just laze around. So he had to help out the sect and do some drudgery.

Generally speaking, these errands were things like: helping the cafeteria lady at Mengpo Hall wash the dishes, scrubbing the three hundred and sixty-five stone lions on the pillars of the Naihe Bridge, transcribing extremely boring archive files, and so on.

But what kind of place was Red Lotus Pavilion? It was the residence of that bastard Chu Wanning, known as the cursed place called Red Lotus Hell.

Few people in Life-Death Peak had been there, and everyone who had been there left with either their legs or their arms broken.

Therefore, in addition to Red Lotus Hell, Chu Wanning's bedroom had a more grounded nickname: Broken Leg Pavilion.

There was an inside joke circulating around the sect: "The Pavilion hides a beauty, and the beauty holds Tianwen. Enter the gate of broken legs, know the suffering of getting your legs broken. If you want your meridians broken, go to the Elder Yuheng."

There was once a female disciple who wasn't afraid of death. She was bold enough to lust after Elder Yuheng's beauty. Taking advantage of the dark night and high winds, she sneaked to the Southern Peak and climbed onto the eaves, intending to watch the Elder bathe and strip his clothes.

As you can imagine, the female warrior was beaten within an inch of death by Tianwen, crying for her father and calling her mother, and lay in bed for no less than a hundred days.

And Chu Wanning also declared that, if anyone else dared to commit another crime, he would carve out the eyes of the perpetrator himself.

Do you see? What complete nonsense! What puzzling behaviour! What a heinous man!

Within the sect, there used to be innocent silly girls who thought that, because they were women, Elder Yuheng would pity them and show compassion. They were always laughing and joking in front of him, trying to attract his attention. But ever since the elder whipped that one female hooligan, no one dared to hit on him anymore.

To Elder Yuheng, whether it was men or women, he didn't have the disposition of a gentleman. Other than a good-looking face, there was nothing redeeming about him - this was how Chu Wanning was viewed by the disciples of this sect.

The junior brother who had delivered the summons looked at Mo Ran with sympathy. He tried to stay quiet, but in the end, couldn't hold it back: "Brother Mo. . ."

"Hmm?"

". . . Elder Yuheng has such a bad temper. No one who went to the Red Lotus Water Pavilion came out able to stand. Maybe you could see if you could say your wounds haven't healed and beg Yuheng Elder to let you wash dishes instead?"

Mo Ran was very grateful for this junior brother's bodhisattva heart, but he didn't agree.

Beg Chu Wanning?

Forget it. He doesn't need to get beaten by Tianwen a second time.

So he strenuously put on his clothes, dragged his feet, and walked reluctantly to Life-Death Peak's southern peak.

Red Lotus Pavilion, Red Lotus Hell. There wasn't a single person in sight for a hundred li around Chu Wanning's residence.

No one wanted to go close to his residence. Chu Wanning's bad taste and uncertain personality made everyone in the sect stay far away from him.

Mo Ran was a bit nervous. He didn't know what Chu Wanning would make him do as punishment. His thoughts ran wild the whole trip to the southern peak. After passing through the dense bamboo groves, large swathes of beautiful red lotus came into view.

It was early morning, the sun rising from the east, reflecting a splendid shine on the horizon. The red lotus stalks in the pond stretched towards the flaming clouds in the sky, complementing each other; magnificent. At the edge of the pond, a curved zig-zag bridge led to the pavilion standing in serene silence. Behind it was a curtain of waterfalls streaming down the mountain, the fine crystal water droplets raining against the rocks at the bottom. The watery mist created by it evaporated into the air, light gleaming through the fog, creating a sense of enchanting tranquillity.

This is what Mo Ran thought about this:

Gross.

Wherever Chu Wanning lived, no matter how beautiful it was, would always be gross to him!

Just look at it, so arrogantly extravagant, a true waste of extravagance, in fact. The disciples’ dorms are all closely connected to each other and they don't take up much surface area. And then there's the mighty Elder Yuheng, who occupies a whole mountain by himself. He even dug three large ponds and filled them with lotus flowers. Although, these lotus flowers are special varieties and can be refined into immortal medicine, but—

This is getting off track, the place was not pleasing to the eye. He wished he could burn down Broken Leg Pavilion with his torch!

All he could ever do was silently criticize this place. Given that he was only sixteen* this year, he was no match for Chu Wanning. Mo Ran showed up outside Chu Wanning's residence regardless. He stood at the door, squinted his eyes, and put on a sickeningly sweet demure, pretending to be the ideal disciple.

*(T/N The original text flips between all these ages. Mo Ran is just guessing how old he is so that's why it keeps going to 14/15/16)

"Disciple Mo Ran here to greet his master."

"Yes, come in."

The room was chaotic and disorganized. The cold-blooded demon Chu Wanning was dressed in a white robe. The lapels were folded high and tightly, giving off an air of purity and abstinence. Today, he had his hair in a high ponytail, covered with a black metal hair ring. He sat on the ground fiddling with a bunch of mechanical parts, biting a pen he had in his mouth.

Casually glancing at Mo Ran, with the pen still in his mouth, he said vaguely: "Come here."

Mo Ran approached him.

It was no easy feat. Considering there were no benches or tables in this room, artwork and metal broken wood were scattered everywhere.

Mo Ran's brows twitched. He had never entered Chu Wanning's room in his previous life, and he had no idea that this well-dressed beautiful man lived in such a mess. . . He was at a loss for words.

"Master, what is this?"

"Night Wanderer."

"What?"

Chu Wanning was a little impatient, probably because it was inconvenient to speak with a pen in his mouth: "Night Wanderer."

Mo Ran silently glanced at the mess of parts on the ground.

His master was hailed as Shizun Chu, and it wasn't just out of vanity. Speaking honestly, Chu Wanning was a very powerful man. Whether it is his three god-grade weapons, his cultivation techniques, or his machine-building skills, he was clearly worthy of being defined by four words: "the peak of excellence". This was also the reason why he had such a bad temper and was so difficult to serve, but the major cultivation sects still tried to fight over him for those skill.

Regarding the "Night Wanderer", the reborn Mo Ran was well aware of it.

It was a kind of machine made by Chu Wanning, cheap to make but had strong combat power. It can guard the ordinary people in the lower cultivation world from ghosts and demons at night.

In his previous life, the well-made Night Wanderer had almost become a must-have machine for every household. The price of one was equivalent to a broom, and the effect was much easier to handle than the Grinning Door God.

After Chu Wanning died, those Night Wanderers still guarded the poor families who couldn't afford a high-level cultivator. This compassionate heart, coupled with Chu Wanning's affection for his disciples. . . hehe, it really makes Mo Ran despise him.

Mo Ran sat down and looked at the "Night Wanderer" which was just a bunch of parts at this time, and the past flashed through his mind. He couldn't help picking up one of the Night Wanderer's limbs and grasped it in his hand for a closer look.

Chu Wanning clipped a few components, finally freeing his hands. He took the pen out of his mouth and glared at Mo Ran: "That one was just finished with tung oil, don't touch it."

"Oh. . ." Mo Ran put down the machine. He put his fake smile back on still looking cute and completely harmless. He asked with a smile, "Shizun summoned me here, are you planning to let me help?"

Chu Wanning hummed: "Mm."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Clean up the house."

Mo Ran's smile froze. He looked around at the room that looked like it had been hit by an earthquake: ". . ."

Chu Wanning was a genius in immortal cultivation and an idiot in life.

After picking up the fifth broken teacup that had never been swept up, Mo Ran finally couldn't stand it: "Shizun, when was the last time you cleaned your house? My god, it's so messy!"

Chu Wanning was looking at his drawings, and didn't look up when Mo Ran spoke to him: "Almost a year."

Mo Ran: ". . ."

"Where do you usually sleep?"

"What?" There must be something wrong with the drawing. Chu Wanning was upset and looked even more impatient than usual. He rubbed his head and replied in a huff, "Of course it's the bed."

Mo Ran glanced at the bed. It was piled with all kinds of machines that had been mostly completed, as well as a bunch of tools such as saws, axes, files, and so on.

Seriously, how did this man sleep without cutting his own head off?

After working for most of the day, the sawdust on the floor had filled three dustpans, and the white towel that had wiped down the bookcase was ten times more black. By noon, he had only cleaned about half.

Fuck Chu Wanning, this person is really more poisonous than a leeching woman.

Cleaning a room didn't seem like much of a punishment, it didn't really seem like hard work, but who knew that it was such a ghastly place that hadn't been touched in a year? Not to mention that he was covered with wound. Even if he was healthy now, he could shorten his lifespan by half going through all of this!

"Shizun. . ."

"Hm?"

"Your pile of clothes. . ." They'd been stacked there for about three months.

Chu Wanning finally got one of Night Wanderer's arms attached. He rubbed his sore shoulder, looked up at the robes on the suitcase, and said coldly: "I wash them myself."

Mo Ran was relieved. Thank goodness. But he was still a little curious: "Really? Shizun can wash clothes?"

Chu Wanning glanced at him, and after a while, coldly said: "What's so hard about it? Throw them in water, soak them, take them out, and dry them."

". . ." After hearing this, he really didn't know any girl who would keep lusting after Chu Wanning. Mo Ran truly thought that it would break the hearts of dozen of women to find out how disgusting this man really was.

"It's getting late. You can accompany me to the dining hall and finish the rest when you get back."

There were people coming and going from Meng Po Hall, and the Life-Death Peak disciples were eating together. Chu Wanning grabbed a lacquered wooden tray, took a few dishes and sat in the corner silently.

From where he was, no one sat within twenty feet of him.

No one dared to sit too close to Elder Yuheng, for fear that he would get upset, and they would get a lashing from Tianwen. Chu Wanning himself actually knew about this, but he didn't mind. A cold beauty sat there, gently eating the food in the bowl.

But today wasn't like usual.

Mo Ran was brought by him, so naturally he had to follow him.

Others are afraid of him. So was Mo Ran, but he had already died once, so Chu Wanning was nothing in comparison.

Especially after the fear of first seeing him had subsided, the hatred of Chu Wanning from his previous life slowly emerged. So what if Chu Wanning was powerful? In his last life, he still died by his hands.

Mo Ran sat down in front of him, calmly chewing the sweet and sour pork ribs in the bowl. He crunched on the bones then spit them out into a pile.

Chu Wanning suddenly slammed down his chopsticks.

Mo Ran stopped for a moment.

". . . Can you stop eating with your mouth open?"

"I chew the bones, how am I supposed to do that with my mouth closed?"

"Then don't eat the bones."

"But I like to eat the bones."

"Eat around them."

The two quarreling voices grew louder and louder, and some disciples were already peeping at them.

Mo Ran fought the urge to throw the rice bowl over Chu Wanning's head. He pursed his lips, and after a while, he narrowed his eyes, and a sweet smile appeared at the corners of his mouth.

"Shizun, don't shout so loudly. Others might hear, won't they laugh at us?"

Chu Wanning has always been thin-skinned, and his voice really softened. He whispered: "Get out."

Mo Ran burst out laughing.

Chu Wanning: ". . ."

"Hey, Shizun, don't stare at me. Come on, let's eat. I'll try to be quiet."

Mo Ran had laughed enough and started playing nice again, the sound of his chewing much softer.

Chu Wanning gradually went back to gently eating. Seeing that Mo Ran was bring obedient, his face slightly relaxed, no longer looking so bitter and upset. He lowered his head, eating his green beans and tofu with grace.

After a long pause, Mo Ran started to do it again.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. In summary, seeing Chu Wanning in this life, he wanted to make a fool of himself and do whatever he could to make him angry.

So Chu Waning found that although Mo Ran did not chew loudly this time, he began to grab the ribs with his hands and eat them, sloppily eating with greasy hands and sauce-covered fingers.

Chu Wanning's blue forehead vein popped. Endure it.

He lowered his eyelashes. He didn't look at Mo Ran, and focused on his own meal.

Mo Ran didn't know if he had gotten too carefree or forgetful while eating, but he accidentally threw one of the gnawed bones into Chu Wanning's rice bowl.

Chu Wanning stared at the messy and hideous rib bone, and the surrounding air so condensed and frozen it was visible to the naked eye.

"Mo Ran. . . !!!"

"Shizun. . ." Mo Ran was quite frightened. He wasn't sure whether what he said sounded true or fake. "That. . . Uh, I didn't mean it."

Probably fake.

". . ."

"Don't be angry, I'll take it out for you."

He really stretched out his chopsticks, stuck them into Chu Wanning's bowl, and quickly picked out the bone.

Chu Wanning's face was pale, like he was about to vomit.

Mo Ran batted his eyelashes, and there was a pitiful grievance on his delicate face: "Shizun, do you dislike me?"

". . ."

"Shizun, I'm sorry."

It was just that.

Chu Wanning thought to himself: Why do you need to be restrained with the junior disciples?

He gave up the urge to summon Tianwen to hit Mo Ran. His appetite was gone, and he got up and said: "I'm full."

"What? Is that all you're going to eat? Shizun, you've barely touched your food."

Chu Wanning brushed him off: "I'm not hungry."

Mo Ran's heart felt like it was as joyful as a flower, and he still sweetly said: "Then I won't eat it anymore. We can go back to Red Lotus Hell - ehem, go back to Red Lotus Pavilion."

Chu Wanning narrowed his eyes: "We?" There was a mockery in his eyes, and then said, "Who is the other person you're talking about? Disciples and their Shizun have respectable relationships and you will address me in the proper manner."

Mo Ran carefully kept his expression, his eyes curled up with a smile, well-behaved, sensible and cute.

However, in his heart he was thinking: Respectful relationship? Proper manner?

Hehe, if Chu Wanning could know what happened in his previous life, he would know - in the end, Mo Weiyu was the only one deserving of respect in the world.

No matter how noble and arrogant Chu Waning was, he was still a piece of mud under his boot. Didn't he depend on Mo Ran's good will to survive?

Stepping quickly to keep up with his shizun's pace, Mo Ran still had a bright smile on his face.

If Shi Mei was the white moonlight in his heart, Chu Wanning was the broken fishbone stuck in his throat. He needed crush this thorn or swallow it, and it will corrode away in his stomach.

In short, during this new life, he could spare whoever he wanted.

But he would never spare Chu Wanning.

However, Chu Wanning didn't seem to want to spare him so easily.

Mo Ran stood in front of the library in Red Lotus Hell, looking at fifty rows of ten-story bookshelves, thinking that he must have heard wrong.

"Shizun, what did you say. . .?"

Chu Wanning replied lightly: "Dust all the books in here."

". . ."

"After dusting, catalogue them."

"..."

"I will check back tomorrow morning."

"!!!"

What!!! Was he supposed to stay overnight in Red Lotus Hell??

But he had planned to meet with Shi Mei, and even asked Shimei to change his medicine at night!!!

He opened his mouth to plead his case, but Chu Wanning didn't bother paying attention to him. With a wave of his wide sleeves, and turned to exit the library, and, incidentally, closed the door of the library in a haughty manner.

Mo Ran, who's date had been ruined, sat in his boiling hatred of Chu Wanning - he wanted to burn all Chu Wanning's books!!

No!

After thinking it over, he thought of something even worse. . .

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

#the husky and his white cat shizun translation #the husky and his white cat shizun #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #yaoi novel #yaoi #danmei novel #danmei #mo ran #chu wanning #2ha novel #2ha #2ha translation #ranwan

186 notes · View notes

cyhyr · 3 years

Text

Summer of Whump Day 14: Hair Grabbing

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: M

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

WC: ~1200

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply; PTSD; discussions of consensual sex; canon-typical violence

Notes: Iruka fights off a PTSD flashback/trauma response triggered by having his hair pulled. Kakashi is NOT the one who pulls Iruka's hair, nor does it occur in a sexual situation. The flashback shows no explicit reference to previous sexual situations.

A/N: I've based Iruka's trauma response largely on my own experience and that's all I'm going to say on the matter.

The shared glance lets Kakashi know Iruka’s aware of their pursuers, and with a quick nod and a gesture for Iruka to go ahead, he turns mid-jump and throws two kunai. Iruka bursts his speed and there’s suddenly a lot more distance between them; Kakashi would be impressed, but he’s worked with Iruka often over the last half-year and is familiar with the chūnin’s abilities.

Both kunai hit true; one in a kneecap, the other in another’s arm. Both nin yelped and halted their pursuit. Two others rushed him—one with a katana, the other making seals for a fire jutsu. Kakashi makes his own seals for a water jutsu and washes the second nin out before she can attack. Then, he slips another kunai into his palm and blocks the katana strike.

One of the first two—kneecap guy—recognizes him, and calls for a retreat. “This ain’t worth it, yo!” He leans on the soaked kunoichi and Kakashi lets them go; he’ll get his information from one of the other two.

But the kendoist holds his attention long enough for the other injured nin to retreat as well, and then breaks a smoke bomb for their own retreat. By the time the smoke clears, Kakashi is left standing, confused, wondering why they would bother—

Iruka.

Kakashi flickers in his direction and is flash-stepping between the tree limbs with hardly a touch to land and push himself off again. Iruka has the mission scroll, the one they had been sent to unseal (Iruka), read (Kakashi), make a determination on the information transcribed inside (Kakashi, again), and reseal (Iruka, again) before bringing it back to Konoha. Their pursuers may not have realized that Kakashi doesn’t have it—unless they have a second team waiting ahead just in case the Konoha duo performed exactly as Kakashi ordered.

If Iruka gets hurt, it’s because Kakashi sent him into a trap.

Kakashi and Iruka have been running missions together for about six months, yes; and they’re even what one would call friends, though with the added clause of sometimes sleeping together during missions… after missions… before missions…

Friends with benefits. Sex friends. Whatever it is, Iruka is wild and Kakashi has no intention of letting him go without Iruka ending it.

When they started, though, there were a few ground rules they both set down. Kakashi would be the one to bare his own face; Iruka didn’t want to roleplay sensei and student; Kakashi doesn’t like being tied down, but will happily be restrained in other ways (Iruka’s stay like this while positioning his arms above his head is a favorite of theirs).

The one that, honestly, shocked Kakashi to hear, was that Iruka doesn’t want his hair being pulled. Sure, it could hurt; but it could also be pleasant. Kakashi himself enjoys being led along by his hair when he goes down on Iruka so he doesn’t understand what the deal is at first. But Iruka is steadfast about this rule, going so far as to tell him that they couldn’t be friends if Kakashi couldn’t honor this one request. And, well, that settled that. No pulling on Iruka’s hair.

Plus pulling on hair is so much different than playing with hair, and Iruka doesn’t mind having his hair pet, or his scalp scratched, or—so long as Kakashi makes sure to telegraph his movements, and it’s been recently brushed and heavily conditioned—stroking his fingers through it.

This is all to say, that when Kakashi catches up with Iruka and sees him fighting a shinobi half again as large as he is, and when the enemy shinobi makes to grab for Iruka’s throat but Iruka ducks, and when Iruka is just too slow so the shinobi ends up with a fistful of Iruka’s hair—Kakashi’s heart stops for half a second because he sees why Iruka never wanted him to pull on his hair.

The enemy shinobi slams Iruka to the ground once, twice, still holding him at the base of his ponytail. Iruka is limp in the man’s grasp, his eyes glassy and dead. The shinobi pulls a kunai out and tips it underneath Iruka’s throat and Iruka’s chin moves with it, not fighting back—

The guy looks up and over his shoulder as Kakashi flies in, lightning in his palm, and all three of them hit the ground as Kakashi’s hand slips into the shinobi’s neck. Kakashi stands, kicks the dead body aside, and turns back to Iruka.

He’s kneeling where he fell, trembling; hair has slipped out of its tie in uneven chunks, some of it covering part of his face. His hands are clasped on his lap but he’s tense and his eyes are still glazed, like he’s not fully here.

“Iruka?” Kakashi calls, kneeling in front of him and ducking his head so he can better see Iruka’s face.

Iruka nods slightly.

“You’re safe now. Is it okay if I touch you?”

Iruka doesn’t respond for a moment, and then takes in a thin, hissing breath and whispers, “Please.”

Kakashi inches forward, then puts one hand over top of Iruka’s clasped hands and the other on his shoulder.

The trembling worsens, and his breath hitches on a suppressed sob. “I don’t want to be here, Kakashi,” he murmurs, “Not again, not again, not—”

“Where are you, Iruka? How can I help?”

“No, no. Um. That’s,” Iruka gasps; swallows, hard. “That’s my question. Tell me what’s going on, where I am, get me out of my head. Before I get stuck.”

“We’re in the forests seventeen miles east-northeast of Konohagakure. You were brought along on a mission to unseal and seal a scroll containing potentially sensitive information before we brought it back to Konoha. You have, so far, done your job perfectly.”

A wet laugh, a sniffle; Kakashi counts a win.

He continues, “You took on one enemy ninja, who during the fight got a hold of your hair, after which you’ve been exhibiting a trauma response.” He moves his hand from resting atop Iruka’s hands to threading his fingers through Iruka’s. “Can you describe what’s happening on your end?”

“Physically, I. Um. Nausea, headache, chills, m-my body aches everywhere—”

“And mentally?”

Iruka shakes his head quickly. “Please, gods no. No no no no no—” A bird call echoes through the trees around them and Iruka flinches hard and cries, “Gods, stop it—I can’t—leave me alone please—Haven’t you taken enough—”

“It was a bird call, Iruka; listen closely,” Kakashi says, and keeps his voice low. He shifts even closer to Iruka, enough that he can move his hand from Iruka’s shoulder to the back of his neck. With his fingertips, he makes small circles there; at the same time, he strokes his thumb across the back of Iruka’s hand.

Second by second, minute by minute, Iruka relaxes. When he comes back to himself fully, the tension in his spine loosens like a cut string and Iruka falls into Kakashi’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Iruka mutters.

“Gods, don’t be,” Kakashi says. He turns his head and kisses Iruka’s hair, the hand he had on the back of his neck sliding up to pet at brunet locks. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump14 #hair grabbing #fanfic #hatake kakashi #umino iruka #kakairu #my writing

28 notes · View notes

incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 4 years

Text

NEVER WAS THERE A TALE OF MORE WOE, THAN THAT OF OUR JEANNE AND FANGDADDIO 😭😭😭

But alas, I will relay what I read back in the day to the best of my abilities! Spoilers for the end of Jeanne’s route under the cut, rated E (for everyone) for maximum uwus (and M for angst bc F U C K):

Okay so basically Jeanne’s route goes a lot like most of the routes, and when MC gets attacked (by the rival vampire turned by Vlad) our eyepatched wonder is not happy about it. He storms over to Comte’s room and demands to have his questions answered. Comte notes how deathly serious he is and breezes past the enmity, telling him to go ahead and ask whatever he needs to. Jeanne threatens to kill Comte if it turns out that he’s lying about anything from this point forward. To which Comte (being a little shit), replies that he literally can’t die so like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Jeanne tells him he doesn’t care what it takes; he’ll rend him apart to the tiniest shred over and over and over again--even if it takes them both to the other side to accomplish it. Comte concedes and says “very well; if I lie, you’re welcome to try.” Jeanne finally asks if Comte has made a revival pact with anyone new. Comte is genuinely confused and confesses that he hasn’t--that he has no idea who Jeanne is talking about. “What ‘comrade in arms’???” Jeanne seems to sense that Comte is responding in earnest (but is also confused bc like, then who the fuck else turned the guy??? WHO IS THE THREAT I MUST STAB)

Jeanne admits that MC was attacked and you can feel the change in gravity in milliseconds. Comte starts asking where she is and if she’s okay, and Jeanne explains that she’s still in the mansion and she’s fine. Jeanne then asks if Shakespeare has the ability to turn people like he does, and Comte is bewildered to put it mildly. He’s like ??????? Where is this coming from, of course he doesn’t???? I turned him myself, he’s a lesser vampire--he doesn’t have that ability???? In a moment of sheer livid impatience, Jeanne grabs Comte by the lapels and screams “Then who can!?!?!?!” Comte stares at him and admits that there are only two people that he is aware of who can accomplish such a thing, himself and someone else. They hear a loud crash and they run to the dining room, only to find a window smashed, Mozart wounded, and MC gone. Comte’s furious sprite appears, and he asks Jeanne to look after MC, he has something to take care of. Isaac asks him where on earth he’s going, and he reveals that he’s going to Will’s house before storming out.

Poor Shakespeare faces the brunt of Comte’s rage--though I get the feeling, knowing now that Shakespeare is Vlad’s puppet--that the threat was meant more for Vlad than for Shakey boy. Comte goes to Shakey’s place and Shakespeare offers to put on tea or wine, says it’s strange for him to appear so late. Comte tells him not to bother, since he isn’t here to exchange pleasantries. Shakespeare seems p shocked given Comte isn’t usually one to be so direct or terse, and when Comte walks in he backs Shakespeare into the wall step. By step. By step. He asks him if he was involved in the harm done to MC, and Shakespeare’s like “Yeah lol what’s it to you.” And when their shoes are nearly touching, Comte grabs him by the throat and lifts him off the ground. He tells Shakespeare that if this goes on, he won’t show any mercy: "To those that would harm a single member of my house, I will hunt them to the ends of the earth. To the very depths of hell." The narration notes that he lets go of whatever dampens his pureblood aura and nearly suffocates Shakespeare with his raw intensity and power, before putting him down again and saying “That’s all I have to say. I have no more questions for you.” Comte walks right back out, slamming the door while Shakespeare is on the floor coughing.

So, needless to say, things are hella rocky between Comte and Jeanne throughout the better part of the route. But given the odd dichotomy of Comte’s reactions (his complete acceptance of Jeanne’s fury versus his own anger being directed at Vlad), it definitely felt like there was more there. Everything finally comes full circle at the end when Comte gathers everyone inside the dining room to explain precisely what happened (Vlad, etc. I’m assuming) and asks everyone to take proper precautions moving forward: "I'll take steps to make sure this never happens again. But if we are faced with a similar situation, know that I am prepared to protect you all with every fiber of my being." He deems secrecy a moot point given this incident, and just wants everyone to be safe and ask for help should they need it in the future.

MC notes that he doesn’t have his usual placid demeanor; he’s incredibly serious and grave. She’s like “Oh boy some serious shit went down huh...but if anything, I feel like it’s only made us have more faith in his ability to protect us c:” AND HERE IS WHERE THE BIG HURT HAPPENS KIDS GET YOUR TISSUES AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Jeanne: "...Alright. I will trust in your words. But can I ask just one thing?” Comte: “Yes, Jeanne?” Jeanne: "You know I always hated you, I truly believed you revived me against my will for a long time." Comte just sorta deflates, but he doesn’t say anything (MY POOR BABIE) Jeanne: "But, is that really the case? Did I want to live on, away from that pyre...?" [There was a long silence.] Comte: “...That day, when I appeared, you screamed desperately 'Why must I die here. Whether it be God or the devil, someone make use of me!'” Important note: Jeanne tells MC that he is able to recall thinking that, but he has no acute recollection of saying it; this is the moment at which he lost consciousness. MC: [;-; No matter how hard he tried to stifle it, it (his deep wish to live) came out all the same...] I wasn’t able to transcribe it, but Comte essentially tells him that he tried to ask Jeanne, but he was already barely hanging on--there was no way he could get a proper answer. (This is highly plausible given we know that Jeanne was incarcerated by the Inquisition, tortured, and starved before he was tied to that pyre--it was a miracle he lasted that long. He didn’t even have the strength to move/struggle from where he was tied). Comte goes on to say that Jeanne was pissed to shit when he woke up and there was little he could do to alleviate that (I mean given he was waiting for the sweet release of death it makes sense but also N O ;-;). For a while Jeanne just stares at him before asking: Jeanne: “...Why? Why didn’t you tell me after all this time?” Comte: "Because I thought it was okay if you berated me a little." Jeanne (vine voice: AMERICA EXPLAIN): ?????????? Comte: "Despite being alive...you looked dead to the world ever since the day we met. No matter how hard I tried or whatever I did, I couldn't seem to change that. But...the only emotion I seemed to be able to draw out of you was hate. If hatred was the only thing that could move you, I figured I'd take on that role. Better to see you express something than to see you lifeless beyond any glimmer of hope or change." Jeanne: "Why....why would you go that far?? Why did you bother? I don't...understand" BECAUSE HE HAS SO MUCH LOVE TO GIVE AND HE LOVES YOU I’M SOBBING ALL OVER AGAIN OKAY DEEP BREATHS THE SHOW MUST GO ON MINNIE Comte: "Because I'm the one that revived you...because to me, you're all my precious family." Jeanne: "...............................................................I...I'm sorry" AND JEANNE HANGS HIS HEAD WAAAAAAAAAAAH Comte’s brows rise: “...Jeanne?” Jeanne: "I know an apology doesn't forgive everything I did/said. But I don't know how else to make amends"

It goes on to show them all making amends, and while Jeanne can sometimes be like “ughghhghgh d a d stop nagging I’m fINE” he secretly really loves the guy. In Jeanne’s third bday story he’s literally like [Comte’s a weirdo but I see now that that's just how he cares abt me. He's not just worldly, he's a good guy. c: I just don’t care abt whatever he’s going on abt rn]

So like full disclosure before Jeanne’s route I still loved Comte but I really didn’t know much about him beyond the “eccentric nobleman persona.” Granted we definitely get glimpses into who he really is, but this was a sizeable breakthrough. (And probably a strong allusion to the release of Comte’s MS soon after.) That being said, there were so many things said here that just absolutely shattered my heart.

Because here’s the thing. I have no qualms with Comte’s wish to be a dad--or even to revive the men, for that matter. If it makes him happy and he intends to take care of them reasonably well, then who am I to criticize him? (Fun fact: Leonardo essentially says the same exact thing; he’s more against it than I am because of the whole turning humans, but he doesn’t necessarily vilify Comte because he knows his intentions are good. And if everyone’s happy with it, what can he say?) But the fact that Comte handles their issues with so much patience and maturity...I’m in love???? There is sincerely nothing sexier than this for me. He’s fully aware that Jeanne was treated like absolute shit by the people he tried to protect, that he never really got to live for himself a single day in his life--never knew a moment’s peace, joy, or appreciation. He tries everything he can think of to get Jeanne to maybe not hate being alive as much, but fails at every turn. He still refuses to give up on the guy despite the less than ideal state of things, and decides that if Jeanne needs an enemy to survive--he will be that enemy. He doesn’t care that the guy he’s trying to help would skewer him the second he had his back turned (Jeanne pls this was a new suit couldn’t this wait). He takes full responsibility for deciding to turn him; knows that since he erred on the side of caution, it’s up to him to offer a life that’s worth keeping/staying alive for. He doesn’t belittle Jeanne’s plight for a moment, never deems him stupid or shortsighted. He’s able to understand that in the wake of so much pain and loss, of course Jeanne might not notice the finer points of Comte’s attempts to cheer him up. Even if it pains him to be on negative terms (HE LOVES HIS BOY HE DOESN’T WANT TO FIGHT) he will fully accept it if it brings Jeanne peace, if it helps Jeanne get to a place where he can begin to accept the affection he wants to offer.

And THAT’S what kills me, kids. Four hundred years, and Comte fucking LEARNED something. He is perceptive to uncanny degrees, and never fails to read a room in milliseconds; not only does he pick up on how people feel, he responds with appropriate, gentle measures. What I love so much about Comte is that he knows full well that genius does not come without its price. You could be the smartest person on earth, the most talented, whatever you choose to call it, but it will invite no shortage of hatred from other people, no shortage of misunderstanding and disdain and violence. If people don’t go mad with power, they are destroyed by the very places that birthed them. As such, the last thing he wants to do is put them under more pressure, or force them to do things against their will; he just wants to give them a chance to live beyond such fickle and hostile circumstances. And he takes this seriously, this isn’t remotely a whim for him despite all evidence to the contrary. He gets that healing takes time, and as much as he wants everyone to be happy he’s more than willing to give them space/resources to figure it out. Like. He is the father everybody DREAMS they had (if they didn’t already have a good one) and the fact that I can’t tell him what a wonderful job he’s doing is killing me on all levels INCLUDING physical.

And I just?????? Jeanne’s palpable remorse when he finds out????? And Comte’s surprise???????? Like Comte wasn’t necessarily expecting that level of apology, he knew he was taking a gamble and he was ready to do whatever he had to, he wasn’t intending to hold it against his boy. But Jeanne just has such a tender and well-meaning heart (no matter how much he struggles to express it) that regret was inevitable. There’s just so much love in that moment, in Comte’s capacity to forgive and take on so much of poor Jeanne’s unhappiness, and Jeanne’s fully ability to admit he was misguided, lower his head, and apologize. THEY JUST GET ME BLUBBERING LIKE A THREE YEAR OLD OKAY THEY ARE BOTH SO IMPORTANT TO ME AND I HURT

Tl;dr: JEANNE’S ROUTE SHOT ME FORTY-SEVEN TIMES IN THE CHEST AND LEFT ME PINING FOR COMTE MORE THAN EVER BEFORE OTL

Also a bonus, because it only just occurred to me (spoilers from the end of Comte’s route):

THEY HAVE A LEGIT REVERSAL AT THE END OF COMTE’S ROUTE???? Comte once again gathers everyone to reveal Vlad’s identity and intentions, and he apologizes for keeping it from everyone, lowering his head. He’s more than ready to face everyone’s ire for keeping secrets, but everyone’s just like “dad pls lift your head it’s okay, we’re just glad we can help you now--you don’t have to carry it all on your own.” AND IT IS IN FACT, JEANNE, THAT ALSO SAYS “No need to bow like that Comte, aren't you the one always saying we're family?" AND WHEN I TELL YOU I WAS IN A PUDDLE OF TEARS?????? I WILL NEVER BE OKAY. POOR COMTE WAS SO MOVED AND MY HEART CAN’T TAKE HAVING THIS KNOWLEDGE WHERE’S MY HANKIE. JEANNE. BEING THE ONE. TO SAY. “Aren’t we family?” WHEN HEARING HOW HARD COMTE WAS WORKING TO PROTECT THEM, BC HE 100% IDENTIFIES WITH THE STRUGGLE OF LOOKING AFTER PEOPLE THAT DON’T KNOW/CARE THAT SOMEBODY ELSE IS THE SACRIFICE FOR THEIR PEACE OF MIND. I--

WHAT IS IT THAT JEANNE AND COMTE SHARE TO THE CORE, SO MUCH THAT JEANNE WOULD NEED NO OTHER EXPLANATION TO CHANGE HIS MIND AFTER YEARS OF BITTER DISDAIN???????? THEIR CAPACITY FOR DEVOTION, THEIR EASY WILLINGNESS TO SACRIFICE ANYTHING TO PROTECT A LIFE. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THIS EPIPHANY IS GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF ME

I’m crying rn I just: Comte: !!!!!!! Somebody who gets it!!! :DDD Jeanne: die. Comte: Comte: ;-; understandable have a nice day

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp spoilers #ikevamp jeanne #ikevamp comte #ikevamp saint germain #comte propaganda #ikevamp fangdad #fangdad propaganda #god who would have thought that the one thing jeanne and comte have in common is TAKING RESPONSIBILITY #deadass i was just writing and i was like hold up #but if jeanne doesnt know what he said in this route then why would he do a 180 like that????#and then i remembered that the focal point of comte's rt is learning that EVERYTHING that we knew from the getgo was a charade #he wasnt just turning ppl for funsies this was all a deliberate attempt to protect them from vlad #he was just using the dumbass noble persona to keep everyone from digging too deep (bc vlad would be waiting in the wings)#i still dont know what went wrong with shakespeare but im willing to bet that part of his whole keeping the truth surface level #might have been a direct consequence of that situation being mishandled #and as such everyone's living in a kind of ignorant bliss #the price of their peace is comte's carrying the knowledge of vlad's intentions and protecting them from an unwavering threat #and if there is ANYTHING jeanne can understand #it's wanting to bear the burden of violence or danger for the sake of protecting precious life #how could jeanne possibly remain angry with him? their hearts are undeniably aligned #GOD THIS JUST MAKES ME SO EMOTIONAL ITS A GOOD THING I HAVE SOME ROSÉ LEFT #ikevamp really goes above and fuckin beyond huh #how DARE they make me have feelings #**grumble**#i hope this answered your curiosity!!#if you need me ill be swimming in my feels good lordt im not okay

143 notes · View notes

youarejesting · 4 years

Text

BTS365 Prompts.Week19

[Masterlist] [Prompt Masterlist]

Please tag me in your work if you use my prompts. I want to see your work. Ever your Jester.

Tell me your birthday and I will tag you on your special day!

═══════ ೋღ ღೋ ═══════

May 7th - 13th

═══════ ೋღ ღೋ ═══════

Kim Seokjin: Lost sock

Running around the hotel room Seokjin was panicking. He had a short time to get ready and then he had to leave this wasn’t time to lose his right sock.

“Jin there is no time we got to go.”

“Jimin I can’t wear one sock!”

“It will be fine hurry up and get in the car before your bride gets there before you do”

Seokjin waited at the end of the aisle nervous but everything disappeared when he saw you walking in. You cheekily lifted a small part of the dress to reveal your pretty heels and on sock clad foot and he felt his heart flutter.

Min Yoongi: Room

There was an old music room on campus. Where nobody goes, it is said to be haunted, people who go there quickly leave reporting strange noises and some even claim to see a pale ghostly figure. You are running away from the campus’ official creep named Allan. Midst your hasty escape you hadn’t realised that you were heading towards an unused area within the music building. Allan was closing in with the speed of a tornado.

Ducking through the nearest door you found yourself within an old music room. It was cold, dark and there was a small layer of dust covering everything. Which didn’t strike you as odd as the room was full of unused or broken equipment.

Only a few steps into the room you found yourself feeling uneasy like you were being watched. But you couldn’t turn back now not whilst Allan was on the loose. Taking a seat in front of the small upright piano you found it odd that there was no dust on the wooden cover.

Lifting the cover, the ebony and ivory keys greeting you, each looking a little worn.

With a little hesitation for how the piano would sound, you began playing a small tune a familiar one you often heard in the music building but no one ever knew who the artist was. You had transcribed it at home hours of replicating the sound as best as you could. But the song was never finished so you took it upon yourself to create an ending you so fit. The song itself was melancholy with a hint of desperate longing. So the ending you had written rounded the conveyed emotion into something a little gentle and loving.

You played happily and pale hands came down over yours and you retracted yours back and tried to turn to see who had scared you so badly but the music these hands created was mesmerizing you could do no more than watch the long fingers dance over the keys.

Jung Hoseok: Twilight zone @taesguccibag

Hoseok hates all things scary, he hated fast rides, ghosts, scary movies, loud noises and angry people. So when he woke in a dark forest in the rain he was scared, he heard strange noises and there you were standing in front of him on this strange animal he had never seen.

You spoke, your voice soft but odd somehow like he wasn’t sure if he really heard you. He looked over you as he heard you speak again and noticed your mouth wasn’t moving he looked around before his eyes landed on you. You smiled at him, your voice filling his head just as gently as the first time.

“You are not from around here?”

“Where is here?”

“Exactly where you are from. But here and different”

“I can see that”

“Follow me we should head somewhere safe before anyone sees your from the other dimension”

Kim Namjoon: Limerick

There was a legend of a man with a sharp mind and quick wit, he was never married but he was wealthy, it seems that those who met him only spoke negatively about him. You were curious, surely he wasn’t as bad as they said, you were to be wed to an older gentleman you had never met. Already classified as a disgrace because you were so old, but you had heard this gentleman was your age and handsome.

You went to see him hoping this could be your chance at salvation, your chance to at least choose who you were married too.

Dressed in your best hanbok, you walked to the edge of town and arrived at the small temple you waited in line you were the last one who would be seen.

The sun was setting when you finally met him, he was strange looking the more you started the more interested you became with his features each beautiful yet so odd, but you weren’t here for looks, you were here for brains.

“How can I help you?”

“I would like to persuade you into the idea of marriage”

“You are not the first, what is your reasoning, is it money, it is definitely not for my looks”

“No, I do not wish for fortune and I find your appearance to be quite charming, I hear you are a smart man and I am set to wed a horrible man” You handed him the letter and he read it quickly, frowning as he progressed down the page.

“I think it is not too dramatic to say I would do anything not to marry this man.”

“Their once was a woman from a small town, who would look much better without a frown, to save herself from his bed, another man she will wed, wearing her best gown” he grinned looking up at you.

“There once was a man named Namjoon

With eyes as bright as the moon, he didn’t know of his looks, his head stuck in his books, I wish to marry him this afternoon” the scholar seemed to blush at your words

Park Jimin: Frog

Jimin was a shy boy, from a wealthy family, he had never stepped foot outside of his family home without an escort and had never spoken to another child his age without it being arranged. He had his scheduled play dates with Taehyung and Jungkook when they were free from their studies. There was a young girl next door that he sometimes heard playing, she was from a rich family as well and she would giggle loudly claiming to be catching her frog prince. Jimin grew older as did she and could still hear her sometimes talking to the frog about how she really wished they were a prince in disguise.

One day he finished his studies and sat by the stone wall waiting to hear her talk to the frogs and chase them. It amused him to this day that you still couldn’t catch them, that being said you were successful once but you squealed and threw the frog over the fence in panic because you had actually touched it.

Jimin was in his early twenties and heard you crying, you were talking to the frogs about how you felt alone.

Climbing swiftly over the fence Jimin grinned when he saw you laying on the small stone bench. “It is I your frog prince” he was in fits of laughter as he saw you flail yourself off the bench.

Kim Taehyung: Chicken

You worked with a food delivery service, and it didn’t matter the food, the price or the amount, whenever you started your shift you would receive the same address, every time. Greeted by a handsome young man around your age. Today was an order for fried chicken but it was a different address. Perhaps you wouldn’t meet the handsome young man, the thought actually disappointed you somewhat.

After all this time had you started enjoying your little moments with the young man? Of course you had he was so soft spoken and shy, you truly loved seeing him, maybe he was sick or hurt or injured.

The unknown was driving you crazy, there was nothing you could do taking the fried chicken to the new address you were escorted inside.

“I have a delivery of fried chicken?”

“Ah!” There he was looking absolutely amazing with his long dark hair in a perm. “I was worried I wouldn’t get to see you today”

“So was I, you're my favorite” placing the food in his hands trying to disregard the feeling of his hand brushing yours.

As you walked away you heard laughter, “he is blushing”

“She said I was her favorite!”

Jeon Jungkook: Dance @munchyn

The school dance was coming up and it was ladies' choice, the moment it was announced you watched your best friend Jungkook greet bombarded by almost every girl in school. And he always apologizes declining politely and saying he was waiting for a certain someone to ask him. It must have been the most popular girl in school, who else would he wait for.

So when lunch came around and the school's most prettiest, smartest and most popular girl sauntered over to your table you placed your lunch down no longer hungry.

“Hey Kookie, I heard you were waiting for a special someone to ask you to the dance?”

“Yes I am” he smiled up at her with his bunny teeth on show.

“Well I am here so you don’t have to wait any longer”

Standing you went to leave unable to witness this any longer, Jungkook caught your hand in the middle of the lunch hall. “Y/n I know it’s a girl's choice but I was wondering if maybe you wanted to ask me to go to the dance with you?”

19 notes · View notes

itsclydebitches · 5 years

Text

Lovely Good Omens fandom! Many of you have asked for/mentioned having a text version of the Yelp reviews, which if I were a better person I would have remembered to include in the first place. Better late than never? So here’s a version below and I also threw this up on AO3 so there are options. For the record, I’m not at all trained in transcribing visual media, so if anyone wants to add to/edit/do whatever to this post, especially to make it more accessible, you have carte blanche to do so 👍

Also I typed this up in a hurry so, as always, apologies for any typos.

Tagging: @lethargicdolphin, @marithlizard, @pearwaldorf

A.Z. Fell and Co. Antiquarian and Unusual Books

Recommended Reviews

Lindsay F.

London, United Kingdom

71 friends

3000 reviews

9874 photos

So I slipped into this place because I spotted my ex across the street and would have rather chugged a cocktail of bleach, lighter fluid, and a condensed solution of all my middle school years then talk to that asshole. Owner was on me the second I walked through the door and I thought he was gonna be one of those ‘Either buy something or get out’ types. Nah. I spilled the story, said I really wasn’t looking to purchase anything, and he LIT UP like nobody’s business. He gave me tea and promised I’d never run into my ex again. Which is a super sketchy promise on its own and also should have been hilarious coming from a guy a century behind in style.

...Kinda believed him though.

Marina G.

London, United Kingdom

0 friends

33 reviews

48 photos

Pretty sure this guy wants a library, not a bookshop. I mean, he’s nice and all when you first come in, but trying to actually buy a book? Good fucking luck. He’s too busy to see you right now (for the record he’s super bad at pretending to be busy). Or claims that this book has already been put on reserve (then why wasn’t it in the reserve pile...?). Or the price suddenly jumped an obscene amount. Or he just straight up hems and haws until you get fed up and leave. I watched him pull a novel straight out of a woman’s hands once when she claimed that price was no object and she wouldn’t be leaving the store until she’d purchased it. You’d think she was trying to kidnap one of the guy’s kids!

So yeah. Feel like popping in to browse, maybe take pictures for your research, all while making quiet conversation with someone who quite frankly knows his stuff? This is the place for you. Want to actually buy something? Go elsewhere. Pretty sure Fell doesn’t even own a cash register. At least I’ve never seen one.

He wants a library and I’d honestly tell him as much if he didn’t scare me just a little bit...

Aaron S.

New York, NY

68 friends

212 reviews

337 photos

I stayed here for three days once. Found a bathroom off the romance section and a chair hidden away in the back. Way comfier than my mattress at home. Mostly played iPhone games and kept real quiet at night. Experiment ended when I popped out for breakfast and didn’t make it back before a random 10:00am closing. Don’t think the owner ever realized what was up.

Hana S.

London, United Kingdom

112 friends

115 reviews

208 photos

I really love this place. I’ve been coming here since I moved to London, about twelve years ago, and it’s one of the most soothing bookstores I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting. Yeah, you hear talk of weird things going on at Fell’s, but really? We could all do with a bit more quirky in our lives. And Fell provides that in spades: Annual plants that never seem to wither, let alone die. The smell of incense mixing with cocoa. Strange books tucked horizontally into the shelves, feeling like they have a touch of magic to them. Nonsensical conversations taking place in dark corners (I’m talking candid chats about the apocalypse and whether angels could actually bless all the rains down in Africa. I swear Fell and his boyfriend are the religion Mythbusters or something.) I’m going to sound like a total nerd here for a moment, but it feels like some sort of liminal space. You know when you were a kid and you were just desperate to receive your Hogwarts letter? Or find your own wardrobe to Narnia? That’s what walking into Fell’s feels like. Like you’ve finally found that portal and can stay as long as you like, provided you don’t try to take anything back with you into the ‘real’ world. Hell, maybe that’s why he won’t let anyone buy his books.

Robert T.

Union City, CA

4 friends

26 reviews

3 photos

There’s a snake?? In this shop?? A reALLY MASSIVE SNAKE????? What are y’all doing talkin’ about your meet cutes and shit someone call pest control!

Malini D.

London, United Kingdom

0 friends

48 reviews

99 photos

I’m not gonna pretend I have anything to say about whether this is a good bookstore or not, but if you ever want knitting help you should definitely stop by. Mr. Fell knows an absurd amount about crafts for a guy who looks like my grandpa and he’s now replaced Youtube as my go-to for alleviating “Omg please fix this how the hell did I manage to reverse the pattern??” panic. For the record, I didn’t just wander up to a random bookseller one day and demand that he help me salvage the ruins of my first sweater. I’d taken a seat inside to wait out a storm, had my messy sleeve stuffed into my purse, and he’d offered the help. Bit of a bastard about things like gauge and color--not everyone wants to wear tartan, dude--but you get used to that. He means well. Said I should come back to show him the finished piece, which I did. Things just kind of spiraled from there. He’s an absolute treasure trove of knowledge once you get him talking and a muffin to boot. If he were twenty years younger and in any way straight I would have asked him out in a heartbeat. As it is I’m considering setting him up with Grandpa.

Tiffany L.

London, United Kingdom

132 friends

312 reviews

34 photos

I’m not really a book person myself but I followed my wife in with our seventh-month old and was kinda embarrassed when he started making a fuss. Normally I’m full Badass Mom mode while in public--I’ve got a kid to feed, change, sooth, and you all can damn well deal with it--but this place was so quiet Liam seemed extra loud in comparison. I was about to take him back out when a man appeared out of nowhere. The owner I guess, based on how some of these other reviews describe him. Older gentleman with clothes out of some period piece. Anyway, he scoops Liam into his arms like he was born for it and started bouncing. Our fussy, temperamental, drama queen Liam settled in an instant and my wife got to browse to her heart’s content. I don’t know how he did it, but that man is an absolute angel. Full stars for that moment alone.

Gillian L.

The Hague, The Netherlands

283 friends

256 reviews

60 photos

Anyone know if the old Bentley parked out front is for sale?

Update: It’s really, really, really not

Billy H.

Austen, TX

40 friends

2073 reviews

774 photos

QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS QUEER BOOKS SO MANY QUEER BOOKS!!!

Gabriela G.

London, United Kingdom

3 friends

22 reviews

1 photos

Run by this delightfully frumpy guy who sometimes hands out biscuits from a sewing tin like my gran used to. He asked me if I was looking for anything in particular and I told him my name was Jared, I was 19, but sadly I’d never learned how to read. I have NEVER seen a man more confused in my life. 10/10 would meme him again.

Colie A.

Enola, PA

201 friends

2778 reviews

10382 photos

I’m setting the record straight here since there are a bunch of reviews claiming it’s just London folklore: there is a snake at A.Z. Fell’s. Must be an exotic pet he usually keeps upstairs because I’ve only ever seen it twice. Is it big? Yes. Scary? Fuck yes, but I’ve never seen it do anything more than give a warning hiss at this drunk who wandered in and started yelling. (Are snakes good guard dogs? This one is.) The other time he was just chilling on top of one of the shelves. Snoozing, I guess. I asked Mr. Fell if I could pet him and he said maybe after he woke up, but then I had to get to class and all.

Afraid of snakes? Steer clear. Otherwise I’d really recommend popping in and seeing if he’s around. Idk, maybe I’m just a snake fan but he looks super sweet and chill. Life is short. Boop the snake snoot.

Jeremy W.

London, United Kingdom

86 friends

409 reviews

12 photos

I live down the street from A.Z. Fell’s and let me tell you, this place is spooky as fuck. All sorts of weird lights and noises coming from it. At all times of the day and night too. Either this bowtie wearing bookworm has one crazy sex life or the place is haunted. Jury’s out on which.

Heather Ki.

London, United Kingdom

0 friends

3852 reviews

1 photos

This shop smells. Not that old book smell either, oh no, but like something is molding. I took my little Johnny in here to try and get him interested in something other than those damned video games and I walk into what smells like a whole cloud of toxic mold! My boy has a weak constitution as it is and if he comes down with anything I will be pressing charges, you mark my words.

Jo. W.

London, United Kingdom

32 friends

410 reviews

61 photos

Hey, does anyone want to talk about the fact that this place burned down last month? As in, completely up in flames, I saw it happen, nothing but a smoking husk afterwards? Does no one else remember this??

Tiggi N.

London, United Kingdom

32 friends

33 reviews

24 photos

Has anyone read this guy’s opening hours? I included a photo above: “I open the shop on most days about 9:30AM perhaps 10:AM. While occasionally I have opened the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1.” Absolutely insane. This guy’s a madman and I love him. If anyone actually manages to get into this place please let me know because I need to shake Fell’s hand.

Mackenzie J.

City Centre, Manchester, United Kingdom

807 friends

2592 reviews

13218 photos

I told my girlfriend this shop’s got a snake named Anthony and she didn’t believe me. Going back for proof next week.

Update: got the snake selfie!!!!!!!!

Penny O.

Chicago, IL

87 friends

557 reviews

16 photos

Caught the owner snogging some hot twink behind the cookbooks. Well done, my dude.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #good omens fic

207 notes · View notes

ellaustenn · 5 years

Text

Love Notes

Pairing: Draco x Slytherin Girl Reader

Word count: 3572

Plot: Draco is getting love notes from some one.

Author’s note: None

Y/I: Your Initial

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

It was the middle of the night when your eyes suddenly burst open, at the exact moment when a flash of green light was about to hit you in the chest. Nervously, you pulled away the covers and sat down, realizing you were sweating - not to mention you were also short of breath.

You clenched your jaw nervously, both hands clenched into fists. You hated having bad dreams, that was for sure, but those where fate decided you had to die were the ones you hated most. A spell, a flash of green light and you wake up tense.

You looked around you: all the other girls were still asleep, deeply. To your right, your best friend had a smile on her face, and occasionally babbled something incomprehensible; were they dreaming about someone special?

Knowing that you wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, if not with difficulty, you got out of bed and left the dormitory on tiptoe. When you arrived in the Common Room, a deep silence enveloped you in its embrace - strangely, now that you were there, you felt much more relaxed. The protagonists of the paintings on the walls slept and snored and all the fireplaces, except one, were turned off.

You went to the burning fireplace, your legs practically moving by themselves. Perhaps staying for a few hours in front of the fire, sitting in a comfortable armchair, would help you fall asleep again. But when you reached the armchair, you realized that you weren’t alone.

Blond hair, very light skin and gray eyes that, fixed in the fireplace, seemed to be burning.

"Why aren’t you sleeping?" Draco asked, his voice reduced to a whisper.

You frowned and, instead of answering him, asked him, "How did you know it was me?"

Draco didn't even turn around. He stared at the flame that danced in the fireplace, his cheeks flushed with heat. You wondered how long the boy was there, but then, looking down, you noticed that he was holding a piece of parchment in his hand.

"Another of those lone notes?" You asked him, pushing him a little further to make room for you in the armchair.

When you sat down next to him, you realized that it wasn't exactly as comfortable as you had imagined. The space was what it was and in two it was quite tight; this, however, gave you the possibility of getting closer. You leaned your head on his shoulder, and he seemed to stiffen for a moment - but it was only for a little bit.

"Do you want to read it to me?" You asked him, without even waiting for an answer to the question you had asked him earlier.

Draco thought about it, shifted his gaze from the fire to the parchment sheet and wet his lips. "If you really insist"

You found that fake tone of indifference amusing, especially because you knew that Draco loved those little messages. He found them everywhere: among the school books, among the notes, in the bag where he kept his quidditch stuff. One morning he had decided to eat a hard-boiled egg for breakfast and, in pulling away the shell, he was surprised to find parchment instead of the egg.

These messages had started popping up about four months ago. They were signed with a simple initial. The first month, Draco had passed him to investigate who could be the person who sent him the known ones, completely forgetting the Triwizard Tournament and Potter's participation in it. Furthermore, the fact that you knew the identity of that anonymous person made it even more fun.

"My love I have been dreaming about the day you ask me to accompany you to the Yule Ball for a week. I imagine the two of us in one of those corridors that the students don’t use that much, hidden behind a column. You have your hands on my hips, your mouth next to my ear. I can even feel your hot breath against my skin and the chills running down my spine. As soon as I say yes, you kiss lips, leaving my breathless. You get me even closer to your body and I instinctively put my fingers in your blonde hair. Ask me to come with you to the Yule Ball, my love. Make this dream come true. Y/I "

"Thank goodness it's not like the last one you received," you chuckled, watching as Draco's hand went to position on your left thigh. "That was so corny that I had diabetes for a week when you read it to me" Draco's lips curled into a slight smile, but then his gaze turned serious. "It is the first time they call me "My love""

"So?" You asked him, finding nothing wrong with it.

"Nothing, Y/N," Draco replied, now stroking your knee. "I just want to understand who this person is and why they make me find these notes everywhere"

"The reason seems pretty clear, don't you think?" You made yourself closer, turning your head just enough to make your nose touch his neck. "This person has a crush on you, a big one actually"

"They could come forward and tell me in person, rather than leave me parchment sheets in the eggs," he complained. "Or you could just say their name, since you know who they are"

"For the hundredth time: no, it's too fun to see you in the investigator's shoes. Find out for yourself ” was your reply; then, remembering the question he asked you: "Why did you come here? Couldn't sleep?"

Draco turned slowly towards you: since you had changed position, staring at the burning fireplace, in the reflection of your eyes he saw flames dancing a silent song. Your face was kissed by the colors of fire and now you too had red cheeks because of the heat. With his free hand, he passed the forefinger along the length of your nose, sliding down to the chin - he stopped an extra second on the lips.

Shortly before answering, Draco wondered how he could feel at the same time something for two different people: there was this anonymous, who for four months had been sending him short messages, a dowry sweetie ... and then there was you.

"I found the parchment sheet on my bed. Tiger says one of the first year entered our dorm this afternoon, claiming to be "The Mysterious Owl"”

You rolled your eyes: The Mysterious Owl? I just gave him one job!.

"What a ridiculous name," Draco muttered. "Anyway I came here to reflect: I want to find out who this person is, at all costs, and then because I realized that the Yule Ball is getting closer and I haven't invited anyone yet"

"Why don't you ask Pansy?" you teased him. "You'll see how she’ll wags her tail with joy"

Draco gave you a playful push with his shoulder, then turned to give you a kiss on the cheek. "I'm going to sleep, are you staying here?"

Nodding, you told him that you would stay in the Common Room a little longer.

...

"My darling I found a book of Muggle poetry in the library. It was hidden behind some tomes of potions and ancient spells. I believe that Madama Pince reads it at night, perhaps thinking of someone dear to her. I leafed through a few pages, read a few poems. Many of these were dedications for their own half, so romantic that I almost started to cry. Some were so beautiful ... I thought of transcribing one, keeping it for a future note to send to you. By the way, do you really keep them all in an old shoe box? The notes I send you, I mean"

Draco widened his eyes: how did this anonymous know that every single note he had jealously kept in an old box? They certainly had to be someone close to him.

With a quick run he reached Tiger and Goyle inside the Common Room, not caring for you that, amazed, you looked at a beautiful Christmas tree decorated. Draco dropped the bag of books, put his hands on Tiger's shoulders and ordered him to point out who that stupid kid who called himself "The Mysterious Owl" was.

He knew, it was obvious. He just had to kindly ask him some questions. Tiger's eyes widened, surprised by Draco's gesture. He stammered a few meaningless words, then glanced at Goyle in the hope that this would give him a hand.

Draco rolled his eyes, exasperated: "You just have to point him, Tiger. It's not that difficult!"

Hearing Draco raise his voice, you momentarily abandoned the Christmas tree and turned in his direction. You wrinkled your forehead and, trying to understand what was going on, you approached the trio silently. You stayed there beside them for a while, absorbing everything Draco asked Tiger - which was slowly recovering from the shock.

When you realized that Draco was on the trail of 'The Mysterious Owl', your heart ended up in your throat: you decided to run out of the Common Room to go and look for the boy who helped you with the messages. You didn't know exactly where to find it, but you could ask around and see.

After almost an hour and a half, and after running back and forth across the entire castle, you found the little Slytherin in one of Hogwarts' courtyards. He was intent on talking to a black-haired girl who turned her back on you, but it wasn't hard for you to figure out who she was.

"Parkinson" you called her tight-lipped.

Both the girl and the Slytherin kid looked at you. The boy opened his eyes and mouth wide, surprised and at the same time frightened to see you there; Pansy, on the other hand, smiled sweetly - something that made her strangely resemble Snape.

"L/N," Pansy replied, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down at you. "What brings you here?"

"It's none of your business," you replied, very quietly. "You instead?Enjoy torturing little kids? Should I remind you that among the qualities of the Slytherins there is no malice, but something else?"

"Let's get to the point, L/N," Pansy replied, taking a few steps in your direction. "I know your secret, L/N. I know why you need this pathetic kid and, guess what? I think it's time for another message to be delivered to Draco"

If Pansy's purpose was to frighten you, you were completely immune to all her efforts. Besides, you knew very well that she had a colossal crush on the blond Slytherin and that she certainly wouldn't rush to inform him that you were his secret admirer. What you had to do now was find a way to make her go away, then talk to the Slythering kid and get the message that Parkinson wanted to get to Draco.

Being happy for what she had done, Pansy left.

At that point, with an amused smile you approached the first-year boy: "Pathetic, don't you think?"

The Slytherin kid didn’t say a word, merely looked at his shoes. The smile flew away from your face and, troubled, you frowned. You asked him what he was hiding from you, why he hadn't already pulled out the message that Parkinson wanted to send to Draco - because you wanted to see it burn, maybe drinking a cup of tea.

When the Slytherin didn’t answer, you decided to pressure him. You stepped forward, shortening the distance, and asked him how Pansy Parkinson knew he was practically your owl. Even to this, the boy did not answer, but at a certain point he seemed to be trembling.

You rolled your eyes and put a hand on his shoulder: "It doesn’t matter how she discovered us. Now I want to know where the message is"

"Delivered," he whispered, his eyes still lowered.

"Excuse me?"

You didn't know if you understood well or not. Maybe your ears had decided to play you a trick, making you hear one word rather than another.

"Delivered" the Slytherin repeated, this time with a little more courage.

Your hand fell from his shoulder, your eyes widened so slowly that it seemed to be happening in slow motion. You felt the heart beating faster and faster, the air choking in your throat.

"When?" You managed to say.

"This morning," said the boy. "Parkinson just wanted confirmation that I did it" then he added: "I didn't want to, I'm sorry. But Pansy always scared me and I ... I didn't know what to do"

"What did the message say?"

The boy took a deep breath, then recited: "I had a brilliant idea, my love. I want you to know who I am, but for this you will have to wait until the evening of the Yule Ball. Be patient, my beloved. I will wear a red dress, on which I will place a golden rose - so it will be easier for you to recognize me."

...

December 25, 1994

You were patient too, along with Draco. Only this he didn't know.

After the note that Pansy had sent to Draco, you had written another one and had it delivered by your Slytherin owl. You wrote that that would have been the last message and you had attached a little poem to him that he had to ask at the first meeting. Immediately after finding the parchment sheet, Draco ran to you and showed it to you, in his eyes you saw a flash of despair.

"Remember them our date at the Yule Ball, Y/N! And the red dress with the silver rose, that's important! "Draco had made you promise.

His tone of voice surprised you, because it was so different from what he usually had. In any case, you promised that you would do it.

It was almost time to go and you were just finishing up. Despite not having invited anyone, you had decided to participate in the dance with Draco and his friends - as they too had decided in the end not to invite anyone in particular. Of course, Pansy had decided to join you.

For the dance you had opted for a long emerald off-shoulder dress with a not too wide skirt; the straps were made of a material similar to lace, very soft to the touch and comfortable to wear. Your mother had sent you a family necklace just before Christmas: the chain was finely crafted silver, the medallion was the family crest about three centimeters by three in size.

You had your best friend helping you with your hair. She had made two braids on the sides of the head, which then went back to the back almost to form a crown.

"Remember that you promised to reveal everything to Draco, Y/N" your best friend told you. "And if you ever need me, or if Malfoy should hurt you in any way, come and call me so I can kick his ass" and with one last kiss on the cheek, your best friend went out to meet his companion.

After checking yourself one last time in the mirror in the dorm, you decided it was time to go. I went down the stairs that led to the Common Room, and almost shyly you looked around for Draco, Tiger, Goyle.

You reached the trio and cleared your throat to get their attention. All three, when they turned to look at you, opened their eyes and mouths, making you laugh.

Draco was wearing a black suit that highlighted his fair skin. The blond hair was simply amazing. The eyes were bright, surprised and simply bewitching. You were able to smell his perfume, which was delicious and intoxicating as always.

Amused by the expressions of the three boys, you snapped your fingers to make them come back down to earth. "So? No compliments?"

Now, your shyness was gone.

The only one to speak was Draco: "You are beautiful, Y/N"

He went over to give you a kiss on the cheek, then took your hand and made you turn around. He hugged you, breathed in your scent and gave himself mentally stupid for not having invited you to the dance as his escort. If it hadn't been for that anonymous and their messages, which kept coming back to his mind, he probably would have done it.

And I would have been very lucky., he thought.

While embracing you, he told himself that perhaps he had given too much weight to that anonymous person. Perhaps he would simply have to find the courage to talk to you with an open heart, tell you how he felt about you - for almost three years now. Yet there was something that blocked him, only he didn't know what.

At first, when the messages had jumped out, Draco had even hoped you had sent them.

Suddenly, Draco noticed someone dressed in red. He let you go and turned to the passage that allowed to enter and leave the Common Room.

As she had written in the note, Pansy was wearing a red dress with a narrow skirt. On the neckline she wore a brooch in the shape of a golden rose. She gave you a cruel smile, then approached your group and stood in front of Draco.

"Pansy?" He asked, confused. "Was it you all along?"

Pansy changed her expression, played the part of the girl who wanted to hide her feelings - something she had never been able to do. She came close to him, took his hands and told him that she had always been in love with him. Then he decided it was time for everyone to go to the dance, because she couldn't wait to dance with Draco.

Draco looked at you one last time, before following her: you were smiling sweetly, and although you knew the whole truth - about the messages and the person who sent them - seeing him go away with Pansy hurted you.

Along with Tiger and Goyle, you followed Pansy and Draco. Immediately outside the Common Room, in the damp corridor, Draco stopped abruptly.

"Pansy, wait," he said, feeling that something was wrong. "It can't be you"

Pansy, alarmed, replied, "What do you mean? Of course it's me!"

"But I don't ... I don't feel anything different. I ... I thought that ... "Draco shook his head, not even so convinced on how to finish the sentence. He turned to look at you and suddenly he felt sick: I was day and night worrying about who was sending me those messages, when the right person for me was always next to me.

"The poem," he said in a low voice, turning back to Pansy. "Recite the poem you sent me in the last message"

"P-poem?" Pansy stammered, turning white.

"When I say I love you, please belive it’s true. When I say forever, know I´ll never leave you. When I say goodbye, he promised me you won’t cry, Because the day I will be saying that I will be the day I die"

Draco turned to you, your cheeks now pink with embarrassment. You bit your lip, you shrugged and smiled: "No red dress, my love. No golden rose"

Pansy, angry, returned to the common room, slamming her feet. Tiger and Goyle left you alone.

Draco stepped in your direction, his lips bending into a delicate smile. One step away from you, he stopped, unsure of what to do. He wanted to take you in his arms, get lost in your eyes to the point of exhaustion ...

"It's kind of cheesy, I know," you said, and your face took on an amused expression. "And I have to admit that when I read it for the first time, my diabetes came back"

Draco burst out laughing, relieved. He asked you why you were hiding behind those messages, how the idea was born and why you hadn't blinked when Pansy, shortly before, passed off as his secret admirer. You answered calmly and sincerely, explaining everything to him in every detail; you also told him how you felt at the first parchment you wrote to him - anxious, amused and at the same time happy.

"It was a way to tell you what I feel, also because at the beginning I didn't know how to do it" you concluded, rocking your heels, a little embarrassed.

Draco bit his lip as he smiled, then took your hand and beckoned you to follow him. Without saying a word, Draco took you to one of the corridors near the Great Hall - which fortunately was deserted at the time. He approached a column and drew you to him, so as to hide both of you; he put his hands on your hips and put his lips close to your ear.

"You're not really doing it," you whispered, remembering the letter you sent him some time ago.

"Don't spoil this moment, Y/N" he chuckled, and his warm breath hit your skin giving you an exciting, pleasant electric shock. "Now I have to ask you to come to the Ball with me"

He asked you, and at the same time he slowly turned his head. Now your noses were touching.

"You suck as a detective, you know?" You told him, before kissing him in a voracious way.

#draco malfoy #draco #malfoy #one shot #love notes #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco imagine #harry potter #hogwarts #slytherin #slytherin girl #reader #x reader

312 notes · View notes

cutelilcurtain · 6 years

Text

Date Night: Part 3

A/N: This is by far the longest installment of this piece (so much so that it’s going under a cut), but I can tell you that there will in fact be a part four, likely the final part. It’s already written, I’ve just been advised to let you guys wait it out and suffer a little. I hope you’re all still enjoying the story, I know I’ve loved writing it!

Read part one here.

Read part two here.

I’m gonna go ahead and tag @today-in-fic since this has turned into a proper fic.

Open the door to the restaurant for her. Ignore the way your voice cracks when you give your name for the reservation. Don’t trip over the host when he beats you to pulling out her chair for her. Look at her eyes. Let her order her drink first. Do not talk about work. Anything but work.

Mulder’s thoughts are occupied, running a mile a minute to try and keep up with the umbrella thought that is you’re on a date with Dana Katherine Scully. She obliges his nervous ticks, smiles and laughs when he tries and stumbles over his endeavors.

She orders wine and he follows suit. He can’t stop staring at the sweet sweep of her hair as she glances over the menu. He’s never seen her hair in anything other than the classically Scully bob she keeps it in, never known the strands to curl so lovingly at her temples.

Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand. That I might touch that cheek!

He resists the urge to reach across the table and stroke his thumb across the ridge of her cheekbone, to swirl that delicate little curl between his fingers.

“The smoked salmon sounds good. What are you getting?”

Her voice cuts across his reverie and shatters it to pieces, and Mulder realizes he’s hardly glanced at the menu. Then- oh, God- she’s shrugging her shawl off her shoulders. He realizes with a flush of heat to his cheeks that the cut of the dress across her shoulders means that she must be wearing a strapless bra- or none at all.

“The carbonara, I think.”

Damn he’s in over his head.

Say something else, you moron. She beats him to it.

“You look very nice tonight,” she hums, bringing her glass of Pinot Gris to her lips. He is humbled to hear an edge of nervousness to her voice as she compliments him, and he smiles crookedly.

“Thank you,” he nods graciously, glancing down to make sure he’s actually dressed and isn’t trapped in some embarrassing fever-dream. He looks up again and watches her fold her hands beneath her chin, elbows resting on the table. “You look absolutely stunning, Dana.”

Her Christian name falls from his lips and it sets them both alight, a smart sort of intimacy hovering between them. She smiles, her voice impossibly soft.

“Thank you.”

He hates the silences. He wants to do more than compliment her. He wants to sing a song about the woman across from him. He wants to get down on one knee and propose.

Baby steps.

“Did I tell you Matty called me ‘Cool Aunt Dana’ today after his Little League game?”

Mulder chuckles and sips at his wine, shaking his head. “You’re in with the cool kids then, eh?”

Scully laughs a little and nods. “He told all of his friends I was an agent at the FBI and they all think I’m some sort of spy now. I told them all about my spooky partner in the basement, so you’re a Little League hero too.”

“I haven’t been one of those since I was in Little League. It feels good to be back on top.”

Scully laughs like he’s rarely heard before, and Mulder holds on to it forever.

-----

He’s delighted when she accepts the dessert menu.

“If you’re tired, we can get it to go?” She’s finishing off her wine and he can see the soft flush in her cheeks. He shakes his head and folds his napkin on the table.

“I’m fine,” he hums. She nods and peers over the menu a moment.

“Shall we share something?”

He nods in response and holds his breath when she shimmies a little around the table to share the menu. When he finally inhales, he can smell her perfume again and it gets him more drunk than the wine does.

They decide on some form of warm chocolate cake with ice cream, and when it arrives, Mulder notices they’ve only brought a single spoon. The staff has cleared away everything but their water glasses at this point, and he fails to catch the waiter before he steps away.

“Ruh-roh,” he jokes, and watches a glimmer of something catch in Scully’s eye. It does something to him. She spins the plate of dessert around so that the spoon handle faces him.

“I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.”

Her voice is unfairly soft and low, and Mulder wills his hand not to shake as he picks up the spoon. It looks almost comically small between his fingers, but he’s too focused on the way they’re forced to lean into the center of the table towards each other as he scoops the first bite of chocolate. He offers it to her, always the gentleman.

When she leans forward to accept the bite, Mulder can feel his cock twitch in his slacks. She rises from her chair ever so slightly and wraps her perfect lips around the spoon, pulling shiny molten chocolate and softly melted vanilla bean cleanly off. She settles again in her seat with a grin, fingers hovering just in front of her mouth as she collects herself, tongue darting out to catch a rogue crumble of chocolate cake as it sticks against her lips.

She giggles and lets a soft hum of approval vibrate in her throat.

They take turns taking bites, and Mulder swears the taste of her on the spoon is sweeter than any dessert.

Eventually the plate is devoid of anything, and Scully swipes her finger across the edge of the plate to gather the last of the molten chocolate. Her finger disappears tantalizingly behind her lips and emerges clean, and she regards him with a smile.

“Thank you, for tonight. Everything was exquisite.”

She’s speaking like it’s already over, and Mulder feels his heart sink a little. He doesn’t want it to be over. He wants to rewind and relive it over and over again, pull it back like the tapes he used to transcribe. He wants to find all the details and spin them again and again, committing them to memory until the reels wear out.

Instead he smiles and nods, waving the waiter over to settle the check. He picks up both of the little chocolate mints in shiny gold foil and lets her pick which hand she wants, earning him another giggle.

He’ll count tonight a success.

Outside, the air is cool and comforting. They walk languidly to the car and Mulder is careful to make sure she’s tucked inside before closing the door.

On his walk around to the driver’s side, he glances up at the stars with a smile.

#writing: mine #msr #date night #part three #first date MSR #Dana Scully #Fox Mulder #txf fic #the x files

66 notes · View notes

shanix-the-stars · 4 years

Text

Worshipers of the Old

Kylo Ren x OC / Kylo Ren x Reader

Read on AO3

Summary: He arrived at the archive during the late hours of the night, searching for answers regarding a long lost Force ability. When AR-210 is assigned to help him, she would never have anticipated the strange and terrifying series of events that were to follow... and what it all meant for her.

*Written in first person; main character has feminine qualities, but doesn’t have any defining characteristics.

Chapter 2: The Supreme Leader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,108

A/N: any sort of feedback is greatly appreciated! please enjoy!

Vess’s hushed voice echoes gently through the wide room. I can’t make out what she’s saying, but it’s clear she’s speaking to someone. The tall bookshelves on the main floor block my view of the entrance, preventing me from getting a good look at our guest. Once I hear the door close, I’m pretty sure I feel the early stages of a heart attack starting to take place in my chest.

The sound of heavy footsteps begins to make its way through the aisles. I grab my datapad and stand to my feet, smoothing out my uniform. I replay Jolson’s words in my head: He’s the one who needs your help. I take a breath. That’s all I need to remember.

I step out from the alcove and look below. A large black mass moves out of the corner of my eye, and I see the Supreme Leader weaving in and out of the shelves, searching for his intended guide. He seems to be... frustrated. His movements are sharp, calculated, but very much impatient. He looks around one last time before storming back toward the entrance. Wait! I call out before giving myself a chance to think. “S-Supreme Leader!” His head suddenly whips to my position, mask locked on me as I descend down the stairs in a hurry. I notice his stance relax just a bit, but it does nothing to ease my frantic nerves. He’s so large, imposing... intimidating. His helmet does nothing to help either. We stand a good distance apart, our gazes fixed on each other. I do my best not to squirm, but it’s almost impossible when my hands are shaking uncontrollably. “I-I’m AR-210,” I breathe out just above a whisper. “I’ll be, um, h-helping you toda—erm, t-tonight.” No response. But then, a slow, small nod. Oh, thank the beings. I manage a polite smile and turn on my datapad. “What can I h-help you with then, s-sir? General Hux didn’t—“ “Heptalia.” The suddenness of his deep, modulated voice nearly causes me to drop my device. I knew he had a distorted voice, but hearing for the first time is downright terrifying. My heart almost falters once more as I quickly compose myself. “Yes, yes, of course. The, uh, artisan planet, correct?” He nods. I type in the name, faintly recollecting the time I heard about it from another librarian. Somewhere in the Inner Rim, right? Or perhaps the Outer Rim? My mind races through information I can’t focus on, and for a moment I really think I’m about to pass out. It isn’t until the entry loads am I able to concentrate on the few words in front of me.

『Heptalia; Inner Rim For more information... Inner Rim Library > third lower level > section four > shelf three』

You’re kidding me. “W-We don’t have all of our databases up to date, I’m a-afraid,” I begin, scrolling desperately through the empty entry. Not everything in Celebratus has been transcribed digitally, but a majority of fonds should have been completed by now. I give up and look at him with an anxious smile. “If you, erm, don’t mind, I can take you to the library and help you find the, uh, information y-you’re looking for?” I brace myself for his answer, but I’m simply met with yet another nod. I don’t waste time to lead him out the doors and through the corridor. Not a soul is in sight, and I quietly pray that it stays that way. I don’t need others noticing how much of a nervous wreck I am. We reach the elevators a minute later. My fingers are still shaking as I press the button and type in my passcode. “You’re afraid,” he says quietly, out of the blue. I keep my eyes straight ahead. “N-Not afraid, my Lord, I just... it’s a lot of pressure, I suppose.” “Yet you are the head clerk for the largest archive in the galaxy,” he prods, a hint of amusement in his words. As much as I want to argue, every desire to do so disappears with his mocking tone. Still, I guess he is in the right. This task should be easy, and he is like any other scholar I have helped in the past. Maybe he’s just trying to make me feel better. “I apologize if my... restlessness has been in any way offending, sir,” I offer, carefully choosing my words. “I’m not used to this, and I’m sure you can understand why.” He utters a soft ‘hm’. With that, the rest of our journey down to the library is completely silent. A couple of receptionists sit at the floor’s front desk, bowing their heads as we walk by. We stop in front of two large black doors. I place my palm on the reader to the right, watching it turn green before being allowed inside. The Inner Rim Library one of the biggest in the facility. Tens of thousands of texts line the walls, a majority of them being, surprisingly, books; made decades to centuries ago with the delicate material of paper. The rest are mostly holobooks, but they hardly take away from the older, vintage feeling from the room. It smells of dust and age, the late afternoon sun peeking through the window panes, washing the floor in light. The Supreme Leader follows beside me. I take a chance to glance at him and notice his head tilted upwards, staring up at the tall shelves surrounding us. I don’t blame him. I did the same thing when I first arrived. It’s a rare sight to behold in any other place in the galaxy. “I-I’ll go retrieve your items,” I say, pulling out my datapad to recheck the entry. “You can have a seat wherever you’d like.” He turns around without another word, and I make my way to the fourth section of the repository. Once I arrive at shelf three, I pull out my gloves from my coat pocket and slide them on. “So, he needs information Heptalia,” I whisper to myself. “Why would he want to know anything about an artisan planet?” The question disappears from my mind as fast as it came. It’s a little odd, sure, but none of my concern. I focus back on the rows of books in front of me. There’s a familiarity of a routine and a sort of comfort as I scan each item, and I suddenly start to feel myself relax for the first time. It’s my job—I should enjoy doing this no matter who walks through those doors. I know this archive like the back of my hand. No one, except maybe Malobry, cares for this place as much as I do. I withstood the invasion and survived, and still decided to stay despite the risks. Shouldn’t that say something? Perhaps it doesn’t. Perhaps my expertise isn’t enough to shield my confidence from this man. It shatters like glass in his hands, and I just can’t seem to find the courage to pick up the pieces. I let my thoughts ramble on a little longer and manage to find a few holobooks on Heptalia. As I return to the main area, I spot the Supreme Leader sitting at a wooden table in the corner with an open book lying in front of him. I hurry over before he has a chance to touch it again. “Supreme Leader?” He jumps in his chair, clearly startled by my sudden appearance. I pause, slightly bewildered, but shake the thought away. “I’m v-very sorry, but you’ll need to use gloves if you’re going to handle our items.” He looks down at his hands, which are obviously gloved, before looking back at me. “Our gloves,” I clarify with a small smile. I set the holobooks down and walk over to one of the desks. I grab the largest pair I see and lay them down beside the open book. He stares at them, unmoving. It takes me a moment to realize that they are stark white in color, an obvious contrast to his black attire. Panic starts to set it in my chest. “I-It’s necessary,” I say quickly. “Policy, I’m afraid.” Please don’t say no. Silently, he begins to take off his black gloves. I breathe out in relief. As he puts on the new ones, I busy myself with the holobooks I pulled out. One focuses on the history of the planet, another on the economy, and the last contains a description of the rugs that they produce. I’m not sure if it’s all completely up to date, but they were published about ten years ago. Hopefully, it’s enough to satisfy him. “Do you need anything else, sir?” I ask, typing in their reference numbers into my datapad. “No.” “Very well. There are blank holobooks if you need to take down any notes.” I gesture to a basket hung up on the wall beside him. “As well as blank sheets of flimsiplast. I’ll be at the front desk just outside if you need any assistance.” He nods once. I bow my head and make my way to the doors. The two receptionists that we walked by earlier are gone, a little weird but not surprising. I sit on one of the chairs and lay my head on the desk. A wave of exhaustion immediately hits my body. If he only didn’t arrive so late, I might have a bit more energy to carry me through this endeavor. It probably wouldn’t have mattered much anyway. Just being around him is enough to keep me constantly on edge. I close my eyes and even out my breathing, trying my best to slow my racing heart.

I drift in and out of sleep for the next half hour, but I’m eventually able to keep my self awake thanks to a pack of sweet-sand cookies I discover in one of the drawers. I swing my legs happily under the desk as I eat, finally being able to get something in my stomach since lunch. I’m going to have to ask Malobry if I can take tomorrow off. I’m pretty sure I deserve it at this point. I grab the last cookie from the container and guide it towards my mouth, but the sound of low thuds from the library stops me from taking a bite. What was that? I shoot up from my chair and run towards the doors. I place my hand on the reader, and the next thing I see completely stuns me. The Supreme Leader on all fours, picking up packets of flimsiplast that are scattered on the floor. He pauses and looks up at me. An awkward tension fills the space between us, and I suddenly feel the weight of my sweet-sand cookie in my hand. Without another thought, I shove it into my mouth and lean down to help him. We quietly work for the next minute, all the while I feel my cheeks heat up in utter embarrassment. “D-Did you knock them down?” I ask, picking up the last packet. “I ran into the box on the edge of the desk beside me,” he responds. “I didn’t see them.” “It’s alright. These need to be taken to the front desk anyway.” I close the box and pick it up. “Did you find everything you need?” “Yes, but do you have any more recent reports on the planet?” Shit. “I don’t think so,” I reply, stepping out the doors. He follows behind. “But perhaps the Obroan Institute could collect the information you need within the next week.” I place the box on one of the chairs. Honestly, I’m not quite sure if they could send someone out to Heptalia and back in that span of time now. They've done it in the past, before the invasion. They haven’t recovered the necessary resources to do field research, that fast, again. “Is there any way it could be done sooner?” he asks, his voice suddenly impatient. My heart quickens. I try to explain. “I’m sorry, b-but I don’t—“ “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he interrupts, pulling out the white gloves from under his belt. “I trust you will be here, AR-210?” He holds them out in front of me. My mouth opens, but I can’t seem to find the right words to answer with. “I-I-I suppose, but—“ “Good.” He drops the gloves into my hands and turns to leave. “I’ll arrive at the same time. No need to worry about the report.” With that, he exits the room, leaving me standing there in complete shock. What the hell?

#kylo ren x oc #kylo ren x reader #star wars #star wars legends #kylo ren fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #reader insert #worshipers of the old #shanix writes #kylo ren

0 notes

micaramel · 4 years

Link

James Benning in Joshua Tree (December 25), 2011. Photo by Heinz Peter Knes

Artist: James Benning

Exhibition Title: Down the Rabbit Hole: JB in JT

Arranged by: Julie Ault and Martin Beck

In Collaboration With: O-Town House, Los Angeles

Note: at the request of O-Town House we have adjusted this project’s presentation.

Shortly after I arrived in Joshua Tree some three weeks ago, going into lockdown with Julie and Martin, we decided this was a perfect time to realize our plan for a James Benning exhibition of his works in their home. The idea for a private exhibition of James’s works here was hatched last Christmas, a time when the gang usually descends on Joshua Tree for some quality time at the kitchen table and in front of the fireplace. But now, considering the current circumstances, developing this exhibition as a virtual one seems to resolve several issues—of privacy, access to the public, and keeping busy and engaged with the world. Down the Rabbit Hole: JB in JT is conceived as part of a continuum with two earlier exhibition projects. The first, Tell It To My Heart, which traveled from the Kunstmuseum Basel to Culturgest in Lisbon and ultimately to Artists Space in New York, was an exhibition based on the artworks Julie has collected over decades, many of them the results of conversations and collaborations with other artists. The curatorial team was equally significant, and the project strove to develop a different mode of mapping the ways art and history touch our lives through relationships and collaborations. The second project in this lineage was inspired by the first, titled 31 Friends by James, for which he made 31 artworks for as many friends. The works were shown at the Marfa Book Company in Marfa, TX, and, after the exhibition ended, were given to their intended owners. James then asked everyone to send him a photograph of the works in their new homes. Those framed photographs were presented at O-Town House. James described 31 Friends as an “attempt to pay homage to the ability of art to produce community as opposed to just commerce.” The line drawn from Tell It To My Heart to 31 Friends to Down the Rabbit Hole is indicative of an ongoing effort to sustainably engage artistic practices and align the language around this work meaningfully with our lives. Down the Rabbit Hole brings together (nearly) all the artworks and some artifacts made by James that are distributed in Julie and Martin’s house and grounds in Joshua Tree. Many of these objects are on permanent display, others were unearthed from drawers and closets. Most objects we photographed as they are installed, others we staged, and, collectively, we put together an annotated checklist, supplying details about the work and some stories of how they came about. Picking up on the aspirations of Tell It To My Heart and 31 Friends, this exhibition also reads as a conversation. The works are listed in chronological order to make present the unfolding of friendship over many years; the show becoming an extension of ongoing collaborations with a view toward the future. Moments of recollection, such as Down the Rabbit Hole represents, become crucial to finding fresh ways of thinking about the role art can play in the construction of community. By drawing lines across time, as we rummage through James’s traces here at the house, together, we are taking stock, reviewing, and recounting the conversations that grew into plans and then into actions. Enduring interests and subjects, obsessions, and curiosities have become shared experiences and the medium with which we solidify our lives together.

— Scott Cameron Weaver

After Traylor, 2004 Colored pencil on cardstock Two parts 6 1/2 × 4 1/4 inches and 6 1/2 × 8 3/8

James often came to Joshua Tree around the holidays to visit our mutual friend Dick Hebdige. In 2003 they came over to our house a couple evenings. Sitting by the fire, James said, “I usually don’t like places like this, but I like it here.” I think he was referring to all the colors. When Dick and James came over the following Christmas, JB brought this wonderful gift. It seems reasonable to me now, but at the time, copying Bill Traylor imagery, and doing it well, was astonishing. (JA)

Two sugar pine cones (Pinus lambertiana) from Hatchet Peak near Pine Flat, ca. 2005 Approx. 11 × 4 × 4 inches each

When coming to JT from his place in the Sierras, James sometimes brings a couple of large pine cones with him. We integrated most of them into the landscape, and some have disintegrated over the years. These two we kept on a stand on the patio. They sometimes get blown off by the wind and we find them somewhere between the cactuses. (MB)

Clock, 2006 9 inches diameter Acrylic paint on clock

I needed to keep busy, part of my nature, so inspired by the many cans of paint in the garage (due to the many different colors used inside and outside of the house [what is it 36? I think it’s 42]), I decided to paint a clock I had just found in a local thrift store using a few of those colors. (JB)

Continue the exhibition after the jump.

AFTER JESSE HOWARD (DETAIL) J.B., 2007 Colored pencil on cardstock Two parts 6 1/2 × 4 1/4 and 6 1/2 × 8 ½ Pencil (verso of larger part): A MAN HAS NO RIGHT TO DEFEND HIS FAMILY DECATUR. ILL. OCT. 11. 1961 OF ALL THE UN=AMERICAN. UN=CIVIL- IZED WAY OF LIFE! ARREST: A MA- N AND THROW HIM IN JAIL! BECA- USE HE HAD NO PERMIT TO CON- STRUCT A FALLOUT SHELTER, FOR HIMSELF=AND=HIS=FAMILY. JESSE HOWARD

This was the second set of drawings made for this two-part frame. The first set was two Bill Traylor drawings (see After Traylor, 2004), but they looked rather silly so small, so I replaced them with these two truncated drawings of a Jesse Howard painting that I copied and is hanging in the replica Kaczynski cabin I built in the Sierras. I’m not sure what happened to the first set. (JB)

Once taken out of the frame, the first set, After Traylor (2004), was kept in the bottom shelf of a covered sideboard, visible right when opening its door. The unprotected drawings were vulnerable. This display, if one could call it that, always felt a bit treacherous and, recently, Julie packed the drawings in glassine and cardboard and stored them safely in the Christmas closet. (MB)

Freedom Club, 2009 Wood carving 2 × 9 7/8 inches

Kaczynski embedded a signature of sorts—the letters FC—in the bombs he made from 1980 on, and in the mid-nineties signed letters to public figures and editors FC. FC (Freedom Club) was supposed to be an anarchist terrorist group. Kaczynski’s 1995 letter to Scientific American is worth repeating: “Scientists and engineers constantly gamble with human welfare, and we see today the effects of some of their lost gambles: ozone depletion, the greenhouse effect, cancer-causing chemicals to which we cannot avoid exposure, accumulating nuclear waste for which a sure method of disposal has not yet been found, the crowding, noise and pollution that have followed industrialization, massive extinction of species and so forth…. We emphasize the negative PHYSICAL consequences of scientific advances often are completely unforeseeable…. But far more difficult to foresee are the negative SOCIAL consequences of technological progress. The engineers who began the industrial revolution never dreamed their work would result in the creation of an industrial proletariat or the economic boom and bust cycle.” This carving was a step in James’s process of furnishing his Kaczynski cabin. After a while, he replaced it with one reading FC, and I asked if I could have this one. (JA)

James Benning and Sadie Benning Untitled, 2010 Pencil on cardstock, framed Two parts (left part drawn by Sadie Benning, right part drawn by James Benning) Drawing: 6 1/2 × 4 1/4 inches and 6 1/2 × 8 1/2 inches Frame: 8 × 14 1/2 inches

This was the third set of drawings made for this two-part frame. I was going to continue to change the drawings for this frame, but since this is the only collaboration between Sadie and I, it seemed best to end the series here. (JB)

James and Sadie like to settle on the couch in front of the fireplace when they visit. One Christmas we got a new couch. Knowing that we wouldn’t be home when they arrived, and that they would immediately take their places in front of the fire, we wrapped a large ribbon around the couch and made it an in situ present to them. (MB)

After Traylor by J.B., 2010 Colored pencil on paper Drawing: 12 3/4 × 8 1/2 inches Frame: 21 1/2 × 14 1/4 inches Pencil on backing board: APARTMENT FOR PEOPLE TO GO AND THEN COME OUT UP A ELEVATOR AND THEN JUMP OUT THE WINDOW. ONLY THE MANAGERS CAN GO THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR. NAME OF THE APARTMENT IS “THE PEOPLE’S APARTMENT”. 100 PEOPLE LIVE IN IT, EVERONES THE SAME AGE, BUT SOME ARE 10, 20, AND 40. by VANESSA

Vanessa’s name is Vanessa Basilio. She was about eleven at the time, 2010. She was a CAP student. CAP is Community Arts Partnership. CalArts students teach kids in disadvantaged communities, and then the kids have a show at CalArts. When I saw her piece (house and text), I was most impressed and asked her if I could trade her an artwork for it. She was excited to make a trade, but told me she wanted to see what I could offer. I told her I could trade her a house for her house. The next day I met her and her mother, and showed her the After Traylor house. She really liked it and we made the trade, and I took a picture of her holding her house but can’t find the photo. (JB)

James made another version of the After Traylor (2010) drawing that he gave Vanessa for our house; he transcribed Vanessa’s description of her house on the frame’s backing board. A photograph of the work by Heinz Peter Knes, showing the drawing in context at the house, adorns the back cover of the first volume of Tell It To My Heart. Proofing the catalog, none of us noticed the image was reversed, the bird looking to the left rather than to the right. (MB)

(FC) Two Cabins by JB, 2011 Edited by Julie Ault Contributions by Julie Ault, James Benning, Dick Hebdige, Theodore J. Kaczynski, and Henri David Thoreau Designed by Martin Beck Published by A.R.T. Press, New York

I still intend to write something about the Two Cabins constellation and Thoreau and Kaczynski copies James gave me. (JA)

After Thoreau, 2011 Ink on chipboard, framed Drawing: 10 × 8 inches Frame: 18 1/2 × 15 1/2 inches

This is a copy of one of Henry David Thoreau’s many drawings that he made as the town surveyor of Concord, Massachusetts. The frame is tramp art from the 1930s. (JB)

The autodidactic orientation of both Thoreau and Kaczynski finds a correlation in Benning, who takes immense pleasure in learning. Ted Kaczynski created a numeric code to shield his most self-incriminating journal entries about his bombing campaign. JB meticulously copied the dense document and hung it in his Kaczynski cabin. He made a second copy for me, but it’s not in Joshua Tree. Empathy is palpable in his copies, and so is James, who leaves traces. I regard the reproduced TK code and the Thoreau survey as outlying companions linked by James’s acts of copying, thereby completing the triad of primary protagonists in FC: Two Cabins by JB. (JA)

intertitle study for Stemple Pass, 2012 Typewriting on paper 11 × 9 1/4 inches

I spent a few weeks working on Stemple Pass at the kitchen table in JT. This was made while I was working on the intertitles. I believe there is a photo of me doing just that, in the first Tell It To My Heart catalog. (JB)

Tell It To My Heart was an exhibition about the artworks given to and acquired by Julie over a few decades. For the catalog, the works were photographed in situ, “at home” in our NY apartment and the JT house, installed on the walls, packed up in closets, under the couch, in drawers, and other odd places. Some of the images didn’t even show artworks, just the environment. The only person appearing in the catalog’s photography is James, seen from behind, with headphones on, sitting at the JT kitchen table, editing a film. (MB)

After Beck 11 × 15 3/4, 2013 Acrylic paint on wood panel 11 × 15 3/4 inches

Martin gave me a painting of his that was hanging on the wall in JT. It was a painting that I always admired. I was going to make an exact copy of it and replace it in the same place. It proved to be too difficult for me to reproduce, so I made this painting instead. It was the same dimensions as the painting I tried to copy. (JB)

Back in 1996, I gave a painting I had made as an art student to Julie. It was the first painting I considered to be quite good and therefore was precious to me. Soon after we got the house in JT, the painting moved out here, which is where James saw it. Expressing his admiration, he wondered if there were others like it. I had a similar same-size one from that time in storage at my parents house in Austria. James and I then cooked up a trade: I would give him that painting and he would copy it for me. When visiting my parents next I took the painting to NY and sent it to him in the mail. Quite a few months later, at Christmas out in JT, James gave me his version of it. While James was working on the copy, Sadie painted a white version as a companion piece. Unbeknownst of the impending gifts, I had made two drawings, to give them as presents, one for James, one for Sadie, both saying “the same thing can be done in different ways.” (MB)

Thinking about the Unabomber, 1987/2014 Enlarged photobooth photograph, framed Image: 4 3/4 × 4 3/4 inches Frame: 12 1/2 × 12 1/2 inches

In 1987 a woman witnessed a man wearing aviator glasses and a hooded sweatshirt placing a package outside a computer store in Salt Lake City that turned out to be a bomb. The widely circulated police sketch made from her description was the first representation of the Unabomber. (JA)

The last year I lived in NYC, Sadie visited me and we went to Coney Island and made this photo in a photobooth. I was thinking about the Unabomber because a number of my friends and I thought the Unabomber might have been Leo Burt, the only person never to be arrested for the Sterling Hall bombing at the University of Wisconsin, in protest against the Vietnam War. In 2014 I re-photographed the photo. (JB)

Three Paper Airplanes, 2014 Signed contract; three one hundred-dollar bills, folded Laser print on paper, framed Print: 9 3/4 × 8 inches Frame: 12 1/2 × 10 1/2 inches Bills: 1 1/2 × 6 × 1 1/4 inches each

Julie bought this piece for $600 and paid with 563 single dollar bills. I then gave the three secretaries (the three women who keep the CalArts film school running) $200 each. The piece was in the spirit of Douglas Huebler—he was teaching at CalArts in the 1980s—and was one of the reasons I took a job there. I like his art very much, and he was an amazing guy. (JB)

For several years, whenever James needed a book for his Kaczynski library and research into artists he was copying, he asked me to scope out the possibilities online and order the books, since I had a credit card. This provided a productive exchange about the books’ contents and various editions. Periodically I’d give him the tally. On one occasion, he owed me $563 and paid me in one-dollar bills stuffed into a big envelope. Not needing the cash at that moment, I kept the reimbursement “as is.” A few years later, James told me about his paper airplanes made from one-hundred dollar bills and said he wanted to get more than their value to split the money between the three women that run the film department, who do a lot for him. So I pulled out the envelope and made up the difference to $600. (JA)

This work was really hard to photograph—it is usually stored in a protective box in a cabinet. Scott and I kept moving the paper airplanes around the house and tried about a dozen different settings until we settled on this one. Another image we shot looks very similar except that the hundred-dollar bills sit on a pink ground with a yellow glow coming in from the sides. Julie liked the green ground better, so we went with that. (MB)

After Ono by J.B., 2014 Photocopy, framed Print: 7 1/4 × 5 3/8 inches Frame: 11 1/8 × 9 1/8 inches

This is a reproduction of a call for entries by Yoko Ono for a show (This is Not Here) at Emerson Museum, Syracuse, NY, to open on October 9, 1971. (JB)

After Ono by J.B., 2014 Photocopy, framed Print: 7 1/4 × 5 3/8 inches Frame: 10 7/8 × 8 3/4 inches

After Warhol (smiling), 2014 Serigraph, silver and black oil-based ink on paper Print: 25 × 24 1/2 inches Frame: 26 1/2 × 26 inches

I love this sexy exuberant photograph of Andy Warhol, grabbing Parker Tyler’s crotch. JB made it in the spirit of Warhol, as part of a diptych, the other half being After Noland (smiling). I’m often amazed by the images and narratives James annexes and activates. (JA)

After Noland (smiling), 2014 Serigraph, silver and black oil-based ink on paper Print: 25 × 24 1/2 inches Frame: 26 1/2 × 26 inches

For quite a few years, I’ve been spending summers in JT, mostly by myself. The only friend who doesn’t mind the heat and visits regularly is James. During the hot days, we both work and tool around, he under the covered patio, I in the garage studio. In the evenings, I prepare food; he makes gin-and-tonics, we listen to music and talk about work and life. At first, I wasn’t sure why James thought I should have an image of Ruth Ann Moorehead (“Ouish” of the Manson girls). I know he likes Cady Noland’s work and I do too. I love the image and, of course, understand why he chose it. (MB)

Thirty-one Friends (October), 2015 Published by Marfa Book Company, Marfa, TX

In the years 2014–15 James Benning made 31 works of art for 31 friends, and produced a book, recounting a story of each friendship and describing the works created with them in mind. Some of the works referenced work by other artists—Andy Warhol, Marie Menken, Bill Traylor, Jean-Luc Godard, Jesse Howard, Henry Darger, Henry David Thoreau, Cady Noland, Robert Smithson, Jasper Johns, Miroslav Tichý, and Ted Kaczynski—inferring another set of (imagined) friends. In the summer of 2015, these works were exhibited together along with the publication at the Marfa Book Company, in Marfa, TX. At the show’s closing event, the artworks were removed from the walls and given to each of the friends for whom they’d been made. The works then traveled to places near and far—Bastrop, Texas, Duisburg, Germany, Sydney, Austria, downtown Los Angeles…. The final chapter of this project happened in 2018 at O-Town House, and consisted of the photographs James asked each friend to take of his gifted artwork in situ— gathered together from their disparate locations. 31 Friends represented a self-professed exercise in prioritizing the mechanisms in art that foster genuine examples of community. (SCW)

June 2nd, 1984, 2015 Acrylic paint on thermometer 15 1/2 × 2 3/4 inches

In the summer of 2015 James generously helped me with the shoot and edit for the Last Night film which is based on the records David Mancuso played on June 2nd, 1984, at the last party at the Prince Street Loft. To keep the sound clean we had to film with windows closed and swamp cooler off, making for a rather hot environment. To get a little break, one afternoon we went to the 99 Cent Store where James bought a thermometer. He painted it pink and, after thinking for a while what other decoration it should have, decided on June 2nd 1984. (MB)

After Chris B., 2018 Acrylic paint on match-head on nickel coin in wrapping paper 1 × 2 inches Edition 7/20

After Chris B., 2018 Acrylic paint on match-head on nickel coin in wrapping paper 1 × 2 inches Edition 19/20

I made this work in JT while recuperating from major surgery. (JB)

James was pretty under the weather after his surgery. We were all worried about his vulnerability and waiting it out. One morning I was going to the store and asked if anyone needed anything. James suddenly perked up and said he needed twenty nickels, some metallic paper, and a box of red-tip matchsticks. I couldn’t find red matches anywhere, only Diamond-brand green tips. He then asked for red paint and a small paintbrush and proceeded to meticulously color twenty of the green tips red. With his obsession and ambition restored, we knew he was recovering. (JA)

James made this edition as gifts for friends while convalescing under Julie and Martin’s and Dick Hebdige’s doting care in Joshua Tree, staying at their places a few days each, wearing the pajamas bought for him by Sharon Lockhart. The work was inspired by the 1979 installation, The Reason for the Neutron Bomb, by Chris Burden. The original work, now in the collection of the Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego, comprises fifty thousand nickels and match sticks, all placed on the floor in a grid, with the red match-heads all pointing in the same direction and the words of the title painted across the wall behind them. With each red match and nickel representing a Soviet tank, Burden’s installation spoke to the escalating arms race at the height of the Cold-War. (SCW)

Ault + Beck, 2019 Acrylic paint on wood board 9 1/4 × 23 inches Sign reads: AULT + BECK 9224 VIA ROCOSA PSALMS=148=8

Soon after we bought the house, Jennifer Bolande and Cannon Hudson stayed here for a few weeks. They were having some packages sent and, in order for the carrier to find the house, painted a sign showing our names and address. Over the years, the sun burned off the paint and made it illegible. When James arrived for the recent Christmas holidays, we asked him to make a new sign, which he eagerly took on, commenting: “Now I have something to do and don’t have to stare at the walls.” His sign uses Jesse Howard’s lettering and cites a psalm Howard included in one of his paintings. Psalm 148:8 reads “lightning and hail, snow and clouds, stormy winds that do his bidding.” The day after we installed the sign, it snowed—a rare and lovely occurrence in the desert. (MB)

Genius Christ, 2019 Acrylic paint on wood board 5 7/8 × 12 7/8 inches

In celebration of our favorite genius. (JB)

Love Saves the Day, 2019 Acrylic paint on wood board 10 7/8 × 12 7/8 inches

Once James finished the two signs and needed more things to do in order to stay busy we started thinking of other signs that might be needed. I asked him if he could make one for the garage studio, referencing the Loft and David Mancuso. We decided on the phrase Mancuso used on the invitation to the first Loft party in 1970. (MB)

JB has copied Jesse Howard’s signs for many years, and replica signs figure into his recent projects Found Fragments and Alabama. A hand-painted recycled license plate that hangs from a thick rusty chain crossing his driveway in Pine Flat reads: “POSTED Henry David Thoreau KEEP OUT.” For some time previously, it read, “POSTED T.J. Kaczynski KEEP OUT.” (JA)

Sketches for Genius Christ and Love Saves the Day, 2019 Laser print and pencil on paper 5 × 13 inches and 8 1/4 × 17 1/4 inches

These scraps of paper contain the scale calculations and printouts James used to transfer the sign layouts to the boards. They now are in the same place in the sideboard which the two-part After Traylor (2004) drawing inhabited for a long time. (MB)

after Darger (Welcome), 2020 Acrylic paint on garage door 6 feet 11 inches × 25 feet

This work doesn’t exist yet. James had the idea for it over the holidays but wanted to wait for warmer weather to paint it. We thought including a mock-up here might insure it happens—hopefully soon as he can safely come to JT. (MB)

We were all talking about the influx of people to Joshua Tree over the last few years and envisioning a message to anyone coming up the driveway who didn’t belong there that they’re in the wrong place (or, perhaps, the right one). Naturally, the Vivian Girls came to mind, and James had just the Darger image on his laptop to extract from, Second Battle of McAllister Run they are pursued. The section he plans to superimpose on the garage door shows Glandelinians bearing bayonets, hunting for the girls, who hide behind trees, as if to say: welcome to the realm of the unreal. (JA)

Images courtesy of O-TOWN HOUSE, Los Angeles

— Scott Cameron Weaver

Link: James Benning at O-TOWN HOUSE

from Contemporary Art Daily https://bit.ly/2Vr0Hq6

#micaramel

0 notes