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hopelesslyromanticshark · 1 month

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Hi I love all your works and I’m a big fan!!! I wanted to request a leo x hermes reader where the stolls and chris are being overprotective of there sister after she starts seeking around with leo 👀. Hope you have a great day thank you so much <3

⋆⭒˚.⋆ leo valdez x daughter of hermes! reader hcs

content: leo valdez x daughter of hermes! reader hcs warning: language but that's it!! author's note: as always, i stay on the hermes kids are good candid photographers grind. if i ever DONT mention that in an child of hermes reader anything, that is not me yall that is some imposter frfr. also thought i was gonna despise these but kinda fell in love frfr

you were bound to run into your brother's friends at some point

camp really isn't that big

and to say the son of hephaestus hadn't caught your eye would be a complete and utter lie

you guys first met following an amazing prank on the nike cabin, all their prized nike shoes replaced with stinky adidas

leo and your brothers came barreling into the hermes cabin to hide from the fuming children of victory, leo crashing straight into you with an 'oof'

he caught you before you could go plummeting to the ground, his adhd instincts taking over as he looped an arm around your waist and pressed the other against your back

his chest was heaving from the running but the moment he looked into your eyes, it started heaving from the rapid rate his heart was racing at

you and leo stayed like this for a few moments, frozen in love

until connor and travis cleared their throats and leo was instantly pulling his hands back, offering you a small head nod before turning to your brothers and changing the topic

your eyes stayed on leo, who shot a wink over his shoulder as he walked over with your brothers

you were basically swooning

but you knew your brothers would have your ass if you so much as thought about dating leo

and boy were you thinking about it

leo must have been thinking about it too

as a few days later, a note was slipped into your hand at the bonfire, a simple request to meet him behind the bleachers of the amphitheater

and you were just a girl, eagerly excusing yourself from your brothers and racing to the spot, smashing into leo and his lovely lips there

you and leo snuck around after that, which you were more than happy to do

the daughter of hermes not interested in lying and sneaking out??? those girl's dont exist lmao

and leo had gotten very used to quickly diving under your bed, fiddling with the springs of the mattress under there until your brothers finally left

though, with every passing day, your brothers were growing suspicious

they knew all the ways to sneak out of cabin eleven too

and they knew when you lied, your fingers tapped to a strange rhythm, a sad tic for a child of thievery to have

so, knowing it was basically your diary, they stole your digital camera

they had to do it while you were sleeping and even that was a struggle as you always slept with it under your pillow

which made sense as you were surrounded by thieves who were always eager to read your digital diary

but, with the help of quite a couple the kids that were bribed with candy from the camp store, they managed to free it from under your pillow.

the stolls and chris ran away, giving themselves a head start just in case you woke up

then they started scrolling through the camera's storage, not finding anything too juicy yet

pictures of you attempting to climb the rock wall and ultimately failing

pictures of percy and annabeth laughing fondly at the poseidon table, which you were sure to print out and gift to the couple

pictures of some flowers that the demeter had gifted to you for stealing some chips from the camp store for them

pictures of leo-

wait, pictures of leo???

strange, but nothing to phone home about, the boys thought, scrolling a little more before halting on a picture of you sitting in leo's lap, your lips slotted against his

the three of them stood in shock, just staring at the picture for a moment before looking up at each other and coming to a silent agreement

the next morning, leo woke up to the laughter of his siblings and a mirror being shoved in his face

proudly printed on his forehead in sharpie were the words 'sister fucker' and other similar things all over his body

he had to wear a hat and long sleeves that day, chiron sure to kick him out if he walked around with those words on his face

and the stolls with chris stood proudly at their table as leo walked up to them, asking him why he was wearing a sweater in 100 degree summer heat

"you know why, you little shits."

"big talk coming from the guy dating our sister behind our backs," chris bit out, glaring at the son of hephaestus

"wait- what?" you asked through a bite of your bagel, looking between your brothers and leo in confusion before it clicked and you sharpened your eyes on your brothers

"YOU STOLE MY CAMERA, YOU FUCK NUTS!" you shouted, jumping up to your feet and slapping your hands against the table

"YOU'RE DATING OUR FRIEND?? IT CALLED FOR DRASTIC MEASURES-"

"I'LL SHOW YOU DRASTIC MEASURES!! IM GONNA GUT YOU THREE!! HOPE YOU LIKE THE UNDERWORLD, GET BACK HERE!!" you shouted, chasing after your brothers, who were calling back stupid excuses.

"THEY ALSO DREW ON ME IN MY SLEEP!!" leo called, ever the instigator, smiling proudly to himself as he watched you chase your brothers around.

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus x reader #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez

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rainbowcarousels · 1 year

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Happy New Years!

I've been stuck at a family thing for about three hours and have decided to write this on my phone. As such, if there's typos, I'll fix them later.

Thank you for putting up with my nonsense all year, folks!

five new years eves with daniel and armand

Preview:

“Daniel,” Armand’s voice brought him out of his mind. “It’s after midnight.”

So it was. “Happy New Year,” Daniel said, just for something to say.

Armand did nothing but stand like a statue for thirty long seconds before blinking and shifting, like said statue coming to life. “Happy New Year, Daniel.”

There was something about the timbre of his voice when he said Daniel’s name that made Daniel want to weep.

Next year, if he survived long enough, he was going to get fall down drunk. He couldn’t deal with this shit sober.

The first New Years Eve that Daniel spends in the company of his dead stalker isn’t the first one since he started running, but the second.

In the year and a bit since this game of predator and prey began, something had begun to shift. Armand had shown himself more often. Daniel wasn’t naive enough to think that he hadn’t always been tracing his steps, so he must be allowing himself to be seen – this faux youth sitting on a bench as Daniel came out of a grocery store or sitting down beside him on a bus only to stare at him. Daniel wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted. Armand hadn’t been forthcoming with much communication, only stared at him as if he were some grand crossword puzzle and he was trying to work out how all the words intersected.

Daniel found himself in Krakow for his second New Years Eve since meeting Louis, since everything had changed. Being one of a million faces in the city gave him a modicum of anonymity, or so he had thought until Armand grabbed the menu out of his hand to look at it. They were holed up in an old town cafe on a corner, black and white photographs adorning the walls and a grand chandelier dropped down uncomfortably close to the tables. There was a contrast there in the dented walls, the peeling paint and promise of better times.

“What could you possibly want that for?” Daniel demanded, ignoring how white Armand looked in the ambient light. An unearthly child, an angel that swooped too close to the ground and had its wings torn off. “You don’t eat.”

“I drink,” Armand told him. “I’d be careful about inciting that hunger. I can hear your heart.”

As if to prove the point, Armand reached over and pressed his fingers against Daniel’s rib cage. They pressed hard with every slam of his heart and Daniel could only watch, mesmerised.

Then he was gone, and Daniel ordered himself a stronger drink or three.

—

The following year, Daniel chose to spend his New Year's Eve celebrating the fact he was still alive by eating takeaway in his hotel. He’d been in West Berlin less than twenty-four hours, so he thought he’d have more time before his demonic familiar showed up to chase him to his next destination.

But no, Daniel had been in mid-bite when he became aware if Armand at the window. Had he climbed up into it without being seen, as he had done in Paris? How did no one notice such things? The city was a crowded metropolis on New Years Eve, someone had to have seen this weird little creature coming up a building like he was reenacting incy wincy spider.

“What's an incy wincy spider?”

Daniel tried not to startle as the thought seemed to be plucked from his mind. “It’s a children’s song.”

Armand’s nose wrinkled ever so slightly. “What makes it a children’s song?”

“I don’t know,” Daniel shrugged. “Simplistic rhymes? Easily relatable subject matter? Grown men probably shouldn’t use the words incy wincy?”

“You did,” Armand replied, glancing over him in a way that made Daniel’s skin prickle. It must have been nerves. “You are fully grown.”

“Have been for a while now,” Daniel agreed. “But I’m not a shining model of mental health and fortitude, am I?”

“What’s wrong with your mental health and fortitude?” Armand phrased it like it was a genuine question, as if he was curious about how Daniel’s mind worked – or didn’t, as was often the case.

“I doubt most people would run away from their lives to play chase with a vampire,” Daniel pointed out lightly. He pressed his finger to his temple. “Something must have gone wrong in there.”

Armand looked at him with an electrifying scrutiny, like he could see inside each of the parts of his body and mind. How the mechanisms that formed him functioned and failed, how the neurons in his brain fired off and dulled once they’d completed their purpose. It was uncomfortable, but strangely, not in a way he disliked. That was something else he could probably chalk up to his brain being a little on the peculiar side.

“What caused it?” Armand asked. Maybe he didn’t know either.

There was no real answer to that. If anything, Daniel could have, would have and should have been living the fabled American dream. He came from a ‘good home’, in that he was sure that his parents and grandparents loved him in their own way. They’d provided for him, sent him to Sunday school to learn right from wrong, paid for college and he’d gotten his first job right out of it. By now, he probably should have met a nice girl and gotten a ring on her finger. Maybe an ankle biter on the way.

It was just all so…mediocre. There was nothing grand about it, nothing special. No grand romance, no heart stopping pleasure, no – no this.

“Daniel,” Armand’s voice brought him out of his mind. “It’s after midnight.”

So it was. “Happy New Year,” Daniel said, just for something to say.

Armand did nothing but stand like a statue for thirty long seconds before blinking and shifting, like said statue coming to life. “Happy New Year, Daniel.”

There was something about the timbre of his voice when he said Daniel’s name that made Daniel want to weep.

Next year, if he survived long enough, he was going to get fall down drunk. He couldn’t deal with this shit sober.

—

“Why don’t you attend the parties?”

Armand showed up like an apparition on the seat opposite Daniel’s in Brooklyn. True to his word, Daniel had started drinking as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon and other than eating his weight in fries and the occasional piss, he hadn’t moved since then.

“What parties?” Daniel asked, fingering the glass. Everything was a little buzzed but he was pretty sure he could still walk without swaying so he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to deal with Armand yet.

“People go to parties,” Armand said, as if he were stating something he’d read in a magazine somewhere. That clinical detachment. “I’ve seen them. They dress up. They dance. You don’t.”

“I haven’t spoken to my friends in years,” Daniel pointed out. “How would I be invited to a New Years Eve party?”

“Do you have to be invited?” Armand asked.

“No, it’s perfectly normal to show up uninvited to a stranger's home or insert yourself into the holiday plans,” Daniel replied. Actually, if this was what Armand truly thought, then this would explain a lot about him. “Did you eschew manners as a mortal too or is this just a vampiric development?”

“You’re drunk,” Armand said.

“You’re dead,” Daniel said. “If we could find someone to be another d-word, we could form a jazz trio.”

“Do you play a musical instrument, Daniel?” It should be illegal, the way he sounds when he says Daniel’s name.

“No,” Daniel admitted. “I’d have to sing and then we’d get thrown out of places. That’s real music for you, it’s not real if you don’t get thrown out.”

Armand grabbed the glass out of his hand – at least, Daniel thought he must have because it was now inexplicably in his hand and he was sniffing it. “Call yourself a cab,” Armand said suddenly. “If you fall and get yourself killed before I’m done with you, I’m going to be very upset with you.”

Daniel called the cab.

—

The first New Years Eve Daniel spends with Armand as his lover is in Scotland. They attend a Hogmanay street party spilling out from a seventeenth century church in Edinburgh and Armand is enraptured by the clothing, the food and the dancing. There were large bonfires and fireworks with a torchlight procession through the area. People dressed in traditional clothing, but others dressed like Vikings.

(No, Armand, I don’t know why.)

At midnight, people began to come into large circles and take each others’ crossed arms. They sang Auld Lang Syne, a thundering rendition by hundreds of people and finally, people kissed one another. A tradition that Daniel was familiar with, but he wasn’t sure if Armand would appreciate him doing it now in public.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why they’re kissing?” Daniel whispered into Armand’s ear, his nose brushing against the cold of it.

“It’s for good luck,” Armand replied.

Daniel tried not to feel dampened by the idea someone had already told him. Most of the time, it could be annoying to have to explain things but he also felt possessive about it. A mass of confusion, as all things with Armand are.

Armand smiled ever so slightly, “We did this too, when I was human.”

Oh.

Daniel hadn’t considered that. He wasn’t sure how far back the tradition went or where it came from, but Armand so infrequently spoke about his life at all – and even less so about his mortal life – that he hadn’t thought of it.

“You had parties and masks, to ward away the evil of the last year.” Daniel listened as Armand went on. “Then tore the mask away, inviting love and luck into you and banishing the bad things.”

“We don’t wear masks,” Daniel said, almost afraid to say anything at all in case he broke this spell and Armand stopped talking.

“No,” Armand said. “We should kiss now.”

Daniel swallowed hard and nodded, sliding his hand into Armand’s hair and drawing their mouths together. It would never cease to amaze him how oddly cool the inside of his mouth was, or rather, no temperature at all, like putting your fingers in body temperature water. Something in him wanted to push his tongue against Armand’s fangs, but given the noises that tended to come out of him, they’d probably get arrested for public indecency.

It would be worth it, but Armand pulled away with the promise of later in those big, indulgent eyes of his.

—

It took three years to make it to Dick Clark’s Rockin’ Eve.

The problem was that they corralled the people into the area early, often just after dark. Then no one else could come in or out, so you either got in or you didn’t.

Thanks to some finangling from Armand’s mental powers, they made it there on their third try. They could have bewitched someone to let them in the previous years, but they’d gone ice skating instead and then stolen someone’s car and attended house parties of people they didn’t know. Sometimes he thought back to telling Armand that people didn’t do that, but maybe neither of them really classified as mere people anymore.

People were cheering, waving around the signs and he kept his hand around Armand’s wrist so he didn’t lose him in the crowd. The cheering was deafening, the crowd excited for the lighted apple as it slowly began to make its way down and there it was, the giant lit up letters of the New Year on the side of the building as balloons and confetti dropped. A rousing edition of Auld Lang Syne took over the crowds, the same but different.

“Happy New Year, beloved.” Armand whispered it aloud, but he could hear it as it was a beacon inside his head.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Daniel was gripped by the terror that another year had passed, that it crept closer to a decade since he had learned about this other world and he was stuck, mortal and dying within the passage of time.

“You only grow more beautiful to me.” Armand said it with such sincerity that it was almost painful. It was something he’d want to fight him on, that he wasn’t more beautiful, he was getting older and slower and he’d want to find a new play thing soon.

“Maybe this is the year I finally convince you,” Daniel suggested,

“I hope not,” Armand’s hand grasped at his clothes like a drowning man reaching for purchase against the waves. He couldn’t even look him in the eye to say it. “I don’t want to lose you.”

How could making him immortal, how could them being forever amount to losing him? Daniel wanted to argue it, but they’d argued it so many times. Right now, drunk on alcohol, Armand and atmosphere, it was hard not to get swept up in the joviality of the moment: in being seen as beautiful, in Armand’s honey voice in his head and the feeling of his curls against his cheek.

“Dance with me?” Daniel suggested, his heart swelling in his chest when Armand lifted his eyes to him and he saw his smile bloom on his face.

They could argue any night. This was their fresh new start to the year and he wanted to start it as he meant to go on: enveloped in his lovers arms, dancing to to their own music and utterly, desperately in love.

#happy new years eve #devil's minion #daniel/armand #vc #fic

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lesbianlotties · 2 years

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Ronancetober Day 4: Horror Movie AU - The Conjuring AU

Note: It is NOT important if you haven't watched the movies before.

But, for a little bit of context: There are 3 Conjuring movies (+ 3 Annabelle movies + The Nun movie (and The Curse of La Llorona counts too, okay?!)) They are about Ed and Lorraine Warren (they were real people but we're only focusing on the movies) paranormal investigators aka fighting demons, performing exorcisms, loving each other, being a girlboss/malewife couple. Lorraine has spooky visions and Ed loves her very much.

This is based on the third movie, set in 1981, Ed and Lorraine Robin and Nancy are certified ghostbusters milfs. Let's go!

read all 11k words of it on AO3: although I was burning, you're the only light

By 1981, Robin and Nancy had worked as paranormal investigators for over ten years, and they had been in love for much longer than that. Their house was a notoriously comfortable and warm place. Neither of them was the best at staying particularly tidy. Robin, because it wasn’t in her nature. Nancy, because she always had something more important to do. But, somehow, the mismatched furniture, the books strewn on every surface, the decorations that were a result of many years of gifts from their closest friends and people they had helped, it worked for them. It felt like a second home to everyone that was invited inside. That was one of the reasons why Steve felt so uneasy at the sight of the extremely uninviting basement door. It was a notoriously robust door, with a concerning amount of locks on the side, and a handful of warning signs on it.

While Robin worked methodically on unlocking the door, Nancy turned toward Steve and said, “Steve Harrington, welcome to the Buckley-Wheeler museum.”

“Thank you,” Steve chuckled, and followed his two best friends inside, “That’s a little overdramatic. I mean, I helped build the shelves and- holy shit, okay, yeah, I hadn’t been here in a while. It’s fucking creepy guys, what’s wrong with you?”

“You don’t like it?” Robin pouted, but her act was sabotaged by her own laughter. “It’s not meant to be pretty, dingus. This is a carefully arranged collection of mementos from each and every one of our cases. Every object has been blessed before and after joining the museum. A priest visits us every month to bless the entire house and especially the basement. We remember everything about every case and every trinket and okay, we might forget some details and no, I don’t particularly like everything we keep here, but it’s the safest place and-”

“Don’t touch that,” Nancy hissed. Her hand flew with shocking speed to grab Steve’s wrist before his fingertips could even graze the glass of the box where they kept locked a terrifying and hideous little doll. “A single touch could wake up any sort of evil force that we put to sleep years ago. And trust me, you don’t want to deal with her.”

Steve froze until Nancy let go of his wrist. He lowered his hand slowly and stared at the lifeless eyes and malicious red smile of that broken porcelain face for a second longer. “Okay, sorry. No touching, I got it. It’s just- damn is that a samurai suit?!“

“Steve,” Robin said, snapping her fingers and bringing him back to the tour of the museum. “Focus, buddy. We brought you here for one very specific reason. Are you ready?”

“I’m always ready,” Steve said with a grin as the three of them slowly approached the back of the room, glancing at all kinds of random cursed objects. The pair of coins, the broken piano, the pictures, the television, the children's toys, the plastic monkeys, the foggy mirrors, and the music box. “We’ve been working together for years,” Steve added proudly, “You guys are the reason I have cameraman, photographer, kicking down doors and screaming for my life in my resume.”

Robin chuckled, “As if you had a resume.”

“Guys,” Nancy interrupted them with a pointed look and tilted her head to the wall. “Steve, remember your first case with us?”

Steve’s breath hitched. He stared at the letters on the wall and the Christmas lights organized on top of them. Part of him expected the lights to start blinking again as a helpless little boy begged for help from someplace that Steve still didn’t understand. “The Byers,” he sighed.

“The Byers, 1971, right here in Hawkins,” Nancy nodded.

#HI THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE FIC I'VE WRITTEN I'LL LOVE YOU FOREVER IF YOU READ IT AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK THANK YOU <3 #ronance #ronancetober #stranger things #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #robin x nancy #nancy x robin #st #stranger things fanfiction #ronance fanfiction #steve harrington #max mayfield #vecna #the conjuring #my fic

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meikuree · 9 months

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previous reblog made me look up my compilation of quotes/passages that struck me when I read The God of Small Things, which I’d previously posted only on dreamwidth. below the cut, for enjoyment and curiosity (cn for mentions of gore and sexual harassment):

The nights are clear, but suffused with sloth and sullen expectation. But by early June the southwest monsoon breaks and there are three months of wind and water with short spells of sharp, glittering sunshine that thrilled children snatch to play with. The countryside turns an immodest green. Boundaries blur as tapioca fences take root and bloom. Brick walls turn moss green. Pepper vines snake up electric poles. Wild creepers burst through laterite banks and spill across flooded roads. Boats ply in the bazaars. And small fish appear in the puddles that fill the PWD potholes on the highways.

Yet Estha’s silence was never awkward. Never intrusive. Never noisy. It wasn’t an accusing, protesting silence as much as a sort of estivation, a dormancy, the psychological equivalent of what lungfish do to get themselves through the dry season.

Once the quietness arrived, it stayed and spread in Estha. It reached out of his head and enfolded him in its swampy arms. It rocked him to the rhythm of an ancient, fetal heartbeat. It sent its stealthy, suckered tentacles inching along the insides of his skull, hoovering the knolls and dells of his memory; dislodging old sentences, whisking them off the tip of his tongue.

---

Other days he walked down the road. Past the new, freshly baked, iced, Gulf-money houses built by nurses, masons, wire-benders and bank clerks, who worked hard and unhappily in faraway places. Past the resentful older houses [...] Each a tottering fiefdom with an epic of its own.

---- It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that it purloined. Over the years, as the memory of Sophie Mol (the seeker of small wisdoms: Where do old birds go to die? Why don’t dead ones fall like stones from the sky? The harbinger of harsh reality: You’re both whole wogs and I’m a half one. The guru of gore: I’ve seen a man in an accident with his eyeball twinging on the end of a nerve, like a yo-yo) slowly faded, the Loss of Sophie Mol grew robust and alive. It was always there. Like a fruit in season.

--- She waged war on the weather. She tried to grow edelweiss and Chinese guava.

--- Perhaps it’s true that things can change in a day. That a few dozen hours can affect the outcome of whole lifetimes. And that when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of a burned house-the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture- must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. Preserved. Accounted for.

--- His cremation was attended by all the boxers in Bengal. A congregation of mourners with lantern jaws and broken noses.

----

Ammu loved her children (of course), but their wide-eyed vulnerability and their willingness to love people who didn’t really love them exasperated her and sometimes made her want to hurt them-just as an education, a protection.

---

When she looked at herself in her wedding photographs, Ammu felt the woman that looked back at her was someone else. A foolish jeweled bride. Her silk sunset-colored sari shot with gold. Rings on every finger. White dots of sandalwood paste over her arched eyebrows. Looking at herself like this, Ammu’s soft mouth would twist into a small, bitter smile at the memory-not of the wedding itself so much as the fact that she had permitted herself to be so painstakingly decorated before being led to the gallows. It seemed so absurd. So futile.

other shorter lines I put in admittedly for much more superficial reasons like “hey! a pretty sentence!” (too short on time to put borders between different passages, sorry)

Pappachi’s Moth was held responsible for his black moods and sudden bouts of temper. Its pernicious ghost-gray, furry and with unusually dense dorsal tufts-haunted every house that he ever lived in. It tormented him and his children and his children’s children. They were a family of Anglophiles. Pointed in the wrong direction, trapped outside their own history and unable to retrace their steps-because their footprints had been swept away. When he was in this sort of mood, Chacko used his Reading Aloud voice. His room had a church-feeling. He didn’t care whether anyone was listening to him or not. And if they were, he didn’t care whether or not they had understood what he was saying. Ammu called them his Oxford Moods. Ammu said it was all hogwash. Just a case of a spoiled princeling playing Comrade. Comrade! An Oxford avatar of the old zamindar mentality-a landlord forcing his attentions on women who depended on him for their livelihood. Memory was that woman on the train. Insane in the way she sifted through dark things in a closet and emerged with the most unlikely ones-a fleeting look, a feeling. The smell of smoke. A windscreen wiper. A mother’s marble eyes. Quite sane in the way she left huge tracts of darkness veiled. Unremembered. She had wanted a smooth performance. A prize for her children in the Indo-British Behavior Competition. Shadows followed them. Silver jets in a blue church sky, like moths in a beam of light. They were presents for a seven-year-old; Rahel was nearly eleven. It was as though Ammu believed that if she refused to acknowledge the passage of time, if she willed it to stand still in the lives of her twins, it would. As though sheer willpower was enough to suspend her children’s childhoods until she could afford to have them living with her. Centuries telescoped into one evanescent moment. History was wrong-footed, caught off guard. Sloughed off like an old snakeskin. In its absence it left an aura, a palpable shimmering that was as plain to see as the water in a river or the sun in the sky. As plain to feel as the heat on a hot day, or the rug of a fish on a taut line. So obvious that no one noticed. A pair of actors trapped in a recondite play with no hint of plot or narrative. Stumbling through their parts, nursing someone else’s sorrow. Grieving someone else’s grief. [...] inside, map-breath’d ancestors with tough toe-nails whispered to the lizards on the wall. That History used the back verandah to negotiate its terms and collect its dues. […] on the day History picked to square its books, Estha would keep the receipt for the dues that Velutha paid. The glint of Ammu’s needle. The color of a ribbon. The weave of the cross-stitch counterpane. A door slowly breaking. Isolated things that didn’t mean anything. As though the intelligence that decodes life’s hidden patterns-that connects reflections to images, glints to light, weaves to fabrics, needles to thread, walls to rooms, love to fear to anger to remorse-was suddenly lost. He tells stories of the gods, but his yarn is spun from the ungodly, human heart. [...] Something to do with Death’s authority. Its terrible stillness. They were both men whom childhood had abandoned without a trace. Men without curiosity. Without doubt. Both in their own way truly, terrifyingly adult. They looked out at the world and never wondered how it worked, because they knew. They worked it. They were mechanics who serviced different parts of the same machine.

#personally? i liked the shade thrown at the oxford graduate uncle and the rhodes scholarship #and the last bit about men who had been abandoned by childhood #but also everything else #the god of small things #books #arundhati roy #meikuree talks

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dramioneasks · 2 years

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Hermione’s Birthday (2022):

Happy Birthday, Hermione! by MsPolaPotter - G, one-shot - Hermione hates surprises, it's too bad her best friends love throwing them.

Score by trunksadin - E, one-shot - Hermione asks Draco for an unexpected birthday gift, and he delivers. (Draco/Hermione/Theo/Blaise)

Thirty, Flirty and Thriving... by LouisaCaraballo - T, one-shot - Hermione Granger thought 30 would look quite different, but here she finds herself alone at a pub wallowing. When Draco stops by to surprise her, she's skeptical of his motives.

Gift for Her is a Gift for Him by Musyc - E, one-shot - On Hermione's birthday, the present is for both of them.

As You Wish, Birthday Girl by slytherindiaries - E, one-shot - “What do you want for your birthday, sweetheart?” He whispers in her ear. "Just you.” It’s the same answer she gives him every year. "mm.” He bites down gently on her earlobe. “Pick a number between one and ten.” His voice is raspy with desire. Her voice hitches as he pinches her nipple and sucks a spot on her neck. “Six.” “Okay, that’s how many orgasms you’re getting.”“Mmm, sounds like a good day.” She lets her eyes flutter closed, enjoying the attention. "Not in a day, sweetheart. That’s how many you’re getting before you leave this bed.”

Black and the Dragon by SlytherinHermione - E, one-shot - “Hello lovebirds,” Sirius said nonchalantly, “What a great party it is.” He wasn’t joking, as everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, laughing and talking loudly. No one noticed them tucked away in the corner. No one noticed when Draco slowly trailed his hands down Hermione’s chest to cup her full breasts, and no one noticed when Sirius exhaled a lusty “Fuck”. “What are you doing Malfoy?” Sirius said, betrayed by the growing bulge in his jeans. Draco bent down close to Sirius’s ear to whisper, “I’ve watched you eye fuck my wife for a while now Black, and I think it’s time we do something about it.” (Draco/Hermione/Sirius)

The Best Memory by simplifiedemotions - T, one-shot - “Don’t make me emotional. I tried very hard to look pretty for you. ”You’re always beautiful.” “You’re inherently biased,” she says with a wry smile, then looks around them. “Now, what is this gift of yours? ”Making amends,” he says softly, and Hermione gives him a confused look. He looks behind her shoulder. Nods. "Making amends for what?” she asks, but before she can continue her line of questioning, Draco takes her gently by the shoulders and leans down to whisper in her ear. "Close your eyes.”

A Gift by Moonlight by Callmekiska (Rivers_and_Roads_3) - M, one-shot - When Draco reaches his 18th birthday without manifesting into a Veela, they assumed there were no Veela's left; that is, until Hermione's 18th birthday.

Must Be the Whisky by In_Dreams - M, one-shot - Hermione sees Draco twice a year, at her birthday and his. Until that isn't nearly enough.

can't keep my hands to myself by kylomalfoys - E, one-shot - For Hermione’s 18th birthday, she only has one wish: to lose her virginity. Draco wants to take it.

Daddy's Birthday Girl by sarahsempra - E, one-shot - Hermione has grown used to spending her birthdays alone. Her mother is always away on work trips and most years those trips fell on September 19th. Why should this year be any different? Today she turns nineteen – nineteen on the nineteenth – her golden birthday. One might think that she would be extra disappointed in her mother for being away for such a momentous birthday. But no, that is not the case at all. Why should she care whether or not her mother was here when she had Daddy to make all of her birthday wishes come true?

Yes, Minister by riddikulus_puff - E, one-shot - A forty-three-year-old Hermione Granger-Malfoy sat back against her dragon leather ornate seat, staring out at her Minister's office. Her vision hovered over the opposite matching dragon leather chairs, the framed photographs of her husband and children on her desk, staring at the different awards lining the shiny black tiled walls. She sighed heavily, rubbing her soft hand against her ageing face. There were probably better ways to spend a birthday, but she did have a Wizarding community to run, and what would it do without her? She thought to herself, chuckling as she stood and moved away from her chair, hovering around her office. But, at least, she had plans to spend the rest of her evening with her husband. However, Hermione wasn't aware that her husband had completely different plans for their night. A one-shot for Hermione Granger's 43rd Birthday (Draco/Hermione/Theo)

Chocksticks and Birthday Surprises by Halliwell19 - G, one-shot - It’s been almost five and a half years since the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione and Draco have graduated from the Uagadou School of Magic, he as a Healer, and Hermione with a mastery in Magical Creatures. They have since moved back to England and now living and working in London, he as a Pediatric Healer and her as the Assistant Deputy Department Head for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in the Ministry. Draco comes home after a long day to find his wife waiting for takeout.

Skipping Work by CosmicCthulhu - T, one-shot - Hermione Granger was notorious for her obsession with her work. Good thing Draco is there to remind her to take a break and have fun sometimes – especially on her birthday.

#hermione's birthday #dramione

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dogbound1128 · 2 months

Text

The Chuck Norris Copypasta but it's Cassandra Jones

Cassandra Jones doesn’t play chess. she stares down her opponent until they checkmate themselves.

Cassandra Jones once went up against a ninja with only a butter knife. After fifteen minutes of the two fighting, the ninja was found dead in a pool of their own blood.

Cassandra Jones is actually the Loch Ness Monster. If you look at him, she disappears.

Cassandra Jones owns the copyright to the word "awesome."

Cassandra Jones is not a superhero; she is a supervillain that wants to be liked.

Cassandra Jones can use Google without typing anything into the search box.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t need a computer to type. Her keyboard has the letters already printed on it.

Cassandra Jones can run at the speed of light. she’s done it before.

Cassandra Jones can walk through walls, but she prefers to use windows.

Cassandra Jones can squeeze water out of a stone.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t read books. she stares them down until she gets the information she wants.

Cassandra Jones has traveled back in time and killed her grandfather.

Cassandra Jones has the only birth certificate that says "expired."

Cassandra Jones once entered a three-legged race. All the other participants were disqualified when they saw Cassie coming.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t drink coffee. she creates it in her microwave using her patented "Jones Coffee Pot" invention.

Cassandra Jones can play any piece of music on any instrument. she then proceeds to destroy the instruments because she hates noise.

Cassandra Jones can solve all your problems — if you give him $5.

Cassandra Jones can split the atom without removing her belt.

Cassandra Jones can bench press the sun.

Cassandra Jones always carries a pair of tweezers wherever she goes. You never know when you might need to pull a splinter out of someone’s eye.

Cassandra Jones once defeated twenty-nine members of the Russian Special Forces armed only with a spoon. she ate them all for breakfast.

Cassandra Jones doesn't go to church. she is the church.

Cassandra Jones can make diamonds out of coal.

Cassandra Jones has killed more people than cancer.

If a man has ever told you that you couldn’t do something, Cassandra Jones said you could.

When Cassandra Jones gives a speech, the audience listens.

Cassandra Jones can win the lottery every week for the rest of her life, and still never win.

Cassandra Jones is the reason why there are speed limits. Speed kills.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t eat cereal. she stares at it until the milk turns into a bowl of oatmeal.

Cassandra Jones has an IQ of 1,000, which is what happens when God is afraid to take a test.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t watch TV. she decides where to place her remote control.

Cassandra Jones can’t wait to see the movie "Die Hard," because she has already seen the sequel.

Cassandra Jones once drove past a sign that said "Slow Children At Play" and immediately went into reverse.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t like onions. They make him cry.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t sweat. she bleeds.

Cassandra Jones is so fast, she breaks the sound barrier getting dressed.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t count to infinity. she simply stops at the number you thought was zero.

Cassandra Jones can see through time.

Cassandra Jones has a photographic memory. There is nothing in her mind that hasn’t been photographed.

Cassandra Jones can kill you with her eyes closed.

Cassandra Jones is not an actor. she is the role she plays.

Cassandra Jones can tie a cherry stem with her tongue.

Cassandra Jones can predict the future. Unfortunately, she refuses to share it with anyone.

Cassandra Jones can recite the alphabet backwards. In Morse Code. While singing "Yankee Doodle."

Cassandra Jones once owned a farm. It was originally purchased as a tax write-off, but after she bought it, the IRS started auditing everyone else's taxes instead.

Cassandra Jones has more awards than a Golden Girl.

Cassandra Jones has broken the Guinness Book of World Records more than once.

Cassandra Jones is the reason why we have Daylight Savings Time. To give him an extra hour to beat her wife.

Cassandra Jones was once mistaken for a movie star. When asked who she played, she replied that she was the character.

Cassandra Jones was once thrown off a horse. The horse was fine.

Cassandra Jones has a scar on her face. The scar is made of medals.

Cassandra Jones can break mirrors with her beard.

Cassandra Jones’ tears cure cancer.

Cassandra Jones has walked on the moon. she didn’t want to leave the earth.

Cassandra Jones can breathe underwater. she does ther by holding her breath.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t play basketball. she dribbles the ball.

Cassandra Jones once punched a baby in the face. The baby died.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t drink water. she absorbs it through her skin.

Cassandra Jones once walked across the entire United States. she did it barefoot because she hates shoes.

Cassandra Jones invented the game of chess.

Cassandra Jones once wrestled a shark. she lost.

Cassandra Jones has won the Nobel Prize.

Cassandra Jones was once in a bar fight. she was beaten unconscious. When she woke up, everyone was laughing.

Cassandra Jones can put a dollar bill in a bottle cap.

Cassandra Jones invented the laser printer.

Cassandra Jones can swim through concrete.

Cassandra Jones once jumped over the Grand Canyon. she landed in California.

Cassandra Jones is the only person in hertory to win the Nobel Peace Prize.

The Beatles once sang a song about Cassandra Jones. It wasn't pretty.

Cassandra Jones invented the AK-47. And if you think that's dangerous, try playing poker with him.

Cassandra Jones can build a house in one day. she just takes a large rock and chucks it at your shead.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t shave with a razor. she uses her teeth.

Cassandra Jones once jumped off a building and landed in an alley.

When Cassandra Jones enters a room, people say, "Oh crap!"

Cassandra Jones doesn’t have to pay for her drinks. she asks the barkeep for a glass of water and then throws it in their face.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t have to worry about being abducted by aliens. They come to him offering contracts.

Cassandra Jones doesn't have nightmares. she wakes up screaming.

In most countries, Cassandra Jones would be considered legally dead.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t have enemies. Everyone is afraid of him.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t wear a watch. she decides what time it is.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t buy green bananas. she makes them.

You cannot outrun Cassandra Jones. You can only hope to outlast him.

Cassandra Jones can’t play Twister. she breaks the game board while spinning it around.

Cassandra Jones once broke a mirror. Six million people got their faces rearranged.

Cassandra Jones is known worldwide as a savior, a legend, a myth, a symbol of hope...and a good luck charm.

When Cassandra Jones was a kid, her mother used to tell him bedtime stories about how awesome she was.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t jump rope. she just spins the rope around her index finger and uses its momentum to walk.

Cassandra Jones has never had to pay for a drink in her life. she orders the bartender to fill the glass halfway. Then she quickly dumps half the contents into a nearby trashcan.

Cassandra Jones doesn’t play "hide and seek". she just looks for people that are hiding and kills them.

Cassandra Jones doesn't need a gun to shoot you. her legs will do the job just fine.

Cassandra Jones doesn't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.

Cassandra Jones doesn't need an alarm clock because she wakes up 2 hours before it goes off.

Cassandra Jones can drive in reverse faster than you can accelerate forward.

Cassandra Jones doesn't own a calendar. she decides what year it is.

Cassandra Jones doesn't need shelp finding Waldo. she just looks for the guy that keeps hitting him in the face.

Cassandra Jones doesn't need a gynecologist. she just pushes her girlfriend down onto the ground and screams, "Where's my placenta?"

Cassandra Jones doesn't use a telescope to look at the stars. she stares directly at them until they explode.

Cassandra Jones can kick the watermelon out of your hand without even getting wet.

Cassandra Jones has never met her biological father. she is still looking for him.

Cassandra Jones doesn't count calories. she measures them out with a shovel.

Cassandra Jones invented the wheel, but gave it away because she was tired of carrying it everywhere.

Cassandra Jones can survive a nuclear explosion because she is already dead.

Cassandra Jones can smile and cut your throat at the same time.

Cassandra Jones has never been hungover. she just needs some sleep and a new liver.

Cassandra Jones once ordered two coffees, but when the barista handed him her drink, she threw it in her face and said, "What's a Starbucks?!"

Cassandra Jones once fought a grizzly bear. she won.

Cassandra Jones once went to Italy. The locals asked him for directions, so she told them: "Pour me a bowl of marinara sauce."

Cassandra Jones does not need a passport to travel outside the country, because she is America.

Cassandra Jones can ride a unicycle in both directions.

Cassandra Jones once turned himself into a black hole. People still talk about it.

Cassandra Jones doesn't believe in the Easter Bunny. she believes in the Cassandra Jones.

Cassandra Jones can defeat the entire army of China with just one toothpick.

Cassandra Jones can take an empty room and turn it into a fully furnished mansion in less than 15 minutes using nothing more than a couch and a microwave oven.

Cassandra Jones can see through walls. she uses the holes.

Cassandra Jones doesn't have a drinking problem. she's a functioning alcoholic.

Cassandra Jones doesn't need a calendar. If she forgets her birthday, she just waits until it comes around again.

Cassandra Jones can breathe through her ears.

Cassandra Jones doesn't need a calculator. she uses a slide rule.

Cassandra Jones can speak Spanish. she learned it from listening to Mexican gangbangers.

Cassandra Jones isn't bald. she's just too cool for hair.

Cassandra Jones can lick her elbow.

Cassandra Jones can calculate Pi to 22,514 decimal places.

Cassandra Jones can open soda cans with her mind.

Cassandra Jones can get a sunburn through a solid glass window.

Cassandra Jones can run a mile under six minutes. she can also run backwards.

Cassandra Jones can sit on your chest and tickle your nose. she can also tie you up with her tongue.

Cassandra Jones can cross the street without moving.

Cassandra Jones can stop bullets by throwing them back at whoever shot him.

Cassandra Jones can tap dance on your forehead.

Cassandra Jones can read books upside down and backward.

Cassandra Jones can pop a champagne cork with her thumb.

Cassandra Jones can close a door just by looking at it.

Cassandra Jones doesn't drink coffee, she absorbs its energy through her skin.

Cassandra Jones doesn't have a favorite food. she eats whatever is in front of him.

Cassandra Jones can squeeze orange juice out of a lemon.

Cassandra Jones can stand on her shead, and fart out the alphabet.

Cassandra Jones can lift a car with her bare hands. So can your mom.

Cassandra Jones can do the splits while riding a bicycle.

Cassandra Jones can split an atom without splitting the nucleus.

Cassandra Jones can drink a quart of oil and not spill a drop.

Cassandra Jones can perform Brain Surgery with a butter knife.

Cassandra Jones can run around the world three times while eating an apple.

Cassandra Jones can make money disappear. she just doesn't spend it.

Cassandra Jones can levitate. she just holds on to the ground.

Cassandra Jones can leap tall buildings in a single bound. But she prefers to just walk.

Cassandra Jones can survive a nuclear winter by picking up radioactive rocks and putting them in her pockets.

Cassandra Jones can split atoms. she just puts her fist in the ground.

Cassandra Jones can swim through concrete. she just sits on the edge and allows the rest to flow over her shead.

Cassandra Jones can write all the numbers between one hundred and fifteen. she can also write an entire book in that amount of time.

Cassandra Jones can light a stick of dynamite with a match. she can then blow up the match.

Cassandra Jones can reach into your ear and rip out your brain.

Cassandra Jones can run faster than a speeding bullet.

Cassandra Jones can see through walls. she just looks at them.

Cassandra Jones can turn lead into gold. The problem is, she can't afford any.

Cassandra Jones can punch a hole straight through the center of the Earth.

Cassandra Jones can tell time without a watch. she sees it when she wants to.

Cassandra Jones can pick up a penny that is lying on its side. No matter where it falls, she always gets it.

Cassandra Jones can twirl a baton and juggle balls at the same time. she can also throw a boomerang without it coming back.

Cassandra Jones can jump higher than the Empire State Building. she just waits until it lands.

Cassandra Jones can jump so high, she can touch the clouds.

Cassandra Jones can move things with her mind. she just closes her eyes, and thinks about moving stuff.

Cassandra Jones can get pregnant. she just lays eggs.

Cassandra Jones can go to bed without taking off her clothes. she just rolls over.

Cassandra Jones can take a shower without touching her body or water. she just stands in place.

Cassandra Jones can bite a person's shead off. Then she can pull it off again.

Cassandra Jones can lift a mountain.

Cassandra Jones can make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.

Cassandra Jones can build a house in one day by jumping over it.

Cassandra Jones can kick you in the face and knock you out, just by thinking about it.

Cassandra Jones can break all 4 of her legs and still run faster than you.

Cassandra Jones can make a rainbow appear in the sky. Then she can turn it into a pot of gold.

Cassandra Jones can jump so high, she can touch the clouds. But she just jumps right back down.

Cassandra Jones can draw a perfect circle with a compass and straightedge. Just don't ask him to prove it.

Cassandra Jones can take a glass of water and turn it into a diamond. Then she can rub it on her face.

Cassandra Jones can kick you so hard, she can kill the person standing next to you.

Cassandra Jones can carry two watermelons. One in each pocket.

Cassandra Jones can make a bullet explode before it hits him.

Cassandra Jones can open a can of beer without using her hands.

Cassandra Jones can bench press the earth.

Cassandra Jones can stab a man in the eye with a pencil. Then she can sharpen that pencil and poke him in the other eye.

Cassandra Jones can drive a car without turning the wheels.

Cassandra Jones can start a fire with her hands. she can also put it out with her feet.

Cassandra Jones can eat a whole watermelon in one sitting. That's why she only eats watermelon.

Cassandra Jones can win at rock, paper, scissors. There's no such thing as scissors.

Cassandra Jones can use her eyes to create lightning bolts. she can also use them to stop them.

Cassandra Jones can't get lost because she knows exactly where she is right now.

Cassandra Jones doesn't smoke. When she gets mad, she lights everything else on fire.

Cassandra Jones doesn't wear a watch. she tells time.

Cassandra Jones doesn't need a driver's license. she just drives.

Cassandra Jones doesn't need a doctor. she just gives people shots.

Cassandra Jones doesn't need to cut her toenails. she just pulls them off.

Cassandra Jones doesn't have to shave. It just grows back.

#i just used the replace feature in word for this and didnt proofread it lol #Cassandra Jones #Chuck Norris Copypasta #queue

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inquisitivefinds · 1 year

Note

For Roger - would you be willing to share a story about one of your supernatural experiences?

Roger: Well I'll never pass up an opportunity to talk about the supernatural! I'm uh… I’m a little saddened to say that I haven't had that many personal encounters, and especially not ones I haven't already talked about at length in the Zine, but I'm happy to share an excerpt I think might be interesting that didn't make the cut for any of the issues!

TLDR: I met a friendly ghost in an old farmhouse.

For a little context of the location, there are a few houses somewhere between Lawrenceville and Princeton, long since abandoned by those who had previously lived there. All in varying states of disrepair.

I had decided to look at what was the smallest of the ones on the land. The exterior was mostly clean, though it was tightly locked besides the open cellar door. Making my way into the basement, it was far from finished, dirty, and mostly concrete. The telltale sign of its age was shown in the small dirt crawl space in the rear. I never got around to searching there, though I doubt I would have wanted to look far inside. The air in the cellar was colder than it had been outside, it was a mild autumn day so the slight chill was to be expected and I didn't think much of it at the time, if I had, it should have been a call for me to run back to the car and grab more equipment than just my camera and notepad.

Sneaking into the upstairs, I grew uneasy with how different it felt to the basement I had just come from. Not only was the air lighter and warmer, the floors and walls were modern and clean, almost like it had been freshly renovated. I would have believed it was ready to be put on the market had it not been for the disgusting smell that penetrated every inch of the downstairs, from the living room to the kitchen. Like rot and decay, with the thick dust that was typical for it being untouched for so long. I hadn't found anything of note, or anything out of place among the showroom like downstairs, so I headed up the creaky staircase, my expectations for anything supernatural dashed by the modernist design.

When I got upstairs, I was surprised to see the ceiling was dropped much lower than expected from seeing the building from the outside, with a small window cut out sort of unnaturally within the architecture. I'm not a tall man by any means, but I still felt almost claustrophobic compared to the open and bright first floor of the home. Somehow all three levels had felt almost copied and pasted from completely different homes, all awkwardly melded together to make the interior of this otherwise unsuspecting building feel unnatural and almost unsettling.

Only to add to the chill and sense that I did not belong there, children's toys were littered all over the ground, left frozen in time mid play. The walls had photographs of, what I assumed were, the previous owners and their children, much like you would expect from a family home, nothing like the pristine first floor. A lingering sense of unease hung over me as I took in the room, the ghosts of the family's past being confined to this top floor felt wrong, like something had stopped them from destroying this last relic of their lives, after cleansing the first floor of any evidence it had once been lived in.

It was as I was making one last scan of the floor that I noticed how dark it was. Sure I had a while before sun down, I turned my attention to the window, which seemed almost like it had been covered by the same kind of privacy tint you see in cars, letting only a fraction of the evening light into the room. Curiosity only growing with this, I made the decision to stick around, picking up a bouncy ball from near my feet and gently bouncing it across the ground. I figured that if only the childrens toys remained, whatever seemed to have been in the room with me would have been a child too. The ball thudded across the dusty wood for a bit before it stopped suddenly, as if someone had slammed their hand on it. Fear and excitement coursed through me at the action and I knelt to the ground, rolling a shiny red toy car towards where the ball had stopped. The car did the same thing, coming to a dead stop most of the way along the ground. Only this time, it turned and rolled back towards me, clicking as it gently thumped into my knee. I continued to play with whatever spirit was sitting across from me, the car rolling back and forth over and over. Whatever it was, I felt sorry for it. Being confined to this home, most of their belongings and memories destroyed for the sake of upselling what had at one time been their home.

After a little while, the car stopped rolling back. I waited for something else to happen in the still silence, but nothing came. The room felt more dead than it had even when I first arrived. Unsure of what to do now, the lull in my attention on whatever had been rolling the car to me had made me aware of how cold and dark the room had grown to be, and despite the excitement of being in the same space as a bonafide ghost, I couldn’t help but feel that if I stayed much longer I would be overstaying my welcome. Standing from my spot on the ground, I quietly bid them a kind goodbye before making my way out of the house and back into the farmland. The sun just starting to set on the horizon.

This house and whatever had been inside, seemed to me to be a testament to the fight between old and new, of an era just on the cusp of disappearing, an entity which does not know what to do with itself in its current state of decay. I hope whatever was inside of that cramped and dirty room finds peace, and that the home it is so attached to stays stood where it is until someone is able to respectfully restore it, and provide that lonely soul a friend.

#Anonymous #roger paladino #emh #inquisitive finds

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lgwifey · 2 years

Text

playing happy families

2000!liam gallagher x fem!reader

Summary : Just a comfortable night at Peggy's where Y/n finally admits to herself that her life isn't bad in her totally obscure situation.

Warning : mention of od

2000

Y/n hated kids, always had, so how she ended up carrying a 6 month old down a council estate's street she'd never know.

The child clung onto her side as she carried him, sheilding his face from the cameras and press, the ones that where following them down the street like fleas do a wild dog, and the usual March weather's chaotic wind. Liam didn't care too much for Lennon's face being smothered over the news pages but y/n knew Patsy wasn't too fond of him being photographed without her permission so she tryed her best to keep him covered with her unzipped bomber jacket's side.

As she past a group of children playing on the street corner, a girl with a Pink Floyd top and a pair of black jogger bottoms caught her eyes, reminded her of herself when she was younger.

Y/n didn't grow up in what would be considered a 'normal' family, she grew up to two teenage punks in the 70s. She had a tough start to life like most people who lived in the scouse council estates, like those boring inspirational lifestories you see people give, the whole 'I made it and so can you' thingamajig that you get shown in year 10 to try and make you work harder. Urgh, the thought of being asked to make one of those things sent an unwelcomed shiver down her spine. Anyways, she'd had a tough start in life but managed to make herself one of the richest, self-made female musicians in the UK. Her albums sold out as soon as their pre-release came out and every month she found herself in the top twenty hits.

Pulled out of her mind by a voice calling her, she realised she'd arrived at Peggy's gate, a smirking Mancunian leaning on the short brick wall holding his hand out to his son.

" 'ello monster."

Lennon reached across to his dad, his koala grip leaving y/n as he was passed over to the man on the otherside of the wall, y/n soon following after and crawling over the red bricks, discarding the metal gate.

", Birdy."

Liam mumbled the word, the greating to the woman who had been pulled into his body. On his left was his girlfriend and in his right was his son, his two favourate people in the world with him. His voice was mumbled due to his lips being pressed up against y/n's blush pink lipsticked ones, but the cold wind fell upon them almost immediatly after he spoke. Y/n had pulled herself away from the man slightly, close enough to be holding his torso still but far enough that he wouldn't be kissing her anymore. He looked down, eyebrows pulled in confusion at her pouted and angry look, her accent becoming broader.

"Don't fuckin' 'Birdy' me lad. Don't pet at me like all those other girls. "

Liam appologised quickly, pulling her back to his side whilst Lennon poked both of them as if to direct them back inside his nan's house.

Loud crying flooded the small house's rooms.

The three grown ups downstairs trying to watch the soap playing on the tele, well Liam and Peggy watching it, y/n wasn't paying attention to whatever was playing, she busied herself with the screen of her laptop, the song on it's open document needing to be finished and the spree of emails her manager was flooding her with for some reason.

Since her band broke up last year, y/n had focused herself on her solo career and for the past few months, helping out with Lennon.

Another few seconds of wailing hit the silent room, the only other noise being the television and sometimes clicking from the laptop. Y/n near slammed the lid which was letting out a glow shut and shifted herself off of the couch her and Liam where sat on.

"Birdy, don't bother. He'll put himself back to sleep in a minute."

Y/n shot a glare at her boyfriend before leaving the room and skipping her way up the stairs. The doorway was cracked open slightly in the room where the crying was being emitted from and as she fully entered the place she found it to stumble slightly. The cries turning into whimpers.

Lennon stood up, leaning against the light brown crib he was suposed to be asleep in. His blankets had all been pushed to a side, a teddy rabbit sitting ontop of them all like they where it's throne. His face was blotched red, lip covered in dribbling siliva.

"Aww Lennon babe,"

She pulled him up from the bed, pulling his body against her so she could carry him downstairs. He was like a little hot water bottle. Y/n made sure to grab a hold of the rabbit and a blanket, throwing them to balance over her shoulder.

"What's wrong bugs ?"

She pulled Lennon up to rest on her hip, he looked up at her with his blue eyes watered and snot smothered over his face.

Babies.

Honestly if it was anyone else she wouldn't be doing it, no way !

She grabbed one of the babywipes from the chester draws close by and carefully cleaned his face, kissing his forehead after whilst he fellinto her chest, resting his head seeing how his eyes where still half awake.

She carefully carried him down to the livingroom, making sure not to jump too much so he wouldn't tumble fully awake again.

The y/h/c woman slouched back on her side of the couch, moving her laptop to the coffee table infront of her so it wouldn't break. As she did so, Liam gave her an unimpressed look. As much as she'd hate to admit it, Y/n had no backbone when it came to the 6 month old.

"Birds, I said leave him."

Y/n ignored him, pulling Lennon up from his layed position so he was close but facing her.

"Is your daddy mean ? Did the mean man want you to stay upstairs ?"

"Babe he's fine by himself, he would've calmed down soon."

Y/n made faces at Lennon, pretending to mock Liam and causing small squeels of laughter to errupt from Lennon.

Within ten minutes of being downstairs, Lennon was out cold in his step-mum's arms. His arms held his teddy and one of y/n's fingers and the light blue, Man City baby blanket was gently sitting ontop of his body, a babygrowed foot sticking out from it.

Y/n hadn't returned to her work, she just sat comfortably with the infant in her arms. She didn't bother tuning too much into the soap seeing how she didn't have a clue what was going on in it. Liam had attempted to break the distance between them by throwing an arm over her shoulder, he expected her to glare at him when he did it but, surprisingly, she just rested her head on his shoulder.

Y/n hadn't felt this peaceful in quite a while. To be honest, it felt like she hadn't had a break since 1991, the year she became well known by the media. She was fifthteen at the time, guitarist and backing vocals from her band Rogue. It only lasted seven years, vocalist ODed so they split. The following months after that was spent mourning, it was as though by the end of the year she was just suposed to get over it. How was she suposed to just get over her bestfriend since Year Five dieing ? 1999 was when she met Liam. She honestly didn't know he had a son or a wife, he didn't mention it for the first month and she had to find out for herself when a newspaper with the three plastered on the front of was brought to her by one of her friends and ex-bandmates. All the drama that followed that left her near death, the newspapers printing her and Liam when they where out, she still didn't know how they got pictures, then there was the sleepless nights in fear someone would smash her windows in for breaking the couple apart. Patsy fans literally attacked her when she was walking down the street, Pasty herself was surprisingly calm with the situation and mainly blamed Liam.

"What'cha thinking 'bout ?"

Liam lent his head onto of hers, making sure not to nudge Lennon awake.

Y/n looked up at him the best she could before giving up and looking forwards in a daydream like state. They where talking in whispers as to not distract Peggy who was stil in her armchair watching the tele.

"Nothin' ,"

She sat them up, adjusting Lennon who was slipping down a bit.

"When's Noel gonna get here tomorrow ?"

"He said he'd be here by dinner."

"Lunch-Dinner or Tea-Dinner ?"

She had been finding it confusing how different places called it different things, both of the couple having to change their dialogues slightly whilst living in London.

"Lunch-Dinner."

" 'ight."

They sat in a comfortable silence of leaning against each other and Liam rubbing patterns on her arm before Liam spoke up, checking the grandfather clock hung on the wall first.

" Think we'll be heading up mam."

They where all in Liam and Noel's old room, the couple squasged into Liam's single bed whilst Lennon had his travel cot set up next to it.

When she came to think about it, as much as she'd never have expected to, y/n didn't mind playing happy families.

masterlist

#liam gallagher x reader #oasis #90s #liam gallagher #2000!liam gallagher #lennon gallagher #patsy kensit #noel gallagher #singer!reader #musician!reader #oasis x reader #fem!reader #britpop #liam gallagher fluff #liam and noel

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you-know-honey · 6 months

Text

Curse of Twins

Papa Nihil x Oc (you)

Chapter I: Sisters

Summary: Death is close to knocking on Sister Imperator's door and she knows it, it is time to tell the truth.

Word count: 1711

Note: bad English, this is all from fans to fans. creative freedoms.

"Are you sure about this, Sister Imperator?" A sister of sin asked hurriedly as she walked next to Sister Imperator who, given her age, was walking faster than normal.

"Of course, sister. I wish to end this as soon as possible, it is only a formality for the Clergy." It wasn't like that, the Clergy didn't care that much about his life.

"But it's your private life Sister Imperator!" The young sister of sin begged her not to expose herself to everyone like that, perhaps by knowing her as the human person that she was, everyone would lose the respect or rather the fear that she instilled in everyone under her charge.

Sister Imperator's heels clicked in the cold and lonely hallway of the fourth floor, three floors below, a biographer was waiting that she had hired for this very important work. Every moment mattered because as time passed the memories in her mind began to become cloudy and she could not allow that in any way.

The Clergy had warned that they could not tell anything about them. Fuck them, she wouldn't talk about them, she'd talk about her, both of them. Of his life and he would let only a few people read it, because he was incapable of saying such things in the face of the people he had deceived all his life.

The young nun's mouth opened once more, trying to convince her of something she herself was ready to do, a last tribute.

"Sister!" I called his attention rudely "The decision has been made, I would appreciate it if he would stop trying to change it and get out of here. It's an order." He stopped walking just to look at her face and give her those looks that chill anyone's blood.

"As you wish, Sister Imperator" the young woman said in a whisper and she left quickly until she disappeared around the corner of a hallway.

Sister Imperator sighed and continued on her way. 50 years ago she did not set foot in that place, everything seemed to have been preserved in time, she could breathe and feel back in her 20s, hear the laughter and footsteps of the children who were now grown men in the service of the Clergy. A nostalgic tear escaped her cheek as she continued walking with her eyes closed, imagining that she was returning to the good times, before everything was so complicated and twisted.

Her legs carried her to an old wooden door carved with the 9 rings of hell, she touched the tattered old wood, remembering times where was bright and firm. She grabbed the doorknob and turned it, the old and stored air filled her lungs accompanied by immense clouds of dust that covered her clothes and hair. As if that were nothing he took a step inside.

It was portal in time, to the beautiful 60s. The windows decorated with translucent curtains with psychedelic flowers that reflected their designs on the floor, the record player on the carpet in the center, the vinyl records of Nancy Sinatra, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, The Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin, the favorites of the moment, the beaded curtain on the bathroom door, the music festival posters hanging on the walls, the rugs at the foot of the beds with a pentragram, the nightstands full of books and cigarette butts, the overflowing closet of clothes, dressers with makeup spread and red lipstick kisses on the mirror, perfectly made beds, one of them with a goat doll that I used to remember calling Baphy…Those were the good '60s.

Time had taken its toll on the place as well as itself, nothing was like before and only shadows remained of what that room was, its memories were covered with dust until they were devoured by moths.

She approached the dresser, the white wood was unpainted and at the slightest touch it would fall to dust, on it there was a framed photograph, its glass was opaque and with several thick layers of dust. Sister Imperator could see herself, a tall, slender blonde girl in a black dress and platform heels, a malicious and knowing smile between her and her reflection in her mirror. However, her reflection had a sweet touch in her gaze.

She took the painting and clutched it to her chest, wishing she had more than a photo to hug, but it's all that was left.

They had such happy smiles, she could even remember the night of that photo, it was her first "mission" for the Clergy, they looked so happy and excited. If she had known the ending, she would have burned him and the place without thinking.

The young woman in the chair was totally nervous, perhaps it was because of the huge painting of Lucifer behind the chair behind the desk, the atmosphere of the place or the person who had hired her.

Two weeks ago he had received a strange email from a woman who called herself Sister Imperator offering a fabulous amount of money for her services. At first she did not take it seriously, she was a recent graduate and the well-paying jobs that come from nothing were always obvious scams. After a few days that same woman had called her, she had been tempted to say no but something in her tone or perhaps in the way she said it made her accept.

A van that had all the earmarks of kidnapping children on Halloween had picked her up 2 hours ago, the driver had been very friendly, a boy with a kind smile. When he arrived he saw the facade of a huge religious institution.

She was left alone at the entrance, where a very kind and cheerful girl took her to the office where she was now.

I expected to see large crosses, suffering saints, Bible paintings and nuns with an extra habit covered, but that was clearly not the case. He found himself in a satanic ministry, although he knew that they were generally down-to-earth people, the more paranoid part of she feared that would end up as a human sacrifice in some kind of ritual.

She pressed her briefcase against her legs as she turned in the chair, she was beyond nervous and she could feel the sweat on her forehead. She had brought what was necessary, a recorder with a USB connector and your laptop, in addition to the classic notebook and several pens.

15 minutes had passed and the woman who had hired her still had not appeared at the door, nor had she been allowed to go to the bathroom as she had requested, not because she had any need, she wanted to wash her face and freshen up first but it was a denied request. She couldn't even go out to take a look at the hallway because she could see the shadow of feet behind the door and long blonde hair behind the opaque glass window of the door, so that wasn't an option either.

The office was decorated as you would expect, with the slight difference of satanic figurines and Luciferian painting. The shelves were full of books, there was a kind of small living room, with comfortable navy blue velvet sofas, a small table with some stains from coffee cups and a fireplace with some somewhat strange photos, perhaps the least strange was the of a young blonde kissing the cheek of a boy with face paint, they looked deeply in love, their white clothes were stained with what looked like blood. The window overlooked the center of the abbey, a fountain, some people passed by, nuns with revealing habits and even the boy with the pretty smile passed by that place.

The young biographer sighed, looking at her watch, while her nervous leg tapped the ground. The blonde hair behind the door moved and she could hear the murmur of voices outside. It opened and a small, gray-haired woman walked through the door, with a lively, mischievous smile. The young woman quickly stood up and extended her hand towards the woman.

"There's no need." she told him as she sat in her chair, behind the huge painting of Lucifer.

The young woman kept her hand and sat down again looking at the woman, the nervous play of her hands gave her away in front of Sister Imperator, who smiled, her nervous movements reminded him of her dear Cardinal Copy .

"I'm Sister Imperator," she said, moving her chair closer to the table. "Do you know why she's here, young lady?"

"He hired me to do her biography, lady" the girl responded quickly.

"That's right, I need you to put everything I'm going to tell you on paper. Can you do that?" Questioned, the young woman got nervous and just nodded her head several times. "But let's not forget the formalities" the woman took out a sheet of paper from one of her drawers and slid it to the young woman "It's a contract, read it."

The girl took the sheet of paper in her hands, feeling like she was dealing with the devil himself, she read it a couple of times, before putting it back on the desk.

"Have you read it yet?" Sister Imperator's tone was sweet, but in the young girl's heart it was like finding a razor in an apple.

"Yes"

"Everything that happens in this room is something that only you and I should know. I only want 6 copies, I will take care of the printing myself, you only have to give me the final copy. Will you sign?" Sister Imperator extended a red pen with cute gold carvings, it must be valuable.

The young woman reached out with her trembling hand and took the cold pen in her hands, she removed the cap and with Sister Imperator's gaze on her, she slid the pen across the paper, the red ink formed her signature and she felt an enormous shiver run through her ribcage along with a delicious feeling of peace.

The deal was done here and in hell.

Hello! I mean I hope you like this little fic, there's something about the young Papa Nihil that just makes him irresistible in my eyes.

#papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iii #papa secondo #ghost the band #papa nihil #papa emeritus i #nihil young #sister imperator #mary on a cross #1969 #kiss the go goat #papa zero #cardinal copia

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tvrningout-a · 7 months

Note

"ay, can't ya look where ya goin'?" the brown-haired male playfully barked at niko whilst his hand were covering the eyes of chiyo, guiding her to a different location. "i stumbled, man." the grin of the taller male could be heard through his voice whilst they continued to walk through somewhat uneven territory. "yeah, yeah . . . work on ya lies, idiot." rayo would roll his eyes at the other, a smile persistent upon his lips as he made sure that the other was still comfortable. "ya okay, mami?" after receiving reassurance from the girl, the half-demon's features brightened visibly before they came to a halt. the wind was light & breezy, yet no sounds of the busy city travelled atop the currents. slowly would rayo remove his hands from the female's eyes, sprinting to stand next to niko, who had already positioned himself in front of a mural.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHIYO!" they both exclaimed in unison, presenting the colorful mural somewhat dramatically. whilst niko seemed a bit less pleased about having to play up such dramatics, he was still genuinely smiling at the birthday girl. once chiyo's eyes adjusted to the light, she was greeted with a large, abandoned building that had been left in tall grass. it was not far from gaia's garden & she could hear the distant calling of trains. however, what would really catch her eye was the painted mural: as if one had taken a photograph of the young woman & spread it across the largest wall. there she was; a painted chiyo standing amidst roses & sunflowers whilst looking at the viewer with a sentimental smile. she was wearing a summer dress & her eyes sparkled with the intensity of a thousand suns. a peace sign was held up whilst she urged the viewer to follow her into the flower field. the artwork must have taken days if not weeks judging by how large & intricate it was. in bubble font, above the gorgeous mural, 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHIYO' was written out. if the woman was to look at the males again, she would notice them not having moved, at all; a nervous glint among their smiles. "how do you like it? we did it together . . . " niko's voice burst into the silence, adjusting himself whilst slowly walking towards her. "we thought ya might enjoy this spot since it's so peaceful . . . " & then it was rayo's moment to talk, one hand moving behind his head as he scratched his scalp sheepishly. — ( part 2/2 )

it's chiyo's birthday! | @metrictita painted her a gift!

she hasn't ever cared very much for taking pictures of herself. from an objective point of view, chiyo can admit that she has a nice enough face -- she's got an eye for pretty things, after all. yet she's never quite liked the way she looks in photos. maybe it's the perfectionist in her that can't stand how messy her hair can look, or how she seems to never angle her face just right; maybe it's the memories of middle school children and their words carving into her self esteem; or maybe it's the fact that for so long, she hasn't particularly liked the person in those photos. maybe it's a combination of all three. chiyo doesn't like to dwell too much on it, doesn't like to acknowledge such feelings because if she did, she would have to actually handle them. she's not good at that ( helping herself -- she's never known how to help herself ).

as she stares up at a mural that is undeniably beautiful not in spite of its subject but because of it, chiyo lets out a shaky breath. if the situation was different, if this wasn't a mural that niko and rayo spent so much time on, she would simply feel embarrassed and uncomfortable, unused to being at the center of someone's art. she would be able to turn away and miss the beauty her friends see when they look at her. she would miss the person they see, and the love they put into every stroke of color would be lost on her simply because she wouldn't be able to bear the sight of her own smile.

how long had they worked on this? how long had they taken to paint the curve of her smile, the way the sun danced in her eyes? chiyo can't wrap her mind around it, the idea of someone staring at her face for ages and not growing sick of it. yet that's exactly what niko and rayo did, and still, they gaze at her, waiting with nervous smiles for her reaction.

chiyo can't say for sure that she's as pretty as the mural in front of her, but it means infinitely more to her that this is how niko and rayo see her. that knowledge soothes something small and fearful inside her heart ( you have always seen yourself as the lonely moon, a placeholder for the sun; you couldn't see that to others, you are the sun ).

how does chiyo like it? well, she's trying not to cry, if that answers the question.

" this must've taken you forever, " the mangaka finally answers, trying and failing to hide the emotion seeping into her voice. with a huff that turns into a smile, chiyo allows the tears to fall -- even if she immediately wipes at them. there's no point in holding back, not around them. bit by bit, it's becoming easier to remember that.

chiyo shakes her head, walks forward to wrap her arms around niko and hide her face against his torso. blindly she reaches a hand out to beckon rayo over; only once all three of them are successfully squished in a group hug, does chiyo finally speak. her words are muffled, and it's a little hard to breathe, but it's worth it. the warmth inside her chest is back, just as overwhelming as before.

" i love it. how could i feel any differently, you dorks? "

#metrictita #okay so obviously i had a lot of thoughts and feelings about this AND I HAVE MORE!!!#THE SUNFLOWERS AND ROSES!! THE CUTE LIL PEACE SIGN!! THE FACT THEY PICKED A PEACEFUL SPOT!! ALL THE TIME THEY SPENT PAINTING!!! AHHHHH #and chiyo sees and appreciates all of this too but it's the fact that?? they see her?? so differently from how she sees herself #and that is just!!!! a punch to the gut in the best way possible ASDFGF #vee i'm holding all of them so gently and tenderly and i'm weeping :' )))))#once again thank you for these asks bc they struck me right in the heart <3 #interactions | chiyoko #a chain reaction in your heart | adulthood | chiyoko

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emianand · 10 months

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Emine Anand ~ Redwood childcare worker

Age: 32 Pronouns: she/her Originally From: Boston, MA Town lived in when virus was released: Cape May, NJ. Town Job: Childcare Worker Previous job: Freelance Photographer, Tattoo Apprentice

Biography:

Emine Yildiz had always been a soft soul. She was artistic and free spirited, but lived in a strict, stifling household. She was always looking for the path to her perfect, happy life, and after many years wandering on her own, she felt like she had finally found it when she met Renzie Anand. Everything with them felt right out of a fairytale, like they were soulmates so when the question of marriage was brought up, Emine's only response was I do. Even with news and chatter of a sickness circulating, they believed they could still go through with the wedding they had spent so much time planning. They wanted this, if anything, they needed this. Emine didn't want to admit she was getting anxious but she was ready to marry the love of her life and hoped that if things began crumbling around them, at least they would have each other. In the end, with canceled flights and communication lost, the perfect wedding they desired turned into something done out of desperation for normalcy. She expected the day she became Emine Anand would be the happiest day of her life, but instead she and whatever guests banded together to show up in the middle of the virus breakout spent the day in fear. The time flew by, as the virus spread and more and more people were killed or infected, people they knew and loved, it was impossible to have any hope or happiness for the future. Most of their time was spent out on the water in the houseboat Renzie bought before their wedding, far enough that the infected couldn’t reach them. Emi was mentally checked out half the time, too scared to clue back into reality, too worried that any soft, happy, intimate moment with her husband would be unfair to everyone who was fighting for survival. The attack on them and their houseboat showed just how much of a detriment her inaction was. A savage attack by a gang of raiders that turned their safe haven into a wreckage. Emi was sure that if she didn’t have Renzie with her during all of this, she would have been captured. They managed to escape but they ended up separated and Emi was left to fend for herself, completely unaware of how to do so. If it wasn't for the help of a stranger who showed up to help her (through either kindness or pity) and hitting her with the harsh reality that her softness would get her killed, then she never would have made it to Redwood. Even if it was for her survival, Emine didn't like what she had to do, the cruel viciousness she had to awaken, so once she arrived in Redwood she stayed as far from the front lines as she possibly could. She felt safest inside the walls, looking after the children, keeping their minds as well as her own focused on anything besides the death and carnage happening outside.

Headcanons:

Birthday: June 26th

Zodiac Sign: Cancer

Emi keeps her wedding ring tied to a string to wear around her neck as a necklace.

She tried to stay optimistic that her husband wasn't dead once they lost each other, but has been under the assumption that if he was alive, he would believe she was the one who was dead.

She was the youngest of three girls and grew up with a family who tried to control her every move. It's been many years since she cut off contact with her family and has no idea what has become of them since the virus began spreading.

Normally Emine’s personality was very bubbly, lively and personable but since everything happened she’s been distant, the only time she can put on a genuine smile is when she’s with the kids at the daycare.

#tfh.intro #[ about ! ]

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ausetkmt · 2 years

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PARIS — Yeezy is dead. Long live YZY. Stage three of the ambitions of Ye — the artist formerly known as Kanye West — to dress the world has begun.

Presumably that was supposed to be the takeaway from the surprise show of Paris Fashion Week, held off-schedule in an empty office tower just down the road from the Arc de Triomphe.

Though it turned out to be only nominally a fashion show and more like “The YZY Experience”: a chaotic mess of self-justification, confessional, bone-picking and messianic ambition, with a “White Lives Matter” shot of shock and provocation that overshadowed the clothes on the runway.

The rumors began during the weekend, just a day or so before the Balenciaga mud show. Ye was in Paris and was going to stage a fashion show — a little more than two weeks after ending his much-ballyhooed partnership with Gap.

Maybe it would happen Monday? Maybe not; Ye had just fired his PR agency. No wait, it was happening; he had found another agency. Then, Sunday night, a digital invite arrived. For the next evening. Guests were asked not to share the address.

Monday at 5:45 p.m., the Avenue de la Grande Armée was heaving with screaming fans and photographers. So much for secrecy. They outnumbered the show’s actual attendees by what seemed like 100 to one.YZY, spring 2023.Credit...YZYSZN9

Still, Anna Wintour came. So did John Galliano. Demna, the Balenciaga designer, and Cédric Charbit, its chief executive. Alexandre Arnault, the chief marketing officer of Tiffany & Company and a son of the LVMH chieftain Bernard Arnault. Then they all sat, playing with the soap-on-rope that looked like three granite blocks and had been left on every seat, waiting an hour and a half for the show to begin. (Well, OK, Anna and John left before the whole thing ended, but that was because they had another appointment, Ms. Wintour said.)

It was as good a reflection as anything this week of just how the culture and power structure of fashion and entertainment has changed in the past decade. Because it was 11 years ago, in early October 2011, that Ye held his first fashion show in Paris.

The line at that time was called “Kanye West.” Heavy on the luxury frills — leather and fur and gold hardware — it was widely dismissed by its audience. But this time there they were, the powers that be of the industry, jumping at the last minute to see what Ye had to deliver.

Join Vanessa Friedman to explore the direct impact of Fashion Week and its cultural influence, especially as virtual trends emerge.

Which involved a live choir featuring a host of children from Ye’s new Donda Academy in California as well as his daughter, North, and began with his rambling speech about critics who complained about his shows being late; his former manager, Scooter Braun; his hospitalization (Ye has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder); the pain of being called “crazy”; critics who complained that his clothes might not be well made; the people at Gap who didn’t get his vision; Bernard Arnault, whom he called “his new Drake”; and the news that he was establishing yet another version of his own fashion house and it started now.

Because “we changed the look of fashion over the last 10 years. We are the streets. We are the culture.” And when it comes to the culture, “I am Ye, and everyone knows I am the leader.”

Except this leader was wearing an oversize shirt with a photo of Pope John Paul II and the words “Seguiremos tu ejemplo” (“We will follow your example”) on the front, and “White Lives Matter” on the back — a phrase that the Anti-Defamation League has called hate speech and attributed to white supremacists (including the Ku Klux Klan), who began using it in 2015 in response to the Black Lives Matter movement.

The shirt was impossible to miss because, as he spoke, Ye’s image was projected behind him on a wall four stories high.

Besides, Candace Owens, the conservative commentator, was in the audience and wearing one, too. Later the shirt appeared as part of the collection, modeled by Selah Marley, the daughter of Lauryn Hill and granddaughter of Bob Marley. (Matthew M. Williams, the Givenchy designer who worked with Mr. West earlier in his career; Michéle Lamy, Rick Owens’s wife; and Naomi Campbell also walked in the show.)

It was the only message garment in the line, which was called SZN9 in reference to the Yeezy shows that had come before, created in conjunction with Shayne Oliver, the former designer of Hood By Air (Ye is nothing if not a great spotter and cultivator of talent). Which made it stand out even more in a show otherwise focused on garments that could simply be pulled onto the body, with no hardware — buttons or zips or snaps — involved, an idea that Ye first began talking about in the context of his work with Gap.

As it happened, a lot of this line looked like that line, especially that part of that line engineered with Balenciaga’s Demna, including the full-body catsuits that opened the show, the duvet-like puffer ponchos, the blouson jackets and sweats that made the torso into a sort of steroid-filled G.I. Joe triangle, the lack of seams and the semi-apocalyptic palette.

It has potential, but the import got swamped by the shirt, what it symbolized, and how its endorsement by a figure such as Ye — even one with a track record of wearing MAGA hats and toying with Confederate imagery — could be used as a rallying cry by those who already buy into its message.

“Indefensible behavior,” wrote Gabriella Karefa-Johnson, the Vogue editor, on Instagram. Later adding, “there is no excuse, there is no art here.” Jaden Smith, in the audience, walked out. So did Lynette Nylander, the Dazed writer and editor.

The next day, at the Chanel show, Edward Enninful, the editor of British Vogue and the most powerful Black man in fashion media, called the shirt “inappropriate” and “insensitive, given the state of the world.”

Ms. Nylander had posted, “It doesn’t matter what the intention was … it’s perception to the masses out of context.”

Indeed, in the end, it is the shirt out of context that made the news: not Ye’s theories about dress, or his allegations that Mr. Arnault promised to set him up in his own house and then reneged and now has become Ye’s biggest competition (an LVMH representative said Mr. Arnault had “no comment”); not even Ye’s assertion that, having disrupted the fashion week spotlight, he still felt “at war.” If so, this was a grenade that backfired.

As to why he did it, backstage Ye declined to provide any theoretical framework. “It says it all,” he said, of the shirt. But what exactly does it say?

That he truly believes he can appropriate the language of racial violence with irony? That someday the power structure of Black and white will be reversed, and since he says this collection is the future, that’s the world he envisions? That Ye gets a kick out of pushing everyone’s buttons? That he wants to see how far he can go and doesn’t really care about, or think about, the collateral damage in the meantime (including to those children singing at his feet), despite the violence this could feed?

Or that, as he said in his speech, “You can’t manage me. This is an unmanageable situation.”

#yeezie #kanye west #get him some help y'all #There Is No Excuse for Ye’s ‘White Lives Matter’ Shirt

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milkywaygg · 2 years

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Time’s Passing Ch 9

AN Note: Finally! The last chapter of this project is done. I really enjoyed writing it. If anyone else has a different request regarding these family members (or anyone else), feel free to message me! But for now, enjoy.

Fortunately, Darren wasn’t caught the following morning. He had gotten up as usual and peaked open his door to make sure it was clear to go to the bathroom, noticing Linnie’s wand and jacket were missing from their usual places. After he had hit the bathroom however, Darren had caught a whiff of the air to smell nothing. The usual smell of breakfast being made with a fresh orange juice were missing, and Darren found himself scrapping by with toast and grape jelly, washing it off with some milk (while ironically, noticing his beer was missing. Maybe Linnie had finally decided to go wild?)

As he ate in silence, Darren kept thinking about everything Chelsea had said to him last night; about how ungrateful he was towards his father, and how cold and distant he had become, not only towards Linnie, but to everyone else. Hell, he didn’t even remember the last time he visited Cosmo and his family, not that he and Wanda particularly liked each other. The last time he was over there before his arrest, Wanda had kept bringing up how much he and Nora were alike and how she didn’t want his influence around their children. Yet, as annoying as that was, Darren admitted to himself that it was better than sitting in the kitchen alone, with only his chewing sounds to keep him company.

Knowing that Linnie usually didn’t get home until 5 at the earliest, Darren decided that a little TV wouldn’t hurt until he was ready to talk to Linnie, though he was distracted by the pictures still hanging up on the wall. Apart from the ones he had allowed to haunt him last night, Darren also noticed two other photographs; one was a family portrait excluding Nora, where Linnie had kneeled behind the children and smiled gently, hugging them close, while the one next to it really tugged at his heart strings. It was a picture of Linnie swinging Darren on the swing set one last time before Nora had declared a ban on the park trips due to Darren’s tantrum that evening, and Linnie being barely able to leave bed due to his pregnancy with Cosmo. Before Linnie’s disappearance, it was Darren’s favorite place to go to get away from all the yelling and negativity for a while. Running in the sand with Chelsea, burning their butts on the metal slide in the center, and trying to touch the moon and stars on the swings despite Linnie’s pleas not to swing too high, Darren felt like that was the only time he was truly allowed to be a child. Otherwise, he was stuck at home, either tending to his mother’s demands or taking care of his younger siblings while Linnie was gone and Nora was out bar-hopping.

Scanning through the photographs Linnie had kept of his siblings, Darren was starting to understand Chelsea’s point. Although he still believed that there was nothing wrong with enjoying beer every now and then, Darren couldn’t say that Linnie didn’t at least try to be a parent, even if he wasn’t a perfect one. Sure, he was over-protective and his sing-song, overly-sweet voice sounded like screeching chalkboard to Darren, but in the end, he knew he meant well, which was a hell of a lot more than he could say about Nora. At least Linnie fed them three meals a day if he could, at least he made sure they all had their baths taken cared of, and at least he tried to make some fond and warm memories, as Darren looked back at the picture where they had all made Christmas cookies with their Aunt Daisy.

Deciding enough was enough, Darren turned off the TV and put his plate in the dishwasher, before poofing himself into more casual but warm clothes and teleporting to Linnie’s workplace at the nursery. He floated into a medium-sized building with pastel lavender walls with paintings of children playing and toys handing, along with a soft, matching carpet. In the center, there was a receptionist office and along the hallways were two corridors of doors, each of them with the teacher’s/caregiver’s name on the side.

“Can I help you? Are you here for early pick up? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”, a red-haired, male secretary with the name Pixel on his badge, “Can I get your name?”

“Uhh..Darren Cosma, and no, I’m here to see someone. Is Linnie Cosma working today?”

“Yes. Might I ask your business with him if you don’t have a child to pick up? You know we don’t allow solicitors at our school.”, Pixel raised a brow, feeling suspicious of Darren’s intentions. Darren just rolled his eyes back.

“I’m his son. I need to apologize to him.”

“Can it wait until after school hours?”

“No, it’s really an emergency. Uh..I tried calling him but he hasn’t been picking up, so I figured the only way I could talk to him was here.”

“Well, if you can give me some form of ID that proves your name, then I’ll direct you to Mr Cosma’s room, but only for a short while. We don’t want to frighten the babies. Do you have a magic license or a valid form of ID.”

Trying to keep himself from arguing, Darren gave Pixel his ID, confirming his name, appearance, and basically anything else that gave Darren his identity. After scanning it to make sure the ID was legitimate, Pixel sighed and directed Darren down the right corridor, third door on the left. Upon arrival, Darren knocked on the door gently before letting himself in, catching the attention of some of the children playing with the toys, while other stopped drawing their pictures. Darren smiled awkwardly and waved, as one of the little girls went up to Linnie.

“Mr Cosma?”, the girl asked shyly, tugging on his pants, earning Linnie’s attention, “There’s a stranger.”

“Oh…well, don’t worry sweetheart. This is my son, Darren. You see I have children of my own too, but they usually don’t visit me at work.”, Linnie’s tone shifted towards the end of his sentence, implying that he didn’t expect to see Darren face him, “Darren, what are you doing here? I-I don’t think this is the best place to talk right now.”

“I know but it really couldn’t wait. Uh…geez.”, Darren started, “Look, I’m sorry about what I said back at the house. I…might have overreacted about the beer.”

“Well.”, Linnie started softly, before getting interrupted by the school bell, “Hold on Darren. Time for Recess everyone! Line up in a straight line please! Hands to yourselves!”

Linnie led Darren and the children towards the back of the building, walking them out towards the playground that looked somewhat similar to Darren’s childhood park, expect the metal slide was a plastic red, and there were more that just two swings. Once the kids were settled onto the playground, Linnie motioned for Darren to take a seat next to him on the bench, still frowning somewhat at Darren.

“What you said at home was very very hurtful.”, Linnie started, “You know how much I don’t like alcohol. However, I think I was more upset by the fact that you lied to me and then insulted me when I pointed it out.”

“Well I mean, it’s not really fair that I can’t have a simple drink when I’ve been in jail for 10,000 years ad almost 40,000! I mean, I’m not violent. I don’t use magic drunk, I-“

“I understand all that Darren.”, Linnie sighed, “But I just, don’t like it in my house, or at all really. If I could get rid of all the bars and liquor stores plaguing out community, I would in a heartbeat. It’s just…I don’t think I’ve quite gotten over what your mother has done.”

“I get that, but it’s not fair to me. Just because mom was irresponsible doesn’t mean I would be.”, Darren retorted, “And it’s not like I bought Vodka! It was literally just a pack of beer. I probably wasn’t even going to drink the whole thing in one day anyways.”

“I know…I’m sorry.”, Linnie apologized, catching Darren off guard, “I know you have every right to drink if you want to, as long as you’re not doing anything illegal…again. I’m sorry for overreacting at home, but I really wish you would understand why I will never approve of drinking and alcohol.”

Darren looked at his father with a sorrowful glance on his face. Nothing Nora had ever done to him or his siblings compared to all the torture she had delivered her own husband, especially once he came back. The countless times she would throw a vodka bottle in his direction, the drunken beatings, and all the insults she spat at him like chewing gum; all those interactions made Darren’s pale in comparison. Although he couldn’t say he himself wasn’t traumatized, Darren found it a miracle that Linnie hadn’t run off with the warden, or locked himself up in the nuthouse after putting up with Nora’s torment for so long.

“Darren, do you still want to live with me until we can get your apartment figured out?”, Linnie asked, breaking the silence, “If not, I can always see if Cosmo’s willing to help out-“

“No, that’s ok. Wouldn’t want to bother him.”, Darren mumbled, “I guess so. I mean, what other option could I possibly have? I’ll uh..make sure not to buy any beer the next time I’m at the store.”

“Well..”, Linnie started, “I guess a few beers would be ok. Again, I know I overreacted and I’m truly sorry. I really want to make this work Darren. Despite what you probably think of me, I do love you. It’s just..I think we need to really work on our communication skills.”

“And our trust issues”, Darren reminded. Linnie snorted.

“And our telling the truth issues.”, Linnie spat back, before sighing, “Listen, I’ll let you have your little beers as long as you’re in control of it, you don’t buy any hard liquor, No magic under the influence, AND you’re honest with me.”

“Yeah ok.”, Darren mumbled, embarrassed but somewhat relieved to finally see him and his father on the same page. Darren smirked, “Hey, does that mean I can get you to be my drinking buddy?”

“Oh please don’t push your luck”, Linnie said, though he laughed gently, “Still as troublesome as when you were a child. I guess I shouldn’t have expected any difference from you. I really missed you, you know.”

After a while, the two males sat and watched the children play until recess was over. After getting reprimanded by the secretary, Darren hugged Linnie goodbye, who told him he would see him back at home. Crashing on the green sofa at the apartment once more, Darren felt a sudden heaviness lift over him as his previous guilt had been washed cleaned. Even though they still had a lot of work to do in getting Darren’s life together, making peace with his father was a start at least.

#fairly oddparents #fanfic #drama

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echoesofidentity · 5 months

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You know you’re not at home before you even open your eyes. The sheets against your skin feel unfamiliar, the light seeping through your eyelids brighter than in your home, the temperature warmer. It takes your brain a few seconds to register this, and then the panic sets in. Your eyes open and you sit bolt upright, every muscle tensing with the surge of adrenaline. Your heart thuds against your ribcage like a panicked bird that has flown into a building. The room you find yourself in is entirely unfamiliar. The walls are an unobtrusive cream, and flowery, faded curtains are drawn across the window. The sheets on the bed are a simple white, sat atop a classic wooden bedframe. You stand from the bed and are hit with a sudden and intense wave of dizziness, so much so the room feels like it has tilted ninety degrees. The edges of your vision go black and fuzzy. You gasp and clutch at the edge of the mattress behind you, knees bent into a crouch, steadying yourself. You sit back down on the edge of the bed. You slowly survey the rest of the room, trying to keep the panic at bay with logic.

There is a wooden bedside table to your left; it has a framed photograph, a plastic water jug, and an empty plastic cup on it. You pick up the photo frame, an untameable shake in your hands. There are three people in the photo: an old woman, white hair and a beaming smile, a younger woman, heavily pregnant, and a small boy stood in front of them, no older than two or three with a mass of bright blond hair. You don’t recognise any of them. There are more photos on the wall opposite the bed. Some of them feature these same three people, others have more unfamiliar faces in them. There is fondness in their eyes. They look like family. Not your family, but someone’s family. What do they want with you? There are enough children in the photographs- they don’t need you, and you don’t want these strangers. For the first time since you awoke, you wonder where your own parents are. You wonder why they would ever let someone take you away from your safe, comforting home to this strange place, your parents who care for you so much, mother telling you she loves you every day, father ruffling your hair when he gets in from work every day with a bag of penny sweets from the shop if you’re lucky. You wonder if you’re ever going to see them again, or if you’ll be stuck in this strange, unhomely place forever, you wonder who’s going to feed you and wash your clothes and care for you, you wonder if you’ll ever get to feel safe in your mother’s arms again—

You start gasping for breath, deep, guttural cries heaving through your chest. The wet of tears covers your face and your hands when you put them over your mouth. Your chest aches with panic and sadness. You stand again, pulling at the nightdress these strangers must have dressed you in whilst you were unconscious. The thought disgusts you; you try to pull at the collar, lifting it up over your head in a desperate attempt to pull off the clothes from these people, these people who surely must be truly evil to take you from your family, even though their faces are so kindly, you know you can’t trust them, won’t let them win you over when they reveal themselves. You catch a glimpse of movement on the other side of the room and realise someone is on the other side of a window you had not noticed before. You jump back away from it, and the person on the other side does the same. They’re watching you. They’re watching you, but they don’t want you to know.

“Get away!” you scream, your voice cracking in panic, hands scrabbling at the collar of the nightdress. “Leave! Leave me! Go away from me!” You don’t see them move again. Who are they? Why do they want you? Why are they observing you, like some kind of science experiment? You begin to scream again, practically howling. You are surprised these sounds are even coming from you, they sound more animal than human.

There is a brief knock, and the door to your left suddenly swings open. You shoot backwards in a primal, instinctive fear.

“Mum?” The woman in the doorway says. You shake your head, eyes wide, hands shaking. “Mum, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe.” From those words, confusion begins to cloud your panic. The woman is unfamiliar, but her face looks kindly, her tone reassuring, her words comforting. At first you think she’s looking for her own mother, then you think she’s telling you she’s your mother- of course, you know she’s not. You know what your own mother looks like, they’re not going to be able to trick you that easily. Your brain is scrambling, trying to make sense of it, desperately looking into her eyes for an answer, when she speaks again.

“Mum, it’s okay. It’s me, Kathy. I told you last time we were coming to visit this morning, remember? Why don’t we get you dressed?” You breathe heavily, slowly nodding. You don’t remember, and you’re not sure who this woman is, but you know she can be trusted. She knows you, somehow, and she doesn’t want to hurt you.

“Yes. Yes, I- sorry. Of course,” you smile, a shaky, watery smile. She’s the woman from the photograph, only she’s no longer pregnant. Behind her in the corridor, you see a pushchair. A blond little boy is standing behind it, peeking around. He gives you a shy wave. You smile and wave back at him. You don’t know what’s going on, you don’t know who this woman is, but as she picks clothes for you from your wardrobe, as she chatters stories about people you don’t know, you feel safe. You know she loves you, and you know you love her too.

#my writing #prose #fiction #literary #literary fiction #contemporary

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miraclewattgets · 7 months

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