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googledocsdyke · 2 years

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what would have happened if bbc merlin ran for fifteen seasons do you think. answerer's choice if that means 2008 to jesus christ 2023 or 1997-2012 or anything in between.

sam first of all i need to let you know that i have been thinking about this ask for the last nine days. not to any productive effect just rolling it around in my head like a shiny little marble and not denting its surface whatsoever

secondly i'm going to roll with the original 2008 pilot date here because i TRULY do think that the concept "what if we did a show about arthurian legend but completely randomly and arbitrarily made the central idea of the show that magic is both illegal in camelot and a metaphor for homosexuality, an idea which is not even remotely present in the original myths that revolve around the CENTRAL premise that merlin is 1) an ancient man and 2) does magic with arthur's full knowledge consent and encouragement" could really ONLY have been pulled off in its particular homophobias of that era. well i wouldn't really know i was like doing multiplication tables in 2008. but it's just SO early 2000s network tv. also as previously established anthony head was doing buffy in 1997 and i refuse to sacrifice rupert giles for anything.

ANYWAYS. i really do think that a 2013-and-beyond merlin would have to finally sacrifice its core premise of "nobody KNOWS about merlin's MAGIC" and actually you know sort of conceptually attempt to deliver on what was promised from the pilot. again like merlin would still be terrible i need to make this what merlin WOULD be not what i would WANT it to be but i AM picturing like. arthur survives by the skin of his teeth in diamond of the day part ii. merlin carries his wounded body home and maybe like....... seasons 6-10 are The Slow And Painstaking Legalisation Of Sorcery Across Camelot. like i'm talking star wars prequels space bureaucracy level of vibes. merlin has never been particular interested in the "details" of how "a government" might "work" so i'm picturing like whole episodes dedicated to arthur pitching up to some town where his father enacted unspeakable crimes of heinous genocide and being like "right listen chaps! why don't we all just get along :)" and some pale limp-wristed local sorcerette gets all pissy at merlin specifically and tries to do murder about it and there's a Very Big Fight that lasts for Twenty Minutes except for merlin gets to use magic in front of arthur and the knights this time and it all ends with some brisk handshakes and "the treaty has been reached good job old chap :)" and they gallop on home with some light-to-medium horseback slapstick

merlin starts dressing differently throughout this, to signify that He Is A New Man Who Has Earned Arthur's Grudging Respect. his neckerchief is purple now and he's getting into burlap cloaks. the whole shenanigan is interspersed with Soft Touching Scenes of arthur Trying To Figure Out His Fraught Relationship With This New Magical Merlin where they like almost brush cheeks before somehow making physical fart noises about it. like they will play this queerbait fiddle till the cows come home. the phrase "two sides of the same coin" increases to a frequency of once every 2 episodes. nobody does anything about it.

season 11 gaius dies. it's DEVASTATING. people make gifsets upon gifsets about it. colin morgan does that little scrunchy thing with his eyes and hearts break everywhere and there's a whole episode musing on the nature of fatherhood. luckily nothing ever stays dead on [bbc merlin] and the entire 11th season the big bad is like The Notion Of Ghosts Themselves. they bring EVERYONE back. buddy they're running out of ideas i'm talking ghostmorgana, ghostgaius, ghostelyan ghosttom and of course our dear best friend ghostuther. they pull some tertiary arthurian character completely out of context to be the Ghost Mastermind and it's all very heavy-handed stuff about how you can never escape the bearing of the ones you love. web-weavers go wild.

season 12 ratings are dropping like a stone and someone points out that maybe it's like, not a great look that gwen is the only living woman and only living black character on the show and has been reduced to like a clothesrack for medieval gowns. so this season is SUPER gwen-centric. arthur gets stuck in an enchanted megabog or something so the whole season is just merlin desperately hunting down arthur (why mess with perfection?) while gwen rules the kingdom with the knights by her side. it's executed incredibly poorly, and everyone eats it up. she girlbosses her way to like finding an optimal way to redistribute albion's grain stores and gets really into forging weapons agai wait actually i love this. gotta circle back to make it worse.

season 13 big bad is some totally real guy who actually lived in a completely different period of history. quite possibly king louis the xivth. there's discourse about merlin's nascent francophobia. there's only one bed. there's a gag episode where the guest star is david walliams with the head and tail of a donkey. season 14 they REALLY double down on the hibernophobia for no reason and also, unrelatedly, ealdor burns down. the villain is like king mark of cornwall or sir lamorak. merlin is like a total mary sue by this point who can dissolve castles with a snap of his fingers. he still cleans arthur's armour.

season fifteen and GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH IS BACK BABY to engage in constant recording of arthur and merlin's exploits. the whole season is a VERY poorly conducted but nevertheless compelling debate around how "greatness" is to be "remembered" as albion crests into its age of great glory and good english hearts swell or whatever. there is no conflict until the final episode WHEN arthur is randomly stabbed by a farm boy raiding the food stores. merlin's powers are incapacitated and he dies in his arms as before, BUT NOT BEFORE, muttering and uttering the words, "i love you," sending the internet into a tailspin. sorry for doing supernatural again but it's the only way i can conceive of anything occurring, ever, for all of recorded time. just call me geoffrey of monmouth.

finally, and this is key: merlin never once apologises

#thank you for this ask i loved it. i want to keep refining this. with YOUR help. we could write a whole blueprint for #okay ok this is why peach shouldn't be down ever #jurisffiction #answered #i didn't proofread this

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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

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Privileges (Adrenaline Junkie Part 11)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: slight description of death/injury/illness, small description of homelessness, slight panic attack

Word count: 2,845

You and Arthur sat at the top of the cliff for a while sitting in silence. Glancing at the sun’s position, you guessed that it’s been a couple of hours. You continued to wait patiently for him to gather his courage that you knew he had. He looked conflicted.

The wild herds of livestock grazed peacefully below you, filling the silence with various moos and oinks. Various flowers colorfully dotted the green grass with multiple shades of vibrant blues, yellows, whites, and reds. The few clouds that littered the baby blue sky rolled endlessly above you, giving you a sense of peace and entertainment when you tried to make out mobs from the abstract shapes. The breeze lightly blew against your skin making you shiver every now and then from the feeling of it working its way through your feathers and hair. It was a perfect day for flying.

While you were waiting, you took out the snacks and water and handed them to Arthur. He originally didn’t want them, but you insisted he at least drink something today. He needed hydration if he was going to sit under the hot sun for hours. Every time he would take a deep breath (which was often), you would perk up and look at him ready to fully divert your attention towards him, only to look elsewhere when he would sigh. You were starting to lose your patience, but you knew you had to hold out for Arthur. That poor kid looks like he’s been through a lot in such a short amount of time.

You mindlessly munched on a granola bar. The chocolate and grain danced on your tastebuds in perfect harmony like an old married couple gleefully waltzing at their grandchild's wedding. Washing down the taste with water, you feel the cool liquid slither it’s way down your throat, relieving parts with it’s refreshing properties. You let your mind wander to your brothers.

Technoblade, ever the individualistic, nonconforming anarchist, lived a couple of hours outside the outskirts of the Dream SMP lands. You visited his house once and it was nice, but you really didn’t like the cold. Your metal prosthetic froze to your amputated wing and it took several painful hours of waiting by the fireplace for it to unstick to your feathers. Techno appeared indifferent of the situation, but you knew he cared deep down. He always was a softie for his family members.

Wilbur was in his element in L’manberg. Leadership came naturally for him, and you were immensely grateful for that. Without him, L’manberg would’ve gone down in history with dishonor. L’manberg was thriving under his just rule. Infrastructure was slowly starting to spread throughout the entirety of the small nation, making it easier to travel. You always flew everywhere, much to the disapproval of Wilbur (“(y/n), can’t you just use the roads I just built?”), so the infrastructure never really affected your daily life. You appreciated that he was working so hard to build his symphony up from measure one to the end. He was truly the heart and soul of his great nation.

Tommy was… well for lack of a better description, Tommy. You were incredibly proud of him, giving up his prized music discs was a gigantic sacrifice for him. It really showed how much he grew up from being the toddler you met a little over a decade ago. Your little brother wreaked havoc in L’manberg, but a good kind of havoc. Tommy and his partner in crime Tubbo were the ones that eased tension during the War. Even after the War, they always actively searched for adventure. They made people smile as they would run past, they knew they were in for a show later on in the day. Tommy and Tubbo gave the nation life outside of its physical growth, they were the morale of the nation.

You supposed that you were somewhat important to L’manberg, but not as important as your brothers. Sure, they used your inventions to help fight Dream and his goons, but they would’ve been able to do that without your creations. Though, it was satisfying to see the looks on their faces when the L’manbergians whipped out the portable TNT launchers and automatic crossbows to absolutely decimate them. You didn’t really supply L’manberg with physical or morale growth, you were just… there. In your cramped workshop. Tinkering endlessly with inventions that you hoped would make people’s lives easier.

“(Y/n), I’m ready.”

You jumped a little, turning to him and giving him what you hoped was an encouraging smile. He took a deep breath, looking anywhere but at you.

“It started when I was seven. Mama and Papa were sick. We didn’t have enough money to pay for a doctor, so me and my brother Hugh were trying our best to take care of them. We weren’t good enough though, they died after a couple weeks.

“People came to take us away from Mama and Papa, but Hugh told me to run away as far as I could. He told me that he’d be right behind me. So, we ran to the woods. He said that he knew a few people that lived there that’d be able to help. We lived with them for three years, they were nice people.

“One day, they needed supplies so me and Hugh went to go find a cave. The cave we found was really pretty, it had tons of redstone and iron. We went deeper and deeper til we found a huger cave. It had tons of feathers there and some red brown stuff on the walls.” You felt a shiver run down your spine as you realized that those were probably yours. You wondered if they were still down there.

His voice started to get strained and wobbly. “A-and we saw it. Hugh told me to hide and not make any noise so I did and… and it killed him.”

Tears steadily dribbled down Arthur’s freckled cheeks as his lip wobbled and his nose turned as red as his hair. He was starting to hyperventilate. You reached over and pulled Arthur into a tight winged hug. You gently rubbed his back and whispered reassurances into his ear.

“It’s alright Arthur, please breathe with me. In,” you took a deep breath, “and out.” You let out the breath. Even though his breath was steady a few minutes later, you still kept him in a tight hug. It absolutely devastated you that he went through so much in his short life. He started sobbing again.

“(Y/n), it took his soul! Hugh’s still down there with it!” He blubbered out.Your hand froze on his shoulder.

What. It can’t take souls, could it? That’s not possible, right? …Right? You were going to have to ask Philza about it, but Arthur is your first and only priority right now. His loud sobs were slightly muffled by your shoulder as you felt your shirt get slightly wet with his tears. You did your best to comfort him, but you weren’t used to comforting a child that just lost his only family.

“I’ll never let that happen to you again. I promise.”

You sat with Arthur protectively wrapped in your arms until you saw that the sun was going to set in the next few minutes. Not good, not good at all. You looked down at Arthur, his eyes were closed in a deep sleep, taking deep shuddering breaths in and out. Good, you needed to get him out of there and you didn’t want to traumatize him anymore than he already is by showing him how mobs react when you’re near them.

You hastily packed up your stuff before taking off as quickly as you could without waking the sleeping boy. You flew as fast as you could through the air, keeping a tight grip on Arthur as you cut through the darkening sky. You could see zombies, skeletons, spiders, and the occasional enderman below you. Luckily, they didn’t notice you as you flew overhead.

Just as the lit up house entered your line of sight, you felt something whiz past you accompanied by a strong gust of wind. Looking down, you realized that it was a skeleton. It shooting an arrow garnered the attention of the surrounding mobs as they turned their heads to look directly at you. Shit.

You pushed yourself to fly faster and twisted your body so that if an arrow were to land, it would hit you and not Arthur. You felt the air around you shift as a myriad of arrows were shot at you. Dodging the best you could, you glanced down at Arthur. Still asleep. Good, he didn’t need to see this.

Getting closer to the house, you lowered yourself to the ground fully and pushed your feet against the grass, running for dear life as you heard a fwoosh of air right next to your ear. FInally, you reached the doorknob and swung the door open. Flinging yourself and Arthur inside, you slammed the door behind you, hearing the banging of arrows hitting the wood.

You leaned against the door panting and closed your eyes, clutching Arthur closer to you in relief. You opened your eyes and peered down at his face. Still asleep? How much of a deep sleeper was this kid? Maybe he was just extremely emotionally tired from earlier. That’s probably how he impossibly slept through all that.

You pushed yourself off the door and headed up to Wilbur’s, well Arthur’s room so you could put him to bed. You peeled the covers back and placed him gently on the mattress. You covered his body with the heavy comforter and tucked him in. His face visibly relaxed and a slight smile quirked onto his lips. You took a deep breath and stood there watching him. That was certainly a close one. Way too close for your tastes. You almost got him killed because you lost track of time.

You swept the bangs out of his eyes and left the room, gently closing the door behind you. You tiredly drug yourself down the stairs to the kitchen so you could at least grab a small snack before passing out in the comfort of your bed. Today was just not your day. At least you’d get a decent night’s sleep tonight.

Walking into the kitchen, you saw Philza sitting at the table looking at you with… was that relief or anger? Or a mix? He stood up and quickly walked over to you. You tensed up, fully expecting to get yelled at, only to feel him hug you. You melted into his touch and felt small tears prick at the corner of your eyes. You really needed a hug after today.

“Don’t ever do that again. I don’t care that you’re an adult, do you know how worried I was? I thought you and Arthur got hurt. He’s just a child and you’re on your last life (y/n). You need to be more careful.”

You didn’t say anything. You just buried your face into his shoulder and let out a silent sob. “I was so scared Arthur was gonna get hurt, I didn’t know what to do.”

The emotion you were holding in all day from sleep deprivation and lack of nutrients completely spilled out. You felt pathetic, crying in your dad’s arms like you were a kid again. He rubbed soothing circles on your back and led you to the couch where you both sat in each other’s arms. Once you calmed down, you pulled away and wiped at your eyes, facing away from him so he didn’t see your weakness.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t sleep at all last night and everything just… came out.”

“Hey,” he chided gently, making you look at him, “don’t apologize for feeling emotions. You were bottling it all up weren’t you?”

You nodded shamefully. “...And what did I tell you and your brothers about holding it in?”

“Not to do it.” Your croaky voice cracked out.

He smiled at you. “That’s my kid. Did you talk to Arthur?”

“Yeah. He’s actually alone, Dad. He doesn’t have anyone out there for him. And he… he said that they saw my feathers and blood down there on the walls and floor. Saw his brother get killed right in front of him… mentioned something about The Warden stealing his brother’s soul? It can’t do that right?”

You were met with silence. “...Right? Dad, you’re scaring me.”

“Yes, The Warden takes the souls of it’s dead. It’s how they live so long, they trap the souls in their chests and feast on the lifespans in rations until the soul is completely integrated into it’s very being.”

So that’s what the screaming white wisps that haunted your nightmares were. They were the souls of the dead. They were screaming in agony when The Warden killed you, so you thought they still held onto their humanity. You remembered hearing thousands of screams echoing off from the stony walls of the dark cave. Shuttering, you remembered how some of the souls stared at you in desperation and despair.

“...So the souls are trapped with it forever?”

He nodded, not looking at you. The Warden killed you in your first life, why were you still… still you? It doesn’t make sense.

You swallowed thickly. “Then why didn’t it take mine?”

“I don’t know hun, I wish I could tell you why. I thought you died for good before you respawned. I thought it took your soul.” His voice cracked slightly at the end.

You pulled him into a hug. “It didn’t and I’m still here. That’s the important part, Dad. I’m still here.”

Continuing to give him comfort, you trailed off as you remembered your first death. What could’ve prevented it from taking your soul like the rest? You blanched thinking about what it would’ve been like to be stuck with The Warden indefinitely. Trapped and suffering until it was fully integrated into it’s monstrous body for the rest of eternity. It sounded like hell on Earth. Before today, you thought death was the absolute worst outcome, but you were mistaken. You were given the mercy, no the privilege, of death that day.

Was it because of the stone platform you landed on? That must’ve been it, there’s no other way you could’ve respawned if you landed anywhere else; the stone platform was the only space you could’ve landed that was far enough above the ground to bleed out. You remembered how your shattered ribs would grind together as you endlessly sobbed and the hot blood dripping off from your forehead and wing warming up your rapidly cooling form. Dying like that was a privilege compared to what the lost souls of the miners endured. You didn’t know how long they’ve been in there, but you still would rather die like that a thousand times over than have to be trapped inside that thing for all of eternity.

Your thought process was interrupted as Philza pulled away and wiped the tears from his eyes. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was slightly blotchy, it’s been a while since you’ve seen him like that. He’s always been strong for you and your brothers.

“...Why don’t we grab some dinner before we go to bed, I assume you didn’t eat…?”

His sheepish look gave you all the answers you needed. “There’s some leftover mushroom soup we could eat.”

You stood up and gave him a bright smile. “Let’s dig in then, I’m starving!”

He laughed as you pulled him off the couch and into the kitchen. “Did you eat anything after breakfast?”

You paused slightly then continued to pour the soup into two bowls. “...That’s not important.”

He pursed his lips. “(Y/n).”

“I had like a quarter of a granola bar if that counts.”

“(Y/n) you went through the day with only half your breakfast and a few cups of coffee in your system?”

“I know, I know, not healthy. But that still doesn’t take away from the fact that you didn’t eat dinner either.” You slid the bowl over to him across the table.

His eyes narrowed in thought before he sighed in defeat. “Touché.”

You snorted and started to eat your soup. You hummed as the earthy flavor shimmied around in your mouth comforting you after today’s events. You automatically felt better after eating. You always found comfort in food. Before you knew it, both you and Philza were done with your dinners and were leaning back in your chairs. You felt your eyes start to droop against your will.

“Why don’t you go to bed and I can clean up. You look like you’re gonna pass out.” He snickered. You hummed in agreement, too tired to argue and murmured out a quiet “thanks. G’night, love ya.” You drug your feet up the stairs and plop down on your bed, passing out instantly as soon as your head hit the pillow.

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thedistantdusk · 3 years

Text

Thanks to @jenoramaca @gryffindorhealer and @secretkeeper13 for the quick beta work!

A gift for my beloved @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey.

CW: Language and domestic fluff

______

Trying

From the second he walks through the door, Harry can sense that something’s changed. It takes him thirty minutes to suss out why.

In retrospect, the smells coming from the kitchen probably tipped him off. Or maybe it was Ginny’s distracted hum, followed by the tinkling of plates and cutlery. Perhaps it was the fact that she prepared a full dinner, long before he even got home.

Nonetheless, he doesn’t worry about it too much as he greets her with a kiss, his hands cupping her chin. When he sits across from her at the table, there’s something furtive and curious lurking behind her eyes, but their meal is so peppered with normalcy that he doesn’t bring it up. They banter and laugh about Luna and Robards and wonder what they’ll bring to the Burrow on Sunday.

But when they’ve reached the stage of chasing stray noodles around their plates, Ginny finally clears her throat… and just like that, the nearly imperceptible shift he’d sensed earlier turns into something very perceptible, indeed. “Can I erm. Talk to you about something?”

He pauses, mid-bite, and takes her in. Her lip’s worried between her teeth, her hands fidgeting. Even her hair, normally strewn about her shoulders or parted to the side with a sort of effortless grace, is tied back and resting low at the base of her neck.

Ginny’s not normally this… serious. And he’d be lying to say it didn’t frighten him.

So he blurts the first thing that comes to mind. “Who died?”

There’s a half-second pause in which his chest clenches, his stomach churns. Could it be Molly? Or Arthur? George hasn’t been great either, not that—

But Ginny just reels back, confused… and it’s not until then that Harry realizes he’s really, really misread something.

“I… w-what?” she stammers, brow furrowing. She peers at him for a pained moment before her face relaxes into a look of understanding. “Oh. Oh! For fuck’s sake,” she mutters, rubbing her forehead. “I guess I’m thicker than usual, should’ve known you’d read it that way.”

Harry snorts. “Erm… darling, as many things as I legitimately don’t understand, I’m fairly sure this one isn’t on me.”

Ginny ignores this. “Did you seriously think that something dreadful happened and I’d just spring that on you in the middle of your bolognese?” Her lips twitch into a smirk. “Here’s some pasta. By the way, a fire burned a puppy orphanage to the ground. Could you pass the salt?”

He gives her a plain stare. Nice try. Years ago, he might’ve taken the bait and chased her down that rabbit hole. They might’ve had an hour-long, spirited debate on the existence of puppy-specific orphanages. But after three years of marriage, he knows better.

And she knows he knows.

Ginny finally draws a resigned breath. “No,” she says slowly. “No one died, ok? Or is even… I don’t know, sick or infirmed or threatened.” She waves her hand and continues babbling. “Last I checked, even Muriel’s still going strong, somehow. I’m jealous of that, you know— being old enough to just say whatever the fuck you’d like and have no one question it because—”

“—Ginny,” he cuts across on an exasperated sigh. “As chuffed as I am to chat about Muriel all night, I’d really like to know what’s bothering you. Please?”

There’s another pause as she bites her lip. Then, in one swift motion, she attempts to rise to her feet and push her chair in on her way over to him.

But somewhere along the way, something gets crossed— and Harry watches in bewildered horror as her foot catches on the leg of the chair. Then, right in front of his eyes, she lets out a startled gasp, her arms flailing, before she lands with a thump.

He’s out of his seat and on the floor beside her before he even realizes she’s cried out in pain and surprise. “Are you ok?” he demands, pushing her jeans up around her ankle… her tricky ankle, the one she hurt rather badly at the playoffs last month. Hm. It's a bit red.

Honestly, she hasn’t been this clumsy since she was 10 years old and near a butter dish. This does nothing to alleviate his fears that there’s something Very Wrong.”

“It’s not even my ankle that hurts,” Ginny grits, pushing up on her palms. “Wait— Harry, what are you—”

“Need to ask Gwenog,” he says urgently, running to the other side of the table for his wand. “She said that if anything happens to your ankle to tell her straight away, remember? Better safe than—”

She scoffs. “Seriously, Harry, I’m fine! I didn’t even land on my—”

He arches an eyebrow. “Have you suddenly forgotten the Puddlemere match? When your ankle broke clean through the skin?” Even now, the memory makes him shudder. “You heard Gwenog— without magic, you might not have walked again.”

“But there was magic,” she says, almost pleading. “And seriously, I’m fine!”

Harry finds he has limited patience for her heroics, though, while she’s sprawled out on the floor and nursing a bruise on her arse. “Gwenog’s instructions were quite clear,” he says firmly. “Having a pro athlete as a wife is a group task. It’s taxing on your body. I’ve got to make sure there’s enough of you left to enjoy our lives.”

Ginny clears her throat. “Erm… but what if you… haven’t actually got a pro athlete as a wife. Technically speaking.”

Harry swallows. He’s sure he’s heard her wrong. “What?”

With a wince, she adjusts herself against the wall. “I’m sorry… this isn’t how I’d planned to tell you. I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?”

Normally, Harry might press a bit harder. Normally he’d demand answers— and now. But as he peers at her on the floor, there’s something soft and uncertain behind her eyes… something timid. So he decides to do something he knows he’s good at— something she doesn’t let many other people do: take care of her.

With a sigh, he scoops her from the floor and brings her to the sofa. Then he props her against the pillows, putting her legs across his lap.

And he waits.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, peering at her downcast face, before she finally says it in a rush.

“Iwanttohaveababy.”

It comes on a whisper. A breathed admission. He knows, just from her expression, that she’s never said it aloud.

But he must have misunderstood. There’s no way he’s not projecting, inserting the reality he wants instead. “Could you… could you repeat that?” he manages, his voice gruff and shaken.

Ginny just sits up straighter; her cheeks as red as her hair. “I want to have a baby,” she repeats, the confidence building with every word.

Oh. Looks like he was right after all.

Harry blinks at the carpet, his head spinning, mortified with the tears that have sprung, unbidden, to the corners of his eyes.

A baby. Their baby. A smile plays at his lips as he stares at her ankle in distracted bliss. He’s been ready for ages… longer than anyone he knows. It’s hard to remember a time when he didn’t want a family with her. When he didn’t want to watch her grow and change. To become more beautiful with every passing day until…

He swallows back another round of tears; he’d never forgive himself if he forced this… if he swayed her, in any way, despite what he wants so badly it squeezes his insides.

“But what about quidditch?” His voice cracks; he clears his throat to cover it. “Honestly Ginny, I’ll wait, as long as you’d like. We’re young. Think of what you’d deal with, loads of assumptions and press and comments.”

She turns to him with an arched brow. “And since when have I ever cared about comments? Since when have you cared about comments?”

He spreads his palms in resignation; it was a particularly weak argument. “I know. I just… don’t want to make your life more difficult.”

“Well...” She draws a deep breath and peers down at her nails. “I’ve erm. Actually quit the Harpies, all by myself.” Her cheeks begin to redden again. “I’ve already sent the owl and everything. Resigned. No intent to return next season.”

Oh.

That’s what she meant, then, about not being married to a professional athlete. Harry blinks a few more times as she plows through an explanation that could honestly be something from a dream.

“I’ve… I’ve just been thinking about it. A lot,” she adds, focus returning to her cuticles. “The Harpies are out for the rest of the season— that fucking Puddlemere match and that bullshit ref.” She glares at the pillow to her right. “Nothing like blind favoritism. Fucking prick should’ve been fired!”

All Harry can manage is a feeble chuckle, his hand moving to caress her knee. This time, he can’t bring himself to stop her spiral.

“Maybe it’s not just that match, though,” she admits, rubbing her ankle. “It’s also just… so much bloody work. I’ve been at it three whole seasons, you know? I’m a bit tired of missing birthdays. And family events. And only dreaming of bludgers and snitches. And attending the mandatory press interviews to avoid getting fined, and then giving polite answers to personal questions when I really just want to hex them, and—”

Harry laughs. “I think Sandra Richardson might disagree about the polite answers bit, darling.”

Ginny gives a dignified sniff and continues as if she hasn’t heard him. “Annnyway,” she says, toying with a piece of lint. “I… feel like I’m ready to move on. So.” Her face splits into a grin as she gestures to the corridor. “On with it.”

He clears his throat. “As much as I’d love to take you up on that, I’m confused about how this relates to quitting your job. You could’ve kept playing. Or—”

“—Why is it so hard to believe this is something I want?”

There’s a beat. He doesn’t have a good answer.

“What if I wanted to quit before I got pregnant?” she continues, her tone growing more demanding. “What if I was done with playing, regardless — and genuinely wanted to have children? Your children.”

She lets out an incredulous laugh, tossing her hands in the air. “I have to say, Harry, this feels an awful lot like you’re doubting what I actually want to fit a narrative of what you think I want.” Her eyes narrow again. “Is that really respecting my wishes?”

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. He’d never thought about it like that before… how it might be insulting, really, to question what she’s ready for. He laces their fingers together, feeling properly chastened. “I’m sorry. I never meant to… suggest you don’t know what you want. Or something.”

He hears the timid smile in her voice as she squeezes his hand back. “Do you still want a baby, then?” she asks. “Or are you just in it for the practice?”

A smile creeps across his face, his eyes still focused on her hands. “I… think you know the answer to that one.”

“Well, I’m not sure I do,” Ginny says flatly. “Because I just told someone who wants two million babies that I’m ready to carry his first child. Forgive me if I expected a bit more excited fanfare than acting like I drowned your kitten.”

“What’s with you and baby animals today?” he murmurs, inching her pant leg a bit higher.

“Wonder why I’ve got babies on the brain,” she quips, raising her eyebrows. “Maybe because I want one.”

Harry releases a resigned sigh. She’s clearly done playing. “Honestly…” He bites his lip. “If you’re sure that’s what you want, I’m obviously on board. Obviously.” His eyes flit to hers. “I just… I don’t want to be responsible for something you end up regretting.”

It’s the truth of the matter, really; the thing that tugs at him the hardest. The fear he’d ever burden her… the worry he’d ever make her less than happy.

Ginny gives him a small smile, her hand coming to cup his jaw. “I’m going to take that as a weird, sad Harry thing instead of an attempt to remove my womanly agency.” She narrows her eyes. “But that’s your final warning.”

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s on his feet in a split-second, gathering her into his arms with the stupidest grin he’s ever worn. Trying. Is that what they call this? Are they actually properly trying now?

“Get used to this,” she says as he strides into the bedroom. “Because once you knock me up— on purpose, mind— I’m going to request a lot more transportation.”

“I think I can live with that,” Harry murmurs against her lips, draping her across the bed.

And to avoid a well-deserved slap, he doesn’t say the final bit: As long as you can live with me.

#harry/ginny #harry/ginny fanfic #hinny #harry potter #harry and ginny

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satansjit · 4 years

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Reflections on the Color of My Skin

By Neil DeGrasse Tyson

Wednesday, June 3, 2020

My colleague had other encounters with the law that he shared later that night, but his first story started a chain reaction among us. One by one we each recalled multiple incidents of being stopped by the police. None of the accounts were particularly violent or life-threatening, although it was easy to extrapolate to highly publicized cases that were. One of my colleagues had been stopped for driving too slowly. He was admiring the local flora as he drove through a New England town in the autumn. Another had been stopped because he was speeding, but only by five miles per hour. He was questioned and then released without getting a ticket. Still another colleague had been stopped and questioned for jogging down the street late at night.

As for me, I had a dozen different encounters to draw from. There was the time I was stopped late at night at an underpass on an empty road in New Jersey for having changed lanes without signaling. The officer told me to get out of my car and questioned me for ten minutes around back with the headlights of his squad car brightly illuminating my face. Is this your car? Yes. Who is the woman in the passenger seat? My wife. Where are you coming from? My parent’s house. Where are you going? Home. What do you do for a living? I am an astrophysicist at Princeton University. What’s in your trunk? A spare tire, and a lot of other greasy junk. He went on to say that the “real reason” why he stopped me was because my car’s license plates were much newer and shinier than the 17-year-old Ford that I was driving. The officer was just making sure that neither the car nor the plates were stolen.

Among my other stories, I had been stopped by campus police while transporting my home supply of physics textbooks into my newly assigned office in graduate school. They had stopped me at the entrance to the physics building where they asked accusatory questions about what I was doing. It was 11:30 p.m. Open-topped boxes of graduate math and physics textbooks filled the trunk. And I was transporting them into the building, which left me wondering how often that scenario shows up in police training videos.

We went on for two more hours. But before we retired for the night we searched for common denominators among the stories. We had all driven different cars—some were old, others were new, some were undistinguished, others were high performance imports. Some police stops were in the daytime, others were at night. Taken one-by-one, each encounter with the law could be explained as an isolated incident where, in modern times, we all must forfeit some freedoms to ensure a safer society for us all. Taken collectively, however, you would think the cops had a vendetta against physicists because that was the only profile we all had in common. In this parade of automotive stop-and-frisks, one thing was for sure, the stories were not singular, novel moments playfully recounted. They were common, recurring episodes. How could this assembly of highly educated scientists, each in possession of the PhD—the highest academic degree in the land—be so vulnerable to police inquiry in their lives? Maybe the police cued on something else. Maybe it was the color of our skin. The conference I had been attending was the 23rd meeting of the National Society of Black Physicists. We were guilty not of DWI (Driving While Intoxicated), but of other violations none of us knew were on the books: DWB (Driving While Black), WWB (Walking While Black), and of course, JBB (Just Being Black).

None of us were beaten senseless. None of us were shot. But what does it take for a police encounter to turn lethal? On average, police in America kill more than 100 unarmed black people per year. Who never made it to our circle? I suspect our multi-hour conversation would be rare among most groups of law-abiding people.

As I compose this, about 10,000 chanting protestors are filing past my window in Manhattan. And because of the intermittent looting and related violence, the curfew for this evening has been pushed earlier, to 8 p.m., from 11 p.m. in the preceding days. The most common placard was “Black Lives Matter.” Many others simply displayed the name George Floyd, who was handcuffed face-down on the street with a police officer’s knee on the back of his neck, applied with a force of at least half the officer’s body weight, resulting in his death. Curious irony that NFL star Colin Kaepernick offered a simple demonstration of care and concern for the fate of black people in the custody of police officers, by taking a knee during the Star Spangled Banner before football games. (One media outlet mangled the moment by describing him as protesting the national anthem.) The outrage against his silent act of concern for a national problem persisted through the 2017 season when, as a free agent, he went unsigned by any team to continue his livelihood.

So, we went from a peaceful knee to the ground to a fatal knee to the neck.

The way peaceful protesters and the press are being shoved, maced, tear-gassed, pepper-sprayed, and tackled in the streets of our cities (when the police should have focused on arresting the looters) you would think the protestors were doing something illegal or un-American. But, of course, the U.S. Constitution has something to say about it:

Congress shall make no law … abridging the freedom … of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

Which amendment was that? The First Amendment. So, the founders of this nation felt quite strongly about it, empowering one to declare that protesting for redress of grievances is one of the most American things you can do. If you are the police, pause and reflect how great is the country whose Constitution endorses peaceful protests.

What do we actually expect from our police officers? To protect the peace and arrest the bad guys, I presume. But also, to be armed with lethal force that they can use when necessary. That part clearly requires training on how and when to use (and not use) the power of your weapons. The rigorous Minneapolis Police Academy training lasts 4 months. The slightly more rigorous NYC Police Academy lasts 6 months.

Yet to become a certified pastry chef at a prestigious culinary academy requires 8 months. The perfect croissant demands it. So maybe, just maybe, police recruits could benefit from a bit more training before becoming officers.

In 1991, Rodney King (age 25) was struck dozens of times, while on the ground, by four LAPD officers, with their batons, after being tased. The grainy 1990s video of that went media-viral, inducing shock and dismay to any viewer.

But I wasn’t shocked at all.

Based on what I already knew of the world, my first thought was, “We finally got one of those on tape.” Followed by, “Maybe justice will be served this time.” Yes, that’s precisely my first thought. Why? Since childhood my parents instilled in me and my siblings, via monthly, sometimes weekly lessons, rules of conduct to avoid getting shot by the police. “Make sure that when you get stopped, the officer can always see both of your hands.” “No sudden movements.” “Don’t reach into your pockets for anything without announcing this in advance.” “When you move at all, tell the officer what you are about to do.” At the time, I am a budding scientist in middle school, just trying to learn all I can about the universe. I hardly ever think about the color of my skin—it never comes up when contemplating the universe. Yet when I exit my front door, I’m a crime suspect. Add to this the recently coined “White Caller Crime,” where scared white people call the police because they think an innocent black person is doing something non-innocent, and it’s a marvel that any of us achieve at all.

The rate of abuse? Between one and five skin-color-instigated incidents per week, for every week of my life. White people must have known explicitly if not implicitly of this struggle. Why else would the infamous phrase, “I’m free, white, and 21” even exist? Here is a compilation of that line used in films across the decades. Yes, it’s offensive. But in America, it’s also truthful. Today’s often-denied “white privilege” accusation was, back then, openly declared.

The deadly LA riots associated with the Rodney King incident are often remembered as a response to the beating. But no. Los Angeles was quiet for 13 months afterward. Everyone had confidence, as did I, that the video was just the kind of evidence needed to finally bring about a conviction in the abuse of power. But that’s not what came to pass. The riots were a response to the acquittal of the four officers in the incident, and not to the incident itself. And what is a riot if not the last act of helpless desperation.

The 1989 film by Spike Lee “Do the Right Thing,” which explored 1980s black-white-police tensions in Brooklyn, New York, ends with a dedication to the families of six people. Eleanor Bumpers (age 66), Michael Griffith (age 23), Arthur Miller (age 30), Edmund Perry (age 17), Yvonne Smallwood (age 28), and Michael Stewart (age 25). All are black. One was killed by a white mob. The rest were unarmed and shot by police or otherwise died while in police custody. All deaths occurred within the 10 years preceding film, and all occurred in New York City. None of the police-induced deaths resulted in convictions, as continues to be true for 99% of all police killings.

We know of these events because they each ended in death. But even so, back then, it was just local news. Was this just NYC’s problem? I asked myself. But for every police-related death anywhere, how many unarmed victims are shot by police and don’t die, or are wrongfully maimed or injured? Most of those cases didn’t even make the local news. But if you lived there, you knew. We all knew. For what it’s worth, NYC now has the lowest police-caused death rate per capita among the sixty largest cities in the US. Is it that extra two months training in the Police Academy?

The corrosion and ultimate erosion of our confidence in the legal system in cases such as these, even in the face of video evidence, has spawned a tsunami of protests. With sympathetic demonstrations across the United States and around the world. If the threat of prison time for this behavior does not exist—acting as a possible deterrent—then the behavior must somehow stop on its own.

Some studies show that the risk of death for an unarmed person at the hands of the police is approximately the same no matter the demographics of who gets arrested. Okay. But if your demographic gets stopped ten times more than others, then your demographic will die at ten times the rate. I suppose we first have to get the bias factor down to zero, but then there’s still the matter of police killing unarmed suspects, white people included.

I talk a lot. But I don’t talk much about any of this, or the events along this path-of-most-resistance that have shaped me. Why? Because throughout my life I’ve used these occasions as launch-points to succeed even more. Yes, I parlayed the persistent rejections of society, which today might be called micro-aggressions, into reservoirs of energy to achieve. I learned that from my father, himself active in the Civil Rights Movement during the 1950s and 1960s.

In a way, I am who I am precisely because countless people, by their actions or inactions, said I could never be what I am. But what if you don’t have this deep supply of fuel? What becomes of you? Who from historically disenfranchised communities, including women, LGBTQ+, and anybody of color, are missing—falling shy of their full potential because they ran out of energy and gave up trying.

Are things better today than yesterday? Yes. But one measure of this truth is a bit perverse. Decades ago, unarmed black people getting beaten or killed by the police barely merited the local news. But now it’s national news—even breaking news—no matter where in the country it occurs.

So how to change all this? Organizations have surely assembled demands for police departments. Here, I offer a list of my own, for policy experts to consider:

Extend police academies to include months of cultural awareness and sensitivity training that also includes how not to use lethal force.

Police officers should all be tested for any implicit bias they carry, with established thresholds of acceptance and rejection from the police academy. We all carry bias. But most of us do not hold the breathing lives of others in our hands when influenced by it.

During protests, protect property and lives. If you attack nonviolent protesters you are being un-American. And you wouldn’t need curfews if police arrested looters and not protesters.

If fellow officers are behaving in a way that is clearly unethical or excessively violent, and you witness this, please stop them. Someone will get that on video, and it will give the rest of us confidence that you can police yourselves. In these cases, our trust in you matters more to a civil society than how much you stick up for each other.

And here’s a radical idea for the Minneapolis Police Department—why not give George Floyd the kind of full-dress funeral you give each other for dying in the line of duty? And vow that such a death will never happen again.

Lastly, when you see black kids, think of what they can be rather than what you think they are.

Respectfully Submitted

Neil deGrasse Tyson — trying hard to Keep Looking Up.

#neil degrasse tyson #reflections on the color of my skin #reflections #black lives matter #justiceforfloyd #blm movement #blm #support blm #science #george floyd #justice for black lives #justice for poc #no justice no peace #know justice know peace #white silence is violence #physics #amerikkka #blacklivesmatter

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lit-in-thy-heart · 3 years

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you know what, what's the point of being on this platform if you don't get to bellow into the void about your interests in the hope of finding someone with the same interest?

in light of this, let me inflict a lowdown of the victorian literature (mostly novels because poetry is difficult to collate) that i've read for my module this year upon my mutuals

i'll do a separate one for vampire novels and reblog with the link

because what are the victorians without vampires? straight

bleak house (dickens): what a ride that was! yes, it was nearly a thousand pages and, yes, some chapters i was like can we move on please, but that's dickens for you. honestly, i loved it. if you're looking for thinly-veiled lesbianism, this is the book for you (esda all the way, if they even have a ship name). unfortunately i already knew one of the plot twists due to watching dickensian five years before, but there are plenty more to go around! if you can get through the first chapter describing nothing but fog and the law courts, you're in for one hell of a treat -- just don't google anything about it until you've finished because you will get spoiled (or don't share a house with me, where i'll tell you the entire plot as i'm reading it). definitely recommend, but marking it down for the heteronormativity with allan. (9.5/10)

villette (c. brontë): where to fucking start. i, quite frankly, do not care for charlotte brontë, and when reading the earlier novel agnes grey by anne, i could see some more things that charlotte has filched for this travesty. no victorian novel is going to be without problems, but this one was xenophobic, ableist and, of course, racist. the protagonist doesn't really give anything away, which is meant to make her more mysterious, but it just renders her an empty vessel. oh, and she tells you stuff that she's figured out waaaaaay after she says she's figured it out, a bit like she's allowing you to feel smart for making a connection before going 'oh yeah i knew that like twelve chapters ago, keep up'. some of the passages are really striking and there's maybe one character who's likeable but that's about it. i'd say it's more a story of omission than repression tbh. (4/10)

janet's repentance (eliot): wait, have i even finished this? no, no, i have not. it's fine, i wasn't going to tell you the ending anyway. i did get hooked eventually, there were just a LOT of names thrown around in the first few chapters, and a word that i didn't know was used frequently (turns out it was a name for the followers of this guy). i did get strong hester prynne/arthur dimmesdale vibes from some of the main characters, but janet is a very sympathetic character which, after reading villette, was nice. slightly depressing in some places, but a good enough read if you're not cramming it in the day before your tutorial, because it is mildly dense. (7/10)

the wonderful adventures of mrs seacole in many lands (seacole): not what i'd been expecting to read on my module, what with it being a biography, but enjoyable nonetheless. horrible histories lied to me, though, she was in her 40s/50s when she treated people in the crimean war, not in her 20s, but that's minor. it was actually quite funny??? like she was very reluctant to give away to give away her age and almost slipped up a couple of times, and also made some very biting remarks about people who were passing comment on her skin colour. for a biography, it wasn't hugely biographical, in that she was married for what seemed all of five minutes before her husband died, when in fact they were married for several years, but if you want an in-depth depiction of war, this is for you. not what i'd usually read, but some of the descriptions are so vivid that it does read like a novel in places, though sometimes the descriptions were so detailed that i did tune out at odd intervals. (9/10)

the happy prince and other stories (wilde): if you're feeling low, don't read these. don't. especially not 'the nightingale and the rose', because that was honestly heartbreaking. really well-written, some passages were just beautiful, i just wasn't in the right headspace to fully appreciate it. it also has a lot of death, i should probably explicitly say that. (8/10)

agnes grey (a. brontë): chef's kiss, honestly. if i'd read this last year then i think it definitely would have hit a lot harder, what with agnes moving away from home for the first time and struggling with loneliness around people who she is different from. beautifully written, i'm irritated at myself for not reading it sooner, even though i've owned a copy for about four years or so. agnes does come across as a bit wet sometimes, but those moments are rare and far between, she's overall a resilient character who is trying to make her own way in the world. seeing as i managed to get through the whole thing and didn't lose focus on what i was reading, i rate it higher than jane eyre (which is a rip-off of this anyway). we stan anne. though i am marking it down for the underdeveloped romantic relationship that just pops up (9.5/10)

now for some old classics that weren't taught on my module, but i can't not mention them

a tale of two cities (dickens): this was my first dickens book and oh my word what a book. yeah, okay, lucie is a bit of a wet dishcloth and has basically no personality, but there is definitely something there between her and her maid. sydney is my baby and oh so gorgeously dramatic ("you have kindled me, heap of ashes that i am, into fire"), which was perfect for the pangs of unrequited love. the plot is slightly confusing, and you don't really understand everything until right near the end, but i loved finding parallels in the chapters set in france with the chapters set in britain. oh and the showdown between miss pross and madame defarge is wonderful. i had a tradition of reading it on the run-up to christmas, just because that was the period when i read it for the first time, but i haven't done that for the past two years just because of exams and stuff. now, bleak house just pips it at the post, but i still love it dearly. (9/10)

wuthering heights (e. brontë): i couldn't review victorian literature and not include this. there are very strong similarities between this and villette (seems charlotte really drew on her sisters' work), particularly in terms of me not liking a single one of the characters except hareton. everyone is called cathy. literally. and heathcliff/cathy one is a toxic ship that should not be boarded. it is obsession, not love. the second volume is basically a repeat of the first one, thus showing that humanity will never move past its vices and will be caught in a vicious cycle of self-destruction for the rest of time. again, though, beautifully and vividly written. the characters are the type that you love to hate. (8/10)

the tenant of wildfell hall (a. brontë): what. a. book. this was a book that was simultaneously loved and condemned as scandalous when it came out. there's mystery, there's a woman escaping a horrible situation and making her own living, and there's a well-developed relationship! and the characters are likeable (i love rose, she's great, completely goes off at her brother when she has to do things for him all the time), which always puts it onto a winner. there's one chapter with gilbert that i have to skip just because i hate what he does in it. there are quite a lot of religious references, with redemption playing a huge part in the novel, but even the religious views brontë expresses went against a lot of the teachings of the anglican church at the time. do i even need to say that it's beautifully written if it's anne? marking it down for gilbert's behaviour and arguable control of helen's narrative. (9.5/10)

far from the madding crowd (hardy): i love this book. a little more uplifting than tess but still with the drama and murder you'd expect from hardy. maybe my review is influenced by my tiny crush on bathsheba: she's not the best role model but damn what a woman. gabriel isn't quite bae but i love him all the same, i'm so glad he's happy in the end. (9/10)

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hiimsociallyawkward · 3 years

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aithusia

hi bestie @lady-ofmagic-andstars it's been a while. i said i would do this episode last week but i had to wait for the destiny and chicken podcast to come out so here we are. basically, all of my thoughts while watching aithusia.

ugh the opening scene. i actually love it

ok ngl i remember that this guy is the bad guy but he's like 🥵🥵🥵 jeez

ik it's not just on tiktok but that tiktok where it goes 'but momma i'm in love with a criminal'

wow nice key bud

ok him running in the forest is just like you cannot outrun your demons and i thought that was so funny

smh he's so violent but he's so pretty :,)

ok but how old is this guy?? he say it's taken 20 years of his life. why 20? is that because that's when the 'last' dragon died out?? and at what age was he socially concious enough to recognize the implication of what it means to have a dragon? his is so dumb but probably like 15? so this guy is 35ish? idk man thoughts?

ok if he just feel off the cliff instead of being able to pull himself up we would've saved ourselves a lot of trouble i'm just saying druids.

ok this is so pretty. my thoughts are like 25% me singing show tunes, 25% thinking of actual merlin things, 50% thinking about how pretty everything is

merlin is such a light sleeper. idk why that's important but he wakes up ALL the time

✨gaius is the worst ✨

ok colin's eye looked so good in this scene

aLASFLJDFA MERLIN AND HIS SOCKS

stop i literally dress like this

i love his sleep clothes. it's such a vibe

aw merlin saying 'save the dragons is so cute' omg it reminds me of the vsco girls and saving the turtles HAHA

i love how equal merlin and kilgharrah feel here

asjflsjdasjdfl like ik this is the point but i love that merlin's inherited his father gift and he's always going to remember him. not that merlin would forget his father but idek

aw kilgharrah is like 'i beg you' ok now that i think abt it maybe it's slightly manipulative but it's also really not

ok actually i don't know how many time merlin uses this scene but i guess i'm keeping track now. but look how pretty

wow the rising sun 🤪

OH HAHA THIS IS WHERE MERLIN CARTWHEELS??

literally merlin just breaks in everywhere

merlin seems so earnest about wanting to see the dragons. i want to see the dragons too please

omg HAHA the woodworm is this episode??

WHY IS MERLIN STILL SEARCHING AFTER ARTHUR TURNS AROUND WHAT?

this is a side note but i love arthur's key holder thingy it's actually pretty.

stop right now why is merlin using his magic to PANTS arthur

ok i'm pretty sure that agravaine is only in this episode this one time, and yk it's the little victories

i'm actually embarassed for arthur and merlin here. i don't like it at all

HOW DOES MERLIN DO THE HANDSTAND?? that's the one part i like

ok my question is how is he supposed to know where the last piece of the triskeleton is??

SECOND QUESTION WHY IS HE JUST STANDING IN THE VAULT WHEN HE SHOULD BE RUNNING

lasflkajsdljsad omg the betrayal. ouch my heart

these scene are just like. it's actually art

ok how did merlin stay there all night and no one saw him?? literally camelot guards need to step up

omg no not merlin zooming

sklfja;lsdkjfasdlfs amerlin and the cup

i love how long merlin and arthur look at each other before arthur reacts

lsjfa;lksdsl woodworm omg and the fact that arthur believes that merlin is this chaotic is so funny

HAHA THIS SCENE GAIUS LITERALLY YELLING AT MERLIN

i think this is the funniest thing because gaius is like 'don't people about your magic' while YELLING ABOUT MERLIN'S MAGIC

ok that's a good point gaius we don't know what borden's intentions are

alsdjfalsd stop why didn't they wait for merlin :,(. this reminds me of when you're in highschool and you're finishing lunch and as you pack up everyone is leaving you??????

ok but i love that merlin rides in front with arthur. like- of course he does

merlin being observant 😍😍

i want to go horse riding now

STOP I DON'T LIKE THIS

THIS KNIGHT/DINNER GAG IS NOT FUNNY TO ME. NOT IN THE SLIGHTLEST. THERE'S THIS FIC by @a-small-batch-of-dragons. i literally spent like 10 minutes looking for it because i had to include it here

this scene just.. i don't like it. i never have and i never will

like- who decided that putting this scene in here would be good. no thanks

the knights sleeping in a circle and merlin sleeping on the outside. idk bro that made me a little sad

but also. i want a cloak please. i think i'm just going to say i want a cloak every episode

ok i chuckled at the interaction of 'ever herd of the word sorry?' and 'no is it a word you made up?'

dude don't ask why but i love it when people walk through waterfalls

i don't know why arthur looked so stupid when he was doing it though

i love the nature of it all

yes merlin, you start walking toward the castle first

aw i love the knights working together. like, i know they work together- they're knights, but we love to see it

merlin and his sharp eyes again :,))

why are they making camp it's literally not even dark yet 😭😭

oh great another dinner gag. please stop. i dislike this immensely

wow i love that merlin can heal them. i also think it's surprising because merlin sucks at healing things but yk.. ✨plot✨

this looks like the type of building teens would either be convinced is haunted and try to stay the night there or the type of building that all teens would go to to take pics for the #gram

ok is borden dead here or..

yes i'm putting both of these picture here. who's going to stop me

just kidding it's three

ok so not dead

ok this is not meant to be creepy but colin has nice hands

borden is a creep please go away now

merlin use your ✨magic ✨ please

YES. tell him you're the last dragonlord. i stan. YES HIM AND HIS MAGIC

you better run boy

ok how he manages to get out of the castle is astounding

HAHA there was some CGI that fell and i laughed so hard because it looked so fake

LITERALLY. THE PRETTY CASTLE SCENE IS HERE AGAIN. PRETTY CASTLE SCENE COUNTER; 3

omg merlin getting excited about the egg is actually so precious

both of their faces here are SO precious.

oasfasldfjasl idk why but whenever merlin walks across with the eggs i have this feeling he's going to faceplant and drop it for the comedic effect but i'm glad that never happens

bruh 'back where it belongs' like yes that makes sense but also that doesn't make sense

dude

it's been a full moon for like 4 days now..??????

omg i actually love aithusa

tbh, i DO NOT know how to pronounce her name

why is she actually the cutest thing ever.

AW MERLIN CRYING

i love it when merlin cries, but not in a sadistic way yk? it's more the fact that he's allowed to cry

ok i have a few dragon fics that i love but the only one i can think of right now is Returning the Favor by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle it's actually perfect

there are so many more that i love but i can't think of them but also- PLEASE REC YOUR FAVE DRAGON FAMILY DOMESTIC FICS PLEASE AND THANK YOU

anyways. i'll be back tomorrow to rant more about the darkest hr pt 2 so i'll see you then! also let me know if you want me to stop tagging you @lady-ofmagic-andstars because otherwise i will literally tag you in everything :,)

#merlin #merlin bbc #colin morgan #emrys #bradley james #gwaine #lancelot #arthur pendragon #king arthur #guinevere #morgana #elyan #percival #leon #gaius #uther #angel coubly #katie mcgrath

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hopeaterart · 3 years

Text

RWBY HPTR AU: Timeline

More of my embarrassingly self-indulgent AU. It tackles the timeline of events happening before the show starts. For those for who it's the first time here: most of the antagonists in the show are students at Beacon here, hence why the 63 A.G.W. point is probably a bit confusing, as well as the presence of many, many OCs. Warning: Very Ozpin-centric, especially at the beginning, because I'm insane and constructed a whole backstory for this man. If you want me to add something to the timeline, or have questions about the AU, just ask. ^^

(REFERENCE: A.G.W. stands for After Great War.)

34 A.G.W.: Ozborn Pinhead is born to con-artists living in the mountains of Vale.

45 A.G.W.: King Ozymandias Valenoa dies. On a side-note, Aura Lycoris is born.

46 A.G.W.: Ozymandias/Ozma reincarnates into Ozborn the moment he hits puberty. A few months later, Ozborn runs away from home to join a Collibet Monastery.

(REFERENCE: Collibet is branch of religion in the world of Remnant. It's followers' main belief is that life is to be enjoyed to it's fullest, and they have to help people enjoy it. Their worship is mainly centered on the God of Light.)

51 A.G.W.: Ozborn decides to enroll in Beacon for multiple reasons. He's placed in Team DSOO with Cadmium Duat, Zephyr Olympia, and Jade Sheng. He will become very close to Jade, almost like siblings. She's the one who coins the Ozpin nickname.

52 A.G.W.: Vytal festival happens in Haven. Ozborn ends up being finalist instead of his teammate through circumstances that went against his will, and ends up befriending fellow finalist from Shade Theodore Yellowstone, as well as a Faunus competitor from Haven called Leonardo Lionheart. Theodore is the winner.

53 A.G.W.: During a training mission that brought them to Solitas, Team DSOO ends up working with James Ironwood. Even if difficult to work with, Ozborn forms a tentative friendship with him, which they'll maintain through CCT communications. Ozborn also accidently ends up mentoring a first year named Glynda Goodwitch.

54 A.G.W.: Team STRQ enrolls in Beacon. Ozborn ends up being their mentor (intentionally this time) through a mentorship program at Beacon. Summer Rose is the winner of the Vytal Festival, having beaten Ironwood. After warning them that the truth isn't pretty, Ozborn comes clean about his cycle of reincarnation to Jade, STRQ, Glynda, Theodore, Lionheart and Ironwood, as well as Salem and her immortality. The only one unwilling to get involved is Taiyang Xiao Long, who can see that Ozborn absolutely does not want to be in this situation, thinks he's in way over his head and probably needs to take some distance from Huntsman business. Qrow and Raven are given their bird powers.

55 A.G.W.: Having taken Taiyang's opinion on the situation to heart, Ozborn decides to take a step back and go back in the Monastery he grew up in in order to become a Priest. Jade joins him in a show of support.

57 A.G.W.: Ozborn gets ordained, and he and Jade promptly go on a pilgrimage together with one very clear objective in mind: fuck Salem over. They find her at the end of the year, successfully lie to Salem about Ozborn's identity and fool her into thinking they want to join her side. On a side note, Gretchen Reinhart, Hazel Reinhart and Winter Schnee are all born.

58 A.G.W.: After getting out of Salem the secret to her immortality and the location of the God of Light's pool/former residence, Ozborn and Jade run away in the night in order for Ozborn to get similar immortality. Salem finds out about the betrayal, successfully kills Jade before Ozborn can go in the pool, and permanently cripples him with a magical attack that destroys his leg in a way that the pool's magic isn't able to completely fix. Ozborn still obtains immortality, permanently changing the game. He also sheds away the identity of Ozborn Pinhead, and renames himself after Jade's nickname for him.

59 A.G.W.: Ozpin comes back, and marries Taiyang, Raven Branwen and Summer Rose together. He also enrolls in Beacon as the Myth & Religion teacher.

60 A.G.W.: Desperate to get back at Ozpin after such an humiliating defeat, Salem takes a teenage Aura Lycoris under her wing.

62 A.G.W.: Aura starts the deep-undercover operation of gaining Ozpin's trust, starting by enrolling into Beacon.

63 A.G.W.: Yang Xiao Long, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladona, Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, Nora Valkyrie, Lie Ren, Arthur Watts, Tyrian Callows, Cinder Fall, Mercury Black, Emerald Sustrai, Roman Brunswick, Trivia Vanille, Ochre Wedjat, Raoul Arsenic, Wilhemia Key and Lys Rosenbed are all born. On a side-note, Ozpin and Qrow start a tentative romantic relationship at the end of the year.

65 A.G.W.: Ruby Rose is born.

66 A.G.W.: Aura graduates, and goes on a small pause in her mission in order to clean up some loose ends on Salem's part.

67 A.G.W.: Summer dies on a mission gone wrong (Unless/until we get something specific, Aura's partially responsible in my AU). Overwhelmed and disillusioned by the demise of the woman she loved, Raven abandons the rest of her family and goes back to the Branwen tribe. Both Taiyang and Qrow are left broken by this series of events, and Qrow ends up falling to alcoholism, leaving Ozpin to pick up the broken pieces of the inner circle. On a side note, both Oscar Pine and Whitley Schnee are born.

68 A.G.W.: Following a convoluted series of events that leaves Oscar orphaned for a total of maybe an hour before Ozpin adopts him, the wizard finally starts getting his shit back together, and starts formulating a plan to get back on his feet properly. On a side-note, Marcus Black steals his son's- Mercury- Semblance.

69 A.G.W.: Ozpin successfully becomes Beacon's headmaster, and promptly pulls strings to put Theodore, Lionheart and Ironwood in the same positions in their respective kingdoms. He also makes Glynda into his successor to the position. Meanwhile, Aura joins his staff as the Study Hall teacher/supervisor. Kuroyuri is destroyed by the Nuckelavee, orphaning Lie Ren and Nora Valkyrie.

72 A.G.W.: Mountain Glenn is destroyed. Ozpin is able to save a few people at the last minute, including the Reinhart twins, thus inspiring Gretchen to become a Huntress. On a side note, James Ironwood becomes General, and thus Atlas' Chief of Armies, and gains a second seat on the Atlesian Council. The rest of the inner circle has mixed feelings about this, mostly negative.

73 A.G.W.: After a very long time of frustration at the Atlesian Council, Hagatha Greene snaps after a combination of her project being denied in favor of Pietro's, and being forced to work with an actual child (10 years old Arthur Watts). She's approached by Salem via Aura, and fakes her death. On a side note, the Brunswick farm is invaded by Apathy, forcing Roman to run away. He'll later stow himself away to Vale and rename himself Torchwick in order to cut ties with his past.

74 A.G.W.: Lionheart is forced to inform the Spring Maiden about what Salem can do. Overwhelmed, she runs away to the Branwen tribe. Lionheart himself latter approached by Greene, who more-or-less blackmails him into joining Salem. He calls Ozpin to know what he's supposed to do, and ends up becoming a double-agent. On a side-note, Gretchen signs up for Beacon, and Winter for Atlas in her first step to distance herself from her family.

76 A.G.W.: Gretchen is severely wounded on a training mission. Since her body was never found, it was assumed she died. Despite knowing that he'd probably be attacked on sight- and he was- Ozpin is able to provide Hazel with a bit of peace concerning the demise of his sister. Unknown to the both of them, Gretchen was actually found by Salem's circle and brought to her in order to get a new underling. On a side-note, the Spring Maiden dies and passes the power to Raven.

77 A.G.W.: Cinder and Arthur meet off-handedly while running away from Atlas for different reasons (Cinder is running from the Madame, Arthur from the military) due to sneaking on the same cargo ship. They separate after. Cinder ends up staying in Mistral, while Arthur wanders around Anima and ends up meeting Tyrian, who's part of a circus. Tyrian ends up following Arthur, who intends on getting to Vale as fast as possible. The two end up becoming fast friends after some initial frostiness. Trivia also runs away from home and meets Roman, and renames herself Neopolitan after the imaginary friend she had in her childhood.

78 A.G.W.: Cinder meets Emerald in the streets of Mistral, and the two bond over their dreams of becoming Huntresses. After Cinders remembers something Arthur told her about Beacon having a program for students like them, the two girls set off for Beacon.

79 A.G.W.: Marcus is hired to assassinate Ozpin, and fails in this task. Some time after, Cinder and Emerald, who recently got to Vale, cross path with Mercury, who's running away from his abusive father after a savage fight with him due to the man cutting off his legs. Marcus joins Salem after.

(AMBIGUOUS TIME PERIOD: Somewhere in the 70s, Aura found and started forming all the members of Team ORKL. I don't have a precise time period, but for those curious, the order she found them in was: Raoul, Lys, Ochre and Whilemia.)

80 A.G.W.: The story starts.

#rwby #rwby au #hptr au #timeline #worldbuilding #i am not tagging all the characters in this.#my au is basically half 'what if the villains were friends with the heroes' and half #salem: there is nothing ozma can do that I won't see coming #ozpin: VIBE CHECK *becomes immortal*

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darlingandmreames · 4 years

Text

(also on ao3)

Eames sighed as another drop of water hit his face. No matter where he sat he seemed to be directly under something that was leaking; at this rate he’d still be wet by the time they woke up in 3 days, and that was not a pleasant prospect. “You did realize we’d actually have to stay in these places when you designed them, right?”

Ariadne shrugged. “They were all designed for Fischer to be held hostage in, and it needed to feel authentic. Besides,” she shot Yusuf a look, “I didn’t realize we’d be dealing with heavy rain the entire time.”

“I already apologized for that four times, I’m not doing it a fifth.” Yusuf frowned. “And it was free champaign! How was I supposed to turn that down?”

“With a polite smile and the knowledge that you were going to be unconscious for the next 10 hours.” Eames groaned and stood up slowly. “I’m going to go join Arthur in keeping an eye out. You kids get some sleep.”

He could still hear Yusuf grumbling as he walked over to the garage door. Arthur was seated next to it, a dent in the metal making it possible to see the general area outside without the door being open. He was watching it intently, gun in hand, as Eames sat down beside him. “Any sign of the projections?”

“No, we still seem to be good.”

Eames glanced over Arthur’s shoulder, trying to see out into the dark. “If they haven’t come after us yet, I’d say they probably aren’t going to at all. They don’t have any reason to now that we’ve left Fischer alone.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Arthur shrugged, still looking outside. “Doesn’t hurt to be prepared though.”

Eames nodded, watching Arthur as they fell into silence, the rain outside and Yusuf and Ariadne’s conversation in the other room the only noise around them. He’d been quiet the past couple of days which wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for him, but his quietness wasn’t usually this tense. Eames had a decent guess what was behind it but Arthur had kept himself busy and generally away from the rest of them over the past few days. He wasn’t exactly much of a conversationalist at the best of times, and he seemed particularly keen on not talking right now.

They sat in silence for a while, Arthur watching outside carefully. Eames went between watching the rain fall and watching Arthur’s profile in the dim light. He was tense, on guard, even though both of them knew they likely weren’t in any danger. If Fischer’s projections hadn’t attacked them by now, it was unlikely they would at all. At least not as long as they left Fischer alone. Yusuf and Ariande's conversation faded behind them, the two of them clearly taking Eames up on his suggestion to get some sleep, until there was just rain and silence. Arthur didn't get any less tense as the minutes passed though, gripping his gun tightly. Eames watched him carefully. "You alright?"

"Of course." Arthur's tone was short and clipped. Not the voice of someone interested in conversation. "I'm fine."

"You've just been a bit…tense the past couple of days is all."

"We're not out of danger until we wake up, and it'll be another 3 days before that happens. Of course I'm tense."

"Right. Yeah. Of course." They fell back into an uncomfortable silence. Eames watched as Arthur tightened his grip on the gun. He hesitated, wondering for a moment if he should just let this lie. Arthur clearly didn’t want to talk. But wanting to talk and needing to talk were two different things. "He's going to be alright."

"Who?"

"Cobb."

Arthur's shoulders hunched slightly and he looked down. When he spoke again after a moment his voice was curt and hard. "You should go get some sleep. There's no use in both of us keeping watch."

"Arthur, you…"

"I'm fine, Eames. Get some rest."

"It's not your fault, it…"

"Yes, it is." Arthur's response was immediate and Eames flinched at the harsh tone. "It was my job to check Fischer's background thoroughly. His sub-security shouldn't have been a surprise. I fucked up. I fucked up and Saito got shot and Cobb followed him into limbo, and that's entirely fucking on me." His voice cracked slightly at the end and he looked back down, taking a deep breath. "If I'd done my job properly we wouldn't be here."

Eames stared at him, shocked. He'd heard Arthur angry before, his words harsh and tone hard, but not like this. This wasn't anger. This was pain. "You're good at what you do, Arthur. The best. There's no question. But you're not perfect. No one is. People make mistakes. They miss things. It happens to everyone, even you." He paused, considering his next words carefully. “And…even if you had found absolutely everything, you still wouldn’t have had all the information. Cobb deliberately withheld information about the job from us, and you know as well as I do that he brought shit in here with him. We would’ve faced fire from Fischer’s security regardless, but I guarantee we faced a hell of a lot more because of the freight train Cobb brought through that intersection.”

“It was still my job though. It was my job and I missed it.” Arthur’s voice was quieter now and he seemed to draw in on himself. “It’s my fault.”

“Arthur.” Eames rested his hand gently on Arthur’s arm. “Arthur, darling, look at me.” Arthur wouldn’t look at him fully, but he turned enough that Eames could see the pain in his expression in the dim light. “Don’t blame yourself for this. You made a mistake, yes, but this isn’t all your fault. And Cobb made his own choice. I know you’re worried, but his decision to stay in limbo was his and the consequences of that decision fall on him, not you.”

Arthur looked away again, not saying anything. He didn’t pull his arm away though, and after a moment Eames moved closer, sliding his hand to Arthur’s back and moving his thumb back and forth in what he hoped was a comforting motion. He could feel the tension in Arthur’s body, like a rubber band that had been stretched too tight, ready to snap. Eames thought back over the past couple of days, to Arthur’s strained silence and tight expressions. Maybe that wasn’t really that inaccurate.

“And what if he’s not?”

Eames looked over, Arthur’s question surprising him slightly. He’d figured he’d said all he was willing to say. “Not what?”

“Not alright.” He was still speaking quietly. “What if he loses himself down there? You can say he’ll be alright all you want, but we both know there’s the very real possibility that neither he nor Saito will make it back. Who explains that to Miles? To his kids?” Arthur was gripping his sleeves tightly, distinctly not looking at Eames. “That’s all he wanted, Eames. To get back to them. I watched him after Mal died, after he had to go on the run. I saw what it did to him to have to leave James and Philippa. I followed him around the fucking world on job after job even after he started fucking them up and stopped being able to keep Mal out of them because I wanted to see him get home eventually. And I-” Eames could hear the tell-tale hitch in his breathing as he took another deep breath. “If he loses himself, I’ll be the reason he never made it there.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that, alright?” Eames wrapped his arm around Arthur’s shoulders, running a hand through his hair as he dropped his head, seeming to draw in on himself even more. “Don’t try and carry the blame for things that haven’t even happened. For things that aren’t your fault.”

Arthur needed to talk. Otherwise he’d try to ignore it and bury it and pretend it wasn’t there, that he was fine, and absolutely none of it would go away until he talked about it. Eames knew that. But he also knew the importance of silence sometimes. So he didn’t say anything when he felt Arthur’s breath catch or when his shoulders started shaking slightly, he just pulled him a little closer. Arthur moved easily with him, leaning against his side, bringing a hand to his mouth to try and muffle already quiet sobs. Eames had worked a lot of jobs with Arthur over the years and had seen him in a variety of situations and circumstances. He’d seen Arthur angry, seen him annoyed and frustrated and smug, seen him hold his own in fights that would’ve taken out most other people. But he’d never seen him cry. Extraction was a profession where vulnerability was a weakness and a thing to be avoided, and in all their years working together Eames had never seen Arthur’s carefully built and maintained walls crumble so completely.

Arthur didn’t pull away even after his breathing started evening out again. Instead he leaned further against Eames, some of the tension finally draining out of his shoulders. Not much, but some. “Thank you.”

Eames could still hear the pain in his voice, mixed with sadness and blame. It would be a while before it went away, even once they woke up, even if Cobb was ultimately fine. He knew Arthur well enough to know that. It wasn’t quite as strong though, and Eames would take any victory he could, no matter how small. “Of course, darling.” He ran his hand through Arthur’s hair again, smiling as Arthur leaned into the touch slightly, sniffling quietly. “You should get some rest. I’ve barely seen you sleep these past few days.”

“Is it alright if…if we stay here for a bit?”

“Yeah. That’d be nice, actually.” Eames rested his cheek on the top of Arthur’s head and stared out at the rain falling outside as Arthur settled against him. His hand was resting on Arthur’s upper arm, and after a moment he felt Arthur’s fingers hesitantly brushing against his. He shifted his hand, intertwining their fingers slightly. “We can stay here as long as you want.”

It wasn’t long before Arthur’s breathing started to slow and he relaxed against Eames more fully. It briefly occurred to Eames that maybe he should wake Arthur up before he fell asleep too- he could already feel exhaustion tugging at him and sleeping sitting up like this certainly wouldn’t be the most comfortable option- but he dismissed the thought almost immediately. He could rationalize it as Arthur needed sleep and he might not fall back asleep if Eames woke him up, but he was tired and rationalizing things was more energy than it was worth. Arthur needed comfort. Needed someone there for him. And Eames wanted to be that person. Simple as that. He could figure out what that meant later, when he was less tired and Arthur was less upset. In the meantime, though, it was late and they’d had a long couple of days, and the pull of sleep was quickly getting too strong from Eames to ignore. He closed his eyes, letting the soft sound of rain and warmth of Arthur beside him surround him as he drifted off.

#arthur x eames #arthur/eames #dream husbands #emotional hurt/comfort #dreamhusbands #let's try this again and see if tumblr lets it show up in the arthur x eames tag this time akjsfksdf #fourth time's the charm my dudes #local trash goblin writes stuff

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mystery-star · 4 years

Text

How to keep a Secret - George Weasley (Bonus Chapter 1)

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex

Words: 4782

A/N: This actually was the first thing I wrote for the series and then decided to do the series too.

Please do not repost my work on other sites or platforms!

July 1997

“Bubbyfy” you giggled as your daughter looked at you with a proud smile.

“Yes but it’s called a butterfly” you corrected her, pointing at the animal in the little booklet you were reading to her.

“Buddyfy”

“Yes, that’s much better” you kissed her head. You didn’t know if that way of speaking was normal for a two year old but Molly assured she was just doing fine. Maybe a little behind but nothing to worry about.

“Mum” Ginny shouted “the portkey arrived without them!” your heart fell. Almost everyone of the Weasley family left some hours ago to bring Harry into safety from the Dark Lord. Among them were your husband and his twin. For a while you were sitting like frozen in your chair with your daughter in your lap. And what if something happened to them? It wasn’t unlikely that they would be attacked.

“Mummy” Savannah suddenly mewled, then patted the picture book. Quickly you banned all negative thoughts. Maybe they just missed the portkey. With a forced smile you returned to the booklet and continued the story that accompanied you through your first years. But you didn’t get far since only a minute later Ginny reported that also Arthur and Fred didn’t make it to the portkey. Your daughter squealed again, wanting to hear the rest of the story.

“I’m sorry, darling. Mummy’s a little worried about Daddy” you told her. She made a questioning sound “Well you know, Daddy he’s doing something that is dangerous right now.” Savannah squinted her eyes shut.

“Play fyyah?” you chuckled.

“No, he doesn’t play with fire”

“Lig knife?”

“No deary, he’s not liking his knife. He is not doing anything that we told you was dangerous. It’s something else”

“What?”

“I will tell you when you’re older, okay?” she nodded.

“You help?”

“I wish I could help him but he’s not here”

“Daddy?” she pouted

“I have no idea where he is or when he will be back.” Savannah giggled.

“Uncky Feddie?”

“Yes, Uncle Freddie is with him” for a moment Savannah pursed her lip’s then wrapped her arms around you as far as they reached.

“Love you Mummy”

“I love you too, sweetheart” you pressed a kiss to her hair that was more like yours, much to George’s dismay. Although Savannah was definitely not a planned child and her birth brought you the problem to raise a child and finish your last year at Hogwarts at the same time, you wouldn’t want to have it any other way. You took your daughter into your heart even before you saw her and now you couldn’t imagine a world without her. Suddenly you heard shouts from outside and when you realised that Harry was back you lifted up your daughter out of your lap and rushed out through the kitchen to make sure they were alright. At first you were utterly relieved that someone was back but after he started explaining that the Death Eaters knew they’d bring him away today and attacked them from the start, your heart fell. What if someone died? Molly entered the house but you couldn’t come after her because you knew that the next group would be George and Lupin and you couldn’t miss their arrival by any means.

“Mum” Ginny shouted as a blue light shone in the darkness and you sighed in relief.

“Look there darling. Daddy’s back” you told her and when you looked up to the direction of your husband you only just witnessed George falling over. Savannah was shrieking in excitement and you watched how Lupin and Harry started carrying him. Molly was at your side and quickly pulled you away from the entrance into the kitchen. When you finally had a look at George, it felt as if someone punched your stomach. Most of his face was covered in blood. Unfortunately Savannah tried just now to turn around to look at him. And all of a sudden you awoke from your stiffness and before you realised it you ran upstairs so that your daughter would not see the condition of her father. You sat her down on George’s bed in his old room and instantly she reached for her stuffed bunny, pressing it against her chest.

“Wan’ Daddy” she pouted.

“I know, me too. But right now we can’t go and see him”

“Daddy!” she cried again and hit you with her stuffed toy.

“Shh. I know. We’ll go down later, okay? When he’s better” that was the moment you realised that you could have lost him forever and you sank down on the bed as well. Savannah climbed onto your lap, clutching your shirt with her free hand and leaned her head against your chest. Some minutes later Ginny knocked at the door.

“Mum has cleaned his wound. He… lost an ear but else he seems alright.”

“An ear?” you hissed and Savannah looked up at you.

“Daddy fine?” she asked and you hugged her tight.

“Yes he’s alright. Shall we go downstairs and see him?” sooner or later she’d see his injury anyway and you just had to check for yourself that he was alive. Quickly you walked down the stairs and Ginny followed you. In the living room Molly was treating her son and she gave you a weak smile. Gently you put your daughter to the ground in front of the sofa when you knelt down beside it so that you could take George’s hand in yours. “I thought I lost you” you whispered “Please don’t leave me, I love you” Savannah let out a frustrated sound and when you looked down you saw that she was trying to get a better view of your husband but since her head was on the level of the couch she did not see much and she also couldn’t climb on it. So you let go of George and lifted her onto the couch. First she seemed to examine him then she turned to you, looking rather shocked.

“Daddy ouchie?” she asked and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes he’s hurt”

“Uhh. Shid” you looked at her in disbelief.

“Sav?” you asked in a stern manner “Where did you learn that?” she grinned at you and you already had an idea.

“Uncky Feddie” of course it was your brother-in-law. Probably you should talk to your husband about having your daughter with him when they finish work. That was the time they uttered most swears.

“Then I should have a word with him. And that is something I don’t want to hear again from you, is that clear, young lady?”

“Yes, Mummy” she put up a guilty face but you could see the little smirk she was trying to hold back. That mischievous little smirk she had from her father and his twin that told you she was up to something.

“Savannah?” you asked again.

“Yes, Mummy?” she asked, feigning innocent. Oh yes, she was definitely taking after her father.

“I mean it. No swearing” she shook her head and looked away quickly

“Uh-uh”

“Wanna bet?” you muttered to yourself, grinning a little. Savannah meanwhile tried to wrap her tiny arms around George und snuggled up to him. With a happy smile you stroked his hair and your daughter watched you. Suddenly she changed position and then tried to pat his injury. “Let it be darling, it hurts him”

“Oh” she said and leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek “Love you” she assured him and then patted his cheek instead before trying to slip under his arm. Only a second after George feebly moaned and his eyes flattered open. Now you started grinning and your husband did the same.

“Hey beautiful” he whispered, his eyes flickering to his daughter who looked up when she heard his voice “Hey, snuggem”

“Daddy!” Savannah cried out and jumped up, trying to fall round his neck.

“Careful there” you told her and Savannah froze.

“Uh sowwy” she said with a glance to his injury. George chuckled and pulled her closer, pressing her against his chest.

“Where are the others?” he asked you.

“Only Harry and Hagrid are back by now. The others missed their portkey” you told him

“You think they’ll make it?”

“I hope so” your daughter pushed herself away from her father’s chest and looked at him. Then she made her stuffed rabbit hop from his shoulder in front of his face and nudged his cheek with the toy’s nose.

“Daddy no sad... Tinky he’e” she told him. You both smiled and George first stroked Savannah’s cheek then his fingers toyed with one of the toy’s ears, the one that was halfway gone because your daughter used to chew on it when she got her first teeth. The girl tried to push his hand away. “No Daddy, not ouchie” George looked at her.

“Don’t you think that’s healed by now?” she shrugged, then made licking noised and pretended that the bunny licked George’s face. “Oi! I’m not a carrot” he protested and Savanna started giggling like mad.

“She like you” she explained and handed him the toy “Tinky play. You”

“We can play later, sweetie, Daddy’s tired” he said, smiling at her and pressed the toy as well as the girl to his chest. Now Molly rushed over to you with tears in her eyes, making sure for herself that he was alright. You thought highly of her that she left the three of you some minutes alone. Suddenly you heard Arthur’s voice from the kitchen and only a little later he entered the living room, followed by Fred. When you saw that they seemed safe and sound you felt relieved. Your brother-in-law stopped behind the couch and looked at his twin. As soon as she noticed him standing there, your daughter’s head shot up.

“Uncky Feddie” she yelled and pulled away from her father, trying to climb onto him to reach the backrest of the furniture and get to her favourite uncle. And instantly Fred’s face lit up and he picked her up.

“Hey twinky” Savannah giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck “Yeah I missed you too but I need to see if your Daddy’s alright” she nodded.

“Daddy fine. Tinky huggy”

“So that’s what you’re doing?” he almost shouted at his brother “I’m worried for your dear life and you just steal your daughter’s toy bunny?”

“No need to shout” George mumbled “I’m not deaf and I’m still all ears” he grinned at his brother and Fred did the same.

“Yep, you’re your normal self again”

“Apart from the fact that I’m a Saint now”

“A Saint?” Fred frowned.

“Yeah. I’m holey”

“That one was pathetic” George grinned “No really, I’m ashamed to be your brother now”

“Don’t worry, I got a new twin” he held up Tinky.

“In contrast to you the bunny’s cute” Molly stepped in and took Savannah in her arms, then pushed Fred away a little.

In the following days George had to stand a lot of jokes about his missing ear while Savannah tried to touch it all the time. Besides, he also had to deal with other nasty things such as sickness, balance problems or that he heard almost nothing and speaking hurt him. Molly forbade her sons to go back to work until the wedding was over. Firstly, because she wanted George to rest a little, secondly, she needed help with preparations for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. And thirdly (she didn’t tell you but you knew Molly well enough) she wanted to have her granddaughter around as long as possible and feared you’d go back to your own place with her if George did.

On the day of the wedding Savannah was throwing a little tantrum because she didn’t like her dress. As a matter of fact you found it a little too much yourself but there was nothing else she could wear. And you couldn’t just put her in daily clothes because Bill asked you that Savannah could be the flower girl and walk behind Fleur.

“Okay, if you put on the dress now, I’ll allow you to change later”

“No” she insisted crossing her arms.

“Well if you want it that way. If you refuse to wear the dress you’ll get no dessert” her eyes widened and she bit her lip. Although it was a little mean you smiled triumphantly as you could see her considering both options.

“Shid” she groaned.

“Savannah!”

Your husband had to show the guests their places and you were occupied otherwise but Savannah kept distracting you.

“Aren’t you much too young to be a mother?” you heard a voice behind you. You turned around and saw and old woman in very catchy pink clothes. What were you supposed to say? “Are you even married or is that a bastard?”

“Excuse me?” you hissed and picked up your daughter to press her against your chest.

“Watch your tone, young lady. When I was your age…”

“Auntie Muriel, how nice to see you” George interrupted her and put his hand on your shoulders “I see you have already met my wife?”

“This brat is yours? Well I should have known you’d be involved in this”

“This brat” he spat “is my daughter” Fred stepped beside you.

“What a ravishing outfit, Auntie Muriel you look… fantastic” he leaned to you and whispered in your ear “If you think fat, old flamingos look fantastic” you snorted with laughter.

“Fred” she eyed him critically and then stepped closer to adjust the collar of his robes “How old are you, five?”

“Mentally yes” Fred replied with faked seriousness. Muriel grunted and turned to George

“And what have you done to your ears? They’re lopsided. And your dress, girl. The neckline’s much too low. What are you, a street woman? No wonder you have a child at that age. Something makes me think you don’t even know who the father is…” you gasped and George seemed as if he was about to strangle the old woman with his bare hands. But she ignored that and looked at your daughter “As for you, bastard baby, I don’t want to hear any sound during…”

“Blah!” Savanna cried and showed her two fingers “No baby! I two” Muriel pursed her lips and bent down a little and grabbed her wrist.

“Did no one teach you respect, you…”

“Bwah!” she slapped her free hand in her face “yucky meanie” she also stuck out her tongue and before Muriel could react George and Fred quickly pulled you away from her. Outside the tent you regained your composure.

“Savannah that wasn’t nice! You will apologize later”

“No” she shook her head vigorously “meanie”

“Sav!” you scolded and looked at your husband who was trying to withhold laughter.

“Mummy’s right” he struggled to keep a straight face “I admit it was funny but not nice”

“Meanie no nise”

“Yes but you don’t like her do you?” she shook her head “Now, if you’re not nice to others they won’t like you either” George explained.

“You like me?” she asked

“Yes, I like you”

“See?” George was speechless.

“Well… I…” Fred laughed and high-fived his niece.

“Good job for a two year old to make him speechless” he explained shrugging when you shot him a death glare.

“Not helping” George grunted.

“Oh come on, it was just Auntie Muriel. Let twinky insult her as much as she likes. Wouldn’t be the first time you talk like this about her. And she’s only two”

“That still doesn’t justify that she’s allowed to insult people right in front of them”

“As if we never did that” you gasped.

“But I don’t want my daughter to do the same!”

“She’s just a child. She doesn’t know what respect is yet. You can teach her once she’s a little older” Fred said and turned to Ron, Harry and Hermione who did not look very pleased. Fred walked over to them and George and you followed him. As it turned out they had just met Muriel too and now George was ranting about her too and Fred gave you a ‘What-did-I-tell-you?’ look so that you rolled your eyes.

“stinky meanie” Savannah supported him you sighed and just wanted to tell her off again when Harry and Ron burst out in laughter.

“See, we’re all like this. And among us, Muriel deserves to be called that” Hermione on the other hand didn’t look very pleased.

“Fred you’re no good role-model for your niece” she scolded and crossed her arms.

“Calm down. Only joking” he mumbled.

It hurt you a little to leave your daughter outside the tent when the ceremony was about to begin. Savannah didn’t seem pleased either.

“Don’t you like the task at all?”

“I like”

“Good. But only throw the petals on the ground. Not at people. Alright?”

“Yes Mummy” she smiled.

“See you then. You’ll do just fine” you kissed her cheek and then walked back into the tent to sit down next to George who instantly grabbed your hand. After a while Fleur and her father entered the room and your daughter followed them “Aww” you said and squeezed George’s arm “Isn’t she gorgeous and cute?”

“She’s perfect” he whispered back “just like you” he gave you a peck on the lips. When they all walked down the aisle, Savanna stopped in front of Bill and stretched her arms up to him, a clear sign that she wanted to be picked up by him.

“Later, little one” he told her with a smile so Savannah pouted and went to Charlie. Although she met him for the first time yesterday, she already took a great liking to him.

“Ladies and gentlemen” the little wizard who led the ceremony said. When Charlie lifted your daughter up, her world seemed alright again. Only a second later you realised why. She emptied the rose petals over Bill’s head, then started hitting him with the basket. All of a sudden it was dead silent in the room. You gasped while George pressed his hand to his mouth. But you knew he only pretended to be shocked, in reality he was trying to hide his grin. Fred on the other hand blurted out with laughter and so did many of the others.

“Oi! What was that for?” Bill scolded playfully.

“No cuddle” Savannah stated and crossed her arms.

“At times I forget how much I love that little goofball” Fred chuckled.

“Why don’t we get you back to your parents?” Bill said, took Savannah in her arms and placed her in your lap.

“I-I’m sorry Bill” you stammered but he only chuckled.

“Don’t worry, it’s alright”

“Well she just is a quick-tempered little beast” Fred said shrugging as Bill walked back to the front, rubbing his head where your daughter had hit him.

As promised you allowed Savannah to change after the ceremony but scolded her again for her action. But just before dinner was served, you had to change her clothes again because she spilled some of George’s wine over her clothes. When you were back in the garden, the meal was already served and she insisted on sitting in her father’s lap. First she wasn’t really interested in eating and she pouted a little because she didn’t like the vegetables and George gave her some anyway. Then she just picked the food she liked and then pretended she wasn’t hungry anymore.

“What a pity” George said “then you can’t even eat dessert”

“No, I can”

“Good this means you can also eat more vegetables” he tried to feed her some tomato but she only turned her head away. “Come on, it’s not that bad. Open your mouth” Savannah made a disapproving sound and pressed her lips together. “Well if you don’t eat it you won’t get dessert. And I must admit, the cake looks delicious” he hadn’t even finished when your daughter leaned forward and started chewing the tomato. You could see it in her face the she didn’t like the taste of it but ate it anyway.

“Little dickhead” Fred murmured. But as soon as your husband tried to feed her another piece of vegetable she’s had enough.

“No” she tried to push the fork away from her face.

“Come on, snuggem, here’s an owl delivery for Miss Savannah Weasley” she shook her head.

“Not. I Tinky”

“Oh look, that even is written on the parcel. Savannah Weasley or Tinky” Savannah shoved the piece of food from the fork and crossed her arms. “Don’t be stubborn. It’s healthy, you have to eat your vegetables”

“No”

“Don’t make me force you to empty your plate” your daughter emitted a cry and banged her little fist in the middle of her half-full plate, spilling food everywhere. For half a second there was a mischievous glint in her eyes but it disappeared again. George missed it and seemed pleased when Savanna agreed on emptying her plate. Before any of you realised it, she grabbed the plate and spilled the food on him.

“Empy” she said, smiling triumphantly while George sat there, taken aback by what his daughter had done.

“That wasn’t nice” he simply said and the girl blurted out in laughter, wiping her hand on his shirt.

“Stop it, Sav!” you ordered and tried to pull her away from George but he refused.

“Let me take care of this” he pried the plate out of her hand and placed it on the table, grabbing his napkin and trying to clean up the mess a little. Because you watched him you didn’t see how your daughter grabbed her drink and splashed it in his face too. She let the glass fall and soon was a giggling mess that she almost fell from George’s lap. Fred also almost fell out of his chair from laughing. But then you saw George grinning and then he pushed Savanna’s head in his own plate. She jolted up and wiped her face.

“Eww. No nise!” she grabbed some food from his plate and threw it at your husband who attacked back. Soon they were emerged in a real food battle and threw anything within their reach. And also Fred joined the food fight shortly after. You sat there shocked and watched too long before you reacted and pulled Savannah out of his lap.

“Stop!” you almost shouted at her and then a piece of bread hit your face. Savannah calmed down a little and soon her giggles faded. “Now if you can’t behave yourself you’ll have no dessert for the next three days”

“Mummyyyy” she whined.

“I’m sorry but that’s just what you get for not behaving. No dessert for three days. And now we will get you cleaned up. George, you’ll do the same after you got rid of this mess here” you pointed at the table and the floor near them that looked as if a food bomb exploded.

“Or else what?” Fred taunted grinning “You’ll deprive his special dessert as well?”

“Shut up and do something useful”

“I can clean up twinky” he said, getting up and reaching for his niece.

“No. Then the bath would look the same”

Sighing you left the house for the third time since the wedding had begun and it was the third time you had changed your daughter’s clothes. Before you went back to the party again you told her that next time she did something like that she would not get dessert for two weeks. For the rest of the meal Savannah was in your lap so that you could react quicker if she was up to something again. But she was only pouting because she got nothing sweet. Finally you decided to give her at least half a piece from the wedding cake since it was a special occasion but then she wouldn’t get anything else in the following days.

At around ten o’clock it was time for your daughter to go to bed. Usually she would have been brought to bed already two hours ago but you made an exception today. So you searched your husband and asked if he had seen her.

“No but I’ll help searching. I can put her to bed if you want”

“We could do it together?”

“Sure” for a while you looked for your daughter and suddenly George grabbed your arm.

“Aw look at this” he pointed to the famous Quidditchplayer Viktor Krum who was dancing with your daughter.

“How cute” you agreed and walked over to the two of them. Savannah saw you first and quickly let go of him to run towards you. “Hey there, sweetie”

“Oh hello” Viktor greeted “I never lost a fangirl that quick. I think you’re the parents of this vonderful child?”

“Yes. (Y/N) and George Weasley”

“Ah yes. I remember. You vere the girl that vas pregnant vhen ve vere at Hogwarts”

“Exactly”

“Vell, your daughter is very beautiful. And almost as small as a Snitch”

“A Snitch?” George asked, frowning.

“You don’t knov Quidditch?”

“No, I do, I played myself when I was at Hogwarts but I’m surprised you compare our daughter to a Snitch”

“Ah. Vich position did you play?”

“I was a Beater. My twin brother, Fred, was the other on the team”

“And you play Quidditch too?” he asked you?

“No, though I went to the try outs in my third year but well, I wasn’t chosen, so I gave up”

“But you votched the games at school?”

“Of course. I was there every time. Supporting my boyfriend. And well later even husband” you nudged George’s arm.

“Your husband? At school?” Krum asked.

“Yeah, we married in the summer before our last year to Hogwarts. Suppose we were the only students that were married before they finished their education”

“Oh that is interesting”

“Yeah I guess so”

Did she bring luck in Quidditch, your vife?” he asked George.

“Well… not really. I mean we won the game but then I was kicked out of the team because I started to beat up the Slytherin Seeker”

“Vas it that Malfoy-boy?”

“You know him?”

“Vhen I vas at Hogwarts he vas around me often. He vas very annoying all the time. And once he told me he vas Seeker in his team”

“Oh that explains the thing. But that’s just how Malfoy is. I suggest he did it because he was a fan of yours”

“Yes”

“So any games to play soon?” George asked Viktor and shortly after they were deepened in a conversation about Quidditch. You listened to it eagerly but when someone tugged at your dress and you looked down you realised that you initially wanted to get your daughter into bed.

“Um George, sorry to interrupt your discussion about the most stupid fouls, but I guess we forgot someone”

“Oh shit” George threw a look at his watch. “Fuck we were talking for almost half an hour”

“George, what did I tell you about swear words in front of Sav?”

“Don’t say them” he mumbled “You didn’t hear anything okay, snuggem?”

“No” she said, shaking her head but you could tell she was lying.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed”

“No sleepy”

“It’s already half past ten, you will go to bed now. Usually you’d be long asleep” Savannah groaned when George picked her up. “Come on, say good bye to Viktor”

“Good bye Wickdo” she waved him smiling, what the Quidditchplayer returned. Your husband carried Savannah back to the house and upstairs to the twin’s room, where you had to get her nightclothes. He struggled to open the door but stopped as he was halfway over the threshold. You bumped into him.

“Fuck, have you never learnt to knock before you enter a room?” Fred hissed and that was when you realised he was in George’s bed with one of Fleur’s veela cousins naked, as the clothes on the floor told you.

“That is my own room! Of course I fucking knock every time I go in there because my brother could be fucking someone right now. I mean okay, but why the fuck on my bed? Now get the fuck out of here, our daughter has to go to bed”

“Err George, you just said the f-word about five times in less than thirty seconds.” you scolded him

“Oh fuck”

“George!?”

“Mummy, what Uncky Fed do? Why Daddy mad?”

“It’s a bit difficult but he lay down in Daddy’s bed” Savanna looked at you and started to grin.

“Fuck. No sleep.”

“Savannah Weasley! If I ever hear that word again from you…” you threatened and she grinned at you.

“Fuck?”

Bonus Chapter 2

Taglist: @ta-ka-shi-ma, @mrsfredweasleywife, @muggleborngirl, @thoseofgreatambition @slvtherinseeker @iprobablyshipit91, @aboutpotter, @captainamericasinnocence, @charlizebeth, @justdidabadthing, @april-14-blog, @firefliesindaylight @the-great-adventure-of-marvel

#imagine

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rokutouxei · 3 years

Text

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 9 OF 22

You will let my tender hook Catch the folded darkness inside you, let me occupy The dented place at the base of your throat. - "One Life", Carlomar Arcangel Daoana

She wakes up late.

Comically late.

No hangover, thank god—but it’s 11am and she’s dressed in lent pajamas in a bed that isn’t her own. She shoots up to sitting position in a second, and standing in a minute, trudging out the room to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

By the time she’s up and out of the room, a little more awake, Dazai and Arthur have already long gone, the only remnants of their presence the bit of glitter that they had wiped onto the sofa they nestled in.

And text messages.

She squints when she reads it, not because she had a hard time reading what it said, but—because she couldn’t believe what it said.

A series of text messages from Dazai:

[ 7:23 | Dazai ] ur still asleep but ur friend kinda hot

[ 7:24 | Dazai ] ofc I woke up first but his eyelashes tho???

[ 8:32 | Dazai ] pls tell me he’s not a douche bc im rly gonna jump him

[ 9:03 | Dazai ] mgonna jump him

[ 10:19 | Dazai ] abt to find out if he’s got the magnum sized dong u promised

Oh, god, what has she done.

With a groan, she heads down the hallway, phone securely in the pocket of the sweatpants, to see Vincent and Theo preparing a meal in the kitchen; Theo preparing some sort of fillet (fish? Chicken?) and Vincent frying some onions and garlic on the stove, filling the kitchen with a nice aroma.

“Good morning,” she says softly, as she shuffles onto one of the dining table chairs.

“Thought you died,” Theo says with a snort; but once he turns around to face her, all derision goes away in his face and is replaced by a quiet surprise.

Vincent beams as he turns to get the fillets from Theo. (It’s chicken.) “Good morning. Did you sleep well? No headache?”

She shakes her head. “Nope, I’m good. Thanks for letting me sleep here last night and for the clothes.”

“Of course, no problem at all,” Vincent answers, turning back to the pan. The chicken makes a sizzle as it meets the oil.

Theo is still staring at her with an odd look on his face.

“Earth to Theo?” she calls out, waving her hand in front of her. “Something wrong?”

“Broer. Why did you lend her my clothes.”

Oh.

“You know how most my shirts are, paint-stained in all the weird places.”

She feels the cling of the cotton around her skin so differently, so suddenly. Oh.

“She wouldn’t have minded, she was drunk.”

That’s correct, but—

Vincent smiles at Theo, the kind of smile one makes when they can see through someone; she’s filled with a kind of relief at knowing that Vincent can do that to Theo. Maybe the man isn’t an impenetrable a character after all. “No need to be shy, Theo.”

“I am not,” he insists, finally tearing his gaze away from her and heading to the sink to wash the used chopping board and the knife. “I just don’t want her wearing my stuff.”

She smirks. He is shy. True, she didn’t get the opportunity to think about what she was putting on last night because she was so tired and knocked out by the alcohol, but…if that was the price she had to pay to see this side of Theo she doesn’t have the opportunity to witness often, then it was worth it. Oh, the ever put-together Theo, brought to his knees by only one person in the world, the one he trusts the most: his brother. “Is it because your personality is contagious?” she teases, “wouldn’t want to catch that.”

He answers her with a glare. “Reverse. It’s your stupidity that’s contagious.”

“Oh, we’re pretty much equally as stupid, Theo. No need to worry.”

“We are not,” he says, and then Vincent elbows him carefully.

“You really should be a little gentler to your friends,” Vincent comments, as he turns the fillet onto its other side.

Theo grumbles something unintelligible and it makes her laugh. Sitting in the kitchen, watching the two brothers side by side with their back to her as they prepare—she checks the clock—lunch for the three of them, she hums, content. She’s lived alone for all her life here in the campus, and it was one she looked forward to after living in a house crammed with people for most of her life. But sitting here, watching them share the chores and maybe have a little banter with each other—makes her reconsider that maybe, maybe settling down in even the worst of places isn’t that horrible when you’re in good company.

Theo opens the plate cupboard and hands her a set of it with some cutlery. “Set the table at least, freeloader?” He says, though his voice lacks all the venom his words otherwise had.

Okay, she’ll have to reconsider if Theo counts as “good company.”

Theo barely survives lunch with her and his brother because of how much he gets teased by the two. He might argue that this is worse than being stuck with her and Arthur because since it is Vincent, he does not get the leeway to have a comeback, only able to grumble in displeasure at being see-through. They stuff their bellies not only with Vincent’s famed chicken with herbs but also with a hefty amount of laughter.

She slides back (slightly disgusted) into her costume to walk back home in, confident that many other students will be trudging along the streets suffering the same fate. (“Not everyone wakes up as late as you.” “There’s bound to be at least one, right?”) When she comes out of the bathroom, there’s a book on top of his neatly-folded clothes.

They speak at the same time.

“I could wash these first before giving it back if you—” “You had that with you all this time?”

Silence.

She breaks it with a laugh. “Yeah, it was a Saturday. I didn’t want to break the schedule.”

“You get so thorough about the weirdest things,” he comments, but he takes the bundle in her arms anyway. “It’s alright, I’ll have them. Let me get you a book, too.”

She follows Theo into the studio, where he crouches in front of some bookshelves. Vincent peeps from behind his easel. “You should walk her home,” he offers, as Theo pulls a few books out of the shelf.

“No, it’s alright, I’ll be fine! I’m not drunk or dizzy. The walk will help clear my head.”

“It’s twenty minutes out,” Theo points out, getting up.

“Just promise that if you find me asleep on the street you’ll pick me up?”

Handing Murakami’s Dance, Dance, Dance to her, Theo grins. “I can’t promise that.”

“Oh, Theo, you know you will.”

Even when she is long out of his sight, the smile on his face does not go away. Even as the day shifts into mundanity. Even as he’s carting a bagful of clothes to the launderette. Even as he picks up some groceries on the way home. Even as he prepares dinner for Vincent, who is a few hours deep into painting.

Maybe for a moment, it goes away, but—

He thinks of her and the smile comes back full force.

She spends the rest of Sunday recovering and hiding away in her room after the very socially draining party, but by Monday she’s hopped onto her bike and headed for the literature club’s little gazebo. She’s left a message for Dazai, asking for company. Sure, they spent quite a lot of time together in the past week, after having jumped through thrift stores and boutiques for the perfect Night Circus costume (and yes, she made him read the book beforehand too, for good measure) but Saturday was quite a day. She’s brought a couple of cookies for sharing with him, sitting at their usual spot, looking out at the quadrangle next to it.

“Toshiko-san! Sorry we kept you waiting!”

The plural takes her off guard, and she turns to find that Dazai has brought a rather distracted-looking Isaac along, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. Isaac is always dressed so well—she supposes it’s part of the uniform or something of being seen as a respectable professor—but she sure does want to see him dress down once. T-shirt, shorts, that kind—Isaac seems to take everything too seriously.

The pleasant feeling of seeing a friend she hasn’t met up with in a long time is quickly replaced by confusion, as the science complex is nowhere near the Arts building. “Nice to see you here, Isaac,” she says, but also with the lilt of a question.

Dazai answers said question. “He’s here because he has nothing better to do, so I asked him to come.”

Isaac makes a face that’s both resignation and panic. “He passed by my office.” –and dragged me out because he wouldn’t take no for an answer, she finishes in her head.

“I see,” she answers, even though that’s not really an explanation in itself.

She knows Isaac through Dazai, and Dazai knows Isaac through a very peculiar class: Occultism 101.

A class team-taught by three major colleges in the university—the College of Arts, the College of Science, and the College of Social Sciences—Occultism 101 is one of the more controversial classes on campus because of its nature. It goes through a long history of the evolution and persistence of supernatural beliefs and practices among nations in the world, in that nice gray area between religion and science. There are only two kinds of students in Occultism 101: those who believe and who are genuinely interested, and those who do not believe and would like to spend an entire semester saying “bah! That’s not true!” to themselves all the time.

Occultism 101 is typically taught by professors from the College of Social Sciences and College of Arts with backgrounds in religious practices and other mystical behavior (whether in history or art), and then occasionally, in the middle of the semester, guest lecturers from the College of Science come in to give lectures on how these “supernatural events” may be explainable through scientific means. Say, how the piping system in a building can cause haunted “cold spots”, or how floating dust particles can come up in a photograph as “orbs”, or the likes.

And she doesn’t want to be very stereotypical about it, but a lot of people in the College of Science are pretty… well, square, and so no one really wants to teach Occultism 101, even if it’s only a few meetings in a semester. This is how this job ends up to unwilling, no-choice Ph.D. students such as Isaac.

It was just his luck that Dazai was in the section he taught.

“So, Osamu, care to tell us about your little date last Sunday?” she asks, as the other two have taken their seats across her. Dazai swoons a little at the mention of Sunday. Isaac looks at him with unsureness.

(Isaac has had the miserable experience of being the victim of Dazai’s flirtation at some point in time. One can see how that has instead simmer into a rather tentative friendship. All is well.)

Dazai rests his elbows on the table and places his chin on the palms of his hands. “He’s so dreamy.”

“No he isn’t,” she swiftly replies, without thought.

But Dazai pretends not to have heard it. “He’s not looking for a serious relationship though,” he adds. “Not that I am, either.”

“You aren’t?”

“No, sweetie,” Dazai explains. “But he��s my type and I’m his type and we couldn’t just leave it at that so I have his number now, and a little… arrangement.”

The word hangs in between them, swaying.

Oh no, that’s not any good. “What arrangement.”

“You don’t need to sound so concerned.”

“This is Arthur we’re talking about,” she insists, and the name makes Isaac flinch a little.

“Doyle, the med student?” Isaac asks, and she turns to him, blinking.

“You know him?” Remembering Arthur during the party, her mouth falls into a small o. “He knows you too, doesn’t he?”

Isaac scoffs. “Who in this university doesn’t?” Arthur’s pretty well-known to be a flirt. Something like having a checklist of bedding at least one person in every department—a rumor that would have been a little more shameful if the rumors also didn’t say how he was so good at it.

She nods. “Well, fair enough.”

“No, no, he’s an absolute sweetheart to me, so it’s definitely a you problem,” Dazai insists. “It’s just a friendship with benefits, yanno?” He emphasizes every of the following syllables with his tone and his hands: “Nice, big, hefty benefits.”

And even Isaac, who usually refrains from commenting no matter how much he has to say, has to quip with “Terrible choice, really.”

And she has to agree. “I respect you, but not your taste, Osamu.”

Dazai grins. “Understandable.” He picks up one of the sandwiches she’s prepared. “You make it sound like I’m the only one making bad decisions though.”

“Excuse me?”

He turns to Isaac. “You should have gone to the Halloween party. She brought her little boy toy.”

She scoffs. “He is not my boy toy.”

“You sure do have him around your finger though, getting in matching costumes and all that,” Dazai says. “Spends Saturdates with him all the time.”

The only strategy that will work in times like these is straight-up ignoring him. “Anyway—” she begins, about to steer the conversation away when Isaac speaks up.

“It’s nice to hear you’re getting close to other people,” he says softly. Isaac has a way of speaking that makes it always seem like he’s spent so much time thinking about what he said before he actually said it; so sometimes it’s hard to gauge if he’s saying it casually or entirely seriously.

So she blinks. “You make it seem like I have no friends, Isaac.”

“I-It’s not that!” he suddenly blurts. Ah, there. There’s the usual Isaac. “You’ve spent so much time focusing on your work lately, it’s nice to know you’re relaxing with other people sometimes.”

And he doesn’t say it, but she sure does hear it: the you haven’t been to the astronomy club in a while and it’s made me worried about you.

She doesn’t go religiously, but she used to attend fairly often to hang out with the other members and just look up at the stars. Isaac tries to organize at least two sessions in a month, one to look at the moon, and another to point at the stars. She hasn’t been able to catch them in a bit.

But then, slowly, as the image of the view outside the astronomy club’s hangout is refreshed in her mind, the way the physics building rooftop is just high enough to provide a good view of the rest of the campus below, the city downtown, just at the right place on campus that at night, the rest of the sprawling town’s streetlights trickle out like golden LED veins through the threes—an idea begins to implant itself into her head.

Taking root immediately.

She likes to go up here to think. She really shouldn’t have had permission to go up there on her own, in her free time, since they have rules about club hours and the likes, but Isaac is a close friend and gave her a spare key, so she can come and go as she pleases. And sure, the Grove is a nice, quiet place for book clubs and maybe doing homework if one doesn’t need an electric socket, but up here in the astronomy club’s “the Rooftop”, she feels like she can float away into the vast ocean of her thoughts and get lost in them for a moment.

She feels small up there. And that’s a good feeling.

She won’t tell it to Isaac’s face but it’s one of the primary reasons why she applied for the astronomy club in the first place. The stars are great no matter how dumb she is at physics, but the view—it’s really something else.

What does the world look like from the point of view of a star? How tiny are human lives in the vast expanse of the universe? How long have these stars been out there, how long will they stay out there, how much longer will they stay in this universe more than we will?

…This is why Theo teases her for being a literature major: all these goddamn metaphors.

And for a split second, she thinks…

Maybe it isn’t that bad to share that same quiet space with him?

…You know, to talk books.

“About that…”

Isaac and Dazai turn to her.

“Mind if I sneak in an outsider to the Roof?” she asks, facing Isaac with genuine hope in her voice.

Isaac only shrugs. “Do as you please,” he says casually, taking a cookie from her little box on the table.

And she grins like he’d just given her the light of the world. “Thank you, Isaac.”

Dazai shakes his head, because he knows she’s got no denying herself out of this one the next time.

#the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo

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backdraft-bimbo · 3 years

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s15 review (ish)

Just messily throwing my thoughts out here. I got some pros, and I got some cons. It’s not all negative fyi, and before I dive into this I’m gonna rate s15 like a 6.5/10 overall.

For starters: the usage of Carry On My Wayward Son in 15x20 completely screws the show’s morals in the end. “There’ll be peace when you are done”? Oh let me tell you, the stone-cold irony.

That song is about hope. Supernatural, of all shows, chose a song revolving around the concept that one day, the suffering will end, and there will be a light at the end of the tunnel–peace.

Dean thought he might have a chance at peace when Chuck got demoted, he hoped Sam could live on with a clear grief-free mind, and he wanted to have Castiel in the end. He thought, and we all thought so too, but the show writers decided, nah, tragic shock factor overrules seasons of character development and the entire fandom loudly demanding a happy ending for these characters we’ve adored for years. The writers brushed aside the discomfort and disapproval of the stars of Supernatural themselves as well. And I’m curious as to why. Why is the dynamic of the actors and fans so starkly different from those who had a say in writing 15x20? (The actors and fandom are more in tune with each other, while the writers have become detached and unaware of their own storytelling.) But that’s for another time, and I digress.

My main point here, and one of my biggest bones to pick with the finale is the unnecessary death. Tragic endings only work well if done right.

If death has a legitimate purpose in the story, by all means, utilize it. If it’s only there to make the audience turn their heads in shock, maybe reconsider. Death can be used in a variety of ways: to stir up empathy, bring an arc full-circle, a catalyst for another character’s arc, consideration of morality, et cetera, et cetera. But it should never be a last minute decision. It should at least have been foreshadowed if Dean was going to die, like in the earlier seasons when he made the deal for Sam’s life. As tragic as his death was then, we understood why it was done, instead of with the finale which left us wondering why the Hell would they do that? with a nasty taste in our mouths.

Let me throw out an example of a well-written tragedy: Merlin. Even though (spoiler alert) one of the main characters died at the end, it was not to send the message that death is the superior of all storytelling, which is what Supernatural would have us believe in the finale. Merlin does it well because the entire show essentially builds up to the tragic death/destiny of King Arthur via ominous foreshadowing, but it redeems his character along the way to show that death is not the “ultimate redeemer.” Merlin has a theme of inescapable destiny (i.e. Arthur’s death), and yet by the end of the show you still love the characters and plot because they hold meaning. That’s one of the reasons its fandom is still so active–it ended tragically, but there is hope in the end, hope that Arthur will one day return to Merlin when the need for him is greatest.

Supernatural, Voltron, and GOT all used death immaturely, especially in their last seasons. All because of bad storytelling and misuse of tragedy. There wasn’t peace in Dean’s horrifically anti-climatic death, which means there wasn’t peace for Sam, even though he made a family later on. He grieved his big brother for his entire life (or our two minutes of poorly put together montage feat. pop cover of Kansas) until he made it to Heaven after Dean’s five minute joyride in the Impala. So the message the CW is really sending out here is, “there’ll be peace when you are done, but only after you die.” Honestly, what a joke. It seems more like laziness which led to the finale; laziness regarding plot and characters and everything that made us like the show initially.

It felt more like a punch in the face to the fans/actors rather than a thank you. And maybe the CW intended it to be that way. Maybe they just got sick of people’s critiques and decided to go out with a sadistic smile and a big ol’ middle finger.

For us, peace is only attainable when the show is over, because the writers aren’t in control anymore. They can’t make anymore colossal mistakes.

On the other hand, Supernatural used tragedy right as well in s15. The reason Castiel’s death in 15x18 had less controversy than Sam and Dean’s deaths in 15x20 is because Castiel had a long, drawn-out build up with his Empty deal. It loomed over the plot of all the following seasons. We all knew it was going to come back, that Cas was going to be taken one way or another.

When the Empty got Cas, I wasn’t left with resentful questions or dissatisfaction. He went out with a bang–tears, a beautiful monologue, and I love you. I’m gonna trash the finale the rest of my life, but I will never hold back the respect I have for Cas’ s15 character arc (and Misha’s acting!). Brushing aside his impact in the finale of the show was a very bad move, but we’ve got canon queer Castiel, and essentially Destiel as well, and having that, I feel satisfaction probably equal to the distaste I have for the finale. So they kind of cancel each other out for me, personally (now that I’ve had a chance to reflect on the show as a whole and take a breather).

With COVID, it just astounds me how much time the CW had to think this over and settle on something so poorly written and inconsistent with the rest of s15. Kripke himself chose that ending, said it was right for the characters, which should really just make all our jaws drop, because that only solidifies the fact that the amount of care the fandom and actors put into these characters is tremendous in superiority to the actual show creators. It really makes me want to know now: How much of Supernatural’s genius was a mistake?

How many details were unintentional, and how many scenes were made deeper simply by accident? Was it us, with our essays and theories and blogs dedicated to unravelling the secrets of the show, who made it more beautiful in the end? Because I guarantee, if I hadn’t read posts about Supernatural having deeper meanings early on, I probably wouldn’t have watched it. I wouldn’t have seen all the parallels between characters, and I couldn’t have pieced together the unintended puzzle that is Supernatural.

Supernatural would have been way less enjoyable without the fans giving it so much meaning, and of course, without the actors’ performances. While they were done dirty in the finale, I’ve gotten to the point where I can still love the stars and their roles in the story in the long run. And whether you loved or hated the finale, it’s fun to just scream about stuff with people who are equally as invested in something as I am.

So, I guess... thanks, Supernatural. But I will be dividing my thanks out to the folks who deserve it most: the fandom, the actors, and only specific writers who remain in my graces.

#rant #supernatural #mine #review #s15 #15x20 #castiel #dean winchester #sam winchester

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fleckcmscott · 4 years

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Watch What Happens - Chapter 15

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Swearing, Angst

Words: 3,671

All he had wanted to do was meet his father.

Arthur had always wondered what he'd done to make him leave. Maybe it had been his condition. Or, somehow, his father had instinctively known he was mentally ill. Penny had been right when she’d said he was an unwanted bastard. But Arthur still longed to find out who his father was. After his mother's confession, he'd been determined to meet him as soon as possible. Nervous excitement had filled him as he searched all his pockets until he scrounged up enough money to take a train to Wayne Manor.

A copy of City Metro News had lain on a nearby empty seat, and he’d grabbed it to study during the ride. There'd been a photo of Wayne's other son. Arthur recognized him from the news. He didn't look happy, almost hiding behind his father's form. His dark hair and apparent shyness reminded Arthur of himself. There wasn't much he remembered from when he was that age. But the boy's posture had evoked a time when Arthur had hidden in a teacher's closet because his laughter wouldn't fucking stop, even after he'd gotten a ruler across the knuckles.

Walking from the train station to the mansion, he'd done his best to make sure he looked presentable. He'd fixed his hair and looked to see if he'd missed any buttons on his dress shirt and brown cardigan. If he was going to meet his father after thirty-five years, he was going to make him proud. He'd checked his pockets for the red clown nose and magic wand he'd brought to entertain his half-brother with.

Arthur's gait had turned into a stroll as he walked along the brick wall surrounding the perimeter of Wayne Manor. He'd peered over the barrier, astonished at the size of the place. If he had been allowed to grow up with his father, he was sure his life would have been different. It certainly would have be easier to care for his mother. And he'd have his own bed to sleep in.

Even as he’d thought about these possibilities, he’d realized he didn't want anything from Thomas Wayne. He hadn't gone there to ask for money the way his mother always did. Warmth and decency were what he’d sought. If he pressed his luck, maybe he could get a hug, too.

And answers. Penny's history had always been a mystery to him. It would be nice to learn more about her.

He'd felt some solace when he spotted the boy from the photo. Younger children were easy for him to interact with. Usually, they accepted him without question. When the child had spotted him, Arthur ducked behind the wall and put his red nose on, then peeked back up and smiled, continuing towards the entrance. The boy had followed, leaving his backyard jungle gym to take a closer look.

The boy and Arthur had stopped about ten feet from each other, on either side of a closed, wrought iron gate. After performing a magic trick, which the kid didn’t seem to understand, Arthur had knelt down on his side of the barrier. He hadn’t expected to be so moved at meeting his half-brother. Hands on the bars, Arthur had asked the boy's name. The boy hadn't hesitated to give it; Arthur gave his name, too. He thought he may hugged Bruce if he could have. But the gate prevented that. He'd had to settle for pushing Bruce's mouth into a smile with his thumbs. The boy had still been smiling when Arthur let go.

Then the butler had ruined it.

Thinking back on it, Arthur grew despondent. When the man said there was nothing to tell, Arthur had been confused. Why would Penny lie about who his father was? She didn't have anything to gain from that. But when the man had called his mother delusional and sick, he felt anger burn in him. It had grown while the butler continued denying everything.

Arthur's darker impulses had gotten the better of him when the man had told him not to make a fool of himself and laughed. It had happened too fast to stop it. Rage coursed through his entire frame as he'd reached through the bars and grabbed the man by the tie, then the neck, and squeezed. "He left me!" he'd yelled, feeling pathetic even as the words left his mouth. He'd been shaking, watching the man struggle to drag his hand away.

A movement over the man's shoulder had caught Arthur's attention. The boy, his brother, was standing there, staring at him with wide-eyed horror. His heart lurched. He'd made Bruce smile two minutes ago, and now he was afraid of him. Arthur had stopped suddenly, letting go of the butler. Then he'd run. As fast as he could, he'd run away from the gate, the manor, and the terrible idea to go there. Distressed, he'd hopped on the next train home, not even thinking to buy a ticket.

Now it was calm outside of Gotham General's emergency room. Arthur was glad for the silence. Sitting with his legs crossed on the metal bench, he brought his cigarette to his mouth and took a long breath. He adjusted his legs, as they'd started falling asleep. It was getting harder to stop his outbursts - today had been particularly tough. What would Y/N think if she knew what happened? Her eyes, which had seemed to reflect want and affection that morning, would instead be filled with fear. Like his brother’s. He couldn't stand the possibility. He screwed his eyelids shut.

Footsteps were approaching. Arthur felt his body relax a little, relieved Y/N was finally there. He straightened his legs and looked up, ready to spring to his feet and take her into his arms-

But two police officers were approaching him.

Fuck. The butler must have called Gotham PD after all.

"Mr. Fleck. Sorry to bother you,” one policeman started. “I'm Sargent Eckhard.” Eckhardt gestured towards the other officer as they stopped about a yard in front of Arthur. “This is my partner Officer Corrigan."

Arthur didn't move, looking up at them, trying to conceal his nerves.

Eckhardt continued. "We had a few questions for you, but you weren't home. So...we spoke to your mother."

It took a few moments before Arthur understood. "Oh..." His brows knit together. "What did you say to her? Did you do this?"

Corrigan spoke, waving his hand. "No, no, no. We just asked her some questions and she got hysterical - hyperventilating - then she collapsed. Hit her head pretty hard."

Arthur punctuated his words with a shake of his head, his voice strained with aggravation. "Yeah, the doctor said she had a stroke."

"Sorry to hear about that." Eckhardt said with some sympathy. "But like I said, we still have some questions for you." He looked down at his notes. "Were you at Wayne Manor earlier today?"

There was no point in denying it. He'd been stupid enough to give the butler his name. He focused on the ground as he answered. "Yeah."

Eckhardt continued. "They said you bothered their son."

"I didn't bother him." Arthur looked up at them. "I did a magic trick. Part of my act. I'm a party clown." Trying to keep his anger from growing, he puffed on his smoke.

"I see." Eckhardt paused. "They also said you assaulted the butler when he told you to leave."

Before Arthur could come up with an answer, a car pulled into the parking lot and stopped. After a few moments, Y/N exited it, waving goodbye to whomever the driver was. Anxiety made his shoulders ridged. It would only take a couple seconds for her to be next to him. The cops needed to leave before she saw them. She was too smart - she'd know something was up. "I wouldn't. That's horrible." He pushed himself to stand.

Y/N walked around the policemen and hugged him immediately. The relief he'd hoped to feel when he saw her was spoiled by his annoyance. She'd really shown up at the worst time. But her voice quieted him. "I'm sorry," she said. "How is she?"

He gave a quick nod. "She's sleeping."

She turned to the policemen, a confused look on her face. "Can I help you? Were you the ones who called the ambulance?"

Corrigan shook his head. "We just needed to speak with Mr. Fleck." He turned his attention to Arthur. "Don't go near the Waynes or Wayne Manor again. All right?"

"Yes. Okay." Arthur flicked his cigarette away, avoiding Y/N’s gaze as he grabbed her hand. "Now, if you don't mind, I have to go take care of my mother."

~~~~~

The hospital room was small and dimly lit, but he was glad his mother had gotten a room with a single bed and a window. Arthur sat on the twin padded chairs at Penny's bedside, staring at his clasped hands. It was all his fault. His mother being in the hospital, maybe dying. He'd selfishly neglected her. He hadn’t just left Penny alone all night so he could finally fuck a woman (something he'd been planning to do again), but he'd also left most of the day after they'd fought. What if she died before he could apologize? What if yelling at her was the last interaction they would have?

After he and Y/N had gone inside, they’d headed to the nurse's station to grab the paperwork he hadn't been able to complete on his own. Thankfully, they’d been able to find a quiet, private space to work on it. There had been so many questions about Penny's medical history. Y/N had been surprised at how little he knew. He tried to explain that Penny never liked going to doctors and didn't talk much. All he could say with any certainty was that she didn't take medication and needed help at home.

There were a lot of phrases he hadn't heard before. And it was hard for him to pay attention, his mind filled with guilt and questions of when he could bring Penny home. But Y/N had been patient as she clarified what a living will was, what advanced care directives were. Even after he'd understood, he didn't know the right answers. He'd felt like an idiot. But his mother had never discussed it. They never discussed anything.

Y/N was running her hand up and down his back soothingly. The beeping of the monitors and sound of the ventilator were deafening. Worry gnawed at him. And he felt awful. "I've been the man of the house for as long as I can remember," he said quietly. "I- I've never lived alone before."

Y/N scooted closer to him and put her other hand on his thigh. "You won't be alone, Arthur. She's going to be all right."

After a minute, he moved to slowly put his arm on the back of her chair, grazing her shoulders. With the wall heater right behind them, the position felt awkward, but good. She snuggled up to him and sighed. It didn't take long for her head to grow heavy on him, her body to slump against his side. He looked at her sullenly. How could she have fallen asleep when he needed her so badly?

He frowned at himself in disgust. She must have had a long day, he thought. And I didn't ask about it. Carefully, he tucked a stray hair behind her ear, then adjusted himself so he was in the corner of the chair. Looking back and forth between Y/N and Penny, the only two people who mattered to him, more than even himself, he sighed. Losing either of them would tear him to pieces. He hoped he had the strength to prevent it.

~~~~~

When she blinked awake, it took Y/N a few bleary seconds for her to realize she wasn't at home. No. Her back ached because she was laying on a set of chairs at the hospital. Arthur and Ms. Fleck were there. And policemen had talked about the Waynes. She swept her hair back from her face and pushed herself up, wincing, and looked at her watch. Damn. She'd been asleep for almost an hour. Looking around, she didn’t see Arthur. His jacket was draped over her, though. He couldn't have gone far. Stretching, she stood and looked around the room.

She'd spent a lot of time in hospitals in the year before she'd moved to Gotham. They were all quite similar: florescent lighting, tiled walls, that same anti-septic smell. There was a strange comfort in the familiarity. Ms. Fleck's form was small in the bed, her arms stuck with IVs, face almost entirely enveloped by the ventilator mask. The electrodes for the heart monitor were visible through her hospital gown. Y/N wondered if she was cold. She stepped to her and pulled the cover further over Ms. Fleck, bringing it to the top of her chest.

As Y/N continued to observe her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, she felt the urge to talk. It was silly. She barely knew this woman. And the one time she'd met her, Ms. Fleck had hurt her son. But maybe talking would help her recover. For Arthur's sake, at least. "I hope you don't mind me being here," she started. "Arthur's here, too. But you probably know that. He hopes to see you again soon." Her brows lifted as she continued. "I want you to know your son is a wonderful man. I'm fortunate to have met him. I-"

When she saw Arthur enter the room out of the corner of her eye, she stopped and turned to him. He approached the foot of the bed, two paper cups in his hands. "I got some coffee," he said, offering her one. "They didn't have any creamer. Sorry."

She took it gratefully and sipped at it. "Thank you. I'm sorry I fell asleep. You should have woken me up."

He dismissed her apology with a wave. "Has anything changed?"

"No. But she seems stable."

"That's good," he said, taking a drink.

After some silence, save for the sound of a monitor, Y/N decided to try to lighten the mood. "Well, tonight didn't turn out how we'd planned, huh?"

Arthur stared at her. First she thought she'd misjudged the timing of her remark, but then he chuckled, blushing, and brought his hand to his face. "No."

His laugh relieved her. It was good to hear before she had to start questioning him. Y/N put a hand on one of the bed's safety railings and closed her eyes. The policemen who'd been talking to Arthur when she arrived had been in the back of her mind since she'd gotten there, as well as their comment about the Waynes. "Arthur, I need to know. What were those officers talking about?"

His brow furrowed. After half a minute, he responded. "My mother wrote Thomas Wayne another letter. She keeps asking me why he isn't answering. I wanted to give it to him." His eyes darted to hers, then back down to Ms. Fleck.

"They called the police because you wanted to drop off a letter?" Y/N asked.

He went back to the chairs they had shared and sat stiffly. "I don't know why," he said softly, studying his coffee. "I didn't go inside. I waited at the gate." He pursed his lips, his face still pensive.

She suspected there was more to it - she'd have to find out the rest later. But his explanation was enough for the moment. Her thoughts went to the newly filed motion and a lump formed in her throat. Patricia was right: there was no way she could tell him about it now. Not with the stress he was experiencing. She would be needlessly piling on. Maybe Renew Corp. wouldn't send their letters his way, and she could continue to work in the background.

But she still felt the need to warn him. "Stay away from them, Arthur. They're powerful people. Gotham depends on them for too much." His only response was a nod and his eyes fluttering shut.

Music from the television appeared to suddenly draw his attention. Though she wasn't a regular viewer, Y/N recognized it as the opening theme to Live! With Murray Franklin. She watched his features soften, his eyes light up. The break from the tension he'd displayed most of the night would do him good, she thought. She settled next to him and finished her coffee as the monologue went on, more interested in Arthur's reactions than the show itself. When he scooted forward and reached out to hold his mother's hand, she gave him a smile, half-listening to the TV.

"...in a world where everyone thinks they could do my job, we got this videotape from Pogo's comedy club right here in Gotham. Here's a guy who thinks if you just keep laughing, it'll somehow make you funny. Check out this joker."

At the sound of Arthur's laugh, Y/N's eyes shot to the television, a hollow ache forming in her chest. There was Arthur, almost completely washed out by the spotlight on his pale skin, stumbling his way through his opening. Who had recorded this, she wondered, and which asshole had given it to NCB studios?

"Oh my god." Arthur said, then moved to stand in front of the TV. He was smiling. And when the clip was done, he let out a short, genuine laugh and clapped once. The joy on his face hurt her heart. He didn't seem to understand he was about to be mocked, that he was going to be laughed at, not with.

Murray spoke, then, mugging for the camera. “You should have listened to your mother.”

Y/N felt remorse for every time she had laughed at an oddball being made fun of on television.

"Let’s see one more," Franklin said. "I love this guy."

She closed her eyes, wishing she could shut her ears, too. If only the television had been broken or the antenna was out.

"It’s funny. When I was a little boy, and told people I was gonna be a comedian, everyone laughed at me," the recording of Arthur said. "Well, no one's laughing now."

Franklin didn't miss a beat. "You can say that again, pal." The audience roared.

Y/N got to her feet and went to Arthur. The corner of his mouth twitched; his whole frame was frozen, his jaw clenched. She reached out to take his closed fist in one hand, wrapping her other arm around his back. "You didn't deserve that."

He went to grab his jacket from the chair and hurriedly put it on. "We should go," he said. "It's late."

Y/N turned to him, squinting. "Are you sure? I don't mind staying long-"

"No, please. Let's just go," his said lowly. He left the room, not waiting for her, his coffee cup on the windowsill.

Buttoning her coat, she followed, catching up to him as he waited for the elevator. "Arthur-"

"You should go home," he said, leg bouncing.

She tried to take his hand, running her thumb over the back of it. "Come back with me. You shouldn’t be alone right now."

"I'll be fine."

"You don't have to push me away," she said, shaking her head. Though she spoke tenderly, it was impossible to keep her frustration out of her voice. "I wish you wouldn't."

His expression turned crestfallen. After they went into the elevator, he took her face in his hands and kissed her lightly. "I'm sorry." he said, pressing his forehead to hers. "Please don't be mad at me."

"I'm not mad." She held onto his wrists. When she looked up at him, his eyes were shining and wet. The usual puffiness under them had gotten worse. "You look exhausted. Have you slept?" she asked.

"No."

She traced one of the bags with her thumb. "Is there anything you can take that will help?"

A snort left him and he backed away from her. "You don't have to worry about that."

"What does that mean?"

He bit his lip, frowning. "I- I wanted to tell you this morning, but-"

She winced. That was deserved. "Tell me now."

After a little while, he closed his eyes. "I stopped taking my medication. The city cut the funding for it."

Y/N sighed, feeling as though she should have known, given her affected cases. Gotham Department of Health budget cuts had been all over the news, too. He had been moody, but she’d chalked it up to all that had happened with Pogo’s, his mother, and herself. Now she didn’t know where to attribute it. Her mind began working on how to help. She knew a few doctors through work. Maybe there were other programs. If she could-

"Please. Just go home. I'll be all right," he insisted. He was gazing into the distance, his hands in his pockets. Y/N cocked her head, torn between respecting the boundary he was drawing and letting out the pushy side she'd warned him of. But she didn't want to scare him off.

After they stepped out of the elevator, then exited the hospital, she grabbed his arm and pulled him towards her. He nearly stumbled but caught himself on her shoulder. He looked at her in consternation. She ignored it. "Come by if you want to,” she said. “I'll be at work all day, but tonight and tomorrow after the benefit I'll be home. Hell, stop by my office for a break."

Arthur lowered his head and nodded. "Okay."

"I’m here if you need me." She pressed her lips to his cheek. "And if you don't call me when you get home, I swear-."

"I will." The answer was so quiet, she almost didn't hear it. His eyes flicked to hers long enough to know he would. Then he withdrew gently, the corner of his mouth lifting before he turned and walked away.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @clowndaddyfleck @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @invisiblewispofwhimsey @let-the-stars-fall-in-the-abyss

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x female reader #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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