#meaning I will derive so much amusement from it but we will be nice and help him escape the brunt of LBH’s malice

[bethanydelleman]

Northanger Abbey Readthrough Ch 20

This line is so sweet:

Mr. and Mrs. Allen were sorry to lose their young friend, whose good humour and cheerfulness had made her a valuable companion, and in the promotion of whose enjoyment their own had been gently increased.

Catherine is fun to be around! She's nice, she's joyful, she's sweet! It's no wonder Henry Tilney wants to know her better! But also, the Allens derived joy from making Catherine happy! What a lovely friendship they have with her. This whole thing is beautiful.

Now we have a very awkward family breakfast, where the Tilney children are doing their best to make Catherine feel welcome, but General Tilney, in trying to do the same is achieving the opposite.

His anxiety for her comfort—his continual solicitations that she would eat, and his often-expressed fears of her seeing nothing to her taste—though never in her life before had she beheld half such variety on a breakfast-table—made it impossible for her to forget for a moment that she was a visitor.

Such a relatable sentiment!

And then in the most awkward moment ever, General Tilney reams out Frederick for being late for breakfast right in front of Catherine, but also makes it clear that it is Frederick's insult to Catherine that he is the most angry about. Honestly, I would have just died of embarrassment in Catherine's place.

Catherine's attributes Captain Tilney not defending himself or replying to his father's screed to him not being able to sleep properly because of guilt. Sorry Catherine, I'd bet it's just because replying would have made it worse. Again, General Tilney making his children silent, the only thing he says before they leave is, "How glad I shall be when you are all off.”

Again, we see that General Tilney has a troubling anger management problem, which is likely why his kids get to quiet around him. He has a very short fuse, Catherine hardly manages to keep him from throwing her writing desk onto the street (I wonder if any of Eleanor's things were thrown out) and he's terrible to staff, "with his discontent at whatever the inn afforded, and his angry impatience at the waiters" Poor Eleanor! Having to live full time with this horrible man.

Catherine grow every moment more in awe of him

Meaning drift. The word "awe" here is more of a synonym with "fear". We use "awe" today in a positive sense; it used to be more like "inspire with fear or dread". Those familiar with the Bible will known that fear/awe are often used to describe what people feel about God. Anyway, this is not a positive feeling, Catherine is becoming wary of General Tilney. This is important to point out because a lot of people laugh at Catherine's eventual conclusion that General Tilney murdered his wife, but if you were to only judge by this chapter, General Tilney really does not come off well. Short temper, terrible to staff, screams at his children for minor slights...

Anyway, things get better! Catherine switches from Eleanor to Henry and he tells her a gothic horror story off the top of his head which Catherine LOVES. Until he cannot continue because he's laughing too hard, "But Henry was too much amused by the interest he had raised to be able to carry it farther; he could no longer command solemnity either of subject or voice, and was obliged to entreat her to use her own fancy in the perusal of Matilda’s woes."

Also, if you weren't convinced yet that Henry is far superior to Thorpe:

Henry drove so well—so quietly—without making any disturbance, without parading to her, or swearing at them: so different from the only gentleman-coachman whom it was in her power to compare him with!

I did not get this the first time I read it, but a big part of the humour of this section of Northanger Abbey is that the Abbey looks really clean and modern inside, much to Catherine's disappointment.

The windows, to which she looked with peculiar dependence, from having heard the general talk of his preserving them in their Gothic form with reverential care, were yet less what her fancy had portrayed. To be sure, the pointed arch was preserved—the form of them was Gothic—they might be even casements—but every pane was so large, so clear, so light!

Like come on! Catherine was hoping for a dungeon and she got a mansion. And then General Tilney starts to ramble on about all the money that he's spent doing the exact opposite of what Catherine was hoping for. She's in this beautiful house but is not impressed at all.

Also, this is hilarious:

The breeze had not seemed to waft the sighs of the murdered to her

Darn those non-murder breezes!

Then General Tilney announces that it's almost dinner time and Eleanor books it with Catherine to get changed.

#northanger abbey readthrough #northanger abbey #ch 20 #general tilney

[blackjackkent]

OK, I'm less surprised that those gith were able to find us - we're right at the far western edge of the map and just opened a useful waypoint:

Much as Hector would like to, we're not going that way yet. Far too much still to do in the Shadowlands.

Right next to this waypoint, however, just to the north, is a bunch of shadow-cursed enemies and this extremely ominous-looking entrance:

Hector has hated every single thing he has experienced in Reithwin Village and I suspect he's not going to like this part any better.

Unsurprisingly the place is extremely full of dead, mutilated bodies.

Highly amused by this interchange that fired off as soon as we entered:

Obliterated.

TBH I think Shadowheart is, much more quietly, having almost as shitty a time in Reithwin as Hector is. As (I think?) @zenjestrr pointed out in my stream playthrough - she tries to act real tough and edgelord to please her goddess, but she approves every time we are nice to children and animals; fundamentally it's pretty clear that everything she's seeing here is clashing with her personal sense of right and wrong even if she's terrified of what that implies.

And she can't even talk about it with Hector or any of the rest of the party since that would mean admitting that something is wrong with the way she's been taught to see the world.

It's hard to say how much of this is actual Sharran behavior and how much of it is Ketheric and co. having gone completely off the deep end, but either way there's no way she's as calm as she's trying to act.

A note lies on a nearby barrel:

>:|

I actually found the hidden wall before I found the note bc Shadowheart is a boss and perceptioned the button. Walked into the vault expecting to maybe get some fun treasure - what I actually found was two charred dead bodies, an apple, a ring of deception +1, and this:

...Sure. O.O

The morgue proper looks even worse. Blood everywhere, poison clouds coming out of the vents, and numerous undead sprawled around, apparently just vibing.

After clearing the zombies out and looking around, Hector noticed that of the three doors leading south, north, and west out of this room, the southmost one has been wiped clean of dust. That seems very odd to notice but probably significant, so we'll go that way first.

Inside we find a dead aasimar Harper, Olam, and yet another journal of the last days as Reithwin fell to the darkness.

I got three different inspirations for reading this - two from Hector and Gale for Sage and one from Shadowheart for Acolyte.

This is particularly interesting because the orthon in the Shar temple mentioned an aasimar in conjunction with speculating on why Raphael wanted him to kill Dark Justiciars. I can only guess that this is the aasimar in question, but he's a Harper; what does he have to do with Raphael?

He also left some notes and a key to something called a "necrotic laboratory"; I'm assuming that's one of the other doors from the main room and that this guy was trying to experiment and find a way to lift the curse (unsuccessfully).

I kind of enjoy the idea of "magical research" as a concept. It sort of feels like how the idea of "mathematical research" in our world feels sort of out there - how do you find "new" math? But with both math and magic there are, it seems, always new things to be learned.

The main room is completely full of poison by now. Let's quickly try the other two doors and get out of here.

Western door unlocks with Olam's key and reveals yet more horror and blood.

Some notes left behind from Malus Thorm here, which are exactly as unpleasant as you would expect:

There's also some notes about his research for a paralytic poison derived from a "carrion crawler."

This displeases me because I remember carrion crawlers from Baldur's Gate 2 and they were gross.

There's also a lever in here which opens the final door. Excellent. Let's go take a look at that and then--

JFC, what?

OK, so this is a fairly awful looking pit. Noxious looking gases and a lot of dead bodies and blood at the bottom. There is a visible path downwards but it's not immediately obvious how to get onto it.

In the end I loaded up Shadowheart and Gale both with Dimension Door and had them portal Karlach and Hector around the place. There's a path out the rear as well which we'll check out in a moment, but down into the pit first.

Surprisingly, the noxious gases don't actually appear to be noxious, but the whole area is an acid surface and we do get to fight a bunch of these little guys, as well as the Hollow Armor mentioned in Olam's notes.

Other than this, though, not really much to see, so we'll try the rear path.

...Goodie.

This actually was not as ominous as the name implies; it brought us out to an area across the water from the Last Light and just north of the entrance to the Sharran complex, at what appears to be some sort of fishing hut.

JK thirteen cursed Kuo-Toa just spawned around me...

Luckily Gale has a new toy as of his last level-up:

Dats Fireball babeeee.

Also quite enjoyed Shadowhearts' spirit guardians on this fight; just had her run around and bump into people until they fell over.

There was nothing of particular use on the kuo-toas or the fishing hut, except a high quality pun from some poor bastard consumed by shadow a hundred years ago.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #long rambly explorational post once again XD

[zydrateacademy]

Review: Hogwarts Legacy

My first impressions post was written at around 8 hours played. I just broke 100 with more to go. I’ll repeat certain things, rephrase others, and I have some new things to add. I’ve never played a Harry Potter game before this, because they all seemed to just play through the book and movie plot lines over and over again. Sometimes as Lego people. I read the books, watched the movies, and therefore held no interest in the franchises foray into my favored hobby. Legacy has quite literally the game I’ve been waiting for and that’s a shared sentiment I’ve seen.

Story wise, we play a newcomer to Hogwarts but we’re inducted as a fifth year. Extremely rare but not unheard of. Your custom character’s backstory is completely obscured and the story nor dialog reveals a single iota of information about who they are and where they come from. It’s up to us to fill in those blanks.

Immediately in the tutorial/prologue (the tutorials continue well into the game itself) it’s revealed that our MC (main character) possesses the rare ability to witness and utilize a form of “ancient magic”. We then discover a strange, previously unknown symbol to the wizarding community and alongside your mentor Professor Fig, that kicks off the main plot.

In my first impressions I considered this a bit derivative, as if it’s banking off the movie’s success. The game doesn’t waste a single chance to reference something from the books or movies, like the mooncalves first seen in Strange Beasts or the mandrake replanting class from Chamber of Secrets. Some moments are cute, but during the mandrake replanting I found myself thinking we’d explore literally anything else because per my previous point; I’ve seen that already. Other times are more subtle, like how you can literally stand at the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets with a little lore page detailing a little snake etching but no other in-game indication of what it could mean. I prefer the subtle approach to fanservice like that. As stated, some moments are better than others but this game takes the shotgun approach.

One of the things that awed me about the game is how absolutely gorgeous it is, down to the atmosphere. Despite what other reviews state, I find the facial animations to be some of the best I’ve seen. There is the occasional oddity where after every spoken line, an NPC will briefly revert back to their neutral expression which can be jarring depending on how stable your game is. It’s often seamless, but sometimes my computer lags a bit (I’m a bit under the minimum requirements) and I just see their faces cancel itself out.

As I always say to anyone who will listen, the first once or twice I did the flying class I could not stop smiling. The teacher spoke to me as if I was on an amusement park ride but I didn’t care, as I got a fairly scenic route through the Hogwarts grounds that we didn’t really get in the movies. Tutorial mission thought it might have been, the music cues were perfect for the mood it was going for.

Fans of Harry Potter may very well be in two camps. One wants to capture their childhood nostalgia, the idea that they could be whisked away to a whimsical school to be taught reality breaking spells. The other camp perhaps just want a nice action RPG that just happens to be set in the universe and lore that they love. The first camp will absolutely adore the first 10-15 hours, after which the classes will very much dry up. They’re cute, giving the usual “move the mouse in a certain way” minigames. I do wish they were more complex, or there was more to do but I also completely understand that this game is very much marketed towards teens so they need to keep the pace going and the objectives accessible. Meanwhile, the second camp of fans will very much enjoy themselves. The whole prologue of the game can take a few to several hours before the final mechanic of beast-rearing is introduced, so after that the combat takes center stage. ...And the combat is actually quite great. There can be a good flow between using the right category of spell to cancel out color coded enemy shields, while making sure to counter or dodge as the right prompt presents itself. Players of Arkham, Mad Max, or Middle-Earth will be familiar with the flow. After a while however, the region level locking became a problem as the late game became far too easy. At one point I was a level 35 (cap is 40) but I kept facing level locked enemies like 20 or 30, almost all of which only took four basic attacks to kill. I had to resort to mods to remedy this issue and increase the difficulty. Hard mode in-game does well in raising the reaction times needed, and it also makes enemy shields come up much quicker, often quicker than your cooldowns which forces more spell switching which I enjoy a lot. However for those who catch onto the flow of it, even Hard difficulty can come across as fairly easy. Another thing I went to mods to help with.

I feel like this game brings to the table that HP fans have wanted. If you wanted the school experience, it’s here in in bite sized chunks, a class or two at a time for you to navigate the wonderfully designed school with all kinds of bits and bobs to discover. If you’re one of those HP fans who thought the combative implications of the world went under explored, then there’s plenty of it to be had here as well between shooting at wolves, spiders, bandits, rebels, and other creatures with fake made-up names.

It is perhaps not as much of an open world as players may have wanted. There’s plenty to explore to find chests and loot, sometimes blocked by ways you don’t have access to quite yet. The game doesn’t throw every tool at you immediately to let you loose upon the world and for good reason; because there’s not a whole hell of a lot to do town by town. This is not a “pick a direction and go” kind of world, as early on you get a tutorial notation saying that some activities are straight up locked until you get certain spells. The real meat of the game is in its quests. I will say most of the side quests are rather uninspired and after a couple dozen hours I was only really doing them to unlock appearances and crafts for our Room of Requirement, a place you can decorate and utilize as you see fit. But most of the writing in them were fairly basic. You help one goblin get his cart with art supplies, and that’s really the end of that story. Another you help track down a woman’s missing brother, which just introduces the Inferi (undead) of the lore. Game tells you to hit them with fire, and that’s all there is to that story. In fact, a lot of the game is tutorialized in the first half which can be grating for those of us who catch onto how the game works quickly. This was particularly obvious when you are introduced to the Room of Requirement, where a Weasley ancestor spells out every little thing you can do in the room down to making you place five rugs and five wall hangings before the quest continues, as if doing it once isn’t enough to understand the basics. Again I understand that they do this to keep the game accessible for the lower end of age brackets.

While we’re talking about that kind of thing, some of the activities can feel a bit like busywork. I am particularly irritated at Merlin trials, which are never complex but always tedious. There are times where I couldn’t even find the solution, despite flying around spamming the Revelio (revealing the area, Eagle Vision Style) and then discovering that if you go to far away from the trial it resets itself.  They’re also the only way to increase your inventory space (which fills up quickly because loot is absolutely everywhere). I’m okay with the various bandit camps and animal lairs but it does reek of that Ubisoft-ness that has tired gaming in the last few years. There are signs of cut content or things that were scaled back to be crisped for future patches or DLC. There’s a mission mid way through the game that showed us that there were some real stealth design to be had, but it’s underutilized. There’s a total of two stealth based missions in the game that I as an Assassin’s Creed veteran found very fun, but both areas are free to explore after said missions are done. Be it the faculty tower or the restricted section, there’s a hint here that they could have expanded the red-zones during the night time phase of Hogwarts but was likely cut because such a restriction would have become tedious or annoying for basic castle traversal, even though you can wait out the night on demand. A grand idea for a separate difficulty setting, I will say. Along those same lines there’s even a stealth attack so there’s an option to stealth your way through a grand portion of the game. You can even cast silently and are only revealed if you make too much noise, but one cast and run away to the side of a camp and you’re clear. You can draw enemies out, force patrol patterns and get them to turn around. There’s some real stealth framework in this game, I just wish it was more incentivized to do so.

It’s rare that a game can hold me until I finish it. I play a lot of open world RPG’s with the likes of Fallout and Skyrim and collectively have beaten then just a handful of times while I prefer the sandboxy nature of it all. I have beaten this one however, and with plenty more to do as mods help refine the experience further and I’m always excited to catch a smooth conversational screenshot of my character in a mask or with her knife-wand.

100%ers will find this game rather doable without too much of a fuss, mostly taking on the form of those Ubisoft-like collectibles I mentioned earlier. I had my fill at the endgame at just 80% of my stuff filled in, and that was plenty for me. I will say there’s little in the way of replayability. Nothing really changes between save files, my only recommendation is trying going from Normal to Hard to really spice up your reaction times but beyond that it’s all the same people saying the same things in roughly the exact same order. I had more nitpicks here than my First Impressions post had but don’t mistake me: 100 hours in and I probably have another 20-30 more to go as I continue exploring the nexus mods page. I do not at all regret buying the game and I’m enjoying it greatly. It really was the game I was waiting for, and I really hope the developers take notice and work on expanding the great foundation they laid out for us.

#hogwarts legacy #Harry Potter #Hogwarts #Gaming #Pc Gaming

[mrpenguinpants]

Childe/Tartaglia: “Enemies” to “Lovers”

Aww, thank you 💕💕 All of you are so lovely ;-; Coming out from the bushes and attacking me.

Have you guy’s seen the Childe trailer? It’s in Chinese but holy shit I want him?? Who is Xiao anymore? WHAT ARE LOYALTIES??? I’m gonna ATTEMPT to roll for Childe. I love snake two faced characters so much.

I’ve never written for Childe before and there’s not a lot to go off on but I will try my best. Honestly, he’s like Dazai 2.0 for me lol.

I’m not sure what scenario you wanted but since I’m hard simping for this man, I made this a lot a bit self indulgent. I actually had a completely different idea so that’s where the enemies to lovers title comes from before I scrapped it. Now if you’ll excuse me, here’s your 2k words of food.

Update: Guess what? You’re getting a part 2. Don’t know when but now I have a taglist if you want to be added and tagged when it comes out 

---

Childe/Tartaglia: “Enemies” to “[Lovers]”

Childe silently hops over the wall and onto the roof in the dead of night. The moon was shining high, casting dark shadows that he slips in between them as he eyes his destination. An open window leading to an important personnel. Usually, he would send an agent to observe, but once he learned who this secret person was, he decided to take it into his own hands. To stretch his muscles a bit. His hand quickly caught the edge of the window sill as he raises himself and drops into the spacious room. He whistles lowly as he looks around. This was a big room but it wasn’t that much of a surprise, considering who was staying here.

“Thank you, have a good night.”

His head perks up as he hears a voice and steps into the shadows of the room. He can faintly make out an outline of a body behind the sliding doors and stands back, out of sight. He watches as the doors slowly open and the person he’s been looking for steps in. One of the leaders of the Qixing. As soon as the door’s close behind you, your shoulder’s finally relaxed before turning around to walk to the other end of the room where a large mirror was placed. You loosen the pin holding your clothes up, finally ready to get rid of these heavy clothes. He quickly averts his eyes but your voice once again breaks the silence.

“Do you make it a habit of watching others without their knowledge or are you going to say something?” you ask as you turn around as your eyes roam around what appeared to be an empty room. He weighs his options before shrugging and stepping out into the moonlight with his arms raised in mock surrender.

“I swear I would look away. I’m a bad guy but I’m not one of those types. I promise!” He laughs casually despite the circumstance, “I’m surprised you noticed me. But I suppose one of the Qixing would be capable of such an act.”

“Oh no, you were perfect. You just came at a bad time. But who are you? You don’t act like an agent” you eyed him carefully as you fiddled with your pin.

“I’m Childe, one of the Fatui’s Eleven Harbingers,” he replies giving a mock bow in your direction. He watches your reaction to see if you’ll panic and call for the Millelith. Instead, you simply nod along and you’ve stopped fiddling with the pin on your clothing.  

“Ah, I’ve met a few of you Harbingers. You don’t look like one” you remarked as you turn around once again to finally undo the pin. Childe quickly turns his gaze away as you settle the heavy clothes on the table to fold. You pull your inner clothes closer to yourself to keep warm in the chilly room.

“I’m a bit too young to see their way of thinking. So I don’t fit in well with them,” he shrugs unbothered. He’s never liked the other Harbingers anyways, “I wasn’t aware that the Qixing had other leaders present.”

“Well, the Qixing prefer to keep things somewhat discreet-”

“Yaoguang? Is everything alright? We heard voices,” one of the Millelith cuts you off as both Childe and your eyes dart to the paper screen door. Childe steps silently towards the window sill, ready to escape if needed. He would have to do a lot of unnecessary explaining if he were caught and the Qixing were already suspicious of the Fatui.

“Yes, I’m alright. I haven’t heard anything at all. Are you sure you are alright? Maybe you should rest,” you quickly walk to the door and slide it open just enough for the Millelith to see your face. The Millelith shakes his head and quietly apologizes for disturbing you before leaving.

“That looks like my cue to go, it’s getting pretty late anyway,” Childe smiles as he ducks under the window sill and gives a small wave back to you.

“Have a good night Childe.”

“You too, Yaoguang.”

---

“Don’t you think the Qixing are a bit too secretive?”

You turn around to see Childe sitting on the window sill as he ponders the thought. His right leg is resting on his left knee as his arm hold’s his chin as he stares at the wall in front of him. You give him a quick once over before going back to what you were doing, polishing your pin.

“Are you sure one of the Fatui should be saying that? Your organization plays with deceit and trickery” you laugh quietly to yourself as you place your pin in a old wooden box. It looked out of place in the room with the crude drawings and chipped paint, but Childe thought it suited you.

“Hey, I don’t agree with those methods at least! I’m here in front of you, aren’t I? But what about you? Aren’t you keeping me a secret from the Qixing?” he grins mischievously as he directs his attention onto you. Your back to still to him but he can watch your face in the reflection of the mirror. He’s not sure if he should commend you on your relaxed expression or the fact that he could easily kill you with your back turned.

“Mm, perhaps. But I enjoy this. You may not believe me but I think of you as a friend Childe. A personal secret of mine.” you say amused as you look up into the reflection of the mirror and manage to catch his surprised expression before it disappears.

“A friend? We’ve barely known each other,” he looked at you incredulously but with a wry smile, “I might seem nice but I’m still a bad guy.”

“A lot of people in Liyue don’t appear as they seem. But I don’t consider all of them as bad people. Don’t you think so Childe?”

He doesn’t say anything. You never mention it again.

---

“I have a younger sister who is an astrologist,” you say as you’re lying back on the bed while he sits on the window sill, “she’s the one that gave me this pin except her pin is red with the star and moon.”

You held the pin up for him to take and look for himself. He slips off the window sill and walks to your lying figure to take hold of it. It was a blue pin with a star in the center and the sun’s rays lining the edges of the rim. It was a bit worn but it was in incredibly good condition. He’s seen how you look at the pin so he’s not surprised.

“Astrology huh? Aren’t you Qixing named after the Big Dipper’s stars?” he asks as he hands the pin back to you and watches your eyes take a childlike gleam. He huffs a bit amused under his breath, you always seem to get like this whenever he let’s you ramble about stars.

“Yes, Yaoguang is translated from the Alkaid star. Alkaid derives from the Arabic phrase meaning "The leader of the daughters of the bier". The daughters of the bier are the three stars of the handle of the Big Dipper, Alkaid, Mizar, and Alioth. While the four stars of the bowl, Megrez, Phecda, Merak, and Dubhe, are the bie,” you ramble on making different gesture as you continue your mini lecture, “Tianquan and Yuheng are the stars Megrez and Alioth. They are here in Liyue too but Tianquan will be the one that preforms the Rite of Descension. It feels as if I’m attending my sister’s talent show even if Tianquan is older than me.”

“Hm, I’ve never looked into studying the stars. I’m more of a fighter,” Childe comments as he hears you laugh that you’re not surprised. He looks towards the moon and see’s it’s his time to leave. You give him a small wave as he starts back to the window sill before giving a small comment over his shoulder.

“You know I also have a younger sister.”

“Is she aware of what you do Childe?”

“No, of course not. Does your sister know what you do?”

“No, she doesn’t know either.”

---

“Can I see your mask?”

He unstraps it from his head and hands it to you as he watches you run your finger around the intricate details before moving it over your face. You’re both seated on the bed this time beside each other.

“I don’t understand how you can fight wearing this,” you say as you squint your eyes through the opening of the mask. He chuckles softly at the weird expression before plucking his mask out of your hands.

“Hm? I thought the Qixing were capable fighters?” he asks as he reattaches the mask to the side of his head. He rest’s his chin back onto his hand and settles back into his comfortable position.

“Yes, Tianquan uses the geo element while Yuheng uses electro,” you list off on one hand.

“What do you use?” he asks.

“Who knows” you answer.

He pouts a bit which you have to stifle your laugh at. It’s somewhat amazing how far he’s gone with this. He’s pretty busy managing business behind the scenes and getting on friendly terms with that funeral parlor man, Zhongli was it? Yet, he finds himself back here whenever he get’s a free night.

“I’m sorry for laughing but I never thought you could make such an expression. But I’m being honest. I can’t use a vision so I don’t know,” you shrug as you lie back down and close your eyes. Childe nods along even though you can’t see him. He had always thought the pin you carried was your vision until you let him hold it for himself.

“If you joined the Fatui. We could give you a vision,” he says as his gaze almost pierces through you but you continue to look unbothered. Your eye’s still remained peacefully closed.

“It’s the night before the Rite of Descension. It will be a busy day so you should get some rest before then Childe”

---

It was the day of the Rite of Descension and he had yet to see you. He knew you would be observing but wouldn’t you at least be at a vantage point where you could view the entire ritual?

“Excuse me, have you seen the Yaoguang?” he asks one of the Qixing attendants but she only looks at him confused. He’s not that surprised about that either.

“Yaoguang? I’m sorry but that leader isn’t here in Liyue right now. Did you mean to ask for Tianquan Lady Ningguang perhaps?” she attempts to correct as she gestures to the middle of the stage, where the white haired woman was standing.

“Yaoguang isn’t here? They haven’t appeared at all these past few weeks for the Rite of Descension to observe?” he asks again but the lady shook her head as he chuckled. So not even people closest to the Qixing knew that one of their leaders was being impersonated.

“Oh, sorry. Yes, I meant for Tianquan Ningguang. Sorry, these star names are a bit hard to wrap my head around” he laughs it off before walking away before the lady has time to respond.

“She is busy preparing for the Rite of Descension so she won’t be seeing anyone anytime soon. Perhaps after the ceremony if it’s urgent?” she still calls out to him before going back to her responsibilities.  

Tartaglia nods as he waves goodbye before continuing on. He never cared for the Rite of Descension but maybe today will be interesting. He spots two familiar faces in the crowd trying to get to the front to see the Rite of Descension. They seem to be friends. He laughs to himself as he reminisces all your past interactions with him. He’ll find out sooner or later who this mysterious Yaoguang impersonator is. After all, the walls have ears.

---

Part 2 perhaps? Depends on the feedback I get on this. I read about the big dipper for this fic. 

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact childe #genshin impact childe x reader #childe x reader #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #genshin childe imagine #genshin headcanons #genshin fanfic #childe headcanons #childe imagines

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting. 

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition. 

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something. 

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus. 

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold. 

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in. 

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?” 

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket. 

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?” 

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy. 

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier. 

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him. 

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?” 

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before. 

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes. 

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare. 

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks. 

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus. 

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice. 

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,”  Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked. 

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs. 

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound. 

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly. 

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping. 

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark. 

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead. 

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it? 

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”

#geraskier #bouncey's buddies #prompt fill #geraskier fic #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fluff #getting together #boyband au #geraskier boyband au #the witcher five and their hit song 'please lambert stop farting on the bus' #ellie has the braincell #thirsty jaskier #thirsty geralt #soft geralt #protective geralt #clumsy jaskier #soft boys content #bouncey's endless au collection #bouncey's endless getting together fics

[blind-alchemists]

On The Title "Fen'Harel"

I was thinking about titles and names, especially in correlation to the Evanuris, and I remembered reading the theory somewhere that the names by which modern Elves know their gods might have actually been the Evanuris' titles instead.

And then I thought about Solas. And I wondered, how did he become known Fen'Harel?

First, I thought, the Evanuris started calling him that. All these depictions of a malevolent trickster who loves plunging everything into chaos for his own amusement aren't genuine. They're what the Evanuris wanted people to think of Solas. So they might have called him 'Dread Wolf' from the get-go. Nice, simply, completes the picture they're painting.

But it seems odd. Why give your enemy a frightful name? The Evanuris didn't dread him in the beginning, I'm sure. They must have thought he was a fool, an idiot, selfish and stupid to go up against them, who were gods, right?

In addition to that, Solas does talk about being mocked at one point, and while "Fen'Harel" isn't flattering someone like him (since it contradicts everything he is), it's not an overly mocking or insulting title.

So, my theory: They must have called him something else in the beginning. The DA wiki had some interesting entries for the Elven language, which lead me to this lovely codex entry, The Rebel God, and my favorite thing about languages: They change over time.

So, taking into consideration that "harellan" (traitor) might not have been an Ancient Elven word and thus "harel" is more likely to be derived from either "harillen" (opposition) or "hellathen" (noble struggle), the Evanuris original 'title' for Solas was probably ... very different from "Fen'Harel", to put it mildly.

Reconstructing that original 'title' is based on the following assumptions:

I'm ruling out "hellathen" (noble struggle) as a root for "harel". The Evanuris' intention was to paint Solas as the Big Bad Evil. So they're not going to call his actions a "noble struggle".

Thus, "harel" came from "harillen" (opposition).

I'm also ruling out the possibility that "Fen" was part of that original title. Calling someone a wolf isn't insulting, in the grand scheme of things. A wolf is something ordinary people might be afraid of -- a beast, a predator, something like that -- but ordinary people weren't coming up with that name.

Thus, the Evanuris might have called him a dog instead.

In conclusion: I'm not sure what exactly they would have called him (as Elven is only a cipher on Bioware's part) but I do think it was something along the lines of "a(n ungrateful) dog biting the hand that fed it". Very unpleasant imagery, very pointed meaning. Fits all criteria.

Now, there's still a bit until we get to the famous "Fen'Harel".

Going from "harillen" to "harel" isn't much of a leap. We don't know a lot (if anything) from canon about the conjugation of Elven verbs (how they change in relation to person, numerus, modus, tempus, genus), so there are several approaches to that.

(Such as :

fixed endings for each conjugation of a verb like in Russian or German,

the thing Latin does (which is similar but you don't always need a subject to your conjugated verb), or

a much simpler approach (little conjugation) like in English or Norwegian,

but I'm not a linguist, I just like studying languages for fun, so I'll just throw this one in here and move on.)

To get back on the topic: The translation for "to oppose" could have been "harill". And "he/she/it opposes" could have been "harell" or "harillet" (or a variation).

I don't think I need to elaborate on the change from "dog" to "wolf".

In conclusion, the original meaning of "Fen'Harill" could have been "the wolf who opposes", which fits much better into Solas' narrative. (Over time, after the Fall of Arlathan, that meaning probably became lost until the "Dread Wolf" was born. Or maybe the Evanuris proclaimed him "Fen'Harel" and, as Solas was not there to oppose it after he sealed them, that is the interpretation that survived.)

How did that change to "Fen'Harill" happen, though? There are two options I like:

Solas gave himself that name (Fen'Harill), having subverted the Evanuris mock, scorn, and insult, turning it into something to be proud of.

The people he freed gave him that name for similar -- if not the same -- reasons.

In any case, I do believe the Evanuris did not originally call Solas "Fen'Harel", and I prefer to think it was a name he obtained by very intentionally opposing the Evanuris in every way he could.

#dragon age meta #dragon age #solas #evanuris #names #titles #there is power in names and there is power in language #anyway #the evanuris' names we know just being titles feels very right (language-wise) #it's also an insanely interesting narrative approach #if you think about the importance of true names that has been hinted at #I'm positive all the Evanuris used to be spirits #and by forgetting their true name #they forgot their true nature #hence they were corrupted #like solas? #plus #symbolizes the corruption of power and worship also really well #because individual names express individuality/personhood/humanity and such #and titles don't #long post #because i can't shut up

[book-o-scams]

Ed, Edd n Eddy Series Bible (1996) -Analysis-

You can all finally read/download Ed, Edd n Eddy's official Series Bible right here! Thanks again to Chuckletons for sharing this with me and to Joey/Kongiscool0518 for sharing it in the first place, the Holy Grail of lost Ed, Edd n Eddy trivia!

One of the first posts I made for this blog was the Series Bible page. It was a composite of every source we had ever seen reference the series bible so far-- storyboarders in interviews, CN's old character guides, and the biggest source, an old CN UK posting about the show. Well, I figure now that we have the official source, I better update the old page (so everyone knows it's out of date), and make this new Series Bible post using the official source! Not much new information, but I was intrigued to finally learn the true phrasings of some things we had only heard paraphrased, as well as at least one detail from the movie that I couldn't believe came up this early in conception...

Unfortunately, Tumblr has apparently updated its post system to only let me add 10 images? Gonna try and only use images for what I need since you can read the actual document above, I guess I'll transcribe it too for easier reference and so we don't ever lose some archive of this.

Quickly, let's review what a series bible is:

A series bible is how creators pitch shows to networks. They can be called “pitch bibles” as well. Bibles do not usually get posted publicly, because they are initially under a strict Non-Disclosure Agreement by the network; also the creator may simply not wish to share it because it reflects the earliest stages of development.

The pitch materials typically include early concepts for characters, locations and episodes. Sometimes it exposes secrets, in this case, Ed and Eddy’s home lives, and sometimes the stuff in it is completely abandoned because it’s so early in production, in this case, casual references to school and adults.

Alright, everybody, it's time to gather 'round and read the Ed, Edd n Eddy Bible!

THE YEAR IS 1996.

YOUR NAME IS LINDA SIMENSKY. YOU WORK AT CARTOON NETWORK. A FRIEND OF YOURS, DANNY ANTONUCCI, IS WRAPPING UP A SHOW ON MTV. YOU GET THIS FAX.

Linda Simensky immediately fell in love with this concept because as a child, she was best friends with 2 other Lindas for seemingly no reason other than the shared name.

I love how Danny decided last second to pencil in the correct names over each Ed, since they're arranged out of title-order.

"They're friends because they have the same name."

-the Logline for the series.

Fun fact: one storyboard artist for the movie observed that the movie is essentially all about challenging the series' original notion that the Eds are friends ONLY because of their name.

"A Danny Antonucci Cartuna"

-the label Danny used to use under announcements of new productions.

PAGE 1:

Ed, Edd n Eddy

They're best friends because they have the same name.

A gag laden, beat generated CARTOON bumper car ride of 3 misfit youths on a cul-de-sac in the suburbs of America.

Through summer vacation, part-time jobs, or just hang'n out at the corner mail box, they want to belong....but CAN'T.

From home chores, helping neighbors or eating jaw breakers, they want to fit in...but CAN'T.

Ed is into "B" monster movies, model kits and is quick to break out into rashes.

Lots of luck...

Edd is into chemistry, biology and prone to crushes.

Later...

Eddy is into pranks, is stylish and flaunts himself to the world.

Ya Right...

Ed, Edd n Eddy is a show about confusion and contradiction, that awkward part of youth, pimples, big feet, oily hair and... girls???.

Puberty is unforgiving.

I was fascinated by the lack of art on this page, it makes the pitch feel very focused. AKA logo in the corner, the title logo again up top, then the logline appears again below.

I really love the breakdown of Danny's vision of the show. "Gag-laden, beat-generated, CARTOON bumper ride." Very accurate, and I think "beat-generated" is the phrase that interests me the most. I typically think of "animation beats" as sort of a give-in-- technically all things fit a rhythm, so all stories are essentially just a montage of beats. But this does make me realize how important the strength of the beats and their rhythm are to the pacing of a cartoon and making you feel like "that was a good one." I feel like the "seasonal rot" viewers feel over the course of a show, and the way that perception differs from person to person, depends on the type of beats you want. Even though I am very into the experimental beats of a show in its later seasons, I can definitely see how season 1's beats are more typically appealing to a wide-audience, and how important a focus on that is to the longevity of a show.

I found it really interesting how the scams are initially conceived of here as "summer jobs." It adds to the sense that adults were originally meant to be present. Honestly a little surprised nobody with access to this bible had ever thought to mention that-- scams are not referenced ANYWHERE. Their image in the Series Bible is that they have summer jobs and help neighbors, which is certainly a much cleaner reputation than the Eds ended up with in the show. Makes me realize though, were some of the early scams, like Ed's Hive Bee Gone and their newspaper routes, supposed to be leaning into this early idea of them with almost legit jobs for unseen adults?

I was very amused by the repeated phrase that the Eds simply CAN'T fit in.

Loved to finally see the official phrasing for the confirmation that Peach Creek is in America. Not much different than I was led to believe, but still nice to have the true quote.

Also love Eddy being described as "stylish and flaunting himself to the world." The bold-print reactions to each micro-description is a cute idea too, I truly wonder who we were meant to picture saying those things in reaction. Each Ed? Kevin?

The "corner mail box" is an oddly specific phrase-- the Eds do hang around mailboxes throughout the series, especially seasons 1-3, and I believe the canon map does have a corner mailbox, but the idea that the Eds hang out at one specific mailbox went the way of Bro's supposed secret treehouses.

PAGE 2:

Ed, Edd n Eddy

Show Description

Gag laden. True cartoon style, inventive, non parody, fast paced, stretch and squash

Beat driven. (even when characters stop they hold with a bounce cycle. Adults never bounce. Music can play important part, not just fill.) But not a musical.

Cartoon surrealism. (viewers see the show as Ed, Edd n Eddy would, less important things tend to blend into the background, while objects of Ed, Edd n Eddy's desires are focused. Premise driven.)

The school year's over, (yeah!!!!) and the long HOT summer vacation begins (gulp). What to do?

Stuck on a cul-de-sac in the suburbs of America is the last place you want to spend summer break, especially when you find life confusing and contradicting.

Ed, Edd n Eddy is about friendship, and serves to remind us that they're no "good ole days," just smelly runners.

You can tackle anything, when your with your pals.

Their days are spent, for knowledge, acceptance and some cash for jaw breakers. Armed with pimples, big feet and oily hair the three amigos trek into the unknown.

Ed, Edd n Eddy are dying to be grown-ups, but they're kids, and attack adulthood as only kids would. Simple situations turn into a manic rollercoaster ride. (Don't forget your barf bag).

They just want to belong, and they're willing to pull off any insane stunt to prove it. First they need to figure out what it is they want to belong to.

Found it interesting that on this page, the show's logo is replaced with the title written in a jumbled font. Seems like the font from the show's end credits.

Hehe, the continued reactions to the descriptions. Allow me to be Double D for a moment and point out the increased use of parentheticals on this page, as well as one wrong "your".

I love Danny's insight that season 1 is framed by the context of how hyped everyone still is just to be out of school, but also the sense of pressure to make use of their break.

I really appreciate Danny getting further into the details of his summary of the show's style on the previous page. It only makes sense that he had this much of a vision that early.

A second confirmation of the cul-de-sac being in America! I'm also really into the repeated focus on the Eds finding the world "contradicting." I always loved how EEnE's inexplicable cartoon antics supported that sense that the Eds are highly aware of contradictions in both societal things and the actual characters.

WOW, so I'm fascinated by this dual reveal. Before the wiggling outlines, which Danny usually calls a "boiling line" and describes as a tribute to wiggling inking in early animation, the series bible instead refers to him wanting the characters to do the iconic Fleischer "bounce," which is a much more commonly recognized rubberhose animation technique. Very interesting that Danny decided not to stick to that. Did it feel too out of place? Or was the overseas team not willing to animate a weight-shifting for every single held pose? Haha, guess I can see why boiling was an easier compromise. I wonder if he had any other ideas for how to make it more of a 1930s cartoon.

The other reveal to me here is that the movie's choice, that adults don't always wiggle in the show, was an idea from the very beginning! I guess I can better understand now why it's just too difficult to communicate a stylistic choice like that overseas-- no point making Bro not wiggle, that'd just create confusion.

Also, really disappointed that my wish for a musical is officially squashed in the series bible itself. That's a tragedy. The show's over, ya couldn't let me dream, Danny!? Conversely, I love Danny's forethought to say "non parody," I definitely noticed and appreciated EEnE's avoidance of derivative parody humor.

My spouse had to point out to me that Danny probably means sneakers here, lol. Canadianisms!

The comments about the Eds wanting to grow up but needing to figure out what they want to belong to are so great and relate to the movie so well. I've heard those comments before, but the correct phrasing was cool to see.

PAGE 3:

Ed, Edd n Eddy (image of Ed in right corner)

Character Description

Ed

Attention deficiency syndrome.

He has trouble...

He can't....um...

OK, he draws all day in class.

When Eddy gets a bright idea...Ed's in.

Ed is easily talked into doing Eddy's "hard work". He has great physical strength.

Ed's happiest with his Model kits and B-monster movies. He draws his knowledge from his movies.

Ed smells. Flies are attracted to him.

Ed has sayings for all situations

ED: "you can change your shirt, and Bingo was his name..."

Ed's perpetually a slave to his younger sister's whims and whines.

Ed may have to baby-sit his sister, or let her watch whatever she wants on TV, or let her dress him up in mom's clothes.

Ed breaks out in Rashes. He's allergic to practically everything, especially Guinea Pigs.

Ed's Mom xerox's his sketches and doodles for her therapist.

Ed's Dad hopes to pass on to his son, his knowledge on "pre-owned" auto sales.

Very cute bit wasting the space at the top of the page. Danny seems very invested in Ed's personality already. The old sources we used to have definitely tried to condense these down to simpler blurbs.

Weird how Danny wants to essentially diagnose Ed with ADHD here (phrasing it very poorly, but it was the 90s and... Canada?). I don't know enough on the subject to debate it, but I still gotta point out Ed's canonical cracked skull!

Interested in the comment about Ed being most allergic to Guinea Pigs. I don't think that animal was ever even mentioned in the show. Eddy mentioned an old gerbil once....

Neat to finally have the real phrasing of the official word on Ed's parents! I saw someone comment earlier that this seems to be hinting Ed's Dad is selling stolen cars. I've never thought to question the legality of his apparent second-hand-car dealership (I imagined he works with Eddy's dad, who has received a legitimate award for his salesmanship), but those quotation marks are certainly making Mr. Ed's practices questionable! Best case scenario, Danny meant that more like italics or something, but maybe Ed's dad IS up to no good...

PAGES 4 & 5 (Ed's turn sheet and expression sheet)

PAGE 6:

Ed, Edd n Eddy (image of Edd in right corner)

Character Description

Edd

is really smart.

is really quiet.

Edd is unnaturally-- polite.

Edd hasn't been allowed to take gym ever since the Dodge ball incident. He's been excused to free study time in the library.

Edd doesn't like it when people touch his things.

EDD: "You may enter in my room, but don't touch my Lego robot. Thank you."

Edd's learning to play Peddle steel guitar. (his Mom makes him)

Edd's prone to "crushes". Girls in School, in his neighborhood, TV, anatomy books. He mails "true loves" his socks.

Edd is always ready for action, even though he can calculate the implications.

Edd constantly mumbles.

No one ever sees Edd's parents. They both work nights. They communicate to their son solely through Post-it notes. Edd's not allowed to touch anything in the house while they're gone. Anything.

Interesting how Danny slightly differentiates the barely-used space at the top here from Ed's description, to characterize Edd as more quiet and mumbly, adding an awkward "--" mid-sentence, perhaps to create the impression that Edd halts to choose words carefully.

Everything on this page feels familiar, from the character guides and other old sources. The most interesting thing to me here is that Edd's Mom forcing him to practice Pedal Steel Guitar is established this early, don't think I knew that, but I had noticed that it existed in his room from ep 1.

I love how the explanation in the beginning for why Edd goes along with their dumb schemes even though he's smart is basically just "he's always ready for action." ?!? I guess in a way???

That weirdly phrased Edd quote amuses me because it references Lego, just like the original concept background for his room before somebody nixed the copyright-namedrop.

Edd's prone to crushes thing has been reaffirmed over and over in character bios even though it really doesn't come up outside of the cupid magic in HPH and the pilot-episode heart eyes at Sarah that are barely canon. Still, I've always loved the truly disturbing statement that he mails "his true loves his socks" and how that managed to make it into canon with a comic book example, a cel animation example and a digital era example.

PAGES 7 & 8 (Edd's turn sheet and expression sheet)

PAGE 9:

Ed, Edd n Eddy (image of Eddy in right corner)

Character Description

Eddy

Exhibitionist.

Megalomaniac. (quote from his report card)

Eddy is the unofficial leader of the trio.

He's always got a plan, a stunt or a weird noise.

Eddy's the "class clown". He loves showing off. He loves being the centre of attention-- no matter how stupid the reason is.

Eddy is the only kid in his grade to have been expelled for aw hole week from school. It was his turn to set up the video for science class. He switched "Our Friend Yeast", for a video he "borrowed" from his parent's room.

Before Eddy's brother went....away, he enlightened Eddy with the "legends" of the neighbourhood. Eddy knows where all the abandoned tree houses are, which sewer pipers are safe to spelunk, and the secret recipe for the "El Mongo Stink Bomb" (it's been in the family for years).

He is the one who is most able to pretend that he knows it all... and doesn't care what anyone else thinks about him.

His genes are working the fastest.

Eddy's Dad is constantly concerned that Eddy may grow up to be a ...figure skater.

Eddy's Mom never believes his little darling was involved in such a heinous act.

Funny choice that Eddy's wasted-top-space is just two one-word descriptions, and allegedly lazily swiped from his negative report card.

Wow, we knew the report card quote and the "Our Friend Yeast" story from the UK show guide, but now we also know Ed's page says that Ed draws in class, and now I realize that Ed and Eddy have series bible school blurbs to match Edd's classic dodgeball incident blurb. Anyway, it's great that Eddy's showed his entire school some sort of sex video his parents have.

Very interested that the phrasing for the Bro/El Mongo Stink Bomb blurb even seems to suggest it's a family recipe. Eddy's Dad did have prankster stuff in his closet in JJJ... did Bro learn his prankster ways from Dad?? The neighborhood's secret tree houses have come up in other descriptions (at best, I'd say this could be related to that creepy shack the Eds found in the woods), but I think it's new info that Eddy personally learned the sewer routes from Bro. Interesting...

Thankfully, I had already heard about the Bible's awkward reference to Eddy being the most pubescent as "his genes are working the fastest," lmao.

Once again the Double D in me comes out to point out that the description of Eddy's Mom seems to switch to the Dad's pronouns.

PAGES 10 & 11 (Eddy's turn sheet and expression sheet)

PAGES 12-14 (Sarah, Jimmy, Rolf, Jonny, Nazz, and Kevin lineup of all 6, then 2 zoomed in lineups of the first 3 kids and last 3 kids)

(Funfact: the kids' designs were allegedly freelanced to an outside studio, hence why their refined later-season designs are so different from these lizardy starting places, lmao)

PAGE 15: (images of Sarah and Jimmy next to their blurbs)

SARAH

Ed's baby Sister.

It's her way or the Highway.

She has everything done for her, if NOT she'll "make" them do it.

She can be quick to judge.

Whinney.

A tatrum for every occasion.

More than a handful for Ed...or Edd and Eddy.

Thinks Edd is kinda cute.

Wants Eddy to MOVE...to another planet.

JIMMY

Sarah's best friend

He is always playing with girls, boys are just too tough.

He is accident prone, when ever we see him he has a different affliction, ie: band-aids, patches, casts, lumps...etc.

He is very clean.

The Ed's frighten him, "They're such brutes".

I'm surprised how much of the UK guide was accurate to what was really in the bible for them! Also surprised Danny misspelled "whiney" and "tantrum," one right after the other. Is this how Sarah spells them? ...Sorry, Danny, I yam what I yam.

PAGE 16: (images of Rolf and Jonny next to their blurbs)

ROLF

First generation of a landed immigrant family.

Nationality not important.

He's proud of his heritage.

He has peculiar traditions and/or customs.

He eats "weird" things.

He has hair on his back..... "yuck".

He confuses the Ed's to no end.

He confuses the other kids to no end.

JONNY 2x4

He is a wanderer and very inquisitive

From early morning to supper time, he is always outside playing, with his buddy, "Plank".

"Plank" is a wooden board that Jonny drew a face on with a crayon.

Jonny has wonderful conversations with Plank. ...Plank is a piece of wood.

Jonny makes himself very "accessible" to the Ed's.

Found it interesting that Rolf's bio is less clearly phrased than the UK bio set it up to be-- there they made it sound more like he mixes up who the Eds/kids are, here it's unclear whether it means that or (more likely) just means the obvious statement that everyone finds him confusing. If it's that, what a lame hollow bio Rolf got. This kid's based on you Danny, show some of that personal side!

Always loved Jonny's description, his life sounds so cute. Playing outside literally all day. Interesting to have it confirmed that Jonny drew Plank's face, I preferred to think the Eds drew him and sold him to Jonny, but whatever.

"Accessible" has always been an important vague description of Jonny to me. It really only applies to how chummy they could be with him in season 1, but it still sorta applies to his personality throughout the series as well.

PAGE 17: (images of Nazz and Kevin next to their blurbs)

NAZZ

She's cool, calm and assertive.

She is the most matured of the kids, or so she thinks.

She's into make-up and fashion magazines and Boys.

Sarah thinks she's awesome, wants to be just like her when she grows up.

When she enters a scene, all activity stops... boys freeze, they sweat, their hearts beat faster and faster. They lose their ability to talk. When she leaves, they recover and conclude it was something They ate.

She thinks the Ed's are funny.

KEVIN

He is cynical and sarcastic.

He thinks he knows the "routine". That's because he watches "60 Minutes".

It got a big laugh out of me that Kevin's description is only 2 sentences long. Nazz even has a more detailed character description from inception than Kevin. Love this for them.

Who's the Eds' rival? Well, he's cynical, sarcastic and he watches 60 Minutes, doesn't that tell you enough!?

I love the "mature... or so she thinks" remark about Nazz, a grounded flaw for her to have, being a little overcommitted to being mature like Eddy. It also perhaps suggests naiveté that makes it a little more reasonable that they didn't notice they were dumbing her down at the end of the series, but I do think the movie version of her better reflects the Bible's concept.

PAGE 18:

The Other Neighborhood Kids

Lineup of May, Lee and Marie.

The Kanker Sisters

These gals are tough. They bother, bully, provoke and bewilder everyone.

They live in a motor home park on the other side of the Cul-de-sac. The other kids have never been there.

They are proud of their Tammy Faye Baker memorabilia.

Their project "Cooking with Ketchup" closed down their school for a whole week.

No one likes them, especially the Eds.

They are determined to marry the Eds. They want them to do their dishes.

Amused that the Kankers are essentially being labeled backgrounds characters here, the role they mostly fell into in season 5. "Other" neighborhood kids...

I love that the Kankers have a school blurb to match each of the Eds', and that theirs has similar destructive-intentions to Eddy's video premiere story.

I believe all of this was all known from the UK guide as well, but still, neat stuff!

PAGES 19 & 20 (zoomed in Kanker lineup and their height chart with the Eds)

PAGES 21 & 22 (early promo art that used to be on CN's old Eds webpage, the art of the Eds eating jawbreakers at the end of ep 1 with the overhead text "Ed, Edd n Eddy love JAWBREAKERS!!!", and the art of the Eds all running with overhead text "Ed, Edd n Eddy see something shiny...."Jiggers." That weird "jiggers" statement at the end was normally edited out and I don't know what it means. Looked it up and it seems to be Chinook jargon (like when Ed said he was "skookum at X's and O's") usually said in the same sense as "CHEESE IT!")

PAGES 23+:

The rest of the pages in that bible download are from a 2004 storyboard test. The storyboard sample "It's Raining Eds," which we've seen some submitted samples of before, interpretations with Ed attempting to fly or chew gum and Edd making radioactive gum, I was surprised to find out the outline is just the original outline for the opening sequence to season 3's 'For Your Eds Only', seemingly Jonny was not written into the original outline (or was excised for easier testing purposes) but Kevin's brief cameo was. Now I wonder if they knew this would be used for a test when they wrote it, and if they would've come up with a less random way to include him if weren't forced to be a concise bit for testing's sake. (Your limit is typically 40 storyboard pages in my experience.)

I also noticed that in the included background references, the anonymous adult neighbor house next door to Ed's is officially just referred to as a "generic house."

My analysis ends here, but be sure to download that sometime and enjoy all the raw storyboard sketches at the end of the document!

#ed edd n eddy #series bible #aka cartoon inc #aka cartoon #discovery #eene news

[ajokeformur-ray]

maybe J with a reader who rambles a lot and previously people have told her to ‘get on with it’ so they cut themselves off halfway through one a lot because they’re scared J will tell them the same thing but secretly he wants them to finish their train of thought? only write this if you want to i don’t want you to feel pressured or anything!! <333

The only one who pressures me to write is me, my love, I promise you’re fine ksksk thank you so so much for requesting this omg??? 🥺 being made to feel like what you have to say is unimportant is horrible and I can definitely relate, darling! I hope you like this.💜

As always, a massive thank you to @loveletterstoledger for reading this over for me and for giving me points to improve on asdfghjkl you’re too kind to me, darling!💙I wouldn’t still be writing for J if it wasn’t for you so thank you!💜 I hope you enjoy this finished piece!💗

Word count: 950.

The level of sass in this one eye roll is fatal lmaoo ~ 😂 I aspire to be this sarcastic one day!💗

 J would never attempt in any way, shape or form to dampen or otherwise alter the way in which you express yourself, especially verbally.

He may generally believe that words mean nothing and that actions are what speak the loudest, but when it comes to you, words are just as important as actions.

Not one for words himself, a man of action is he, J tries to convey this as often as he can in subtle ways - they’re so easily missed if one doesn’t know how to read him.

Luckily, you do, though it took some time to learn J’s love language to reach the current point of fluency.

One of the ways in which J shows you how important you are to him is that he listens to you. Always.

It doesn’t matter what you’re saying - it could be that you’re pointing out the shape of a cloud, or the fact that there seem to be more yellow cars outside today, or maybe even that you’re hungry.

He will hear the words you speak but he will listen to what you don’t, and it’s the words left unspoken which he pays the most attention to. 

“I listened to my favourite song five times today... that part when the bass kicks in always gets me.”

From this, did J derive that you could appreciate the finer points in life; you could listen to a song and pick out every individual instrument within the music. You were passionate about the things you loved, and when you enjoyed something, you allowed yourself to indulge in it.

“Yeah, I’m all right, J. I mean, I’m not crying so that means I’m good!” With a decisive nod did you let it go, but J didn’t. J knew that you weren’t okay - if you weren’t, you wouldn’t have mentioned crying and you wouldn’t have elaborated beyond “I’m all right.”

“It’s raining outside today. It’s nice when it rains - makes the air smell good. Do you think it’ll thunder later on? We haven’t had a good storm for ages and I miss having that time with you. You never go out when it rains.” You said in all of this in almost one breath while you stared out of the window and J knew that this meant that you missed him, though you weren’t about to say it. 

“All right, I hear ya, toots.” Was all J said in response to your small ramble, and he did stay in that day. It was purely coincidental that he spent the day in the living room sharpening his knives and watching old films and it was definitely a coincidence that he kept a blanket nearby in case you got sleepy...

One thing J loves about you is that you talk. More to the point, you ramble and in this way do you afford J a glimpse into your thought process; you speak as you think and it amuses him greatly.

You have been told in the past to hurry up, to condense all that you have to say in just a few short words to appease people’s impatience and general intolerance.

“Would you just get on with it, already? Jesus, you talk way too much!” and other variants are commonplace. Sometimes why you even bother to talk to anyone.

While you comply, it hurts your feelings and a habit is it of yours to suddenly cut yourself off, your face heating up in shame and embarrassment because you’re all too aware that you’re rambling but you can’t (or won’t) stop.

When you’re away with J, there’s nothing he can do to prevent people from making you feel like you have to fit yourself into their “time limit” for speaking, but when you’re with J...

He wants to hear it all.

On one such day when you’ve been told to shit up one too many times, you’re hurt deeply by others’ comments and you only end up cutting yourself off.

“ - you know what? It doesn’t matter, J.” 

You’re not sure you could take it if J was one of the people to say that to you, even though he never has before (and therefore never will).

“A-ta-ta, ah - no. Ya’ don’t get ta’ cut ya’self off like that. Talk to me, doll. What’cha thinkin’, huh?”

“Wha - you - want to hear?”

“... Ye-ah.” 

J spoke the word with two syllables; clearly you had asked him a silly question. Wasn’t it obvious?

J made it a point to sit down beside you and to cross his legs at the ankle, his booted feet on your crowded coffee table.

“So c’mon, Y/N - I’m lis-ten-in’!”

And he was.

J listened to you, and after a while he even slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his body, letting you (both) get comfortable. 

Occasionally would he make a noise, either an “uh-huh” or a “yeah” or a question to keep you rambling. 

J wanted to hear you talk; he enjoyed this insight into your mind.

From that day on, every time you tried to cut yourself off when you noticed that you were rambling or if you were afraid of doing the same, J would shake his head at you disapprovingly and ask you to carry on talking.

It was your choice - he wouldn’t ever push you if you legitimately didn’t want to talk, but if you did, he would coax you into doing so.

J was always your greatest supporter in anything and he showed his love for you in small ways.

Or.. he thought they were small ways.

But for you, they meant and they were the world.

J  @anyatheladyclown   @joker-daddy    @rinbyo    @imightaswellnotexistatall    @vladtoly    @joker-is-my-hero    @liz-rdwitch   @enigmaticandunstable      @ledgerskitten  @tsukiakarinobara    @germansarechill   @antonija89   @acw1   @harlequinautumn     @mermaleizroseglasses   @justawriterinprogress     @truthbehindthemysteries  @hotpacino  @call-me-harley-quinn   @mermaidpowers1  @devilshyenaaa

#nonnie #heath ledger #heath ledger joker #ledger joker #ledger joker x reader #ledger joker imagine #ledger!joker #ledger!joker x reader #ledger!joker imagine #J #J imagine #J x reader

[dwellordream]

“Because informal camaraderie between the sexes was an unfamiliar phenomenon, figuring out how to relate to each other was a complicated matter for both men and women. As one young man noted in 1924, "Nowadays when a woman goes everywhere and does everything, it is very difficult for a man to figure out how to treat her." "How is a man to know how to treat a woman anymore?" asked another bewildered soul. Obviously, these and other young men were at a loss when it came to relating to women as friends and companions. Did female companionship mean, they wondered, that men had to be courteous and gentlemanly at all times? 

Would they have to refine their language and manners in order not to offend female sensibilities? Or should young women simply be treated as men would each other? Most often they found no clear answers to these questions, and they had a hard time imagining new ways of behaving. "No matter what I do," grumbled one young man, "I never seem to do the right [thing]." Young women seemed equally unsure about how to interact with the opposite sex. On the one hand, they longed for frank conversations and easy rapport. On the other, they did not need advice columnists and etiquette experts, or their mothers, to remind them that "nothing is as delicate as a woman's reputation."

As they well knew, simply seeming too anxious for male companionship or too careless in selecting one's company was sufficient to cast doubt on a woman's moral rectitude. Yet, showing too much reserve might mean missing out on having fun. Their concerns were therefore of a different kind than young men's. Was it really true, they wanted to know, that men found women who went out at night by themselves to be "cheap"? Did men approve of women who wore lipstick? And under which circumstances could a woman allow a young man to walk her home? "I don't want to be prudish, but I don't know what is appropriate," one nineteen-year-old woman wrote, summarizing the dilemma she and many other young women faced.

In public discourse, the uncertainty over new codes of behavior came to a head in discussions over the seemingly trivial issue of male chivalry. Throughout the 1920s, young men and women debated this matter with an astonishing passion, and for that reason alone it is worth examining. What were these discussions about? What caused them? What was it about this issue that triggered such intense feelings? And what does this tell us about the difficulties associated with establishing cross-gender camaraderie? On the surface, the lines of conflict were clear enough. Over and over again, young women complained about what they perceived as rudeness among men. "Why are Danish men so ill-mannered?" "Femme" wanted to know in 1923.

"Girlie" was convinced that "chivalry and courtesy disappeared along with the crinoline." Writing from Italy, another woman was sure that Scandinavian men would "die of embarrassment" if they saw the gallantry with which "even lowly dock workers on the Arno River treat a woman." Adding insult to injury, one of the few Langelinie girls to speak out in public claimed that her interest in the visiting sailors stemmed solely from the fact that the foreigners were "considerate," "gentlemanly," and "chivalrous" companions who did not try to take advantage of "a decent and well-behaved young girl" like herself.

"A Copenhagen Girl" agreed. Since "you can use a very strong magnifying glass and still not discover even the tiniest trace of chivalry" among Danish men, she didn't find it surprising that nice girls like herself preferred the company of men like "Pierre and Giovanni, Tom and Jack." In most cases, young men declared themselves guilty as charged, but, they argued, this was only because chivalry was an outdated form of conduct entirely incompatible with the kind of camaraderie women seemed to desire. "What is it that determines that a man must always be chivalrous toward a woman?" a self-described "nonattentive gentleman" thus asked.

Another young man who defiantly labeled himself "nongallant" wanted to know whether "a young woman has any right to be offended because I do not pick her up before a dance but ask her to meet me at a trolley stop?" "Mack and Jack" were equally annoyed by what they saw as unreasonable demands on the part of female companions. "We are two young men," they wrote to an advice columnist in 1923, "who would like to hear your opinion about the behavior of two young ladies. The other night after we had been out dancing together, the young ladies wanted us to escort them home, but we live at the opposite end of town and escorting them home would have taken more than an hour out of our night's sleep, so we refused. Now they don't want to see us again."

The unmistakable tone of anger, resentment, and indignation that runs through this discourse suggests that more than etiquette was at stake in the controversies over chivalry. When young people debated whether men ought to open doors, assist with overcoats, carry packages, offer cigarette lighters, give up their seats in trolley cars, and walk companions home, they were, of course, trying to determine what constituted proper behavior in an era when gender norms were being redefined. That in itself was fraught with difficulty, and the confusion they expressed was genuine. 

But because both men and women perceived chivalry as a source of power and control, their "conversations" are therefore best understood as part of a much larger struggle over the relative status of men and women in a changing cultural context. For that reason it became such an intensely contested issue. Certainly, women's insistence on male chivalry was not merely motivated by a desire to indulge in the pleasures that spring from a companion's service and attentiveness. In their eyes, chivalrous behavior indicated, among other things, a certain level of male regard. After all, it had in the past only been disreputable women who could not legitimately demand such treatment. 

Insufficient male chivalry was therefore seen, even among many self-proclaimed "modern" young women, as an insulting sign of disrespect. More importantly, young women also perceived chivalry as a sort of sexual safety mechanism. At the heart of the ideology of chivalry lay the notion that men were responsible for serving and protecting women. Therefore, as long as women could hold men to a code of behavior that emphasized courtesy and (sexual) self-control, their ability to protect themselves from physical and moral danger seemed all the greater. And if this potentially greater degree of safety came at the expense of what seemed more egalitarian companionship, that was a price worth paying for most women. 

Besides, despite their modernity, young women were not out to eradicate gender-differentiated forms of behavior. While they were eager to assert their independence from older patterns of social interaction and to develop new forms of camaraderie with men, they still insisted on their femininity and on having that femininity acknowledged by male companions. "It might well be," one women poignantly argued, "that women in this country have reached their goal in terms of equality with men, but that does not mean that they have stopped being women."

That sexual equality and continued male chivalry were demands not incongruous with each other was a claim many men found hard to accept. "We don't understand how young girls can demand to be equals and at the same time demand to be treated as ladies," two male friends explained. "Women have by now for many years sought equality with men," another man elaborated, "and it is therefore my infallible [sicl] opinion that the ladies must either be entirely independent in all matters and renounce gentlemanly gallantry, or they must relinquish their equality with men." With such comments, young men laid bare what was for them at the heart of this matter. 

Clearly, they expected women to reciprocate for the favors and attentions they received with a certain degree of modesty and deference. As Karen Dubinsky has pointed out, the flip side of chivalry and protection is power and control. When men no longer felt they had power and control over women, they were, as they repeatedly stressed, no longer willing to respect a code of conduct that endowed them with a specific set of duties and responsibilities. Underlying the controversies over the issue of chivalry were therefore much more profound conflicts, most of which derived from young men's resentment over losing a set of gendered privileges and an authority over women that older generations of men had been able to claim. 

Even though many young men were attracted, at least in principle, to the idea of having fun and enjoying themselves in the company of female peers, they were also deeply ambivalent about young women's entry into what had previously been male territory and their encroachment on what had traditionally been male prerogatives. As one newspaper columnist complained in 1921, "Women have forced their way through every door—into the labor market, into politics, and into entertainment. They are getting more and more rights—rights to this and rights to that—but what about us men? We don't seem to be getting any more rights."

Many young men also took offense at women's relative independence in public arenas. As long as young women had money of their own, they did not have to depend on male companions in order to partake in public entertainment. Although most men had greater earnings and more spending money than their female peers, even those women with the most limited funds were usually able to afford a movie ticket, the admission to an amusement park, or a cup of coffee in a restaurant, and unlike in the United States, for example, young Danish women typically paid their own way when they went out with male companions, at least as long as they were not engaged or going steady.

 "Of course, we paid for ourselves when we went out," insisted Stine Petersen. "Yes, naturally! Naturally, we paid for ourselves," exclaimed Netta Nielsen, seemingly surprised at the suggestion that men might pay for female companions. While hard on their pocket books, such financial self-reliance had several advantages for young women. First, it allowed them, as Michael Curtin has pointed out, to signal that "the relation between themselves and [male companions] were of a public and egalitarian nature, not romantic as between lovers." Perhaps more importantly, it released them from any obligation to male peers and from the moral suspicion that surrounded any woman who accepted gifts and treats from men who were relative strangers. 

Besides, paying one's own way also protected young women from ending up, as Nikoline Sorensen phrased it, in an "awkward position" where men "might expect things" in return for their generosity. But rather than appreciating the potential for egalitarian friendships that such practices produced, most young men resented the self-reliance of their female peers, perceiving it as a challenge to male initiative and a lessening of their power. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, much of young men's resentment grew from their sense that women were in fact not only becoming less dependent, but were also acquiring a whole new kind of power over men. 

"What are men to do? How can they protect themselves against these attractive, scantily dressed young girls? We are under their spell," a twenty-two-year old man complained in a statement that interwove two of the most common strands in male discourse on postwar gender relations. First, men of all classes and ages spoke of young women as increasingly bewitching and seductive. Whether it was their short skirts, deep necklines, freer body language, or seeming flirtatiousness that led men to this conclusion, they generally agreed that the new generation of women possessed an unprecedented degree of sexual allure. 

Second, they constantly complained that women were using their wiles, their charms and their bodies as unfair means to gain control over men, who were ill-equipped to withstand such an onslaught. "This is the last and final battle in the war between the sexes," one observer declared in 1924. "After suffrage and all the other rights women have obtained, they are now plotting their final assault. With their physical allure, they are striving to master men who are, after all, only men." In this light, young men's unwillingness to behave chivalrously begins to take on its deeper meaning. In a situation in which many young men believed that women were gaining the upper hand, they were less than eager to engage in behavior that smacked of servitude to women. 

In earlier generations, a man who fetched a woman's coat or carried her packages had discreetly underlined his own masculinity through a show of physical ability. By the 1920s, the very same gestures seemed to many young men simply to demonstrate service and subordination to a new generation of women who already possessed too much power over them. Quite understandably, they therefore resisted any involvement in such behavior. Although the debates over chivalry are revealing of the underlying conflicts that seriously circumscribed any effort to create more frank and egalitarian relationships between young men and young women, they may ultimately be read as fairly innocuous. 

After all, having to fetch one's own coat is at most an inconvenience, and while ungentlemanly behavior might offend a woman's sensibilities it hardly impairs her autonomy or her freedom of movement. But because (sexual) self-control was a central component of the ideology of chivalry, young men's increasing unwillingness to adhere to this long-standing code of conduct had more serious consequences. Predictably, although unfortunately, it led to an unprecedented level of physical and sexual danger for all women who ventured into public arena.”

- Birgitte Soland, “Beauties and Boyfriends, Bitches and Brutes.” in Becoming Modern: Young Women and the Reconstruction of Womanhood in the 1920s

#becoming modern #birgitte soland #history #1920s #gender

[morgon--dagen]

Elleskudt, Part I

Pairing: Haldir x OC Word Count: 2, 301 Warnings: Smut (in Part II) Link to Part II: https://morgon--dagen.tumblr.com/post/641929619922108416/elleskudt-part-ii Link to AO3 post: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29113047/chapters/71466606 Background: I am currently in the process of writing a multi-chapter Thranduil x OC fanfic (be gentle with me, I have not written a single fanfic in a long time) and it occurred to me that one of the chapters would be pretty cool with an alternative turn of events, which didn’t really seem to fit with my vision for the whole original story, so I decided to make it into a separate fanfiction. The plot of the master fanfiction from which this is derived is not important to the plot of this one, so all you need to know is pretty much that the elleth OC, called Ringelen is imprisoned along with the dwarves (takes place during the Hobbit) and Thranduil takes her to Lorien to have his questions about her answered by Galadriel and Celeborn, because the elleth wouldn’t give him any answers herself. At the border of Lorien, Ringelen and the Mirkwood company are met by the march warden of Lorien whom Ringelen finds a bone to pick with. As it turns out, she has found the wrong elf to mess with, because Haldir finds an untraditional way to put her in her place for her boldness. Title Meaning: From Danish, “elleskudt” literally translates to “elf-shot” and is derived from old Norwegian folk tales, where people would get shot with poisonous arrows by creatures in the forest, causing them to fall ill. I warped the meaning in the sense of the fiction, as Haldir didn’t shoot Ringelen with his actual arrow, but the figurative one that he shot her with caused her to betray her principles.

As the prisoner walked in front of the whole company at a small distance, she was in her waking dream state that was so typical for any elf, as she needed her kind of rest for all the walking. Suddenly, her waking dream was interrupted by an arrow pointed straight at her face, which sure was not a part of her dream.

“Stop!” she shouted, in order to prevent the company from moving further, where it could possibly be unsafe. She then turned her eyes to the possessor of the bow and a glimmer of threat and at the same time curiosity could be seen in them.

“How unvigilant for an elf, you almost walked into an arrow willingly,” the elf holding the bow mocked.

“How uncourteous for an elf, to point an arrow at a fellow elleth,” the elleth bit back.

“I would not trust not to point an arrow at an elleth whom is evidently in chains,” the elf raised his eyebrows after he shot a quick glance at the shackles upon the elleth’s wrists.

“Oh, you mean these?” the elleth raised her enchained hands, “These are just a misunderstanding, I assure you, but you would have to learn more about it from the elven king, seeing as you were...” she paused meaningfully, “unvigilant enough to notice that this enchained elleth is accompanied by the royals of Mirkwood,” she smirked. The elf barely curled the corner of his lips in an ironic smirk.

“My lord Thranduil,” the elf raised his voice as the king approached and he sharply turned his bow to the ground away from the elleth, “It has been some time since you last came visiting fair Lorien. Greetings, I am Haldir – Marchwarden of Lothlorien. What brings you hither?”

“Well met, march warden. I have matters to discuss with the Lord and Lady, if you would give us your leave to pass,” the king announced.

“That goes without saying, my Lord, however, I am not sure of your prisoner here,” the march warden turned his suspicious gaze to the elleth.

“Do not worry about her, she will not bother anyone in these restraints,” Thranduil smiled at her ironically.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she muttered under her breath, but being an elf, Thranduil heard her, as she very well expected and he squinted at her threateningly.

“Very well, my lord, then you all have my leave to pass, follow me,” the march warden proclaimed as he turned one last time with suspicion to the prisoner.

“Be very afraid,” she whispered mockingly before he turned away and led the way into Lorien.

“That is enough, Ringelen,” the King ordered sternly, overhearing the elleth. “You seem to have a way with folk in position of power - a way of antagonizing them, that is,” he stated with amusement without turning to the elleth.

“You could say I have a way with such folk, yes, but what do you mean by ‘antagonizing’? – it is quite evident that he is fond of me, and so are you,” the elleth replied boldly with irony.

“Quite evidently, if one is so fond of you, they would not put you in restraints or point their sharp arrows at you,” Thranduil retorted. The elleth laughed.

“It depends,” she replied, more to herself than to him as she kept her gaze ahead, following the path of the march warden.

 As Haldir led them to the house of the Lord and the Lady in Caras Galadhon, they were surprised to find that the Lord and Lady were already expecting them. Haldir’s brothers, Rumil and Orophin, had already brought the news of the oncoming guests.

“Welcome, Thranduil, king of the Woodland realm, welcome Legolas, son of Thranduil,” Lady Galadriel greeted them with her never fading smile and she paused before she turned to the elleth, “and welcome, Ringelen of Eregion, I have heard much of you from your guardian – the Lord Elrond of Rivendell. He would be quite perturbed to find out what you have landed yourself in,” she teased with a warm smile.

“My fair Lady,” the elleth bowed, her tone was completely different and humble when talking to the Lady, as opposed to the manner of speaking that Thranduil and Haldir had provoked in her. “I assure you that when he finds out what the quest I took upon has brought onto me, he would self-handedly surrender me to king Thranduil and his dungeons, if that would withhold me from any further quests,” Ringelen explained almost gravely, but with a tone of humor, fully acknowledging her own situation. The lady laughed gently and the sound filled the air with joy.

“I am in no position to guide the king’s ruling hand when it comes to his own prisoners, but here in Lorien, you are a free elleth, so if the king would be so kind as to release you for the duration of your stay, I would be most grateful,” she turned meaningfully to Thranduil. “I do not believe they are necessary to begin with, for based on what I know, this is her being courteous – I am not convinced that those chains would have stopped her from escaping you on your way here,” Galadriel shot a knowing glance at Ringelen with a smile. “Do not worry, if she should by any chance try to leave, I doubt that Haldir will give her an easy time.” With these words, Haldir turned to the elleth and everything in his gaze just spoke ‘I will be watching you’. Ringelen shot him an ironic smile as she raised her eyebrows, hinting that she would not be easily subdued.

“Most certainly, my Lady,” the king bowed his head slightly, his silver-blond hair cascading down his shoulders, even though there was the slightest bit of reluctance that he should remove the restraints. “Legolas, unbind her. I will need you to keep her close under watch, march warden, while my son and I are occupied with the business which concerns us.”

“If you do not mind me saying, Lord, a piece of advice would be to replace them across her mouth,” Haldir said as he looked at Ringelen.

“As the fairest of ladies mentioned, march warden Haldir, you will come to find that it would take much more than chains to bind me – hands or otherwise,” she almost whispered and Haldir could not help thinking that his name rolled nicely off her tongue. While elves were not ones to be smitten by looks, he could not deny that she was as beautiful as a cold winter night with her long black hairs falling down her white shoulders, at the same time she was as hard as steel and as proud as a mountain and this wildness in her sparked his interest, but this spark could not burn out the irritation that she caused him. No one had ever dared to talk down to him like that and he did not like it.

“I could figure something out,” Haldir hinted with an even tone of threat.

“Please, make sure to let me in on your ideas,” Ringelen retorted.

“I might indeed be compelled to beyond my will.”

“Your spirit can certainly not be bound, Ringelen and we shall need more and more such spirits in Middle-earth as years advance,” the lady cut in with a smile with the intention to stop this brawl which seemed like it could and very well would go on forever. “I would like to hear of your quest so far, as soon as king Thranduil’s questions have been answered,” Galadriel slowly turned her all-knowing gaze from Ringelen to Thranduil and gestured that he follows her and the lord. Ringelen and Haldir were solely left behind and she sighed deeply. She knew that she could not possibly leave Lorien unnoticed, therefore she did not even intend to (not to mention she could not go back into Mirkwood for the dwarves without being caught and put under double watch), but if she was to take in the beauty of fair Lorien for the first time, she certainly did not fancy having a march warden on her tail – a quite bold march warden nonetheless. She gave him a meaningful look as she turned on the heel of her boot and let her feet take her just anywhere in Lorien.

“On your way to attempt to escape, I suppose,” Haldir followed her as she expected he would and she rolled her eyes.

“You really believe that, do you not?” She questioned rhetorically with barely any emotion in her tone. “I am on my way to see the beauty of Lorien with my own eyes – the only joyful thing that I will get to do for a long time, if you must know my intentions, march warden.”

“Then if you would take my advice, though I would hardly suffer to be the one to bring you to your joy, I can show you a place where you can bring this intention of yours to life,” the march warden stated flatly.

“I am most tempted to refuse anything you could offer, but I have longed to behold Lorien for way too long to give in to this...impulse and seeing as you dwell here, you would know much better what is most worth seeing,” she shot him a meaningful glance, “lead the way then, if you will, march warden.” Ringelen stated a little more courteously and with an ever so slight bow of his head, almost a mocking one, he took the lead.

They walked in tense silence up a hill, Ringelen unsure where to stop her gaze first on the way there, as everything seemed worth being absorbed by her sight and everything seemed to warm her soul, so her head would constantly turn left and right, like an excited small child would. That is indeed how she felt, for through all her years, the only look upon Lothlorien she had ever had was through the words in her books and it seemed now even to her, an elf, like a fantasy come to life.

“I bid you welcome to Cerin Amroth,” Haldir announced as they reached the top of the hill and Ringelen’s breath was caught in her chest. The view that was revealed to her was far beyond the wildest fruits of her imagination.

“You really meant what you said, did you not,” Ringelen rather stated than asked, as she recalled Haldir’s words. He held back a smirk. She was now a completely different elleth than the one he had met at the border of the realm. She was peaceful and fully absorbed by the sight. For all it was worth, she decided could spare him a retort or two in exchange of him having brought her to this place of pure magic. She gazed at Caras Galadhon and as reluctant as she was to snap out of her daze, she turned to the other side and could see Anduin and southern Mirkwood, which made her acknowledge how long the way was to come hither from the great forest. Haldir was himself entranced by the view, though he had seen it many times, he never grew tired of it, but at the same time he was internally gloating, for he considered her reaction to the view a small victory on his side.

“I will be here for a while, just so you know,” Ringelen finally broke the silence as she finally turned to Haldir, seeing him stand quietly not far from her. Now that he stood on the background of this magical place, she could appreciate that he was handsome in his sternness as the southern wind blew through his blond hair, but sharing his own thoughts on the matter, this did not take away the slightest bit of irritation that he had brought to her, though the feeling was mellowed down ever so slightly after this gesture of his. She knelt and propped herself up on her left hand as she bore her sight into the distance again, looking almost as she owned the hill. Haldir examined her for a moment before making up his mind. He could easily leave her to her own devices, for even at the opposite side of Lorien, he would still know of her every move.

“If you should try anything at all, I will know,” though his tone was ever so stern, there was barely a trace of threat in it this time.

“No one would risk the wrath of the king,” Ringelen almost whispered with a grin, seemingly more to herself than to Haldir, as she did not turn his gaze towards him. She was amused at the turmoil she seemed to be causing for Thranduil with her very presence.

“No one but you, it appears,” the march warden noticed with a hint of blame mixed with fascination, as he was aware of the king’s temper no less than very much every elf.

“The wrath of kings is my playground,” she whispered again and her grin widened. Her tone suggested that no more was to be said, so Haldir turned on his heel hesitantly, inspecting her one last time before he went down the hill.

Long she lingered on the hill and she seemed to have lost her sense of time, as Haldir appeared once again, almost surprised that she had not moved from where he left her, for he had kept watch over her from afar. He brought news that there was to be a feast in honor of the guests, to which she was invited along with the king and the prince of Mirkwood. The lady had insisted that she would be present. Ringelen hesitated, for she was not one for feasts, but she held deep respect for the Lady and the Lord and made up her mind to appear at the feast after all.

#haldir #haldir ff #haldir fanfic #haldir fanfiction #haldir x oc #haldir x oc ff #lotr #lotr ff #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings #lord of the rings ff #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction #haldir smut #my fanfiction #morgon--dagen #th ff #th fanfic #th fanfiction #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit ff

[ti-bae-rius]

Malec couple’s yoga one shot

“I can’t believe you agreed to this.”

“What? Yoga is a really great training activity. It keeps your muscles strong and toned and is great for flexibility and stamina.”

“Flexibility and stamina? I do like the sound of that.”

“Magnus!”

The two of them walked along the streets of New York, both in workout gear – though that phrase meant two wildly different things for each. Alec’s runes were glamoured and he wore his training gear – sans the heavy leather fabric shadowhunters donned for battle – which mainly consisted of a pair of loose jogging pants and a t-shirt that (like all Alec’s t-shirts) had seen better days. Magnus, however, had taken this as an opportunity to acquire some truly magnificent new clothes. A tank top reading ‘I’m heavily meditated’ and a pair of tight-fitting joggers, cuffed at the ankle and tailored to hang just right, completed Magnus’s outfit. Alec had to smile. No one else, in the history of workouts, had tailored yoga pants. But then no one else was quite like Magnus.

“We don’t need mats or anything, do we?” Alec asked, as they passed under the archway into Central Park. “The information seemed really vague. Do you think it’ll run over – my mom can only handle Max and Rafe for so long.”

“All this worrying doesn’t seem very zen of you,” Magnus chastised, taking Alec’s hand and swinging it like they did when they were making Max and Rafe ‘fly’ as they walked along the paths. Alec always thought this was somewhat of a big ask from Max, who actually could fly without the aid of Alec’s arms that were usually already somewhat tired from demon-hunting all day. Nevertheless, their squeals of joy made it all worthwhile.

A small throng of people were gathered, couples stretching together and chatting, in Central Park’s Sheep Meadow. Though still busy, it was somewhat less crowded and tourist-populated than the majority of the Park. Alec squinted to look who was there as the two of them walked closer and leaned up to whisper to Magnus, “There’s more gays than I thought there’d be.”

“Oh please, couples yoga is for three sets of people: bohemian lesbians who have squeezed this in between sensual pottery and live drawing where they only draw Cate Blanchett, straights whose marriages are on the rocks and are in desperate need of closeness not derived from brushing past one another on the way to write something on their family planner by the fridge, or gay couples – that’s us – whose marriage is just where it’s supposed to be.”

“And who want a brief moment of respite from their children – one of whom transforms into a bat when annoyed and one who loves annoying his brother?”

“I don’t think that’s quite as universal as you might expect,” Magnus pointed out and Alec laughed.

Thankfully, no one else seemed to have yoga mats. Despite Magnus’s assertions, most of the couples here looked calm and happy to be there. Alec relaxed a little and when a man and woman came over to introduce themselves as the instructors, he leaned casually against Magnus’s side, content to let his husband do the talking. He glanced round, watching the sunlight filter through the leaves of a nearby tree, mottling the grass below it with little pools of soft illumination. This was pretty nice, he thought, a feeling of serenity washing over him. Maybe Magnus was right, maybe Alec did just need to loosen up and relax, try and enjoy these new experiences. Maybe they’d become that couple, the couple that did yoga in the park and had brunch with their kids where they didn’t even drink mimosas or bloody marys because they didn’t need the pick-me-up of socially acceptable mid-morning alcohol. He’d always thought Izzy would be that person.

“Right,” the female instructor said in a voice that commanded the group. Though she’d raised her voice to gather them, she still sounded soft-spoken. “Let’s all find a space and let that space be our own bubble. Today, you and your partner are one being, two halves of one yogi. Together, let your hearts find a space. Be led by your shared heartbeat.”

Magnus and Alec exchanged a look and Magnus raised an eyebrow. Perhaps this was a little…much. Alec gave Magnus a miniscule frown and mouthed “that’s not very zen”. Magnus rolled his eyes but put a hand out and rested it on Alec’s chest, then put the other hand to his own.

“Our collective heartbeat is telling me that we should get out of here,” he said, with the same whimsical timbre to his voice that the instructor had. “It also says that the guac in the refrigerator needs eating tonight.”

Alec gave an inelegant snort and the instructors looked over at them. They didn’t look annoyed – Alec wasn’t sure people who were that at peace could be annoyed – but Alec schooled his expression into neutrality.

“I think just here is fine for our bubble,” he said and Magnus nodded, eyes glittering with amusement.

“I see we have some new energies in our space today,” the male instructor said, his speech with the same gentle lilt as his wife’s. “We welcome you into our family.” Magnus tried very hard not to think of how much this sounded like late-stage Crimson Hand rhetoric. “For our new friends, let me introduce us. This is my wife, Kelly, and I’m Gareth. Family, let’s emit some extra good vibes today to make our new souls feel welcomed and cherished.”

Alec firmly kept his eyes on the instructors instead of giving Magnus the weighted look he wanted to. Okay, this seemed a little full-on, but they’d just got here. They couldn’t judge it yet.

“What we’re going to do is start with a really easy pose that will help to solidify your connection to your partner and maintain your unity throughout our time together today,” breathed Kelly. “Let’s start with a stacked child’s pose. One half of your team transition now from mountain pose down to child’s pose, copying Gareth.”

Alec and Magnus exchanged looks and Alec shrugged, watching Gareth fold himself down onto the floor, facedown, as if having an existential crisis. Alec copied, and immediately felt the grass tickle his nose. From somewhere above him, Kelly continued talking.

“Now for our other halves, gently climb on your partner’s back and settle into the same pose. This is a really easy starting position and will keep us grounded and unified ready for our next step.”

Alec was about to say something when he felt Magnus’s weight settle atop him, pushing him further into the tickly grass. He breathed around the extra weight on his spine and Magnus bent to whisper in Alec’s ear.

“Wanna admit I was right to say we should’ve left?”

“No, this is very soothing,” Alec mumbled, and coughed on the grass that got in his mouth.

“Also, why is this child’s pose? Have Gareth and Kelly ever seen a child? If Max and Rafe were laid on the floor on their faces like this, I’d call an exorcist.”

“Shhh, I’m getting in touch with my inner peace,” Alec mumbled, and spluttered again on the grass in his mouth. “And also with this dirt.”

After a few minutes of relative calm, Gareth’s voice rung out, soft but commanding.

“Let’s all return to mountain pose now, stretching our arms up over our heads to transition to extended mountain.”

When Alec straightened up again, he glanced around, just to make sure he wasn’t being pranked. But no, a dozen other couples were all doing the same as them, lightly holding their hands above their heads, arms outstretched toward the sunny sky of New York. He settled back into it a little and tried to relax, wondering if relaxing was meant to take this much effort.

“Now we’re going to move into couple’s tree pose,” Gareth instructed. “Stand beside your partner and raise the arm closest to them into the air, touching their palm with yours. You can interlock your fingers here for extra emotional support, if you so desire. With your outside leg, rest the flat of your foot against your upper thigh, and bring your outside hands together to press flat against one another in the space between you.”

“Are you interlocking our fingers for emotional support?” Magnus whispered and Alec huffed a laugh.

“I’m doing it for structural support. I’m on some uneven grass and I feel like I’m about to fall over.”

“Consul Lightwood?”

Alec spun so fast that Magnus stumbled sideways, righting himself just in time and shooting Alec a furious look. In fact, the whole group were staring at them, looking as displeased as a group of people who had dedicated themselves to inner peace could look. Which, to be fair, wasn’t that displeased.

“Is there something disrupting your practise today?” Kelly asked, and Alec gave a nervous laugh.

“Just give me one second,” he said, staring off into the treeline where the call had come from.

“The forces outside your bubble are of no consequence during your practise,” Gareth told him, but Alec was already starting to walk over to the trees. Magnus gave a shrug to the instructors and an apologetic glance to the others in the group.

“He’s got a bad knee,” Magnus explained lamely and set off after Alec, jogging to catch up with him as he spoke to two younger shadowhunters. They couldn’t have been more than sixteen and were gaping up at Alec – and now Magnus too – with wide eyes.

“So how about I report back that you guys have been doing some great work on patrol, and you don’t tell anyone about…that,” Alec bartered. The two shadowhunters nodded and hurried off, casting looks over their shoulders as they went, heads bent together as they whispered. Alec looked at Magnus and burst out laughing. “Okay, you were right. We should’ve left before it started.”

“You mean you don’t want to get in touch with our shared heartbeat and become one soul in two bodies?” Magnus asked in mock-offence.

Alec gave him a sly side-eye and took his hand. “I didn’t say that. I’m sure we can work something out. We still have the apartment to ourselves for an hour or two before we have to get the kids.”

“What happened to ‘my mom can’t cope with them for too long’?” Magnus challenged, a devilish glint in his eye.

“She’ll be fine,” Alec assured him.

 “Why are we going to yoga night school?” Magnus asked as they reached the building indicated on Alec’s phone.

“Because it’s the only class I could find in the area when we had someone to watch the kids,” Alec explained. “Don’t worry, I made Simon promise to make them dinner.”

“Well hopefully this one is less traumatic.”

Alec groaned. “Don’t remind me. At least in a building we don’t risk random shadowhunters walking past.”

“Unless they’re in the class too!” Magnus pointed out chirpily and Alec shot him a glare as they went inside.

Much like the last class, people were milling about in couples. Alec gave the crowded hallway a quick scan but couldn’t see anyone they knew – thankfully. Alec relaxed a little. There were about the same number of couples here too, around twelve, and Alec couldn’t tell who the instructors were. Mostly people were talking in soft voices, sipping bottles of water, and leaning affectionately into conversations with their partner. Magnus glanced around.

“What kind of yoga is this?”

“I don’t know, tandem or something,” Alec said. “It was the only one available, but it looks good. The website said something about building trust and closeness or whatever.”

“Clearly imperative for us,” Magnus said dryly. “What with us being so distant and untrusting and all.”

Alec rolled his eyes but smiled.

Before he could respond, a door opened at the end of the hall and a woman emerged in a pair of leggings and a sports bra. She smiled at them and beckoned them all in. As Magnus and Alec passed her in the door, she turned and beamed at them.

“You must be our new sign-ups. I hope you enjoy the class and feel more in touch with yourselves and your bodies when you leave.”

No cult-like mentions of joining a family, or bubbles, or shared heartbeats. Alec heaved a sigh of relief and gave a glance toward Magnus, who was looking around the room. Everyone did seem quite touchy-feely, Magnus thought, but brushed it off. What else should he have expected from couple’s yoga – particularly couple’s yoga with a majority hetero clientele? He and Alec took a seat at the back of the studio, removing their shoes like the others had done and putting them behind their mat, and chatted between themselves until the woman who’d greeted them stepped to the front of the room with her own partner, a tall and well-built surfer-dude type.

“So as most of you know, I’m Carly and this is Dale, and we’ll be your guides tonight. As always, please feel free to take breaks as you need them, communication with your partner is encouraged, and remember to open a conversation after tonight’s class about what you learned about each other and yourself. These classes can really prompt strong feelings, and those should be embraced and discussed in a non-judgemental and loving way.”

“How intense is this class meant to be?” Magnus whispered to Alec, who shrugged, looking a little nervous. Was this for expert yoga-people? Yogists? Yogurts? What kind of relaxation came with a warning?

“While Carly lights the candles and I bring the lights down and close the blinds, feel free to come to rest in any pose that feels comfortable for you. Perhaps that’s child’s pose, a seated position, or maybe even corpse pose,” Dale said, and began readying the room.

“I’m starting to think we might all end up in corpse pose by the end of the night,” Alec hissed quietly, glancing round. “This looks like how most demonic rituals begin.”

“Maybe this is all a trap and Elyaas is just trying to get us to let him see Max again,” Magnus suggested and Alec laughed, looking round at the other couples to see how they were sat. Many were laid side by side, like bodies in mortuary shelves, but a handful of them were laid on their sides, pressed close together as if they were cuddled in bed. Alec raised his eyebrow sceptically and settled for sitting with his legs crossed before him, his back against Magnus who was in the same position.

“I’m getting in first to say we should leave now,” Alec whispered, eyes closed. “Just so if this is as bad as last time, I’ll get to be right.”

Alec felt Magnus’s shoulders move against his as he chuckled, then start a little as Dale spoke again.

“Okay, excellent. Let’s all slowly move to sit opposite our partner, ready to start the session with some synchronized breathing. You can do this in whatever way works for you. You could put a hand on your partner’s chest to feel their inhales and exhales. You could close your eyes and focus on the sound of their breath or maintain eye contact and build a direct channel of communication. You could hold hands. Or you can just meditate, keeping your inhalations and exhalations as one with your partner.”

Alec shuffled round to face Magnus and immediately had to close his eyes. Something about staring into the face of your significant other in a quiet and meditative room made you immediately want to burst out into loud and obnoxious laughter. Instead, he let Magnus’s hand find his in the dark of their closed eyes and tried to match their breaths. Despite himself, Alec relaxed, his shoulders drooping, jaw unclenching. Being a shadowhunter wasn’t a relaxing job, and it was sometimes hard to find time to de-stress. Maybe he’d judged this whole thing too quickly, put off by the last time. Actually, this was pretty nice.

After a while, Carly’s voice came softly through the haze of meditation, instructing them to gently come back to the present. Alec blinked open his eyes and met Magnus’s soft gaze, smiling. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

“Okay, now we’re going to move to our first real position, yab-yum,” Carly said. “You can stay crossed-legged for this, though one of you will have to move a little. One partner will stay seated and the other will climb into their lap, hooking their legs around the other’s back, coming to rest in a lotus position. Dale and I will be transitioning into yab-yum so you can observe us if you get lost.”

Magnus beckoned Alec forward and put his arms around Alec’s waist as the shadowhunter settled onto his husband’s lap, feeling a little uncomfortable doing so in a crowded room. He glanced around to confirm this was right and found everyone else doing the same.

“Relax, we’re married,” Magnus grinned and Alec nodded, laughing to himself. Magnus was right. This was totally innocent; he was just being coy.

“Gently, you can start to rock forwards and backwards,” Dale instructed, resting his hands on Carly’s hips. “Just a slight movement is fine to start. You can time this to your breathing. Breathe in, rock forward. Breathe out, rock back.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow but shrugged, following as instructed. Alec wrinkled his nose. Was it just him or did this feel weirdly…intense? Even personal?

“Are you starting to get seasick?” Magnus teased and Alec shook his head.

“I’m just really confused. What is this meant to do?”

“Help us breathe together I guess. Though, I don’t want to brag, but I’ve been breathing for centuries and I’m pretty excellent at it. I’m currently on my high score of most breaths breathed. I bet I’ve been breathing way longer than all these assholes.”

Alec laughed and tried to relax into the exercise, but he couldn’t help feeling strangely fidgety, like something wasn’t right.

“For a more connective experience,” Dale said. “You can add extra elements, especially if you’re the partner sat on the floor. Try rocking your lower back as well and raising your hips towards your partner’s.”

Alec and Magnus exchanged confused looks, and Alec felt his eyes widen when a few nearby couples began breathing more shallowly, less controlled. Magnus covered his mouth to stifle a laugh at Alec’s scandalised expression.

“Did you know—” Magnus began and Alec shook his head vehemently.

“Is this…” He dropped his voice and mouthed, “sex yoga?”

Magnus gave a loud snort of laughter and Alec shushed him, but the laugh was contagious and the sound came out disjointed and breathless. Instead, Alec put a finger to his lips, and looked up at the ceiling, trying not to meet Magnus’s eyes and start their laughs again. It was going well until Carly gave a breathy sigh and continued.

“This pose represents the mother and father in the act of sexual union, and really appeals to both genders’ need for interpenetration.”

“Well this isn’t going to help us at all then,” Magnus muttered, rolling his eyes.

Alec lost his composure completely and gave a cry of amusement that was smothered too late by Magnus’s hand. Both of them were laughing now, bent forward towards one another with tears in their eyes. Alec could feel the disapproving stares of the other people in the class and tried hard to compose himself, but it was no use. From somewhere above them, someone cleared their throat and the two of them looked up to see Carly stood there, with a face like thunder. And who could blame her, Alec thought. Two total newbies had signed up for her class, been totally blind-sided by what it actually was, and had some kind of hysteric moment in the middle of their session. Before she could say anything, Alec climbed to his feet and pulled Magnus up after him by the hands, still grinning uncontrollably.

“I, ah, don’t think this is our class,” Alec muttered apologetically.

“Yeah, I’m sure it said Bridge club was next door,” Magnus added and Alec had to press his lips together so he didn’t laugh in the poor woman’s face. Alec swept down, grabbed his shoes in one hand and Magnus’s in the other, shoved a pair at his husband, and stumbled gracelessly from the room, weaving between yab-yumming couples, and shutting the door quickly behind them.

As soon as they were out of the building, the two of them exploded into laughter, the sound ringing out on the quiet New York streets. It was already dark, though not even gone seven, and Alec sank down onto a bench to lace up his sneakers, still shaking with amusement. Magnus was bent double, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Tantric, you idiot,” Magnus wheezed. “Tantric yoga, not tandem.”

“I don’t know what that means!” Alec protested, gesturing to the building. “Who does sex yoga at seven on a Thursday evening? It’s a school day tomorrow!”

Magnus cackled and threw his head back, reminding Alec of their very first date, the two of them howling with joy at the awful subway rappers. It was the first time Alec had remembered really letting go, really surrendering to the idea of being happy. There, walking the streets with Magnus back to the apartment that wasn’t yet his home too, Alec hadn’t thought about what anyone else would think, or if someone he knew would see him. All he could think about was those terrible performers, and the way Magnus’s laugh sounded like someone opening the door to the rest of his life, and the whisper of evening air like a great spirit whispering at him that he could finally relax.

 Walking home, hand in hand, Magnus nudged a hip against Alec’s playfully.

“So, it’s super important to start a conversation after tonight’s class about what you learned about each other and yourself,” Magnus said, imitating Dale’s rolling Californian drawl.

“I learned that I should read the description of things properly before I book them for $60 a person,” Alec said.

“$60?” Magnus demanded incredulously. “You paid $120 for us to sit in a dark room with a bunch of horny couples and sit on each other’s laps?”

Alec rested his head on Magnus’s shoulder and laughed into the fabric of his jacket. “I just wanted us to have a good night out away from the kids and spend some time together.”

“I like movies, you know? And dinner, and the theatre, and literally anything where a woman doesn’t say interpenetration to me in a room full of other people.”

“Come on,” Alec urged, grinning. “Let’s at least take something from it. What did you learn?”

“I learned…that you are very, very attractive when you laugh,” Magnus said, leaning down to kiss the top of Alec’s head, feeling his husband nestle further into his shoulder. “How about you?”

“I learned…” Alec laughed shyly and straightened up, squeezing Magnus’s hand. “I learned that sitting on someone’s lap while they laugh is a unique experience that is not entirely without it’s…appeal.”

Magnus glanced at him and quirked an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

Alec shrugged and Magnus spun Alec round by the hand.

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” Magnus said softly and watched devilishly as Alec went fantastically red. “Come on, let’s go. Luckily for you we have a ridiculous life so there’s plenty of things to laugh at to get you all hot and bothered.”

Alec swatted at him and shushed him, looking around the near-empty street.

“We can start with the fact that your husband still turns you into a fumbling mess.”

“You’ll always do that,” Alec reminded him, and shot Magnus a winning smile that sent Magnus into his own state of unravelling. “We could swing by Simon and Izzy’s and get the kids early.”

“Or…” Magnus said, with a familiar look in his eyes and Alec’s mouth quirked in a smile. “I don’t know why you look so smug; I was going to suggest we sat in silence and timed our breaths to each other,” Magnus said and ducked away, chuckling, as Alec went to grab for him.

When Alec inevitably caught him, he wrapped his arms around Magnus, pressing a kiss to his neck. “What is our life?” he sighed, and Magnus tilted his chin down so his lips met Alec’s.

“Perfect,” Magnus answered fondly. “That’s what.”

DISCLAIMER

This is a fun fic - don’t take it too seriously. No not all yoga is like this, not all tantric yoga is about sensuality or sexuality, but some of it is and that’s great too. Just...take it in the spirit it’s meant.

#malec #malec fic #Magnus Bane #Magnus and Alec #Alec and Magnus #Magnus x Alec #Alec Lightwood #alec lightwood bane #magnus lightwood bane

[op-peccatori]

coup de foudre | MLQC Shaw/Ling Xiao (M)

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Shaw

Rating: 18+/Explicit/NSFW

Words: 5k

Summary: He hadn’t planned on getting sucked in, unable and unwilling to free himself. But they’ve all had their chances and now, it’s his turn.

coup de foudre (‘stroke of lightning’): a sudden unforeseen event, in particular, an instance of love at first sight

A/N: i have nothing to say. except that this was supposed to be a filthy hookup thing but I should have known better. please...don't look at me lmao

(tags under the cut)

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, mild language, vaginal sex, ... minor electric play, please don’t try this at home, chapter 19/20 spoilers...ish

Rain-soaked bangs cling to a crinkling forehead, hanging over amber eyes squinting through the unforgiving downpour. 

His heart pounds, tremulous and worried, within the confines of his chest–because of all the running, he tells himself repeatedly–as the heavy soles of his combat boots splash through puddles, drawing peeved looks from the people passing by. 

Annoyance and concern twist and twine around his lungs as there’s no sign of that familiar face, the sparks on the tips of his fingers deadly in his urgency, and if he doesn’t find what he’s looking for right now–

The fates conspire as the thought crosses his mind, as if unwilling to draw his ire, and his path leads him to a park near Loveland University. There aren’t a lot of people nearby or in the park itself; he wanders in through the wrought iron gate, already thinking of turning back and going back to the cafe in the hope that you’ll be there–and then he catches a glimpse of the now-familiar silhouette, curled up on a bench, seemingly unbothered by the rain.

Drenched to the bone with your hair glued to your face and your clothes clinging to your skin in a way he tries really hard not to notice, you almost remind him of a lost kitten he’d come across as a child. Even the way you shiver is similar, although the way his body responds to you is very different.

You haven’t noticed him yet. Your palms are spread open in front of you, exposed to your unfocused gaze. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest as the thought of why you’re here comes to mind, so close to a man you should be staying far away from. 

Shaw swallows the lump in his throat, mouth curving in that cocky way he knows will annoy you. With any hope, enough to wipe that miserable look off your face. 

“There you are,” he calls, grinning at the way you jump and twist in place. Your eyes flash with immediate recognition and he’s near sickened by the elation that courses through him. You know him now, and that shouldn’t delight him half as much as it does. 

It’s just because it would piss, well, quite a lot of people off.

“Oh, it’s you.” Your eyes, previously dull, spark with curiosity. “Shaw.”

“Mm.” There’s an umbrella clutched in his hand, one he’d brought along with you in mind, but it feels awkward in his grip now. He wants to open it and tug you closer, draw you into his arms and warm you up; he tosses the umbrella at you instead, trying to keep from shuffling in place as you stare at it in quiet surprise. “Y’know, I like parks as much as the next guy, but this isn’t really the kind of weather you should be out in.”

“More friendly advice?” you ask, eyes twinkling, and his mouth dries up. You sigh and open the device he so thoughtfully handed you. You don’t think you can get any wetter, but you might as well use it. “I know. I just...” 

Visited Loveland Uni. Ran into Lu-Ares. You had felt so drained, so defeated, that you had, in all your wisdom, decided to stop by the park you had frequented so often with the professor by your side. It hadn’t been your intention to be caught in this rain.

“What are you doing here?” you ask instead. 

He clears his throat, not wanting to answer or continue standing around here. But with your eyes fixed on him so intently, he isn’t sure if he’s even capable of moving a muscle, let alone leave. 

“I was just passing by. Saw you here, lookin’ like a drowned rat, and I’m just too nice to walk away.” 

“Sure you are.” You get up with some effort, hating the way your clothes stick to you, missing the way he stiffens. You raise the umbrella until it covers most of him and you, stepping closer and steering your thoughts away from the heat you feel coming off him. “Well, thank you.” 

“No problem. We’re friends now, yeah?” He watches you, your small smile, and the way it twitches before it crumbles, his heart lurching as you drop your forehead onto his chest. “You okay?” 

He resists the urge to curl himself around you.

“Yeah.” His hand comes up to rest on your head. He had meant for it to feel like he’s petting a cute animal, but instead, he wants to take his glove off so he can feel your hair in all his tangled glory. He ruffles it gently, and your hand comes up to fist in his shirt. “...No, not really.” 

“Thought so. Think you could go mope somewhere drier?” 

“I’m not moping,” you grumble, pulling away, much to his disappointment. “But yeah. Mind walking me home?” 

“Sure. I don’t have anything better to do, thanks for asking,” he drawls, taking the umbrella from you and drawing closer as you begin to walk out of the park. He’s overcome, just for a moment, by the urge to grab your hand. 

It’s funny, he thinks. He’d thought the rest of them pathetic for the lengths they’d go to for you, the way they seemed to orbit around you as if you were the centre of their worlds. Even now, despite having no recollection of you, they aren’t impervious to your pull.

And neither is Shaw. 

All he had planned on doing was to wait and watch, derive amusement from you stumbling around like a lost little lamb, help out whenever the mood struck him.  But ever since that one time he’d sat next to you on the bus, watching you study him suspiciously, the way you had fidgeted when his jean-clad thigh pressed into yours–ever since then, a certain, dark hunger had taken root in him. 

It was when he ran into you here, separated from your guard dogs, that he realized it was just you and him. For now, but it was still a golden opportunity to play with you. To touch you. 

He hadn’t expected to be drawn in like the rest. To want you so bad it filled him with warmth on the best of days and burned him inside out on the worst of them. 

“If you had anything better to do, you wouldn’t have come looking for me in this kind of weather.” 

Shaw scoffs, refusing to turn his head and expose himself to your knowing gaze. 

You know better though. Not with how often he seems to find you no matter where you are in the city. It’s something he has in common with a certain someone, and the thought has you aching with something bitter. 

Your current companion may be a strange one but you can’t deny the relief you feel when he’s around; he’s the only person in this strange new world who remembers you, who knows things aren’t quite right. He doesn’t seem to care much, but you’re grateful for his presence nonetheless. 

It’s with that thought in mind that you come to a stop. “I...don’t want to go home.” The silence had been particularly stifling today, prompting your escape, even if it was to grey skies and raging clouds. 

Shaw studies you carefully, the stubborn set of your jaw and the quick flicker of panic in your eyes. You look like you expect him to mock and dismiss you, and while the former would be all too easy, he can’t dismiss your subtle request.

And living up to expectations has never been his style.

Saying no to spending more time with you? He’s not an idiot. He’ll take his entertainment where he can get it, and things around you are never dull. 

“Alright. Wanna come over to my place?” 

The words are out before he could rethink them, and he prays you don’t take it in the wrong way. 

“I mean, we can find something to make you feel better.” Ugh, shut up, Shaw.

Would it be so bad, though–

Yes, it would. You’re not his to take. No matter how badly his mouth waters at the very thought of getting a taste, of sinking his teeth into your skin; no matter how often dreams of you shake him awake with sparks crackling along his limbs, his pants embarrassingly tight. 

You agree without much thought, and he wants to scold you for it. You trust too easily, even after everything with that Professor. 

“Come on, then.” Because his body and mind slip from his control whenever you’re around, his thoughts turn to the dream he’d woken up from last night, hard and throbbing with raging lust, fingers trembling as they were forced to his cock. He had still been half-asleep as he spilt himself onto his sheets, shame eventually creeping up his spine as his mind drifted toward awareness. 

You’re oblivious to the turn his mind has taken, wrapped up in your own thoughts. You have so many questions, most of which you know by now won’t get an answer. But as he leads you up the stairs in a small building, you’re caught off guard by the thrill of anticipation building in you. Your eyes linger on the broad expanse of his back, the studded leather jacket stretching over his shoulders, the way his jeans cling to the round curve of his ass.

“I’m in the mood for pizza. There’s a great place nearby, if you’re cool with it. Oh, we could watch–“ He pauses just outside the door to 3B, fingers hovering over the keypad. “Oh, uh, give me a few minutes.” 

With that he taps in the password and slips into the apartment, leaving you outside, perplexed. You wait in silence, realizing quickly that he hadn’t exactly expected to bring a guest along, and hadn’t had a chance to clean up, if that’s what he’s doing. 

‘Maybe he’s hiding stuff. Clues to the current situation,’ you think suspiciously, before dismissing the idea. You’ve come here to spend time with a new friend, not snoop around. For the first time in what feels like ever, you’re not going to snoop. You’re going to eat pizza and watch whatever Shaw had been about to mention. You need a goddamn break and you’re going to take it. 

The door opens then, with Shaw’s head still turned away as he appears to sweep his eyes over the room once more, as if checking to make sure everything’s in place. 

“Right, come on in,” he steps back to let you through, glancing around the hallway before closing the door. You slip your shoes off at the entrance, looking around curiously as you step into the room, smiling gratefully when he hands you a towel. 

His jacket is hanging on a rack at the entrance, leaving him in his shirt. His bangs are slicked back and there’s a towel around his neck, the beads wrapped around his wrist clattering as he dabs one end of the towel over his skin. It all makes an enticing, domestic picture, one that has you swallowing nervously.

“Nice place,” you comment, hiding a smile as you spot what looks like a pair of boxers next to the couch, pretending not to notice when he kicks the garment behind it. 

“Thanks. Um, do you maybe wanna change?” Neither of you had considered your soaked clothes, and you feel like a complete idiot. 

Shaw, on the other hand, has to tear his eyes away from the sheer fabric of your shirt, the way it hints at the tempting swell of your breasts. It’d be better for you both if you spend the rest of your time together in a sweatshirt. 

“...That would be really great, thank you.”  

“Wait here, I’ll go, uh, find you something to wear.” 

You feel awful about putting him out like this, but he’s vanished through a door before you can say anything, and you focus on drying your hair. He comes back with a bundle of clothes and an endearingly nervous expression. 

“I thought it might be better if you just shower, if you want to, I mean. I mean, do whatever, I’ll just order us some food,” Shaw mumbles, handing you the clothes. 

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting, you can go first,” you offer awkwardly, laughing weakly when he rolls his eyes and pushes you towards the bathroom. 

“And that’s very gracious of you, but you’ll catch a cold if you don’t get warm soon, so go.” It’s more of a demand than anything and you can’t help the ‘yes sir’ as you shuffle towards the door. “Mushroom and cheese okay with you?” 

“That’s my favourite!” you call back, closing the door behind you as you step into the bathroom. Placing the clothes on the counter, you take in the products scattered over the surface. Namely, the various types of hair products and perfumes. 

Cute. 

You feel oddly shy as you undress, mind swimming with scenarios involving Shaw stumbling into the bathroom somehow while you’re naked. You can almost picture the flushed cheeks he tries so hard to hide, the slight bobbing of his throat you’ve caught so often, and the way he tries to avert his eyes but fails.  The thought of him pressing you into the tiled walls has you clenching, your cheeks blazing as you turn on the water.

You wonder if he’s thinking about you naked in his shower right now. 

What you don’t know is how right you are, and how miserable it’s making him. Shaw has never felt the kind of shameful thrill that races through him now, as a part of him wonders what you would do if he joins you, if he sinks to his knees and licks into you like a starved, depraved creature.

You're out in ten minutes, smelling of his favourite body wash, and it takes everything in him not to bury his nose in your neck. That scent has never smelled half as good on him as it does on you. Your cheeks are still rosy from the shower, and he watches mutely as you wrap a towel around your head.

Then, with a smothered groan, he realizes you’re in his old sweatshirt and shorts, both too baggy and more adorable than he’d expected. 

Fuck. 

“I’m done! Thank you, Shaw,” you murmur softly, and he nods, dazed and dismayed at the thought of having to tighten his leash. 

“You can put your clothes in the dryer.” He shows you to the machine, starting it for you before handing you his laptop, surprisingly you with the show of trust. “Don’t snoop around too much. You can’t blame me if you find something you don’t want to see.” With the taunt thrown, he turns on his heel and saunters off.

You browse YouTube for a bit before setting the laptop aside and curling up on the couch. It’s been a few days since you woke up in this reality, but it feels like forever. You had almost forgotten what safety felt like. And you can’t quite believe you feel that way with Shaw. 

A mesh of stress and worry wound tight in your chest for so long, finally loosens a little as your limbs relax, and you nearly melt onto the cushion as you drift off, knowing you’re not alone, for once not uneasy at the thought. 

He finds you dozing lightly, tiptoeing into the room, crouching down once he reaches you. The frown that had come to find a near-permanent place on your face seems to have almost faded, and his thumb comes to rub away the last traces of it from your brow. 

Shaw’s eyes, lidded and intent, come to rest on your parted mouth, and yearning throbs hot in his belly. His fingers, helpless against the softness of your skin, trace the sharp bridge of your nose, your full cheeks, the plump curve of your lips. He’s so transfixed by the sight, fighting back the urge to dip his head for just a quick taste, that it takes him a moment to realize he’s being watched. 

Caught, he locks eyes with you and freezes, his pulse quickening when he sees no sign of fear or distrust in them. Instead, you tilt your head the slightest bit and–his breath catches in his throat when he feels your tongue flick at the rough pad of his thumb. 

Stunned, he can only watch as your mouth parts further to suck the tip in, tongue stroking it in an erotic imitation of an act he’s only ever dreamed of.

It’s when your lips curl up, amused by his stupefied expression, that he frees the digit from your mouth with a low pop and daubs the wetness from it down your chin. You don’t say a word but the look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know; he’s shaken by the way desire seizes him then, roaring and commanding him to take, to please, to wreck.

“You’ve had a bad day,” he tells you, hoarsely and weak in the face of his burning thirst, pulling his hand back. 

“I’ve had a bad month. But I thought you brought me here to make me feel better?” you ask, blinking innocently as you rise up, leaning your weight on one elbow.

His low chuckle sets your nerves alight, as does the way his eyes can’t seem to decide between staying fixed on your eyes and mouth. “With pizza and Netflix.” 

“Mm. You can just say no,” you say, even though you’re already leaning in. Your lips brush the corner of his and he sucks in a sharp breath, eyes sliding shut as he feels your breath on his face, warm and beckoning.

You must know that he–

“I can’t,” he breathes and captures your mouth with his. He can’t fathom a situation where he would deny you, when you’re ready and willing to let him in. When he’s been longing for this for so long. 

It’s slow, a sweet claiming, relief and destruction bound together intimately. Any thoughts of resistance are abandoned, left in the dust for the exquisite flavour of your mouth. He groans at the slow drag of your teeth over his lip, shifting onto the couch to lean over you without breaking contact, tilting his head to go deeper, take more.

Satisfaction courses through him, visceral and grasping, as you turn onto your back, hands clenching in his shirt to pull him down from his careful hovering. 

You’re lost, sinking into each other with every moan, your fingers digging into his shoulders as his finally tangle in your hair. His tongue slides along yours, and you’re overwhelmed by the desire to feel every inch of him, on you, in you, firm and warm.

“Good,” you gasp out, planting swift kisses along his jaw before he groans and crushes his mouth against yours again, intent on having his fill, knowing he never will; he will never get enough. His hand, splayed across your abdomen, slides down. He can nearly feel the coiled tension in you, desperate for him to unravel it, begging for his attention.

The doorbell rings, startling and shrill.

Shaw pulls away, breathing hard, the tips of your noses brushing. You pant lightly, a moan stuck low in your throat as you feel his hard bulge pressing into your belly. His desire is an unmistakable as yours; you ache to take his cock in you, your lust for him dripping from your cunt. 

His amber eyes, glossed over as he fights to control himself, clear slightly at the second ring. 

“I’ll be right there,” he yells in the direction of the door, before diving in to kiss you, hard and quick, all teeth and tongue, and then he rips himself away and staggers over to the door; your soft whine rings in his ears and chipping away at his composure. 

He greets the delivery man with a strained grin, his mind occupied with the temptress he left on his couch. The man eyes him weirdly as he takes the cash, taking in the state of his hair and lips, eyes flitting over his head; he averts his eyes when Shaw sheds his pleasant demeanour, his expression edged with threat. He grabs the pizza, shooting a quick thanks at the man and barely restrains himself from slamming the door shut.

The haze of desire lifts. You’re probably hungry, and he needs to think. 

You have other plans.

He’s barely left the boxes on the counter and turned around before he finds himself with an armful of determined girl pressing up against him, arms wrapping around his neck as you press your mouth to his. 

“Ah, baby,” it slips out and he blushes at the low, needy sound that escapes you. “D-don’t you wanna eat-?” 

“I want you,” you say, demanding and fierce and he doesn’t stand a chance. “Please, Shaw.” 

His hands are clutching at the backs of your thighs before his mind can catch up, hauling you up until your legs wrap around his hips. A lazy grin splits his lips at the squeal that escapes you, that then melts into a moan as he sucks your tongue into his mouth. 

He presses you into the wall and drags his tongue down the length of your neck, pleased by the way you shiver. “You need to be specific.” 

His teeth sink into pliant flesh and the back of your head hits the wall, hips bucking up involuntarily. “Ah, I-I–“

“You want something, baby?” His hands knead the plump flesh of your ass as he sucks a blooming mark into your skin. “You gotta ask for it.” 

He lets you slip down, just a little until you can feel him against you, just as desperate but better at controlling it, and using it against you.

“I-I want you to touch me, Shaw.” The heel of his palm slips between your bodies to press between your thighs, putting enough pressure that you grind your hips into it, desperate for the friction. 

“Like this?” he asks, smirking impishly when you glare at him in frustration, pulling at his hair.

“More,” you whine. He laughs and adjusts his grip so he can carry you further down the hall. 

“Tch. Greedy.” You nip at his earlobe in retaliation and his hands squeeze your ass in warning, this time as a warning–one you dismiss right away.

“I want your cock too,” you whisper, so softly he would’ve missed it if your lips weren’t ghosting the shell of his ear, your cunning tongue tracing the delicate skin. “I want you to fuck me, use me–“ 

The rest of your words are lost in a yelp as he throws you onto the bed, slipping his T-shirt off with one hand as he reaches for your ankle with the other. His abdomen, all taut muscle, his shorts resting low on his hips–you could run your fingers all over him for hours. The skies flash through the window, angry and eager, the rain still falling mercilessly, and you think it matches the look in his face perfectly.  

“Careful what you wish for, baby,” he says in a half purr, his eyes dark with ruthless promise as he drags you closer. “I won’t be so nice if you tease me.” 

His thumbs hook into the waistband of your (his) shorts and tug them down, only to pause, swallowing the sudden flood of moisture in his mouth as your glistening cunt is exposed to his ravenous gaze.

“My underwear got wet earlier,” you hurry to explain, nervous and embarrassed at the way he’s staring at you, his tongue darting out to wet his mouth.

“Your underwear isn’t the only thing-” He’s cut off by his own laughter as you kick him lightly in the stomach, attempting to close your legs–that he puts a stop to at once. “Now, now. I’m not complaining.” The foxy curve of his lips meets the arch of your foot, sliding across the skin over your ankle. He crawls onto the bed as he kisses his way up your leg, the tip of his tongue dipping into the crease at the back of your knee.

You can only watch in breathless silence as he nips his way up the tender flesh of your thigh, never breaking the meeting of your eyes. He parts your legs, fingers slipping through your slick curls to spread your folds before a long digit pushes in.

“So wet. Is it all for me?” 

Shaw’s gaze doesn’t waver once and you throw your head back, cunt clenching around his finger and heart racing from the hunger in his face.

A second finger slides in, rubbing at your slick walls as you moan and rock your hips up. You glance at him, teeth digging into your lip at the sight of his pupils blowing wide as he looks at his fingers coated with your arousal. 

“Look at you,” he growls, pumping his fingers faster as his tongue flicks at your swelling clit and you whimper and try to jerk your hips away. “Who would’ve thought you’d be such a dirty slut, begging for my fingers.” 

With his other hand, he pushes the hem of your sweatshirt up until your breasts spill free from beneath it, the cloth folded under your chin. His hot mouth tugs at a nipple, nipping and sucking as his fingers stroke you to a slow ruin. 

“Shaw.” You’re half cursing, half pleading and then you’re yelling in outrage as he slips his hand away. “You ass–“ But your voice dies in your throat when you spy him tugging at the cords of his shorts, yanking them down his hips. You can’t even call him out on his own lack of underwear, distracted as you are by his cock, by the way his lips close around his fingers as he licks them clean.

He lashes flutter at the taste, the little sample of your flavour rich on his tongue, and he vows to spend more time with his face buried between your legs, to grab a proper meal. His mouth waters at the thought of you coming on his tongue.

“You sure about this?” He asks, reaching into a drawer in his bedside table and pulling out a square foil.

You lock eyes with him and it hits you. You’ve got a lot, and nothing at all on your plate, you have mysteries to chase and thing to set right, because you’re in a reality where nobody remembers you. Nobody, except for this gorgeous, infuriatingly cavalier man standing in front of you, stroking his cock slowly and waiting for your permission. 

You deserve this, damn it. 

“Absolutely,” you respond with a touch of finality, rising up to your knees to reach for him, sliding the sweatshirt off as you go. His knee rests on the bed as your fingers wrap around his length, covered by his own as you prime him together, drawing the first drop of arousal from his tip.

He kisses you, once, twice, and then again. Your lips slide down his throat, placing sweet, wet kisses along the flexing muscle of his shoulders. Down and down you go, dipping your tongue into his bellybutton, smiling at the way his hips jerk. 

You glance up at him and open your mouth, lips forming a wide O, tongue out; he shoots a prayer up before guiding the head of his cock in. 

His fingers dig into the back of your head as you swallow as much of his thick length as you can, tongue pressing flat as you move back and forth along it. His thrusts are shallow, his scent musky as your nose brushes his unruly curls. 

“Pretty, pretty baby,” Shaw growls, the sweet words warped and filthy as they fall from his lips, hands tugging at your hair. “You look perfect like this, with my cock in your mouth.” 

Your moan vibrates around him and he stiffens, easing you off, plucking the condom off the bed and ripping it open.

“As much as I’d love to,” he mutters, pushing you onto your back, climbing over you fluidly. “You asked to be fucked, and I intend to deliver.” 

He fits himself between your legs, kneeling between them as he slides the latex on. You can’t help but clench in anticipation, watching him position himself at your entrance. 

“Last chance,” he whispers, teasingly. He isn’t completely sure if he can stop, if you do choose to tell him to. You look beautiful, your hair spilt across his messy bedspread and your eyes, vulnerable and filled with desire, waiting for him. 

He slides the head of his cock along your folds and a shudder runs through you.

“Fuck me,” you rasp, eyes sliding shut as he slides in. Your thoughts, your problems, your loneliness–everything numbs and fades away. All you smell is him, sharp and heady. All you feel is him, his cock sheathed in you and his lips on your cheek. 

“As my lady commands,” he mutters sarcastically, with a touch of sincerity as he grinds against you, drawing a sweet moan from you. Your walls squeeze him, hot and slick and possessive, pleasure sinking into his bones, scraping him raw; he will never let you go, now that he has you. It doesn’t matter which world or which reality you find yourselves in. 

‘You’re mine now,’ he thinks darkly, greedily. He, who refuses to tie himself to any side, will bind himself to you so deeply you will never escape him. He will sink his claws so deep they would never be able to rip you from his grasp. 

You gasp his name and the sound travels through him with a jolt; he thrusts hard, eager to see what other sounds he can draw from your lovely mouth.

Shaw tries to be gentle. He tries really hard. He’d wanted his first time with you to be sweet and slow, gentle and lasting as long as he could physically make it. But you shred any remnants of his control with the way you twist and writhe beneath him, meeting his thrusts with urgent rolls of your hips and moaning for him, so sweetly it threatens to unravel him. 

Your whispers of how good he feels, how you never want him to stop, of please please please push him until he’s pounding into you with reckless abandon, riveted by the sight of you falling apart, your head thrown back and your breasts bouncing with every snap of his hips. 

He can’t help it; his hand reaches for your cunt, fingers pressing to your swollen clit. The barest whispers of static spark to life on his fingertips, just for a second–your body reacts before your mind can process it, convulsing and twisting as he rubs tight circles, a scream tearing from your throat as he pins you in place. 

Your walls clench him so tightly he nearly chokes, plunging into his own ruin as his pace falters, turning wilder and unmeasured, as he comes with your wrecked visage burned into his mind. Your eyes are wet, your limbs trembling weakly.

You kiss his face sloppily as he tries to catch his breath, drawing him in until his face presses into the side of your neck. He takes a long moment to breathe you in, the scent of sex and sweat intoxicating, his mind still consumed by you as he turns you both over to hold you close to him.

Your fingers creep up his side, and a mortifying, high-pitched noise of protest escapes him when you pinch him hard. "You better not have fried my vagina," you mumble tiredly. 

"Chill. You're fine." It's not the first time he's tried it, but he wisely keeps that to himself. You snort, nuzzling his chest as a satisfied sigh leaves you.

Triumph courses through him, as does fear; he’s not one to lie to himself. This will not be a one-time thing. He will have you, again and again. He will stay by your side, regardless of what others will think or do. 

His heart squeezes at the thought of Gavin. What would he think of the fact that Shaw has stolen you away while he remains oblivious, with no plans of letting go? 

That is, if you’re on board. 

In all honesty, he can't bring himself to regret any of it. They've all had their chances and now, it’s his turn.

You press your ear to the rapid thumping of his heart, not attempting to untangle your legs from his. You hum when he kisses your hair, turning to catch his mouth in a soft kiss. A low grumble breaks the tranquil silence, and you purse your lips when he turns to you with that familiar mocking stare.

“So,” you begin nervously, trying not to squirm. “Pizza?”

#mlqc #mlqc shaw #mlqc smut #mr love queen's choice #mr love: queen's choice #mlqc fanfic

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

I MEAN IT GAVE ME CHILLS IN A GOOD WAY. and also it would be hilarious to write imo; just these 6 dudes that all look the same and just made up A Guy.

“Thomas,” Roman announces quite suddenly, with a triumphant gesture that manages to inadvertently sweep half of the script drafts off the couch in the process.

“I still can not believe we’re doing this,” Virgil says.

“Oh, you’d better believe it, Way Down Gay-destown, ‘cause I just got the perfect name for him. Thomas. That’s his name – Thomas Sanders.” Roman pauses, and wiggles his fingers a bit. “Thoughts?”

Remus perks up. “Oh, our fictional character has thots now?”

“Crawling all over him like weevils,” Virgil nods.

“I thought we were calling ourselves ‘Sides’,” says Janus.  

“Guys, please,” Roman begs.

“Thomas sounds good to me,” is Patton’s opinion. “It’s nice and friendly, and also it has two syllables, like the rest of us! It kind of fits in like that.”

“It is a surprisingly apt name, especially when you take into consideration that Roman most likely did not know of the linguistic root when picking it,” Logan muses.

Remus waves a hand lazily from where he’s draped backwards over the couch, writing Transformers inflation porn on the notes app of his shitty phone. “Uh, noparoni, falsehood, all that jazz. I was watching. He went on babynames dot com and everything for this.”

“...What he said, yeah.”

“Ah, yes, babynames dot com, the internet’s premier and leading source for all accurate name derivations,” comes the dry response.

“Thomas means twin,” Roman says. “It means twin, and it’s funny because we all look identical! It’s like another layer of meaning! A fun little injoke, just for us.”

“Yes,” says Virgil, “you’re right. We need many, many deep layers of meaning and in-jokes woven into the shared identity we’re crafting as part of Roman and Remus’s wild, spur-of-the-moment internet scam.”

“How dare you,” Roman objects loudly, flailing so suddenly that he nearly falls off the couch. “This is polar opposite of a scam, we’re – we are merely taking advantage of our uncanny shared appearance to... share joy amongst the humble Youtube vlogging community! And perhaps show off. Just a little. But to say that it’s a scam – ”

“No, this is definitely a scam,” Janus says. “I mean, look at us. We’re inventing an entire person for internet clout.”

Patton looks like he’s having second thoughts about this whole thing. “I’m having second thoughts,” he says. “Like, on an ethical, moral sort of level, is any of this... really a good idea?”

“People invent other people for shittier reasons all the time, I think we’re fine,” Virgil says. “I mean, look at internet catfishes. Or every male fiction writer with a very obvious and creepy fetish. Or J.K. Rowling.”

“J.K. Rowling doesn’t exist?” Janus says. “Excellent. We won, boys.”

Roman grabs a pen and scribbles it into the notebook, next to a hasty little stickman doodle of an average-looking guy and a list of qualities and attributes and skills. “Well, all that aside, nobody seems to have an objection to this, so Thomas it is! Thomas Sanders. Thomas I’ve-Just-Realized-He-Needs-A-Middle-Name Sanders.”

“Thomas F Sanders,” Remus suggests.

“The F stands for ‘Fucking’, doesn’t it,” sighs Patton.

“Well, yeah.”

“Way to go for the low-hanging fruit, dude,” Virgil says. “Okay, put a pin in the middle name for now. Our collective brainchild has a name, so... that’s something. I guess.” He grabs the notebook from Roman and squints down at the short-ish list they have so far. “Any more character traits we wanna give this guy?”

“Intense love of Disney films,” Roman says.

“We’ve already got that; you suggested it about five times already.”

“Maybe he can play the ukulele!” Patton suggests.

Virgil nods, and starts to write it down before stopping abruptly. “Wait. Can any of us play the ukulele?”

Silence.

“He can only have traits that we already have,” Virgil reminds them. “That’s the whole idea. We’re derivatives of him.”

“Well, I’ll work on the ukulele thing,” Roman says decisively. “Put it down anyway. Anyone else?”

“He can’t cook to save his life,” Janus says.

“Catholic guilt,” Logan provides, with a little wince and a slight adjustment of his glasses. “It provides a good base for many of the plotlines we wish to include in this, I believe.”

“Give him a huge dick,” Remus says.

“Remus,” Roman growls.

“Just a humungous badonker of a penis. He beats his meat and the entire earth rumbles.”

“Remus,” Patton groans.

Remus grins. "He’s packing some real chunky meat down there. As in, his drill is a five star excavator. A proper manmade wonder. It's the kind of meal you get a prize for finishing. A bridge between two warring nations. And the girth! God had to resize the Earth so the radii wouldn't match. You can use his cast iron pelvic greatsword as a radiation shield in Chernobyl. His – "

“Remus, weren’t you listening? We’re only giving him traits that we already have,” Virgil says, looking Remus dead in the eyes. “I’m not going to let you misrepresent yourself like this.”

The room almost immediately erupts into a loud chorus of enthusiastic oohs. Quite a few people throw things at Virgil, who lets out a snort of amusement and ducks to avoid getting nailed in the eye by a stray television remote control. Remus just cackles.

“We’re going to have to tone back the dick jokes, probably,” says Janus with some regret, once everybody calms down a bit. “Don’t want to get demonetized within the first few weeks.”

“Well, Remus already broke the Youtube demonetization speedrun last week, so at least we know what not to do,” Patton says absently. “The real question is, though – who’s going to actually play this Thomas person?

“Don’t look at me,” says Janus. “I’m looking forward to getting the play the villain for once.”

Patton points at him, mock-glaring. “Hey, don’t think you’re missing out on a redemption arc just because you like the evil aesthetic!”

Janus lets out a little affronted hissing noise at that, but doesn’t actually object.

“Well, I’m not shaving my moustache for any of you fuckers, no matter how much internet clout we’re gonna get for it,” Remus declares.

A quick, meaningful glance is exchanged between the four remaining people in the room.  

“Leave me out of it,” Virgil decides.

“I don’t really mind, either way,” Patton says.

“In that case, I shall arm-wrestle you for the honor of portraying our glorious, talented and entirely fictional centre of being on our upcoming Grammy-award-winning sixty-part webseries,” Roman declares, flexing dramatically.

“Which may or may not be a scam,” Logan says.

“...Look, are we doing this or what?”

“Absolutely.” Logan places down his book, and shrugs off his jacket. “I should warn you, however – I am what I believe is colloquially referred to as ‘absolutely fucking ripped’.” He breaks out into a surprisingly wicked smile. “Roman, let me be clear. I am going to be the one to portray Thomas Fucking Sanders, our beloved nonexistent media superstar culmination-of-our-collective-selves. And I am about to flat-out destroy you. Let’s go.”

There’s a beat of silence as everybody stares at Logan. The stares range from impressed to terrified to obviously horny. All of these are equally valid emotions to be feeling, because Logan is ripped, and somehow none of them have ever realized this before.

“Well, before we do that, give me five minutes to make popcorn,” says Janus. “Because I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

#storytime #asks #this got out of hand and is extremely stupid #also warning for Remus and his dumbass dick jokes #Anonymous

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

How about some eventual snuggling with Kili who used to tease human!reader for not having her first kiss yet? I just love the way you portray the brothers in your writing, it always makes me smile 💘

I'm sorry this took so long, I've been lacking motivation to write since I hurt my hands but I got this out! I hope you like it!

You never understood why people care so much about others romantic experiences when they're not even interested in the first place. 

It literally makes no sense. 

What does it matter that you've never kissed anyone? Or been in a relationship? 

A conquest is how you've been seen in the past. Like a goal that people are working towards over something so stupid.

What do they even gain from getting a kiss from you anyways? Another roll of innocence on their belt? Bragging rights? 

Whatever. 

I mean really, it shouldn't matter at all; and in this particular group of dwarfs you thought it wouldn't matter at all, and for the most part it doesn't. However, while your first kiss may not be a conquest, it certainly is the topic of a lot of teasing. 

Specifically from Fili and Kili.

Double specifically from Kili. 

It was just a casual conversation like any other when the topic came up, the two brothers discussing how awkward their first kisses were since they had given up their first kisses to the same girl. 

"I know, I know. It sounds unbelievable but it's true!" Kili exclaims between laughter, nudging his brother in the side while you join in with giggles of your own. "And do you want to know what happened after we kissed?" 

"What?" You ask eagerly, practically on the edge of your seat. This story is just too good. 

"She called me Fili! She had us completely mixed up with one another and it then dawned on me that she hadn't said my name the entire night." He looks indignant and tries to feign shock, though the big smile on his face gives him away. "I'm completely certain that she forgot if I was Fili or Kili, and then panicked and guessed at the last moment. It was mortifying." 

You gasp dramatically and look over at the blond-haired brother who is watching on with amusement in his eyes, though he isn't laughing as much as you or his brother. "And what about you?" 

"Me? Well, she kissed me afterward and didn't bother to tell me that she had been snogging my brother only a few hours-" 

"A few hours? " Once more you're left shocked- this is better than any soap opera- and you look at him with wide eyes. 

"I know! I had no idea. And when I returned home later and Kili told me what happened, I nearly lost it." He shakes his head after he finishes speaking and crosses his arms over his chest.

You reach up and scratch at your cheek lightly, pressing a bit further, "What did you guys do about it?" 

They exchange a glance as smiles creep up onto their faces, and right away you know they did something no so kind. 

"Well, the next time she asked me to join her for an outing," Fili begins, a smirk creeping up onto his face, "I invited Kili along." 

"Oh, her face when she saw the both of us together. Once we approached her she looked like a deer caught drinking by a hunter, I tell you! And then Fili said-"

"I said, 'Oh, Elora! I hope you don't mind but I brought my brother, Kili, along since I wanted him to meet you.' And then she looked absolutely horrified." 

You place your hand on your face and look at him with wide eyes, asking very energetically, "W-Wait so you brought along your brother, who she also kissed, _and _indirectly told her she said the wrong brothers name?"

"That's exactly what I did, and she looked none too happy about it. She started yelling at us for being horrible and tricking her." Fili sighs and shakes his head as if he's disappointed just thinking about it. "She looked positively foolish." 

"What an awful way to lose your first kiss- because that certainly does sound like a loss." You look at them sympathetically despite the humor of the memory, knowing that it must've been much less pleasant at the time. 

Kili shrugs his shoulders indifferently, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, "Well, we're not bothered by it anymore anyways." 

"It's your turn to share." Fili urges as his humorous demeanor becomes much more expectant. 

You frown deeply at his call for your story, but, unfortunately for them, you don't have one. "I've never kissed anyone, so I've no embarrassing story to give." 

A moment of silence passes by where they just look at you before Kili asks incredulously, "You've never been kissed?" 

"No..." You suddenly feel a bit nervous, glancing away shyly. "Not everyone has been, you know. Surely it isn't that surprising to you." You're grumbling more than speaking at this point, hoping more than anything that they'll just drop it since it isn't a big deal. 

A smile curls onto Kili's lips and the tease leaves his mouth before he can stop himself, "Certainly there must be some sort of mistake! Our brave, adventurous, Y/N has never kissed anyone?" 

In contrast to Kili, a scowl works its way onto your face and you look away pointedly, "What does it matter?" 

"Oh, well it doesn't matter much...," he trails off as that same mischievous smile stays on his face, and then he continues, "You're even softer and sweeter than I thought!"

"How does that make me soft or sweet?" You ask incredulously, half-hearted disgust twisting your features. 

"It just does." Fili chimes in suddenly, earning a glare from you. 

A heavy sigh leaves you and you flop down onto your back, avoiding looking at both of them, "Oh, you too? You're both incorrigible." 

All they do is laugh in response. 

You got an awful lot of teasing from those two after you let that slip (it wasn't actually a slip up but whatever), but eventually the jokes and jabs died down and became less frequent, though they didn't stop altogether in the slightest. 

Some of their jokes ended up being kinda funny too, surprisingly enough, though that doesn't mean you disliked it any less. 

And there's also the thing with liking all the attention you've been getting from Kili- even if it is attention derived from being made fun of. 

Also, there's the fact that a few of Kili's jabs included things like being willing to teach you a thing or two about kissing... Oh, even thinking about it makes you embarrassed. 

You can feel your face heating up upon the thought of his recent behavior, and you chance a quick look around to see if anyone is looking at you and, luckily, find that nobody is paying attention to you. 

Thank god. 

A moment or so passes and the raging heat of your face cools, and then you dispel all thoughts of this from your mind. 

You take a deep breath and lay back into your bedroll and pulling your blanket over you, looking up at the sky with a slight pout on your face. 

A chill runs down your spine in unison with a strong gust of wind that breezes by, and, instinctively, you reach up and wrap your arms around yourself. It's a cold night, but you'll be able to manage as long as you bundle up properly. 

"Y/N? Are you cold?" A voice pipes up from your left suddenly. 

You turn toward the voice and see Kili sitting with his back propped up against the trunk of one of the trees in the clearing, one of his eyebrows raised while he smokes from the dreadful pipe. 

"Just a little bit." You mumble, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders and sitting back up so you can look at him full on. "Are you going to sleep soon?" 

"Yes..." He trails off and looks like he wants to say something else, and right away you're on guard. 

"If you're thinking of more ways to tease me, then I won't speak to you at all tomorrow." 

A smirk curls at the corners of his lips and he laughs heartily, shaking his head along while speaking, "I was not planning on it. Have I really tormented you so much that you expect it now?" 

Uh, duh. 

You nod your head vigorously and glare right at him, "Yes. And you know it, too." 

The dark-haired dwarf laughs some more and shrugs his shoulders, placing his pipe down and crossing his arms across his chest. "Fair." 

"Is that all?" 

He doesn't say anything right away and instead looks at you silently for a bit, seeming to debate something internally before he gestures for you to come over to him. 

You, of course, just look at him blankly for a moment, eyes narrowing a fraction with clear distrust, "What?" 

"You said that you are cold." 

"And?" 

"I'm offering up a solution." 

Once more you say nothing and just look at him, thus causing him to sigh heavily. 

"Come on now, I'm only trying to be nice," he pauses, then adds, "I promise not to tease you." 

"How do I know I can trust you?" 

"You'll just have to try." 

The sourness does not leave your face while the two of you engage in some sort of stare down, a battle of wills, but when another shudder runs through you, you know that you're just gonna have to concede. 

And I mean, it's not like you don't want to be close to him or anything like that, but there's still that little bit of suspicion whispering in your ear...

Oh well. 

You sigh heavily and resign your hesitance in favor of crawling over to him, not removing your blanket or being particularly quick, and once you're next to him you settle and pull your blanket tighter around your shoulders. 

"Okay, I'm here." 

He wraps his arm around your shoulders right away and pulls you into him, laughing lightly at your hesitance since he really does find it to be rather cute. "Come on now, it's only me." 

"I know..." You grumble, leaning into him comfortably and wrapping one of your arms around his waist, less skittishly this time around. "You're always bothering me, though, so I never know what to expect." 

Fair. 

He only smiles and doesn't reply, looking ahead and just getting more comfy himself. 

The change in temperature is almost instant, and right away you know that you don't want to be anywhere else. 

You slide down further and stretch your legs out in front of you, sighing contently while you look at the flickering and orange fire ahead. The air is still cold of course, but it feels so much better with someone holding you. 

Kili unconsciously smiles when you snuggle up further into him, pulling you over so your head can rest against his shoulder which you appreciate greatly. 

You're practically laying on him now, but if he's uncomfortable at all then he definitely isn't showing it. 

You aren'y quite sure when your eyes began to droop or your body began to completely relax, but very soon were you on the verge of sleep, tipping just over the edge of rest as he held you so comfortingly and remained as still as he possibly could - which you are very grateful for. 

At one point you vaguely register movement beside you and, when you begin to stir, a soft whisper telling you that everything's fine and that you should go back to sleep, and not long after that are you completely whisked away into dream land. 

Kili had elected to lay down and bring you with him once he got tired, and, instead of sending you off to your own bedroll, he just held you a bit tighter and looked up at the sky for a little bit while he waited for sleep to overcome him as well (that ended up taking a bit longer than he thought it would, for he was entranced in your peaceful expression and the soft breaths fanning out across his chest). 

Right before he falls asleep himself he leans down and presses a delicate kiss to your forehead, smiling tiredly when your nose twitches. 

And then he too falls into the depths of sleep. 

#kili durin #kili x reader #kili fic #kili #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit #fluff #request #answer #sorry its so late #reader insert #reader

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I know you guys hate it but I love making Mel and Harry fight, huge ‘I’m-yelling-bc-I-love-you’ energy -Danny

Words: 4,093 

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Worst In Me’ -by Julia Michaels.

Chapter Ten: Growing.

Turns out Umbridge was inspecting Trelawney's class, and if Mel could've graded the experience, she would've used a massive 'D'.

The girl paired up with Neville because she would often find herself chatting over Trelawney's orders whenever she and Ron shared a table. She didn't want that this time, and so she tried her best to focus on what she was doing with Neville. She was fearing that being in a different table, she wasn't going to be able to stop Harry if he tried to do something silly, the class went by with no accidents besides the fact that Trelawney could not do a prediction for Umbridge, which clearly made her fall a few points down.

Mel walked to her D.A.D.A. class with Neville, they talked about his new discoveries in herbology, she desperately needed to speak about some common silly nothings to remain sane, so when they entered the classroom, she hesitated a moment before finally deciding to sit next to the boy. They were a few tables behind Harry, Ron and Hermione. Mel felt a bit guilty about not making any real efforts to stay close to Harry, but she was feeling in a better mood now that she was having a normal day with a normal classmate.

"Wands away," Umbridge instructed. "As we finished chapter one last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence chapter two, 'Common Defensive Theories and Their Derivation.' There will be no need to talk."

Hermione raised her hand a few seats ahead, Umbridge got up from her place and walked up to hers, her usual terrifying smile plastered on her face.

"What is it this time, Miss Granger?"

"I've already read chapter two."

"Well then, proceed to chapter three."

"I've read that too. I've read the whole book."

"Well," Umbridge giggled. "Then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counterjinxes in chapter fifteen."

"He says that counterjinxes are improperly named. He says 'counterjinx' is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable. But I disagree."

"You disagree?"

"Yes, I do. Mr Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively."

"Oh, you do, do you? Well, I'm afraid it is Mr Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger."

"But —"

"That is enough. Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor House."

"What for?" Harry asked angrily. Mel could see Hermione whisper something to him.

"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions. I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them — with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects — would have passed a Ministry inspection —"

"Why aren't we allowed to give our opinion? The teachers always encourage us to ask questions and be curious!" Mel blurted out, emboldened by the memory of her jobless uncle. "Was it really their way of working, or just your racist rubbish?"

"And Quirrell was a great teacher all right," said Harry right after her, "there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head."

There was a thick silence afterwards, Umbridge smiled a both, a triumphant glint in her eyes.

"I think another week's detentions would do you some good, Mr Potter," said Umbridge sweetly. "Miss Dumbledore, you may only speak when spoken to, or when you're granted the word. Otherwise, I'd recommend you to remain quiet. Sixty points from Gryffindor."

Mel entered the Great Hall fuming, she walked up to her table and saw Angelina, Professor McGonagall and Harry all arguing about something.

"I'm already being punished by her, why do you have to take points as well?" Harry asked in outrage. "Mel already lost sixty!"

"Shut up!" She hissed.

"Because detentions do not appear to have any effect on you whatsoever!" Professor McGonagall looked at her in the same way. "Dumbledore told you to stay out of it, Miss Dumbledore, I see myself in the obligation to talk with the Headmaster about this! And as for you, Miss Johnson, you will confine your shouting matches to the Quidditch pitch in future or risk losing the team Captaincy!"

Angelina stormed out of the Hall, not without giving Harry one last nasty look.

"She's taken points off Gryffindor because I'm having my hand sliced open every night! How is that fair, how?"

"I know, mate, she's bang out of order," Ron put extra bacon on Harry's plate.

"You disloyal twat!" Mel aggressively put down a jar of murtlap essence in front of Harry. "Now Dumbledore will lecture me again because you decided to rat me out!"

"Well it's true, isn't it?" He pointed to the jar. "What's that rubbish?"

"That rubbish is for your hand," She retorted in an awful mood, "put it on your bloody hand and it should heal right away."

The girl left without waiting for a reply, wanting to hex everyone. The fact that she'd spent twenty minutes of her breakfast hour doing the stupid essence now felt like a really dumb thing to do. She wondered why was she still trying to be nice when Harry didn't care, he knew that she could feel his pain and still decided to get another detention. Maybe they were better on their own, trying to remain as a team was starting to break them further apart.

Mel clenched her fists and continued until her feet took her to the only safe haven they could remember. The library was empty, no one had urgent schoolwork to finish being the second week of the trimester. She sat down at the very end, rubbing her temples and pondering on whether she should cry a bit to release some tension or go back to the Hall and have breakfast with Ginny when she heard the soft sound of footsteps.

"Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?" asked a voice in amusement.

Erick stepped closer with a teasing glint in his eyes.

"You stood me up last Saturday. What now, you get a boyfriend and suddenly decide you no longer need friends? That's a bit–"

Mel didn't let him finish, she stood up and hugged him as tightly as she could.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you."

Erick froze, his arms hovering above her awkwardly. "I... I missed you too?"

Mel stepped back, quickly cleaning her face.

"Merlin's sake, you don't have to say it if you don't want to..."

"Sorry– it's just... That's the first time someone says that to me..." The last part came out barely above a whisper, Erick avoided her eyes.

"Well, it's true. This summer was a nightmare..."

"I know what you mean... at least a little. My grandad's been... not great," Erick glanced at the table and then her. "Every time I catch a glimpse of you, you're always grumpy..."

"It's the O.W.L.S, you know?"

"Sure, not like I've seen you argue with Potter," Erick smirked. "Want advice? Kiss him whenever he acts up, that'll shut him."

"That's out of the question," She sat down again. "We're not dating."

"What?"  He exclaimed.

"Shh!" Mel looked around and then glared at him. "Sit down."

"I don't understand," Erick's frown deepened. "You two were so sickeningly happy and–"

"It was a mistake."

"What?" He asked again, this time laughing a little. "I'm sorry, but since when is dating your crush a mistake?"

"We didn't date," She retorted. "We... it blew up in our faces– Sit down, will you?"

"But what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it!"

"Okay!" He huffed. "What do you want to talk about, then?"

"Why don't you tell me how's your Grandad?"

Erick's face did not tense at the mention, but it certainly grew worried.

"He's well enough... stayed with him the whole summer so I didn't write to Anne, in case you were wondering."

"Don't ask about Harry and I won't ask about Anne," Mel shrugged. "Seems fair."

Erick only looked more alarmed. "Seriously, what happened?"

"Erick," She said, "leave it."

"Are you at least going to tell me why'd you stood me up the other day?"

"I invited Hermione by mistake. I wanted to talk to you in private."

"Why?"

"Because Harry– well now I don't want to," She added when she saw the way he rolled his eyes. "I don't want to do anything. I don't even want to go to my next class..."

"Let me guess, because you'll have to see him and talk to him," He finally sat down, pondering for a moment. "All right, then get rid of him. Stop being his friend."

"I can't do that. Dumbledore's orders."

"He asked you to babysit?"

Mel nodded gloomily.

"Do you really have to be near him?"

"Well," She tilted her head. "I guess not... just when Umbridge's around."

"So just during her class?"

"Probably..."

"Okay, make sure he keeps his mouth shut for an hour or two and then you have the rest of the day free."

Mel thought about it for a second, then groaned in frustration.

"Knowing Harry, he'll find a way to run into her more times a day..."

"Potter's old enough to know better, don't you think?" Erick raised a brow. "Especially after what he went through..."

Annoyance flooded over her at the way Erick so casually mentioned Harry's close call. She clenched her jaw and shrugged. She didn't want to keep talking to him, being honest, she simply didn't want to talk to anyone at all.

"I'm tired," She muttered.

"I can't help with that, go take a nap," He sighed. "I'm sorry you didn't get the prefect badge, by the way..."

Mel laughed humorlessly.

"I don't care. Guess a part of me always knew Hermione would beat me."

"I really thought you'd be it," He replied. "Not that I don't think 'Mione's not smart or anything,  it made sense, you and Harry..."

"Maybe Dumbledore thinks we have too much in our hands," She started to peel the corner of the table. "Or that we're out of control..."

"He certainly has reasons to believe it..."

"Did Parkinson and Malfoy report me?" She blurted out.

Erick frowned.

"What did you do now?"

Mel quickly told him about the incident, Erick found it extremely amusing.

"Had it coming, those idiots..." He admitted. "But you really shouldn't do that. Umbridge will take any opportunity to take you to her office and see if she can force you into confessing about the Order."

"Talking about that..." She moved so she was now facing him. "Are you part of it, then?"

"Not until I'm seventeen and out of school... I'm a very active intern for now."

"But do you want to be part of it?"

Erick didn't hesitate this time.

"I do. I won't be hiding behind my mother's skirt, once I'm out, I'll be out forever. My plan hasn't changed, I'll live with my Grandad and I'll help as much as I can."

"I'm proud of you, you know?" Mel smiled, her mood lifting with the passion he was letting out in every word.

"Shut up," He muttered.

"I mean it! You've come a long way. Remember my first year? You found me crying and told me to just give up on Hermione. Look at you now..."

"I'm still trying to convince you to give up on people," He moved on his chair awkwardly. "I told you this was my plan since the beginning, I'm just finally doing something about it."

"Yeah," Mel agreed, thinking that her own plan had been obliterated and now she was stuck in place. "I'm happy for you..."

"You know what? Take my advice. Keep Potter's mouth shut during class and we'll trust that he can find his way without you for the rest of the day. You need a break," Erick stood up, grabbing her bag and picking it up for her.

"Trust me," She sighed. "I know."

Mel stayed away from her friends for the rest of the day, and Harry found a way to get an extra day of detention during their Care of Magical creatures class -Umbridge had been there– but the girl persisted, she had lunch and dinner with Ginny and her friends, and she spent her free period with the twins and their friends.

When she entered the common room, she discovered that Harry wasn't there with Ron and Hermione, which explained why her right hand was starting to feel sore. She sat with a small smile playing on her lips, her day had improved after a whole afternoon without useless bickering.

"Is there any point on asking?" Hermione sighed.

"No," Mel said calmly, tunning out the pain on her hand.

Harry arrived close to midnight with his hand bleeding profusely, Mel made sure to write in a way that the darkness could hide her own bruised hand. Hermione handed him the murtlap jar Mel had left for him during breakfast.

"I still reckon you should complain about this," said Ron.

"No," said Harry.

"McGonagall would go nuts if she knew —"

"Yeah, she probably would. And how long d'you reckon it'd take Umbridge to pass another Decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?"

"She's an awful woman. Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in... we've got to do something about her."

"I suggested poison."

"No... I mean, something about what a dreadful teacher she is, and how we're not going to learn any defence from her at all," said Hermione.

"Well, what can we do about that? 'S too late, isn't it? She got the job, she's here to stay, Fudge'll make sure of that."

"Well... You know, I was thinking today... I was thinking that — maybe the time's come when we should just — just do it ourselves."

"Do what ourselves?" said Harry.

Mel's hand stopped writing but she didn't look up.

"Well — learn Defense Against the Dark Arts ourselves," said Hermione.

"Come off it! You want us to do extra work? D'you realize Harry and I are behind on homework again and it's only the second week? And Mel's all right but I'm sure not even her can get past the stress!"

"But this is much more important than homework!"

"I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework," Ron teased.

"Don't be silly, of course there is! It's about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting out there. It's about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year —"

"We can't do much by ourselves, I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practice them, I suppose —"

"If you're planning on reading just like you read in Umbridge class, then it won't change much," Mel said.

"No, I agree, we've gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books. We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong."

"If you're talking about Lupin..."

"No, no, I'm not talking about Lupin," said Hermione. "He's to busy with the Order and anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that's not nearly often enough."

"Who, then?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm talking about you and Mel, Harry."

"About me what?"

"What?" Mel laughed.

"I'm talking about you teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"That's an idea," Ron said calmly. "Mel could teach us, with her extra lessons and everything..."

"But... But I'm not a teacher, I can't —"

"You and Mel are the best in the year at Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione.

"Me?" said Harry, this time grinning. "No, I'm not, you and Mel have beaten me in every test —"

"Actually, I haven't. You beat me in our third year — the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. Look what you've done! Look at what Mel can do!"

"How d'you mean?"

"You know what, I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me," Ron said to Hermione with a smirk, then pretended to concentrate fully. "Let's think, uh... first year — you saved the Stone from You-Know-Who–"

"But that was luck, that wasn't skill —"

"Yeah, and Quirrell smashed my skull afterwards!"

"Second year," Ron insisted, "you killed the basilisk and destroyed Riddle, Harry."

"Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up I —"

"Third year," Ron raised his voice, "Mel starts her private lessons with Dumbledore and she learns to do non-verbal spells as if they were as simple as a nap. Then you two fought off about a hundred dementors at once —"

"You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't —"

"Last year," Ron was practically yelling now. "Mel learned to fight off the Imperio curse in her first try and saw right through Moody before anyone else. You fought off You-Know-Who again—"

"Listen to me!" Ron and Hermione were both smirking now. "Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck — I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help —"

"I had tons of help!" Mel exclaimed, finally finding her voice. "I read until I couldn't keep my eyes open– most of the things I know are all theory and no practice– don't smile at us like that! You know we're as close to being teachers as a bowtruckle!"

"Don't sit there like you know better than we do," Harry said heatedly. "I was there, wasn't I? I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because — because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right— or Mel lost control and it just happened to work out in our favour, but we just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing and Mel— STOP LAUGHING!"

Harry stood up menacingly, the jar falling off his hand and breaking into a bunch of sharp pieces. Hermione and Ron quickly lost their smiles.

"You don't know what it's like! You— neither of you— you've never had to face him, have you? You think it's just memorizing a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class or something? The whole time you know there's nothing between you and dying except your own — your own brain or guts or whatever — like you can think straight when you know you're about a second from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die — they've never taught us that in their classes, what it's like to deal with things like that, having to suck the life out of a someone in order to survive!" Mel's breath hitched, none of them had told the others what had happened last June. "And you two sit there acting like we're two clever little kids standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up — you just don't get it, that could just as easily have been me if it weren't for Mel– it would have been if Voldemort hadn't needed me and I hadn't used Mel's—"

"Shut up!" She yelled, pulling him back because he'd gotten too close to their friends.

"We weren't saying anything like that," Ron said fearfully. "We weren't having a go at Diggory, we didn't — you've got the wrong end of the —" He stammered the rest under his breath, unable to end his sentence out of shock.

"You didn't sound understanding," Mel stated, dropping Harry's arm when he snatched it away. "It's never over, not like we lived through it and then just continued with our day... there's... we would always have..."

"Nightmares," Harry ended weakly.

"Guys," Hermione said quietly, "don't you see? This... this is exactly why we need you... We need to know what it's r-really like... facing him... facing V-Voldemort."

Mel would've been proud of Hermione, but she was still too agitated. However, Harry did react, he sat down again, though still breathing as he'd run for hours. A cramp ran down her hand in full force and she hissed. Harry frowned, noticing right away.

"I'm an idiot."

"I'm not going to argue you that," Mel scowled, holding her hand tightly. "I thought you'd be smarter, knowing what it does to me..."

"I don't mind being punished for telling the truth... but I don't want to drag you with me– I never wanted that," Harry sentenced.

Ron and Hermione stared at the both of them without really understanding what they meant.

"Well... think about it," said Hermione, glancing between the two. "Please?"

Harry nodded quietly, Mel hid her hand in her pocket and shrugged.

"Well, I'm off to bed," Their friend continued, still shaking. "Erm... 'night."

Ron got up too, he turned to look at Harry. "Coming?"

"Yeah," He said, looking down at the shattered glass. "In... in a minute. I'll just clear this up."

"I'll help..." Mel murmured.

When it was just the two of them, Mel crossed her arms and stared pointedly at him.

"Well?" She raised a brow. "I'm tired of being the one cleaning up your messes."

"I never asked–" He looked up at her and sighed, tired of fighting. "Doesn't matter... Reparo!"

The essence was gone, and she groaned thinking of how it was up to her to get more. She also knew that Harry needed to tend his hand now if she wanted to have a good sleep, so before he could leave she added:

"Sit," Mel grabbed her wand. "I'm going to mend you."

"I don't need–"

"I'm doing this for me," She showed him the purple bruise of thin letters that were forming on her skin. "You're still trying to cut out the lifeline? It's not working."

"Like you're doing any better," He hissed when she 'accidentally' pressed his wound.

"I'm not the problematic one, am I?"

Harry remained silent.

"That's what I thought," She healed the open cuts gradually. "Unlike you, I know how to stay out of trouble and I don't get as injured..."

"Well, it's not you the one people's been attacking–"

"It's not you either," She replied sharply. "People talk about you, but you're the one picking fights. The only person being attacked here is Dumbledore and I don't see him yelling at the rest of the staff."

"I don't see him talking to anyone but you, so that must be why," He said hastily.

"That's not my fault," Mel let go of his hand, it wasn't bleeding or inflamed, which was impressive considering it was her first time healing someone.

There was something bitter about the fact that holding his hand wasn't bringing her any kind of sweet emotion like it used to. She would still feel waves of affection, but those were dying quicker as time went by, something inside her was successfully pushing him out of her system, and she was starting to get used to it.

"If you're so desperate to talk to him then why don't you visit his office?"

Harry gave her a sour look, and she let out a dry laugh.

"You do want him to ask, don't you? See if he cares?"

"I think I'll go to bed now," He stood up.

"Suit yourself," Mel shrugged. "You're welcome, by the way."

"I thought you had done it for yourself," He replied sarcastically.

"I still made you a favour by doing so," She said. "You know, if you'd show a bit of gratitude instead of ignoring everyone that offers you help, people would–"

"THANK YOU!" He said rudely, his back turned to her as he left the common room.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world​ @sarcasticallywitty15

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

[path-of-my-childhood]

hey vax, i've not exactly been on tumblr for too long. has our fandom always been picking apart everything that taylor says or does? are they always angry that she didn't speak enough about politics? on instagram its uncommon and ngl, im dumbfounded by some of the things which i read.

I am not a fan of revisionist history, so yes - fans have always been pretty harsh with Taylor. Are they slightly more harsh now than they were, let’s say - four years ago? Sure, but that kind of behavior is very much in line with social media patterns of behavior in general - people have progressively been more aggressive and toxic on social media over years. No reason why fans would be exempt from that trend. Since I’ve only become active here in 2016, over the years I’ve done a lot of digging through archives of some blogs, and I was actually surprised about the level of complaining and demanding that was going on. It’s surprising at first, but if you think about it - is it really? Taylor has spoiled her fans so much that - given people’s fickle nature - I really don’t think we should be surprised with the level of entitlement some are showing.

With all that being said, what you see on your social media and what you engage with is only, and absolutely ONLY your choice. For example, I obviously know about above mentioned behavior, but am I seeing it on my dash? No. There’s none of that on my dash. I am also a very active Twitter user and - although I do sometimes stumble upon something that makes my eye roll - it’s absolutely fine, it’s not bad at all. Literally everything can be in your control, and anyone telling you otherwise is lying. Yes, sometimes it can take a little work, but it’s very doable. You can simply unfollow toxic people. You can scroll past a mean tweet without engaging, because engagement is nothing but a reward for people on social media. So choose who you reward carefully. Even asks here on Tumblr can be controlled, and I’ve actually experimented with this a lot. It does sound a little bit crude to say, but you can literally train people in what you like being sent. And voilà, you only get nice asks in your inbox.

The key is in the boundaries you set. But you have to ask yourself and be honest - is pleasant SM environment more important to you than engagement? They don’t necessarily exclude one another, but let’s not pretend that being ”scandalous”, edgy, toxic and mean isn’t behavior that nowadays brings in the biggest engagement on Internet. And we are talking here about people who spend a lot of time online, for most of them this is their main source of social life, and that like/reblog/retweet/ask is their main source of serotonin rush. 

I will say that it’s a little worrying how many people depend on Taylor for so many things, and even worse - how many seem to genuinely have no other interests outside the celebrity they “stan”. I mean, to each their own I guess, but we all start from our own example and I always think how during one day I have to do work, and then my free time is split between my boyfriend, my friends, resting and then - as the last place on the scale of importance - all my interests. And seeing how much time some spend online, it sometimes really makes me wonder, ‘what about other aspects of your life? when do you get to those? do you even work on other areas of your life?’ My point is that given all I’ve mentioned, if you think about it, is it really surprising there’s so much anger and frustration? It just doesn’t seem like a quality life to lead - and then of course people will be bitter about everything. For example, if I’ve spend my day doing good at work, then spent some time with my friends, went home, had some quality time with my bf - am I really gonna care whether Taylor did this or that? Absolutely don’t give a shit. Yes - I’ll look at it, be amused for few minutes and say something like “cool, that was fun...” and move on with my day. But if your happiness/amusement/identity is derived mostly from one thing, then chances are you will find 20 things to complain about in a 10 second clip Taylor posted online.

Anyway, I don’t wanna get further into analysis, but I hope you get what I’m trying to say. Make your environment enjoyable - you can’t control other people and their frustrations, but you can control how you live your life and how you spend your free time. So you know, be mindful of that. 

#okay...this is long #but coincidentally - I've had a really eventful weekend so I'm finally getting to social media now... #gotta catch those last rays of sunshine before late fall weather and winter come along =) #asks #taylor swift #personal