#my horrible and bad mr potato head

[spunsugarmusings]

M!A List: Crybaby Edition

Magic anons based on Melanie Martinez's 2015 album Crybaby, as well as a similar list I made nearly ten years ago.

Cry Baby: Your muse has lost any and all emotional control and will sob at the slightest provocation. Anon decides length.

Dollhouse: Why does everything look so big? Your muse has been shrunken down to the size of a Barbie Doll and must find a way to survive in a much bigger world.  Anon decides length.

Sippy Cup: Your muse believes they’ve done something horrible and is trying their best to hide it from their loved ones. How well can they handle it?  Anon decides length.

Carousel: Is that calliope music? Your muse has suddenly taken on the appearance and/or personality of a circus act. Anon decides the act and the length.

Alphabet Boy: Your muse suddenly believes themselves to know anything and everything, and share their superiority with the world. Hopefully they live through this one… Anon decides length.

Soap: Why, oh why did I say that?! Your muse suddenly finds themselves blurting out everything they think to and about other people, unable to filter their thoughts. Anon decides length.

Training Wheels: Your muse has developed a debilitating fear of commitment and intimacy and tries to avoid their loved ones at all costs. Anon decides length.

Pity Party: It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to! Feeling abandoned and rejected, your muse takes in a level of emotional instability and wants to take out their loneliness on others. Anon decides length.

Tag, You’re It: What happened last night? Your muse wakes up in a dark room, not knowing where they are or how they got there and it appears that they’ve been kidnapped. Can they escape? Anons can choose to either choose to help or make the situation worse. Anon decides length.

Milk and Cookies: Your muse is in the aftermath of a traumatic event and has to find a way to cope with the terror they’re feeling. Will things get better for them, or worse? Anon decides length.

Pacify Her: Your muse finds themselves wanting things they know aren’t theirs, but is determined to take them anyway. After all, was it really yours if they want it so bad? Anon decides length.

Mrs. Potato Head: Your muse suddenly despises their appearance to a dangerous extreme and is determined to “fix” what they dislike, no matter the cost. Can they be stopped before they permanently disfigure themselves? Anon decides length.

Mad Hatter: We all go a little mad sometimes, right? Your muse finds themselves drawn to fantasy and willfully shutting out the real world, possibly to the point of harm. Anon decides length.

#rp meme #askbox meme #inbox meme #roleplay meme #rp memes #ask box meme #ask meme #m!a list #magic anons #crybaby

[immortalecstasy-blog]

You Took The Words Right Out Of My Mouth 18+

Chapter 3/14 Pairing: Eddie Munson / Chrissy Cunningam Need to catch up? Click Here for Chapter 1

When Chrissy finally woke up, she was mute. People are sympathetic at first, but when she doesn’t magically get better, she slowly finds herself as one of the ‘freaks’. Lucky for her, there’s one freak in particular she really doesn’t mind finding herself beside. 

Warnings: Slow Burn, Angst, PTSD, Chrissy still got attacked by Vecna but didn't die, Eddie still got mauled by bats but didn't die, Hurt/Comfort, Abuse

Read on AO3 or...

Eddie had hung up the phone, unable to wipe the grin off his face until he noticed Henderson sat on the armchair opposite, his hands on his knees, his head in his heads, staring at him with a grin on his face. In the doorway, his uncle stood leaning against the door frame, his arms folded, looking tired but watching him with interest.

Eddie’s grin vanished, a pink flush creeping up his neck.

“What?” He snapped, defensive.

“Nothing!” Dustin protested, waving his arms, “Just… I had to listen. You do the voices so good.”

“Really?”

“Dude! Yes!”

“Uh, thanks?” Eddie said tentatively, dog-earring the page and setting the book down next to the phone. He looked quickly to his uncle who gave him a small grin, nodding in agreement.

“How long have you been there?”

“Since Gandalf turned up.”

Eddie frowned and glanced at the clock.

“Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

Wayne Munson glanced at the clock. “Nah, just uh, won’t be able to eat something first.”

“My Mom packed you something.” Dustin told him, twisting in his chair, “It’s in the fridge.”

Wayne looked surprised but pleased and nodded his thanks. He said a quick goodbye and headed into the kitchen. They heard him opening the fridge, and a few moments later, heard him leaving.

“You want to watch a movie?” Dustin offered, feigning obliviousness to Eddie’s discomfort.

“What? Oh, um, yeah. Yeah sure.”

They ended up watching Indiana Jones: Raiders of the lost Ark – Eddie had always liked his horror films, but ever since his adventure in the upside down, the red filters and gore were nothing more than horrible reminders. The cheesy effects of Raiders of the lost Ark were manageable, none of it bothered him.

When the film was over and Mrs Henderson was calling them to the table for dinner, he followed after Dustin, still totally unused to being fed homecooked meals with a motherly smile.

Mrs Henderson hadn’t quite volunteered her home to him and Wayne. That was definitely Dustin. But as the weeks had passed, she’d gotten used to him, even once telling him she’d always wanted Dustin to have siblings. She was… odd. But Eddie liked odd.

Odd people. Anyway. The right kind of odd. Not upside-down odd.

He agreed with the hobbits, he decided, adventures weren’t a good thing. No more adventures for Eddie Munson. We don’t want any adventures here, thank you.

He thanked Mrs Henderson as she piled his plate with a huge serving of chicken potpie and a tower of mashed potatoes, rubbing ruefully at the worst of the scars on his side.

That night, they dragged out his mattress from under Dustin’s bed, and Eddie settled down to sleep. He felt bad, sharing a room with Dustin, taking over everything. Dustin didn’t complain, but… well, Eddie wasn’t exactly a good sleeper anymore. More than once, Dustin had had to jump out of bed and calm him down after a particularly bad nightmare.

He pulled out his Walkman, pushing his hair back from his face. ‘Bat Out of Hell’ started to play. He knew the mention of bats should’ve been some kind of trigger, and Meatloaf was nowhere near the top twenty of his favourite artists, but the song was almost a solid ten minutes, and the composition was pretty bad ass, really.

But the nightmare came anyway. At first, he was on the roof of his trailer in the upside-down, just as he had been. But then his guitar turned against him, twisted and deformed she morphed into one of those awful demo-bats and came for his throat, striking like a snake, but even as he fought it off he awoke with a start and was instead battling his duvet and the wire of his headphones, flinging the duvet away from his face, the cool night air hitting his bare sweat-slicked chest as he lurched upright, the wire of the headphones pressing into his neck, panic pooling in his stomach.

Gritting his teeth, hands shaking, he re-organised the wire. Then he rewound the tape, trying to muffle the sound under his pillow, casting looks towards Dustin to make sure he hadn’t woken him up for a third night running.

For a moment, for a blink of an eye, it wasn’t Dustin’s form he saw, it was Chrissy’s, bent and twisted and broken, eyes bleeding.

He barely had time to gasp before the image was gone but it still burned there behind his eyelids, even as the tape clicked to let him know it was finished rewinding, he tucked his knees up to his chest and started to sob silently. His mouth open but no sound escaping as hot tears streaked his cheeks.

When the worst of it had finally past and he could gain a modicum of composure, he put the headphones back on and pressed play, but as the joyous starting notes blared in his ears, he realised he had never heard anything so tacky and crap and useless in his life. Thrusting the headphones away, he rose silently. His face felt feverishly hot, cold sweat clinging to him and starting to make him itch.

He creeped out of the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom, his bare feet silent on the thick carpet. Fumbling for the light in the darkness.

He ran a cloth under the tap and wiped the worst of it away, letting the soaking cloth drip water down his back and absorb into the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.

Just as he was finishing up, he heard a noise somewhere else in the house and his heart started to race. He crept back into the hall, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

Then he saw his Uncle Wayne at the other end of the hall, having just let himself in after a long shift at the plant, covered in grime.

The nervous energy left him, and Eddie crumpled.

Without a word, Wayne held out his arms and Eddie launched into them.

Wayne held his nephew fiercely, blinking back his own tears, his jaw tight as Eddie clung to him like a child, his body wracking with sobs.

“It’s okay, boy.” Wayne told him, “You’re okay.”

After Eddie had hung up the phone, Chrissy had sat in a tightly curled ball on the sofa, mindlessly massaging her stiff knee until her dad had suggested she go for a shower before dinner.

She had agreed with a nod, if only for something to do other than think, smiling at him when he even went to the airing cupboard to get her a fresh towel.

Once in the bathroom, the door safely locked behind her, she stripped out of the jeans and the long jumper she had been wearing and look at herself.

She couldn’t hide the zigzag of scars on her hands, and the one small scar from fixing her jaw almost invisible, just by one ear. Her arms weren’t too bad, they’d been reasonably clean breaks and hadn’t needed pinning, and though they were atrophied from the weeks spent in a cast, she could look at them.

It was her legs that filled her with a toxic combination of disgust and shame. Scarred all over from the pins they’d used to piece her back together, withered away to nothing and as pale as milk. She had always been quietly proud of her legs, happy to walk around in her cheer uniform showing off the supple muscles, the blemish free sun-kissed skin.

Now they made her feel sick, deformed, broken. Vecna had done this to her, she knew. But if he’d have just let her die, he could have saved her from it too.

She tried to shake herself out of it, ignore the little voice in her head that told her that that would have been better. That voice was wrong. It had to be.

She kept reminding herself that she had promised that – voice or not - she wouldn’t be a silent little doll for her mother, or her ‘friends’ or even Jason, to play with anymore.

Everything about her life had been shallow. She had been starved for true happiness as well as food. The dark thoughts brought on by the state of her legs just reminded her that she had a long way to go if she wanted to remove ‘shallow’ from her self-description.

She wanted brave, happy, strong. Good words.

She didn’t want to be like Bilbo, letting people though the door and eating his pantry bare because it was expected.

People had been gnawing away at her inner reserves for years, and she had dutifully let them.

Not anymore. She wasn’t going to do it anymore.

But with all the best intentions in the world, she couldn’t stop her overbearing mother, or change the opinion that everyone around her had built up over years and years, over her entire life.

It wasn’t just her body that has been torn apart, she felt like she was two different people slammed into one body.

She bounced from marionette to determined young woman half a dozen times over the course of one shower, and when she finally gave up trying to feel clean, wrapped herself up in the towel and stared at the unrecognisable reflection in the mirror.

How could she be the person she wanted to be when she looked like this? When she lived under this roof? When she couldn’t even decide who she wanted to be? When she couldn’t even speak.

“Speak, Chrissy.” She told herself.

But when she was sat around the dinner table twenty minutes later, her throat had closed up again. She picked at her dinner, uninterested in the fact she was able to eat solid foods again. Not even bothered by the fact her own mother was telling her to eat something – that was more impossible than superpowers and alternate dimensions, and yet the words washed over Chrissy with no meaning, no purpose.

She forgot about the song list until she woke up in the middle of the night.

She had dreamt she was a little girl, walking along the street with her dad, eating an ice-cream. But then she had looked up at him to ask him something, and his eyes and his mouth had been sewn shut. She’d tried to pull her hand away – her ice-cream dropping to the floor and turning into a cluster of spiders that scuttled up her legs and poured into her mouth. She looked to her dad to beg for help, but he wasn’t there. The hand she held was Vecna’s, and he held it so tightly that all her fingers snapped, the knuckles crunching, oozing blood and bone marrow.

She’d woken up with a start, her hand throbbing, her mouth dry. Only then did she remember what Eddie had told her.

She climbed out of bed and went to her desk, turning on the desk lamp. She jumped when the light came on, as if she hadn’t expected it to work, looking quickly around her as if Vecna had been stood in the darkness, waiting.

She sat quietly – listening out for any sinister noises – and when her heart had steadied into a near normal rhythm she pulled a pad of paper towards her, removing the stubborn pen lid with her teeth.

She stared at the blank page for a long time. Long enough that birds started to sing outside her window.

Chrissy had always enjoyed music. To cheer to, dance to, sing along to.

She couldn’t think of a single song.

So, she gave up when she heard the rest of the house waking up around her, and went downstairs to join them, ignoring the gnawing feeling in her stomach. She’d only reached the bottom step before her mom was sending her back upstairs, telling her to get dressed.

Eddie had slept better during his second stint. It seems bawling like a baby was an effective way of exhausting your body to the point of dreamless sleep.

His eyes were sore, almost glued together with gunk and he knew Henderson – anyone – would be able to tell he’d been crying. He had cried until there was nothing left, until his Uncle Wayne had led him back to his bed with a firm reassuring squeeze to his shoulder.

“Good morning.” Dustin yawned, stretching, his arms abnormally close together over his shoulders.

“Hey man.”

“You good?”

“Did I wake you?”

“No?”

“Then yeah, I’m good.”

Dustin studied him, but for once he didn’t say anything.

“I thought we could go out for breakfast.” Mrs Henderson told them when they’d dressed and headed out of Dustin’s room.

“Really?” Dustin asked, excited.

Eddie’s face paled, and it seemed Dustin could only not say something once per day.

“We don’t have to dude. We can chill here.”

“No, I, um, I can… yeah.”

“You sure?”

Eddie gritted his teeth and nodded.

“Great!” Mrs Henderson exclaimed, as if they’d just agreed to some incredible favour she’d asked instead of the possibility of a short stack at a local diner.

Eddie had to pause at the front door, his eyes searching the blue cloudless sky shrewdly before stepping out onto the path and out towards the car.

Dustin was watching him carefully, which Eddie resented fucking sevenfold because he wasn’t a fucking agoraphobic looney. He’d had one fucking one freak out- which he felt like he deserved, after everything.

Well, one that Dustin knew about anyway. Whatever.

He’d be flinching at anything fucking flying at him if he’d been minutes away from death thanks to a swarm of demonic flying pieces of fuck that.

His heart was pounding against his rib cage once he’d settled in the passenger seat, forcing Dustin into the back. No matter what he told himself, his body still reacted to the non-existent threat, he felt like a fucking coward. He knew Vecna was gone. Between them all, they had ensured it. But the gates… the fucking gates were still there. It didn’t matter that they’d all told him the bats had died with Vecna, that he’d watched it happen. His body acted as if they were going to come for him any moment, alert, tense, ready to fight to the fucking death just so he could go eat pancakes.

It’s like his brain and his body just didn’t sync up anymore.

Once they were driving it was somehow worse. He knew he’d have to do it again. Even if he abandoned his pride enough to veto the trip for breakfast, he would have to get out of the car at some point. He felt like he was poised on a plane, the doors open, with someone confidentially telling him to jump when he knew his parachute wouldn’t open.

“You okay bud?” Dustin had asked as they pulled up. Eddie just threw him a disdainful look and opened the car door, closing his eyes and swallowing against the bile rising his throat. He tried to just look at the floor, ignoring the endless sky bearing down from above, but he was unable to resist the urge to squint up at the sky and turn in a circle, scanning the horizon for an incoming threat.

The sky was clear and cloudless, shockingly blue. Nothing could hide in that.

It didn’t really help.

“Hey look! Chrissy’s here!”

Eddie’s head whipped around to look at Henderson and then in through the window of the diner.

It had baffled him that she had come to see him. He still felt like it was his fault. He hadn’t seen the signs; it didn’t matter that he hadn’t known what was going on at the time. Even if he’d just put the damned radio, he could have saved her from all of this. Saved his own name in the process.

She’d opened up to him. Could an extra few minutes with her before had meant anything? She’d asked him if he felt like he was losing his mind. He’d known something was wrong, had been seeking to reassure her. What would have happened if he’d probed a bit further? If she’d opened up to him like she had yesterday?

“Poor thing.” Mrs Henderson said gently, “She’s really been through it, hasn’t she?”

“You have no idea.” Eddie murmured, looking away. He followed the back of Dustin’s baseball cap like it was his anchor until they’d made it safely inside and his lungs could start working again.

Why the fuck had he agreed to go for breakfast? Whose stupid fucking idea had this been?

The bell had jangled with their arrival and Chrissy glanced over, the dimple of a frown at her brows relaxing when she saw him. Why.

Mrs Henderson made towards their table and Eddie wished he was short enough to just fucking hide.

“Laura?”

“Claudia, hi.” Laura Cunningham said with a tight smile and blatantly fake warmth. The rest of the table didn’t even look up at Mrs Henderson. Laura’s husband had his eyes on the table, and her daughter was looking right passed her. Mrs Henderson turned slightly to her son waving brightly, Eddie stood behind him, just taking the scene in.

Chrissy raised her hand and waved, Laura noticed then, and followed her daughters gaze, looking conflicted.

She had joined the Munson Manhunt as readily as any of them. He had always been a disturbing young man, a bad influence, obsessed with that devil music and that awful dungeon game.

She refused to be wrong about such things, but she had misjudged his involvement in what happened to her daughter, and for that, she was genuinely sorry, if only for the sake of her own embarrassment.

Worse, the perfect family she had built was destroyed. Her daughter had transformed from the head cheerleader, about to graduate with honours, the prom queen crown practically already on her head with her perfect prom king by her side into a broken fragile thing that everyone looked at with pity.

Even her sweetheart Jason had turned sour, imprisoned for attacking a child. It was any wonder Laura didn’t just pack up all their things and ship them all somewhere new for a fresh start.

She might, if Chrissy wasn’t still such an oddity.

She turned a cold eye onto her daughter as Claudia, her son and that boy went to sit down, and saw that Chrissy had turned back to her meal. When she caught her mother looking, she hesitated, lowering her fork, and looking down at her plate with a scowl.

After a few minutes she wrote ‘Can I be excused?’ on her whiteboard and waved to get her father’s attention. Laura pursed her lips as her husband nodded, waving her along, and harrumphed when Chrissy went straight for the Henderson’s table.

The diner wasn’t busy, but Laura couldn’t quite strain her ears enough to hear them, not that it would help as Chrissy’s whiteboard was turned away from her so she could only get a sense of the others response.

She was writing something to both Dustin and Eddie, both boys waiting patiently while she wrote, going so far as to stop talking when she went to write something else. Encouraging her behaviour.

Chrissy stood at the end of their table, and held up ‘Can I join you?’

Mrs Henderson smiled at her, “Of course dear.” And moved her handbag so Chrissy could take a seat, but instead she squeezed onto the bench with Eddie and Dustin and started writing.

“Hey Chrissy.” Dustin smiled, and Chrissy smiled back, quickly finishing her sentence and then showing it to them both.

‘I couldn’t think of any music’

“That’s okay.” Said Eddie, just as Dustin said “Do you want to look through my cassettes? Or Robin’s? Robin has loads.”

“Not mine?” Eddie asked him, raising his eyebrows.

“I don’t think Chrissy is going to want to listen to your music.” Dustin told him gently. Eddie went to fire a retort, but Chrissy was already writing something else, so he shut up, waiting,

‘Robin?’

“From band.” Eddie explained.

“She works at Family Video with Steve.” Dustin offered, and Chrissy nodded to show she knew who they meant.

The waitress arrived then with their breakfasts and set them down on the table, Chrissy made to move back to her own table, but Eddie reached out and took hold of her whiteboard, “You can hang out here if you want. Doesn’t like your missing much of a party.”

He shot her family a glance and Chrissy turned to see her mother watching them with a peculiar look on her face. Chrissy massaged the fingers of her dominant hand, watching as Eddie tipped half a jug of syrup onto his pancakes.

Her stomach gurgled.

He looked at her and then back over to her family, where her bacon and eggs was growing cold on her plate.

“You want to go finish your breakfast? We can bring it over here.”

She shook her head and frowned, miming her struggle to cut the food up.

He frowned, “Chrissy, we can cut it up for you, you know? You don’t have to struggle for no reason.”

She shook her head again and he pursed his lips, cutting the edge of his tower of pancakes into little squares and then pushing the plate towards her, offering out his fork.

She glared at him, but he didn’t relent, and she didn’t want him to just sit staring at her while his breakfast went cold.

She took the fork from him, letting him help her curl her fingers around it, and then she took a very syrupy bite. Sugar exploding on her tongue.

She handed the fork back to him, covering her mouth with her hand as she chewed and swallowed.

Eddie offered her a bite several more times, but she stubbornly refused, watching him mop up the giant pool of syrup and writing questions.

‘You came outside?’

He pulled a face, “I had one – tiny, tiny – little freak out. Well…” He popped the last piece of pancake in his mouth. “Like… three or four reasonably big freak outs. Point being, outside is… bad. Not denying that. But pancakes are good, and I wanted pancakes, so I told my brain to shut up.”

‘Did it work?’

“Kind of? I’m here, aren’t I?” Eddie answered, offering her some of his milkshake, she shook her head vehemently and wrote.

‘Wired-jaw = lots of milksh’

She didn’t have enough room to write the whole word, but she knew he understood.

“Chrissy!” A shrill voice had called, “Chrissy, come on. We’re going.”

They’ll all glanced over at Chrissy’s Mom, looking harassed as she threw her handbag over her shoulder.

Chrissy’s eyes went wide, and she held up one finger, scrambling for her whiteboard.

‘See you later?’

“Yeah, of course!” Dustin answered for him, “we’ve not got any plans, we’re in all day, just come over.”

Chrissy nodded, grinning at Eddie who tried his best to smile back, but it looked more like he was in pain than anything else.

Chrissy squeezed his shoulder, using it as leverage to climb out of the booth and waving to Mrs Henderson, she raised her board to write a thank you, but her mom summoned her again and she fled.

#chrissy cunningham #fanfiction #eddissy #hellcheer #eddie munson #eddie x chrissy #st fanfic #stranger things #chrissy this is for you #edissy

[ailendolin]

Whump Wednesday - 45 - Bill (2015)

Title: At Your Service [AO3]

Characters: Gabriel & Ian, Croydon, Philip II, Lope

Idea: While Croydon goes looking for Bill Shakespeare, Gabriel finds Ian asleep in the kitchen.

A/N: I've always wondered what happened to Ian after Lope punches him and this fic is one possible scenario of Ian and Gabriel's first proper meeting.

Prompts are open, so if you want me to write a story for you as well just send me an ask with the fandom, characters and your prompt. I’m writing for Ghosts, Yonderland, Horrible Histories and Bill at the moment.

Six Idiots Whump Wednesday / Fluff Friday masterlist is here.

————

At Your Service

So far, Gabriel could not say that she was very impressed by the Earl of Croydon. Not only did he seem to be a terribly dull man who believed himself to be much more interesting than he truly was, he was also not particularly bright. For his sake, she hoped he would turn out to be better at finding the lady’s husband than he was at writing plays.

“Just call for Ian if you need something,” he’d told them before he left to get Mr. Shakespeare. “I have no idea how he does it but he always knows I’m hungry before I do and has my favourite dishes ready to be served. Amazing, isn’t it?”

It was clear he had never set foot into a kitchen in his life and didn’t care to rectify that in the future. For that alone, Gabriel disliked him just a little bit more. She had been a servant once too, in another life lost to the past now, and she knew under different circumstances the earl, her king, even Juan and Lope would treat her and the work she’d be doing just as dismissively and ignorantly as Croydon was treating his servant. She would be invisible to them – as long as they had no need of her, that is. The moment they had, she would have to function, no matter what, and woe betide her if she dared to make a mistake or wasn’t fast enough.

“Now where did that little servant of his scurry off to?” the king mused a few minutes after Croydon had left. He looked around the room thoughtfully and cocked his head at the plates of wasted food littering the floor behind the table. “Hm, this doesn’t look half bad. What about it, lads? Some wine and food to celebrate our grand endeavour?”

Gabriel gave a half-hearted cheer along with everyone else even though getting drunk at an impromptu feast was the last thing she intended to do today. She grew silent as the king called for the servant – once, twice and then a third time with a bellow that rattled the windows – and winced when no one appeared.

Feeling the mood shift dangerously, she stood up from her chair and intervened before any heads could roll. “I’ll go look for him. Maybe he went to lie down after Lope greeted him so nicely with his fist.”

She sent Lope a withering glare and watched in satisfaction as he spluttered. Before he could open his mouth to argue, the king waved his hand towards the door, obviously bored, and said, “ Yeah, yeah, go ahead, then.”

Grateful to escape her present company for a few minutes, Gabriel bowed and hurried out of the room. She didn’t know the layout of Croydon’s house but she wagered the kitchen and servant quarters were located away from the huge, lavishly decorated rooms the earl usually frequented. So following her instincts, she went back to the front door and from there down the dark hallway that lead away from it. It had no windows and the candle stumps on the walls weren’t lit – Gabriel had a feeling she was on the right track.

There were two doors at the end of the hallway. The one on her right was slightly ajar so she gently pushed it open and poked her head through the gap. The sight in front of her was so unexpectedly sad it made her heart clench in sympathy: Croydon’s servant – Ian, she reminded herself – was sitting slumped over the table with his head pillowed on his arms and his eyes closed. Carrots and half-peeled potatoes lay scattered all around him, and in one of his hands he was loosely holding a knife.

He must have fallen asleep mid-cut, Gabriel thought. She took a cautious step forward into the room and looked at his sleeping face. Ian’s eyebrows were furrowed slightly, as if whatever he was dreaming about was distressing or worrying him, and above them she could make out an angry red welt in the gloomy light. She knew Lope wasn’t responsible for it – his fist hadn’t even strayed close to the servant’s forehead when he punched him. It didn’t make it easier to look at the blooming bruise under Ian’s eye Lope was responsible for or excuse his behaviour but fact was that he hadn’t caused that particular injury.

So who or what had?

Gabriel thought back to the state of the dining hall with its platters haphazardly pushed into corners, tables swept clean without thought and food all over the floor. It wasn’t hard to picture the earl throwing these things around in a fit, and even less difficult to imagine Ian getting caught in the middle of it.

Even though she didn’t know him Gabriel’s heart still went out to the young man in front of her. From the looks of it, his life was a hard one, even harder than hers had been before fate had intervened and set her on a different path – a path that had led her here. The shadows under his eyes spoke of late nights and early mornings; the frayed seams of his clothes told a story of a life of poverty and desperate attempts to stop it from falling apart, and the fresh blood on his doublet, right above his heart and under his ribs, was undeniable proof of recent violence against him.

Gabriel had seen many awful things in her life. Some of them still haunted her in her dreams; others she had buried so deep they couldn’t touch her anymore. But somehow the sight of this bedraggled stranger made her feel sadder than she had in a very long time. She had no idea what kind of man he was – whether he was gentle or harsh, kind or cruel – but she knew no one deserved a life where bruises accumulated over a matter of days, perhaps even hours, and exhaustion ran so deep there was simply no more strength left to resist the pull of sleep.

“Gabriel!” Lope called, his voice muffled by the walls between them. “Hurry up! We’re starving!”

You don’t even know what starving means, she thought grimly and forced herself not to ground her teeth in low-simmering anger.

Tentatively, she stepped closer to Croydon’s servant and gently pulled the knife from his hand. She had a feeling he would startle awake the moment she cleared her throat or tapped him on the shoulder, probably even violently so, and the last thing either of them needed was to get stabbed today – again, in his case, by the looks of it. So she placed the knife out of his reach and stepped back again to give him some space before she softly called his name. She didn’t want to wake him but, Better me than Lope, she figured.

Just as she had predicted, Ian jerked awake with a gasp. Pieces of carrot and potato flew wild as instinct made him blindly stumble to his feet. His chair clattered to the ground – a harsh noise in the heavy silence – and his eyes darted around in the room in panic as he flinched. The moment they locked onto her Gabriel held up her hands to show him she was unarmed and meant no harm. He still staggered a step backwards in fear, almost tripping over his chair in the process, and it didn’t escape Gabriel’s notice that he was limping.

“I am sorry,” she said, mindful to keep her voice calm and gentle. “I did not mean to wake you but the others are getting hungry and–“

“Wake me?” he asked. His eyes widened further as he took in the state of his dinner preparations. A look of utter despair crossed his face before he whispered, “Oh no. Oh no, no, no.”

He limped back to his chair, righted it and reached for the knife. His hand was shaking so badly Gabriel feared he would cut himself if she didn’t intervene.

“Ian,” she said softly. When he didn’t react, she reached over the table to still his hand. He froze.

“Please. I need to get this done,” he whispered without looking at her.

Gabriel tightened her hold on his hand and waited for him to meet her eyes. When he finally did, she offered him an understanding smile. “I can help.”

If possible, his eyes grew even wider. “Oh n-no, I couldn’t ask that of you, sir.”

“Miss,” Gabriel corrected him without thinking. “And you’re not. I’m offering. I did this kind of work before, a long time ago. I know how it is.”

Something changed in his face, then; subtly but beyond doubt. Gabriel didn’t know if it was her slip of the tongue or the revelation of her own poor background that made him look down at their hands and finally nod his assent. In the end it didn’t matter; she was just glad he did.

“Thank you,” she smiled and pulled up a chair for herself. Taking the proffered knife from him, she asked, “What do you need me to do?”

They worked quietly side by side for the next twenty minutes. While Gabriel proceeded to cut first the vegetables and then the hare into bite-size pieces, Ian carefully stirred the stew and added the ingredients to it, one after the other. Together, they finished the main load of the work just before Lope called for her again, sounding dangerously impatient. “Gabriel!”

“The stew is almost ready!” she shouted back before Ian could panic.

Ian gave her a look. “It won’t be for nearly half an hour.”

Gabriel shrugged and grinned at him. “Lope doesn’t need to know that.”

A small, shy smile appeared on his face then. It made him look ten years younger despite the shadows still bruising his eyes and the exhaustion weighing on his shoulders. He ducked his head and, after wiping his palms on his apron, shyly held out his hand to her. “Thank you. I – I honestly don’t know what I would have done without your help.”

“You’re welcome,” Gabriel said earnestly and shook his hand. She wasn’t surprised that she could feel every single bone under his skin. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“Oh no,” Ian hurried to say. “You’ve done more than enough already, Miss. The stew just needs to simmer now. No need for both of us to keep an eye on it.”

He called me Miss, Gabriel thought giddily, feeling warm all over.

He was right, though: most of the work was done and she had been gone too long already. Regretfully, she pushed herself to her feet. “Let me at least take some wine with me. That’ll keep them occupied until the stew is done.”

Reluctantly, Ian went into the pantry and gave her two bottles. “Goblets should be in the Great Hall.”

“All right,” Gabriel smiled, a little forcefully perhaps as she remembered the state the room had been in when she’d left it. “I’ll go keep them off your back, then. It’s been a pleasure working with you, Ian.”

“Likewise,” he stammered out, a little surprised. Knowing she’d dawdled long enough, Gabriel offered him one last smile and turned to go. He took an aborted step towards her. “Miss?”

She paused. “Yes?”

“I don’t even know your name,” he said bravely.

Taking in his battered face, the blush dusting his cheeks and the clear blue eyes staring hopefully at her, not the least bit dulled by the lot life had given him, Gabriel found her heart beating just a little bit faster. With a flourish, she bowed before him. “Gabriel Montoya. At your service.”

When she looked up, a small smile was tugging at his lips. “Gabriel.”

He breathed her name as if it was the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. No one had ever said it like this before, so softly and with a reverence most people only ever reserved for prayers. It made her feel both seen and cherished and she knew in her heart then that she would never forget this kind and gentle man who was so much more than the earl he worked for could ever hope to be.  

#gabriel montoya #ian #earl of croydon #king philip ii of spain #lope lopez #gabrian #bill 2015 #bill the film #my fic #whump wednesday #wwff challenge

[beantothemax]

Everyone was shocked that Argus' parents had accepted him again, even them. After he saved Galatea from the horrible fate of being a semi aquatic goat forever, they decided he was worth giving a second chance. That second chance was the best decision they'd ever made and he started visiting regularly.

During another stop in Saintsbridge, Argus and Galatea left to see their parents. Claudia knew not what to do. Instinctively, she started looking for the library but felt a hand on her arm.

"Why don't you come with us to see our parents? I think they'd love to meet you after you helped Galatea," Argus smiled.

Claudia's brows furrowed as she thought.

"But it's family dinner, I wouldn't want to intrude," she replied.

"You're my best friend and again, you helped Galatea, you're basically family," he insisted.

She wanted to argue but gave in, smiling as he dragged her to his childhood home.

When they knocked on the door, a gray haired woman answered. A smile lit up her face as she ushered them all inside.

"You must be Claudia! Argus and Galatea have said wonderful things about you!" she beamed, "I'm Helen, but you can just call me Mrs. Xiphias."

As she removed her capelet, Claudia cocked and eyebrow at Mrs. Xiphias' words, "Argus and Galatea talk about me?"

"Oh yes, all the time! They say you're an amazing apothecary, always helpful and funny," Mrs. Xiphias smiled.

"Ma, I told you not to say that!" Argus hissed, his cheeks turning red.

"Why not?"

Argus only sighed, deciding to give it a rest. Now was not the time for an argument.

They all sat on the living room couches as Mr. Xiphias worked on dinner. They talked and laughed over tea. Everything but that conversation melted away and Claudia laughed with them.

Argus had begun recounting the story of a difficult crossword. Between his talent for misreading and Claudia's lack of experience with the Osterran alphabet, neither of them could figure it out. For longer than necessary they pored over it, until they finally showed it to Galatea.

"You couldn't figure it out either, don't act you're better than us!" Claudia laughed.

"Ok fine, we had to get help for that one," Galatea admitted.

Mr. Xiphias came to say dinner was done and they all sat to eat. Argus and Galatea all but drooled at the platters and bowls on the table. Roasted potatoes, souvlaki, pita bread, all sorts of things Argus and Galatea had adored as kids.

"I thought I'd make something special, since you don't visit everyday," Mr. Xiphias smiled.

"This is awesome, thanks dad!" Galatea smiled as she sat.

Claudia sat beside Argus and only muttered a thanks when he piled food on her plate. She silently listened as they all talked.

Galatea spoke fondly of her childhood while Argus made dark jokes about his own. What his parents had done hurt him almost beyond repair, but it was in the past. They'd apologized and been forgiven and could laugh about it now.

"What about you, Claudia? What was your childhood like?" Mr. Xiphias prompted.

That dreaded question. Of everything he could ask, why that? Her childhood was by no means bad, but being forced to recount it when everyone in it was so far away....

She shook her head and spoke just louder than a whisper, "I don't wanna talk about it."

After some moments of awkward silence, they returned to their previous conversation. Argus would occasionally spare her a glance. She stared at the table, eyes becoming watery. He put a careful hand on her shoulder.

"Do you want to leave?" he whispered.

And she nodded.

"I'm just gonna show Claudia where the guest room is," he stood.

Claudia followed close behind as he lead her up a set of stairs to the last room down the hallway.

Opening the door, she saw how barren it was. It had none of the personal decor one would expect from a bedroom, but still felt distinctly Xiphias. The furniture was clearly made by Mr. Xiphias or his parents, as he happily spoke of his family's wood working techniques.

Still, it was nice. She set her travel bags down on the floor. Argus stayed, his eyes following her hands as she unlaced her boots and set them aside.

"Do you wanna talk about before?" he asked.

"There's not much to say," Claudia muttered, "I just miss my parents."

He wracked his brain for any idea of what could be wrong with them. If they were dead, ill, had gone missing... But he turned up a blank. She'd never once spoken of them beyond "my mother taught me this," or "I look more like my dad"

"Can I ask why?"

Claudia finally looked up at him, directly in the eyes. She looked like she'd cry any second now.

"They're five thousand kilometers east in a continent that Osterrans hardly know of," she mumbled.

"...Solistia?" Argus questioned.

"Yes. I haven't seen them in two and a half years and I'll lose my mind if I have to go another day without them."

The tears had been trickling down her face and she made fruitless attempts to wipe them away. They poured as her crying turned to sobbing.

All Argus knew to do was hug her. He'd never been good with emotions, especially not others'.

"I'm sorry, Dee," he whispered.

"It's fine, it's not like you can do anything about it," she cried.

"I can!" he said cheerfully, "you're my friend, I'm sure Julian's crew would be more than happy to take you home."

"But there's a monster that capsizes ships," she argued.

"We'll kill it. Julian knows his way around magic and can command and entire crew, not to mention that you yourself saw what Galatea and I did to that shapeshifting bastard," he laughed.

She couldn't help but smile at his words. He really was one of the sweetest people she knew.

He held her for several more minutes till she'd stopped crying.

"I'll check on you again after dinner, and we can talk about how to kill that monster," he smiled.

"Of course, sounds good," Claudia agreed.

He left, shutting the door behind him.

Only some seconds passed before the tears returned. She sobbed into the pillow, thinking only of her parents. For over two years, they had to worry because she was too arrogant and wanted to see what remained of Frigit Isle.

It was possible they didn't even think she was alive. She just wanted to hug them. Tell them she was okay and had grown up.

pie. pie where do I even start with this

claudia tearing up at dinner table after argus and galatea’s parents ask about her childhood… argus not knowing what else to do to comfort her besides hugging her…

I’m not sure why but. there’s just something about your oc fics. they get to me. I wish I could word this in a better way but. they just… really resonate with me. Claudia’s story with her just wanting to see her parents again really just hits me right in the heart. you just do a really good job of making me sympathize with her… she needs so many hugs. the part where she just breaks down after argus leaves the room hurt my heart a little.

this is really really good and I hope you make more of these! claudia is very important to me and I love her story so far

#asks #pie-knight #inbox fic

[nagitoedit]

rating the songs

crybaby: sure 👍

dollhouse: bad 👎👎👎

sippy cup: hate it very bad

carousel: sure 👍

alphabet boy: grimace. bad

soap: mixed feelings. ok and bad in different parts.

training wheels: some of the vocals are good but they dont make up for the rest of the bad. 👎👎👎

pity party: good. sorry. but if it means anything it also puts me slightly into flight mode because all i can think about is being 13 on deviantart now. 😶

tag youre it: bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad b

milk and cookies: tolerable. better than other ones but not good.

pacify her: bad. stupid bad unlikable. 👎👎👎

mrs potato head: :/

mad hatter: keels over and dies uh oh i am 13 on deviantart using embarrassing emoticons again and having matching ******* icons with my drviantart friends theows up

play date: i hate it bad so horrible bad 👎👎👎

teddy bear: its. honestly no strong feelings its whatever.

cake: sorry this one is slightly good <//3

important information: my standards are incredibly low and also my opinions are skewed by evil nostalgia factor. byw this was painful.

[saintprivateer]

hi I am LIVING for moustache nikolai honestly this just made my DAY THANK YOU

PFHAHDHAI YOURE V WELCOME 😌🥸

#my horrible and bad mr potato head #we (my mustache and I) #stachecourse #mustachetm nikolai #nik things #nikolai lanstov

[theunquenchablethirst]

Hooked (Jerome X Reader)

Ok, so this is a thing. I was kinda surprised nobody had used this scene yet, because the Gotham fandom seem to collectively agree that Jerome is BIG KINKY and yet the one scene where he canonically has people cuffed up and hung from the ceiling... nobody has touched??? Y'all have been sleeping on that scene! It's fanfic gold! Anyway, enjoy the hedonism. Much love xxx

Warning: SMUT, 18+, GRAPHIC SEXUAL CONTENT, BDSM, bondage, cuffs, dom/sub, vaginal fingering, oral sex, biting, spanking, slapping, pussy slapping, light choking, spitting, belt whipping, praise/degradation, marking, mention of scratching, Jerome is big meanie pants mean man

The new mayor of Gotham is having a meeting with his council members, but things take a turn when the Legion of Horribles show up to kidnap them and reader. When the victims are being unloaded from the truck, Jerome Valeska notices reader, because she isn't exactly on the guest list.

Tag list of lovelies: @gabile18 @valeskaduh @fangirl--writes @persephoneblck

Masterlist

I had been working as a housekeeper for the new mayor. It was a good job, but I wasn't appreciated. I was just there to clean and serve when needed. I don't think he even knew my name. I was just hired help to him. To all of them.

He was hosting a dinner for his council that day. I had been placed in the corner of the room with a bottle of expensive wine where I was to wait until wanted. He gestured for me to come forwards and fill their glasses while they started talking about their displeasure with the rising foul play in the city, like it was anything new for Gotham. The chairwoman wanted to know what he was going to do about it. Very little in my opinion. He was just coasting. In too deep over his head. He had been appointed far too fast and everyone knew it. He wasn't going to last.

He made an attempt to save face and talk about how he too was disturbed by the recent goings on and was doing everything he could. Trash, utter trash. As he rose from his seat, the lights fizzled out. I stopped pouring. Had this been any other city I would have assumed it was a simple power outage, but nothing was that simple in Gotham. The security guard closed us in and went to see what was happening. The air turned icy. No, this was not good. Gunshots and screams came from the hallway and everyone rose from the table terrified. We quickly started walking towards a door hoping to make an escape, but there was something about the windows. They were freezing over.

The doors burst open and I dropped the wine. It smashed into pieces as a blueish man in some kind of robotic suit and a weird looking, but huge gun stepped into the room. Was that Victor Fries? Then through the second set of doors another man in a top hat who I recognised as Jervis Tetch burst in with some other strange looking friends.

Before I could comprehend the situation, we were all being cuffed and taken outside. Our kidnappers pushed and pulled us towards a huge truck, all the while the mayor tried to buy his way free. He was showing just how little he really knew about the underbelly of Gotham. I knew just by looking at them that they were probably Arkham escapees and couldn't be bought like a sane man could. They had their own plans and you can't bargain with crazies.

We got to the truck and they opened the back door. My blood ran cold when I saw that standing there waiting for us was Jerome Valeska. Of all the criminals Gotham had seen he had been the only one that had scared me, truly and thoroughly. He didn't have any kind of reason for what he did. He just enjoyed death and chaos. And after his last escapade he looked like madness personified, his scars circling his face and eyes and giving him a permanent evil smile. Dread consumed me as I realized that he was no doubt the leader of this operation and if that was true, we were already dead.

I felt myself jolted forwards. The mayor had pushed me in front of the rest of the council to get whatever was coming first. If I wasn't cuffed, I would have turned around and broke his nose. I was lifted into the truck, my hands were pulled above my head and fixed to two hooks. I had to stand on my toes to keep standing which made it awkward and difficult as they pushed me to the back of the truck.

Was that Penguin? What was he doing here? He didn't belong here. I had gone to Penguin looking for a job in his club when I was 16. He was impressed with my audition, but when he asked my age, he rejected me.

"This establishment is not a playground for children. It's a nightclub." He had told me. At the time I had been steaming mad, but in hindsight he was probably right. Even if he was rude. So, after that, I found it hard to understand why he was here and working with Valeska. Maybe he had been kidnapped too?

The rest of the council were loaded on and hooked. The mayor was still trying to offer them money and pardons. When he saw it wasn't working, he resorted to empty, unintimidating threats. Jerome was completely unfazed and even a little disappointed in the lack of smiles.

"Nobody knows how to have fun anymore, right?" He said putting his arm around Penguin. So, he was a part of this.

Jerome pointed to a scary looking figure dressed like a scarecrow. Johnathan Crane? Crane released some kind of purple gas in the face of a member of a council. She started laughing and convulsing violently.

"What have you got to lose? Except your sanity?" Jerome joined in the crazy laughter. So, this was his plan. He'd figured out a way to forcefully drive everyone insane. With a gas.

I silently prayed to God in my mind for any kind of help.

After sufficiently terrifying us half to death, they left us in the back of truck. None of us could say anything and after a few minutes the truck started moving.

"Is she ok?" I asked looking towards the victim of the insanity gas.

"Who cares?! We have to figure out what they want and get out of here." Replied the mayor.

"Maybe they want publicity for whatever that gas is. Offer them some TV time." Guessed the chairwoman.

"Don't you get it?! This isn't a situation you can buy your way out of!" I snapped, frustrated with their idiocy.

"These aren't normal criminals. They don't want your money. They want chaos and madness." They stood there silently stunned. They had never heard me speak with such confidence, but in that moment, they knew I was right.

After what felt like hours the truck finally stopped.

"What's going on?" The mayor whispered.

Everything was quiet. We listened for any noise or sign of life. All we could hear was our own breath.

Then suddenly the doors flung open once again and in hopped Valeska, Tetch and Crane.

"We're here!" Jerome grinned.

The other two started to pull the council one by one off the hooks and walk them out of the truck, closely watched by Jerome. Until they got to me.

"Wait..." He stuck an arm out to stop Tetch from unhooking me.

"Who's she? She wasn't on the party list." He took a few steps closer to me.

"This poor young girl is an unlucky maid. Wrong place, wrong time. Very bad day." Jervis explained looking at me.

"Would you like me to... dispose of her?" Asked Crane, stalking close to me and lifting needle covered fingers to my throat.

"Not so fast, Mr Potato Head." Jerome said pulling him away from me.

He came so close that we were only inches apart. He looked down at me as if he was thinking for a few seconds then smirked and turned around to the others.

"Guys, go and see that our guests are comfortable, will ya? Get everything ready." He ushered them out of the truck. Fear travelled up and down my body. This had all been a bad situation, but being alone with Valeska scared the hell out of me.

"You're lucky I have a soft spot for pretty little girls." He closed the truck doors and turned to look at me.

"Freddy Krueger there... not so much." He relaxed, leaning back against the doors with his hands in his pockets. "You got a name?"

I stayed silent, more out of fear than defiance. He sucked his teeth and stood up straight.

"I get it. You're scared. Who wouldn't be, right?" He started slowly walking closer. "But things will go a lot smoother if you just play nice."

I still couldn't find any words.

"Aw, come on, doll! I'm getting awful lonely over here." He brought his hands up out of his pockets and leaned against a wall of the truck.

He was quiet for a few seconds and I noticed that his eyes were making their way up my legs. Being held up by my wrists on my tip toes had pulled my uniform skirt up and almost all of my thighs were exposed. I blurted out my name in an attempt to distract him from my bare legs. He smiled.

"What a pretty name. Now, was that so hard?" He pushed himself off the wall and came a little closer.

"So, you're the mayor's dust bunny, huh? I gotta say, doll, I can see why he keeps you around." He chuckled, eyeing me.

My whole body flushed and my face turned hot and red.

“But, uh, the thing about mayors in this town, they don’t last very long.”

"Please let me go." I whimpered.

"Oh, but we're having such a good time! Plus, if I did that, you'd scamper off to the GCPD and I can't have good ol' Gordon crashing the party early."

I scoffed at his suggestion. Not likely. I had a distinct distaste for the GCPD. They hadn't helped me when I needed them. I would never need them again.

"What's the matter? He book ya before or something?" Jerome smiled with intrigue.

"My parents... they... did things to us. When I ended up in the hospital one too many times..." Tears stung my eyes as I remembered. "They left me there and disappeared with my little brother. No one ever managed to track them down."

I didn’t fully understand why I was opening up to Jerome, but for a second, I saw a spark of humanity in his eyes. Like he understood my pain. I'd heard his first kill had been his mother, so maybe he did?

"I'd give anything to see him again." I sniffed and a tear rolled down my cheek.

"Yeah, I had shitty parents too." He sighed. "I killed them both."

I had thought about what I would do if I ever saw my parents again. What I would say, what I would ask. I could never think of the right words. But the thought of killing them, well that made me smile.

"What was it like?" I asked.

Jerome grinned from ear to ear and stepped closer so that we were toe to toe.

“Have you ever stood at the edge of a really tall building? You know that little voice in the back of your head that says ‘Jump! You can fly!’ even though every other part of you is screaming ‘No you can’t! You’re gonna kill us!’”

I nodded shakily.

“It’s like finally giving in to that voice. Like jumping off Gotham Bridge and finding out you can fly. And realising you never have to walk again.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and my heart felt like it was going a million beats per minute. His eyes were locked on mine and it felt like he was looking straight into my soul.

“You wanna fly, doll?” He brought his hand up to cup my jaw and ran his thumb along my bottom lip.

It wasn’t humanity I saw in Jerome Valeskas eyes. It was freedom. A freedom that I had wanted for as long as I could remember. And I could have it right now. He was offering it to me. The only thing standing in my way was myself.

“Yes.” I breathed. “Yes, I do.”

The next thing I knew, his lips were crashing into mine and he had hooked his hands under my thighs and was holding them around his waist. His kiss was desperate and hungry, like he had been starved for days and his grip on the bare flesh of my thighs was rough enough to leave bruises. I locked my ankles together behind him to steady myself from swaying underneath the cuffs. When I did, he drove his crotch forwards, grinding into my centre, a quiet moan escaping me as I felt him.

He slowly trailed a hand from my thigh, up my back and to the nape of my neck, before balling my hair in his fist. I gasped as I felt the sudden, sharp tug of him pulling my head back.

His eyes wandered down to settle on my exposed throat, before yanking my head to the side and nestling in the crook of my neck. He must’ve left a hundred open mouth kisses, but as he started to suck, I felt his teeth sink into my skin. I pulled back with a hiss at the sting, but he wouldn’t let go. He just kept on leaving harsh, red bitemarks and pulling my hair, all the time grinding harder into me.

He licked over the bruises he’d left and gently kissed them, before trailing his tongue up my neck to nip at my ear. He smiled darkly and pulled back away from me, dropping my legs back to the floor. He stalked around me, eyeing me up and down like a predator. I felt him behind me, his hands softly holding onto my waist, pulling me close to his chest.

“You know what’s great about this?” He cooed. “You’re already pre-cuffed.”

I flushed and my core swelled hot, his breath so close to me made my skin tingle all over. He pulled at the top of my skirt and dragged it down my hips, letting it fall down around my feet. He caressed my thighs and then stepped back, tugging at my underwear, playfully letting the elastic snap back to me.

“Y’know...” He said, before the familiar sound of a belt unbuckling. “Marquis de Sade said ‘sex without pain is like food without taste’...”

My eyes widened at his words and my heartbeat quickened.

“So, let’s make this... delicious.”

A million thoughts raced through my mind, but before I could process any, I felt the sharp snap of leather against my ass. I jolted forwards and let out a high pitch yelp.

Even though I couldn’t see him, I could tell he was smirking. I could hear it in his voice. I bit my lip in an attempt to brace myself and he landed the belt across me again.

“Please, Jerome...” I whimpered at the sting, closing my eyes.

He brought it down again, making me arch my back in a gasp. A couple of tears rolled down my cheeks and I realised there was little point in resisting the torment. So, I gritted my teeth and prepared for another lick of the belt.

He whipped me once more, harder this time and a small scream escaped me.

“Please!” I begged.

I heard him chuckle with dark delight. The bastard was enjoying this. Of course he was. What else had I expected from someone like him? I tightened all my muscles for the next sting...

But it didn’t come. Instead, I felt him pulling my underwear down. Relief washed over me when I heard the belt drop to the floor and I realised Jerome was finished and was now crouched, ready to inspect his work. He ran his fingers over my burning flesh, taking in the bright red lashes he had left on me.

“What a pretty picture?” He said, landing a spank. “I wish you could see too doll, but having you cuffed is half the fun.”

His voice was dripping with venom and arousal and I could practically feel his grin in the air. He traced the marks with his fingers a little longer, before grabbing my flesh in fistfuls and sinking his teeth in. I gasped loudly at the hard bite. I wasn’t sure how many more of Jerome's surprises I could take. He laughed and ran his tongue over the new bruise.

“Yep. Definitely a pretty picture.” He smiled, giving me another spank. “I like those little noises you make, doll. Why don’t you make some more for me?”

He snaked his hand up my inner thigh and began stroking along my slit, relighting the fire in my stomach. I moaned, biting hard on my lip and tried to bring my thighs together, wanting friction.

“Naughty.” He said, landing a swift slap on my entrance causing me to let out a little yelp. “I need you to keep those legs open for me.”

It wasn’t as bad as the belt. In fact, it felt quite good. The heat inside me swelled as Jerome returned to running his fingers back and forth in my slickness. I hummed softly in my throat, fighting the urge to close my thighs again, my knees starting to shudder underneath me.

“Look how wet you are and I’m barely touching you.” Jerome chuckled darkly. “I wonder what happens if I do this?”

Jerome plunged two fingers deep inside me and slowly started pumping them. I let the warmth roll through me, moaning blissfully. He gently started to pick up speed, making it nearly impossible for me to keep my thighs apart. The faster he got, the deeper he dove, making me tighten around his talented fingers and struggle to keep steady on my toes.

My legs were shaking and despite my best efforts I just had to squeeze them together. As soon as I did, Jerome removed his fingers from me, leaving me feeling empty and spanked me hard.

“What did I say about that?” He barked, laying down another spank.

His spanking felt different this time. It felt pleasurable and sent a thrill up my spine.

“Sorry.” I whimpered.

“Sorry for what?” He spanked me again. “For being a needy little whore? Hm?” Another spank.

“Yes!” I gasped. “I’m a needy little whore! I just...”

“What? You just what?”

Jerome landed another slap at my core. It made my muscles clench, but it also aroused me so much more in a way I’d never thought I’d experience.

“What? What do you want, whore?”

“Please...”

“Big words, princess. What...” Spank. “Do you...” Another spank. “Want?”

“I want... I want you...” I forced, breathlessly.

“You want me? What do you want me to do, princess?” Jerome teased, tracing a finger along my burning entrance, just barely touching me.

“Please... Make me feel good, Jerome... Make me cum.”

“Are you gonna be a good girl?”

“Yes...”

“Are you gonna do as I say?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Exactly as I say?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Just please...Jerome.”

I couldn’t take it any longer. I felt so pathetic and needy. I needed him to touch me.

“So desperate.” He giggled sadistically. I supposed he loved seeing me beg.

Then, finally, he spread me open and dove his tongue deep into my wanting warmth. I closed my eyes and bit down hard on my lip as he swirled his tongue around inside me. I wanted to grab his hair and feel it in my fingers, but all I could do was squeeze my fists together in empty frustration.

Jerome grabbed a hand full of my ass, gripping it tightly, digging his nails in and rose his other hand to my pelvis front, pulling me down further onto his tongue. I squealed, a delightful mixture of pleasure and also pain from the tugging on my aching forearms. He ran his front hand down to play with my swollen clit, circling his fingers around beautifully.

He grinded his face deeply into me, sliding his tongue up, down, around and around inside me. He pressed his fingers down harder on my clit, forcing a loud moan out of me. I felt the pressure inside me build, coiling and tightening like a burning spring. I squeezed my thighs around his head in a desperate attempt to pull him deeper, his tongue nestling inside finding all of my sweet spots and lighting them on fire.

I could feel myself ready, ready to burst. He was pulling an amazing orgasm out of me and I wanted nothing more than to just let it go. All it took was one more upward jolt of his head, pushing his tongue that last little bit deep enough to push me over. I screamed out in erotic pleasure, letting the feeling flood me like warm water. My back arched and my legs convulsed until I withered, letting myself dangle from my cuffs in a breathless defeat.

Jerome slid his tongue out of me and pulled his face back away.

“You sing so pretty, dollface. Like a little birdie.” He said, squeezing the flesh off my ass.

He gave me one more light bite and a spank, before he rose back up to stand, snaking his hands along my sides all the way. He let his hands wander up to cup my breasts, massaging them softly. He leaned in close and began leaving wet kisses in the crook of my neck. I shuddered, his touch sending a cool tingle down my spine. He let his hands squeeze my breasts slightly harder, then pulled away and crept back around in front of me.

He stood facing me, his eyes locked on mine. They seemed to burn holes right into my flesh, creating a sense of fear in me. I was scared of Jerome Valeska, I truly was. But everything he was doing to me right now... The way he touched me, kissed me. I wondered how he managed it. How he was able to both terrify and arouse me in equal amounts.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t register his hand rising until it was firmly wrapped around my throat. He leaned down to kiss me, dominating my mouth with his tongue, making me taste myself. Once again, I felt the familiar warmth build in my core as I sensed we were not quite done here. He finished the kiss with a little nip to my bottom lip.

“Are you scared of me, doll?” He purred.

I swallowed hard, unsure if truth was wise here. Then I felt him increase the pressure around my throat, not wanting to wait for an answer.

“Yes.” I breathed.

“Good.” He said through an evil smirk.

He crashed his lips to mine once again, his free hand picking up my thigh to wrap around him. I locked both my legs around his waist, wanting to feel him close against me. I felt his erection hard, under his clothes, grinding into me and I wanted it. Badly. He pulled away from the kiss, leaving his taste on my tongue and raised his hand from my throat to grab hold of my face. He took his other hand away from my thigh and pulled at his tie. I didn’t drop my legs this time, instead I gripped tighter as he slid his tie from around his neck and scrunched it in his fist.

“Open your mouth.” He ordered.

I did as he said and he smiled, before spitting into my open lips and gagging me with his tie. I’d never had anyone do that before and it shocked me a little, but then again, I’d never had anyone like Jerome Valeska before.

He backed up slightly, just enough for him to reach down and unzip his trousers and pull down his underwear, freeing his erection. I couldn’t help but look down at it. It was bigger than any I’d taken before and I wasn’t sure how prepared I was. He started to slowly stroke himself, lifting up my chin to look at me.

He gently stroked a single finger across my jaw and then, suddenly, landed a harsh slap across my cheek. I yelped at the slap, causing a dangerous smile to form on Jeromes mouth. I should’ve been repulsed by him. He killed people and was aroused by my pain and fear, so why was I so attracted to him?

He angled himself underneath me so he was lined up and ready. He wrapped his hand back around my throat and then pushed forwards into me, causing us both to let out deep moans.

“You like that?”

I nodded and whimpered through the material of the tie. Jerome giggled darkly and with his free hand, gripped onto my waist.

“Brace yourself, princess.” He warned, through a poisonous smile.

He pulled back slowly, until he was almost completely out of me and then, like a bullet, ploughed himself right back in, jolting me backwards with force. He continued his thrusting rough and fast, making me whimper and bite down hard on the tie. I closed my legs tightly around him, pulling him closer and forcing him in deeper.

He let out a low, guttural groan and moved his hand upwards from my waist to slap me again, spitting at my face as he did so. I closed my eyes to endure the onslaught of him pounding inside me like a raging animal. I felt like a toy, dangling there for him to use as he liked, but still the searing pleasure of it all made me moan lustfully.

“Open those peepers, princess.” He commanded. “I want you to see exactly who’s in charge here.”

I opened my eyes and saw him grinning at me like a man possessed.

“You like this? You like me fucking you?” He growled, gripping my throat tighter.

All I could do was whimper and moan in response.

“I cuffed you and hung you up, hurt you, spat on you... even made you cry! And you still let me fuck you?” He laughed through shallow breaths. “You’re pathetic, you know that? A pathetic little whore.”

Jerome threw another slap at me and I felt myself tighten around his considerable length, taking him all deep inside me. He drove up into me like he was trying to break me open with his girth and I welcomed every inch of it.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He moaned.

I clenched my walls around him, the feeling of being filled by him sending flutters through me as he pushed in deeper and laughed.

“I don’t think your pussy ever wants to let me go, doll!” He grinned. “But I already know you like taking my cock like this, cause you’re such a good girl for me... I like that.”

I flushed at his words. I didn’t know why, but it made me feel good to please him and, in that moment, I would have done anything for him. I could feel my ecstasy creeping up on me, like magma rising inside a volcano. I cried out wantonly, the heat rising as he worked me, exploring every detail of my canal with his thick shaft.

He let go of my throat and moved both his hands to grab onto my ass and squeezed, steadying me so he could pound me harder and climb to release. His thrusts became erratic and sloppy and I could tell he was just as close as I was. I moaned loudly as he rammed into me harder and faster, burying himself deeper and making my arousal burn.

I could feel it coming, so close. I was about to boil over and all I needed was him. Just him. He continued thrusting like a raging animal, digging his nails into my flesh and scraping them along my ass, stinging sweetly. I whimpered at the sensation and tightened my legs.

“Cum for me, doll.” He panted. “I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

He plunged into me, pushing the magma higher and just so close to bursting. It was coming. I could feel it.

He pounded again. So close. Again and again, so hard inside me. Just a little more...

I screamed out, closing my eyes and letting everything go. The feeling of my orgasm washed over me like a tidal wave of pure elation. My whole body shook from the force of it and I trembled like a leaf. Jerome continued to thrust into me until he too reached his climax. He growled like a beast and I felt him throb, releasing his hot load of sticky lust deep inside me.

We both relaxed, catching our breath and he stared down into my eyes. He unlatched his hands from the flesh of my ass and brought one round to gently stroke my cheek with his fingertips. It was quiet, but only for a minute.

He threw his head back and laughed like the madman he was, before pulling out of me and stepping back. My legs dropped to the floor and he began to put himself away and zip his trousers back up.

“Well, that was fantastic, dollface. Thanks for playing nice with me.” He said, throwing me a wink.

There was a loud metallic knock at the truck doors and I guessed whoever it was, was trying to get Jeromes attention.

“It’s been fun princess, really. But time waits for no man and I’ve got a party to attend” He said, smiling at me. “Well, more like crash.”

When he turned to leave, I tried to speak, but all that came out was intelligible muttering. He wasn’t going to leave me here, dangling, half naked and gagged like this? Was he? He began walking to the truck doors and I tried to call out.

“Oh! Wait, almost forgot.”

I felt a flood of relief when he began walking back to me.

“I’m gonna need this back.” He said and pulled the tie out of my mouth.

I was glad to finally be rid of it, but my joy was short lived, because he was starting to leave again.

“Hey...” I croaked; my mouth dry.

“Yeah, I’ll have someone come get you later.” He said, too nonchalantly for my liking. “For now, you can just... well, why don’t you just hang out?”

He laughed at his joke and opened the doors.

“Hey! You can’t leave me here!” I tried to shout, but my throat was too dry.

And then... he was gone. He really did just leave me alone, half naked in the back of a truck. How long would it be before someone found me? An hour? Two? The rest of the day?

All alone with my thoughts now, I decided the only thing to do now was wait. Wait and try and go over what the hell just happened between me and Jerome Valeska.

#gotham #jerome valeska #jerome x reader #fanfic #smut

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

Charlie Weasley, Professor

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31490714

“Are you sure?”

Minerva looked at Charlie. “Yes, Mr. Weasley. I’m sure. You are an excellent candidate for the position. You have obtained a mastery in Care of Magical Creatures. You work with dragons. You should be able to handle the students.”

Charlie rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess.”

A dragon roared in the distance. Minerva sighed. “I shall owl you your contract. I suggest you start putting together your lesson plan.”

A panicked look crossed Charlie’s face. “Lesson plan!?”

*

(“So, if the third years start with hippogriffs, then we have time to cover all the basics and a few creatures before December, right? Right!?”

“Why are you asking me, mate? I’ve never taught a class.”

“Neither have I, Daniel. Neither have I!”

“Uh, are you ok?”

“NO!”)

*

Charlie paced in front of the hippogriffs’ enclosure. “It’s going to be fine.” He muttered to himself. “No one is going to die, you aren’t going to get fired on the first day, get banned from the dragon preserve, and have to work at McDonald’s, whatever that is. You’ll be fine.”

“Charlie!? What’re you doing here!?”

Charlie turned to look at his brother. “It’s Professor Weasley, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron looked shocked. “You’re the Care of Magical Creatures professor?”

Charlie crossed his arms. “I’ll have you know that I am an excellent candidate for the position, especially since it was originally supposed to be Hagrid.”

“What’s wrong with Hagrid?”

“Nothing. He would have been a horrible teacher, though. He doesn’t even have a mastery in the subject. Some of the creatures are dangerous. Unicorns may look nice, but they carry around what akins to a magical spear on their head. Hippogriffs” he gestured behind him. “may not look that dangerous, but they are if you don’t pay them the right amount of respect.”

Ron paled. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Charlie looked toward where the rest of the class was waiting. “Go back and join your friends. Class is starting.”

“Yes, Professor Weasley.”

*

(“Well? How’d it go?”

“I’m not working at McDonald’s, so I think it went well.”

“McDonald’s? Why would you work at McDonald’s?”

“Uh, no reason, Bill.”)

*

Charlie pushed his mashed potatoes with the tines of his fork, shaping it into little triangle shapes on the tail. “If everyone thinks there’s a curse on the Defense position, why hasn’t anyone asked a curse breaking team to come by?”

Minerva looked at him. “I don’t know, Mr. Weasley. Did you have anybody in mind?” 

Charlie grinned at his old teacher. “Bill owes me a favor.”

*

(“Why are we doing this?”

“Charlie called in a favor.”

“Yeah, but why are we doing this?”

“Because you technically work for me, and I’d rather my siblings get a good education for once.”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem…”)

*

Charlie followed Bill as he led his team through the halls. “How long is this going to take?”

“As long as it needs to.” Bill glanced back at him. “Shouldn’t you be teaching or something?”

“It’s Saturday.”

Bill sighed. “Are you just going to follow me around all day?”

“Maybe.”

“Wouldn’t you rather go see if you can find the Grim that’s supposedly hanging around?”

“There’s a Grim at Hogwarts?” Charlie narrowed his eyes. “Wait… how would you know? Is this a trick?”

Bill pointed at a gaggle of students nearby. “Your students are loud.”

“Yeah,” Charlie sighed. “They kind of are. I’ll see you later.”

*

(“Who’s a good doggie? You are; yes, you are!”

“Woof!”

“Come on, let’s get you a meal and a bath.”)

*

Bill looked up from where he was scratching runes into a stone. “When I said “Go find the Grim”, I didn’t mean “Go find the Grim, adopt it, then come back and bug me.”

Charlie glanced down at the dog at his side. “I couldn’t just leave him there! Look at him. He’s all skin and bones.”

Bill sighed. “Just… don’t let him pee on our stuff.”

“He wouldn’t do that! Would you, boy?”

The dog swished his tail and barked. 

*

(“Professor Lupin!”

“You can call me Remus, Charlie.”

“Ok, Professor Lupin. What do you think I should name my dog?”

“Uh… Snuffles?”)

*

Snuffles, as he was now called, stared sadly from his position in front of the professors’ table at Remus. Remus avoided the dog’s gaze.

“Hey, Professor Lupin, could you watch Snuffles for a while for me? He likes you best, and I need to go down into Hogsmeade tomorrow.” Charlie said cheerfully.

Remus sighed. “I suppose, Charlie.”

*

(“Snuffles? Really?”

“You deserve it for leaving me like that.”

“You know I didn’t mean to.”

“Just… shut up and let me hug you.”)

*

Bill walked into the great hall, having let his team finish packing up while he delivered the news. “Well, after many days of hard work, we got the curse out, and a couple nasty compulsions. This year’s teacher will stay, if they want to, and everyone should be a bit nicer.”

A student nearby stood up and shouted, “Hey! Professor Lupin is staying!”

Snuffles wagged his tail and barked alongside the students cheering. Remus laid his head in his hands and muttered, “Oh dear.”

*

(“Albus? I’d like to extend my contract.”

“What made you change your mind, my boy?”

“... No reason, Headmaster.”)

*

Sirius looked up from his spot next to Remus and nudged him in the side. “Just like the old days, huh?”

“Just because we’re both at Hogwarts doesn’t mean we’re going to start pranking everyone again. We’re professors now.”

Sirius groaned and let his head fall against the table. “Why did I take this job again?”

“Because you wanted your godson to have a proper education in the history of his world?”

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

“You made Charlie quite sad, though. He’s upset that Snuffles ran away.”

“Being a fugitive isn’t as fun as it sounds.”

*

(“Ok, class, who can tell me about the goblin wars?”

“...”

“Really!? It’s all Binns used to talk about!”)

*

Charlie looked up as Sirius banged his head against the table gently. “Why, why, why.”

Remus caught Charlie’s eye. “Don’t worry, he’s just upset that his students are idiots.”

Charlie nodded and resumed his conversation with Minerva about the ethics of using animals for transfiguration.

*

(“Heya, Charlie. How’s teaching going?”

“Daniel? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, no reason. Just… friendly visit.”

“I can hear the roaring. Where are they?”

“... Forbidden Forest.”)

*

Charlie walked into the great hall, the smell of smoke clinging to him, causing the students he passed to cover their noses. 

Minerva sighed as he sat down. “Charlie, can you please not be so obvious about the task?”

Charlie patted down the ends of his singed hair. “What do you mean?”

Sirius stifled a laugh. 

*

(“You should have seen her, Bill! It was amazing!”

“What was?”

“Fleur Delacour! She put a dragon to sleep! All by herself! You’d love her.”

“... Is that impressive?”

“Is that impressiv- Yes! It’s very impressive! She put a scared and angry mother dragon to sleep, BY HERSELF, and the real eggs weren’t damaged, and it was only bad luck her skirt caught on fire, and it was amazing, and-”)

*

(“Hey, Charlie, do you remember Fleur Delaco-”

“Of course! Why?”

“Well, I’m dating he-”

“WILLIAM WEASLEY, IF YOU DON’T MARRY HER, I WILL!”

“You don’t even like people, Charlie.”

“I don’t care!”)

#common sense 'verse #mb's shitty writing #charlie weasley #fleur delacour #bill weasley #minerva mcgonagall #harry potter #taglist would be in the notes if i had one

[thorne93]

History Repeats (Part 13)

Prompt: Life’s hard, right? Well throw in a not so great job, a broken heart, and chasing a pipe dream in LA. But could someone come along to make all the bad shit disappear? Or is he just another heartbreak waiting around the bend?

Warnings: language, drug addiction, alcohol addiction, angst/heartbreak, adult themes (??)

Word Count: 1964

Note: Aesthetic made by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo because she’s absolutely amazing Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo . Brainstorming from @carryonmyswansong​

**Song Inspiration: Sober - Pink; Forever is a long time - Halsey

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hayden spent all night feeling horrible about what he’d done, but he felt it was right. He barely slept, and now he didn’t know if he needed to find a new place. Not that that was the most important thing right now, but it was a factor he may have to deal with soon. 

You rolled out of bed and groggily went into the kitchen to make coffee. You were a bit surprised to find Hayden already there. 

“Uh, I made coffee,” he informed.

You nodded and went to grab a mug as he began talking from behind you. 

“So, I think we should talk about last night,” he started but you turned around. “I’m sorry, and I’ll start looking for a new place today--”

“No, it’s fine. I, um, I did some thinking,” you said, waving him off. “You.. you might be right. Maybe we did jump into this too fast. I’m not the type to do that at all. I think everything through, but maybe this time was different. I think you’re right. If we take a break and in a year, we still want each other and everything lines up, maybe we should talk then.” 

He gave you a sweet smile, nodding. “Yeah, I think that’s wise. I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to lead you on or anything.”

“You didn’t,” you assured with a shake of your head. “I’m fine, honestly. I think you should stay here. I mean, unless you’re too weird about it. I still love having you around and we can still be friends. There’s no point to put you out on the streets. We can still be friendly, right?” You grinned at him. 

You were telling the truth. 

It hurt like hell that he didn’t want you romantically right now, that he wanted to think you two were in some rebound phase. It wasn’t true for you, you knew this, but maybe it was for him. So you were willing to set up a time frame that might work for him. Give him an out. Not to mention, you didn’t want to lose him as friend. He did bring more light to your life than any boyfriend or friend ever had, and you didn’t want to lose that just because you broke up. 

Having Hayden in your life was more important than some stupid pride. 

“Yeah, yeah of course,’ he agreed, nodding. He stepped towards you and hugged you. “I completely agree. I’d love nothing more than to be friends.” 

His words made you sting. His touch made you feel as if you were on fire. But you ignored it all and put on a brave face.

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

The next several days were hard. You weren’t sure which were harder -- being at work at the hotel or the studio away from Hayden or being near him. Seeing him didn’t brighten your day like it used to. You thought it would. For some stupid, silly, naive reason, you thought you’sd still feel warm when you saw him, but you didn’t. All you could see was the man who didn’t want you.

Someone not wanting you was nothing new. Your old friends had stopped checking on you a long time ago, despite your efforts to reach back out to them. All you had now was Hayden and the new people in Trey’s.

But now you didn’t even have Hayden, not really. You tried to make sure things weren’t awkward and just go back to how they were before, but you couldn’t. How could you? How could you pretend you didn’t want to kiss him when he gave you that warm, fond smile? How could you not run your fingers through his hair when he came out of the shower, his hair still wet and looking absolutely hot and adorable? How could you not want to rest your feet in his lap while you two watched TV for a few free hours? How could you not want to cook and clean together and joke around, but then wrap your arms around his waist like always? 

No, life couldn’t return to normal for you with Hayden. That was just no longer an option, the ship had sailed long ago and there was nothing to do about it. 

What made it hurt all the more was that this was always how it happened. You thought everything was fine, you thought things were good and then suddenly, poof - the guy was gone. Were you just blind to signs? Were you just too clingy and guys could sense it and it sent them running? Did you just fall for everyone who was afraid of commitment? 

You should’ve seen this coming. He was with a woman for ten years, had a child with her, but never married her. If that isn’t a sign of a fear of commitment, you weren’t sure what was. 

The parties of Trey’s continued and you decided to frequent even more of them, trying to find any excuse not to be home. More parties meant more alcohol though and you decided to get drunk every night, but then you’d wean off of it, so by the time you got home, you were practically sober again. 

Feeling the thoughts of Hayden fade away with every sip of your drink was fantastic. You weren’t one to usually seek out the bottle in times of distress, but when in Rome… The parties, the company, the drinking -- it all took your mind of Hayden, and you desperately needed it. 

Eventually though, it wasn’t enough. 

The drinks weren’t enough to make you forget about him. He bled through. You were still crying over him at parties. 

One night, you were talking to Darren about it. He was your drummer after all and you’d spent a lot of time with him, became friends. You two were in a booth at a club, in the back corner, talking.

“I just… I just want him back,” you all but sobbed.

“Hey, hey,” he soothed, “use your heartache as a tool for your music, babe. All the best musicians do. Nothing sells more records than heartbreak. Let me tell ya.” 

You nodded. “You’re right, I should.” 

“Fuckin’ a, I’m right. But… if you’re that hung up on the guy, I can help you forget.” 

You frowned. “Forget… like?” 

He nodded before pulling out that white substance again. You felt uneasy about it. 

“Look, I’m right here. I won’t leave you all night. I’ll watch you take it and I’ll keep you safe,” he vowed. 

For some reason, those words, that promise to protect you, it was all you needed to trust him. Forgetting Hayden would be ideal. You’d never hurt this bad. All you did  was nod before he helped you. He poured a tiny amount on your hand, and instructed you on how to take in the substance. 

Once it hit your system, you felt funny. 

“Darren, I don’t feel so good,” you started, feeling extremely anxious.

He held onto you. “Hey, shh, shh, you’re okay. It’s fine. You’re fine. Just ride with it, love.” 

You nodded slowly and let the feelings wash over you naturally. That was all it took. The rest of the night you partied, you danced, you felt great. You weren’t thinking about Hayden at all, and it finally felt amazing to be free of all this heartbreak that had weighed you down. 

That was just the first night. 

Every night after work, you tried to find a party with Darren, or anyone in his circle and you asked for a hit. Hayden was your drug before, but now he was gone. Something had to replace him. 

The routine became the same, and you’d end up home, at the end of your high, with Hayden already in bed. He never saw you drunk, high, or anything other than straight laced heading into work, if that. 

One night though, shortly after you got your hit, you got sick to your stomach. Veronica, a mutual singer friend of Darren’s, offered to drive you home. You took her up on the offer because you were an odd mix of feeling as if you were invincible but also feeling as if you’d throw up. 

She got you home, found your keys, and got you inside. Hayden heard the commotion around 1 AM and came out ot see what was wrong. 

“Oh, hey,” Veronica greeted. “She’s kinda sick so… Who are you?” 

“I’m her roommate,” he said. 

“Ah, okay, cool. I’m gonna leave her in your capable hands then. Just wanted to make sure she got home safe.” She sat you in the chair at your dining room table and waved goodbye as she dropped your purse and key near the door. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Hayden asked as he came forward, he started to kneel in front of you but you jumped up. 

“No, not really,” you snapped while you got up. “My stomach hurts like a mother fucker. I need to lie down.” 

Hayden started to grab your shoulders so he could get a good look at you. “Hey, come here. Let me see you.”

“What? No, why? Get off me,” you ordered, wrenching away from him. 

But he got a good enough glimpse. He saw your dialated eyes and that’s all he needed. “Jesus, Y/N. Are you fucking high?” he demanded, angry. 

“Why do you fucking care?” you asked, walking around him. 

“Because I do,” he insisted. “What the hell are you doing? What are you thinking? This is really how you want to start your career? High?”

“Me being high and singing have nothing to do with each other. Last I checked, it’s not any of your fucking business what I’m doing,” you seethed as you got in his face. “It’s my life and you checked out of it a long time ago. If you were ever even in it.” 

“Of course I was in it! I supported all of your talent. I still do. I still think you can make something of yourself without having to be high as a kite to do it.” 

“You’re not my fucking parents,” you angrily reminded.

He retorted, just as angry, “I still give a fuck about you.”

“Yeah you made that very clear when you said you just wanted to be friends,” you snarled.

“What? Because we aren’t sleeping together, it means we don’t care about each other?” he asked, flabbergasted at your outrage. He was just trying to help you, trying to sort out what was going on with you, and you were so angry at him. 

“No, because you just up and left! Because we were perfect, we never fought, and then just like Jason and all of my other ex’s you just threw me away. I guess I’m only good enough to distract men, huh, just not actually commit to? Well, screw you, screw all of you. I’m good enough for Trey and that’s all I need.” 

“I never said any of that! I never said you weren’t good enough, I just said maybe we were rushing into things and I don’t want it to feel like a rebound.” 

You shook your head. “Call it whatever you want, but the bottom line is, you left!”

“So this is how you act? You get drunk every night and now you’re high. You’re never this reckless.”

“Well now I am! You know what? Fuck you, I don’t need this. I want you out. You have until tomorrow night to get the hell out. I don’t like having to answer to anyone in my own god damn home.”

“Y/N,” he stressed, sighing, exasperated.

You gave him a cold look before retreating into your room and closing the door to deal with your sick stomach.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tag:

@essie1876​​

@magpiegirl80​​

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​​

@marvel-imagines-yes-please​​

@missinstantgratification​​

@thejemersoninferno​​

@rda1989​​

@munlis​​

@thefridgeismybestie​​

@bubblyanarocks3​​

@igiveupicantthinkofausername​​

@kaliforniacoastalteens​​

@feelmyroarrrr​​

@kaeling​​

@friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo​​

@damalseer​​

@heyitscam99​​

@yknott81​​

@sorryimacrapwriter​​

@glitterquadricorn​​

@bittersweetunicorm​​

@alyssaj23​​

@sea040561​​

@princess76179​​

@thisismysecrethappyplace​​

@sarahp879​​

@malfoysqueen14​​

@ellallheart​​

@breezy1415​​

@marvelmayo​​

@lyniboy​​

@paintballkid711​​

@pandacookieowo​​

@beiroviski​​

Hayden Christensen:

@coldlilheart​​

@haydens-moles​​

History Repeats:

@multifandomblog315​​

#history repeats #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen fic #hayden christensen

[marybethsjournal]

The Past was Hell

Summary: The story of Abigail joining the gang and subsequently bonding with John. This is a divergence of canon fic where she left an ab*sive family, most characters are in canon besides Jenny, who in this fic has been with the gang since she was very young and Grimshaw, who has 4 sons and is in a relationship with Dutch. Also took some liberties with Arthur and Eliza’s relationship.  Enjoy :) 

Warnings: mentions of abuse, rape, and incest (obviously not in a condoning way). Vague talk about being a prostitute under the age of 18, but none of that actually takes place in the confines of the story. Just like in canon, Abigail in underage at the start of her relationship with John. Lastly, in this fic, Abigail is religious so religion is vaguely mentioned several times throughout the story, so skip if that isn’t your jam. Overall a very heavy story so keep that in mind before reading.

Word Count: 6488

Here’s the fic on ao3 for your reading pleasure if you prefer consuming content on there. https://archiveofourown.org/works/29766132

Abigail opened her bedroom door quietly and staggered to the kitchen. She saw her brother, but not her mother or father. Good.

“Where is father?” she whispered. He could be in the house and who knows the wrath he would force upon her if he found out she was out of her room and worse, talking about him.

“Passed out in the parlor. I don’t know what mama gave him but he’s sure to be mad about it when he wakes up” Rick, her brother, told her.

“I’m going to make biscuits then. Haven’t eaten in three days. I hope he won’t wake up before I finish ‘em.” Abigail turned her back from him and started towards the drawer with the bowls in it, but Rick grabbed her arm and turned her around quickly.

“Abigail,” the gravely serious tone of his voice frightened her, “You need to get out.”

“Why?” she asked, laughing lightly. “I haven’t offended you, have I?”

“I’m being serious. It’s gotten worse and worse with father and you. He takes you multiple times a day now, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Besides, he beats you so badly you can hardly walk anymore. You can’t keep saying you’re waiting until your wounds heal. He’ll kill you before then. Now’s your chance. Leave.” 

Abigail knew Rick was right. She wouldn’t have another chance like this. She wondered if him and her mother had conspired together and she had purposefully put something in their father’s dinner. It would have been the most considerate thing she had done for Abigail for a while.

“Come with me then.” Abigail grabbed Rick’s hands.

 Rick shook his head.

“No I have to stay here and look after mama. I’m not a target like you are. Here, I’ll prepare a basket of food for you. You go get some stuff packed and then leave immediately.”

Suddenly the two teenagers heard the sound of a head hitting a wall and a gruff “Fuck!” come from the parlor. Abigail froze in terror. Their father was awake. 

“Go. Now!”  Rick practically shooed Abigail out the door and proceeded to throw her shoes out the door behind her. Great, these had heels on them. Between that and the great pain in her side from where her father had beat her earlier, she was not going to get far. She was determined to try, though. If her father caught her attempting to escape, there’d be Hell to pay. Besides, the thought of never being taken advantage of again was a big enough motivator of its own. So Abigail ran as fast as she could, the splintering feeling in her side disregarded, praying every step of the way. She was going to need it. 

It was dusk of the second day that Abigail had left her home that she had decided she needed food. She had walked into a little town and she swore that she was getting so hungry that she could smell the food that was inside the townsfolk’s houses. Abigail pulled a bobby pin out of her hair without thinking and walked towards one of the houses swiftly before stopping in her tracks. What was she doing? Was she really about to rob somebody’s home? Was she going to walk in and invade someone's privacy like that? Abigail’s father, when he wasn’t spending time being an abusive bastard sent straight from the fiery pits of Hell itself, was a very successful businessman and she never ever had to even think about robbing a house before. But I’m hungry, she thought, before putting the bobby pin into the lock and working to get the damn door to open.

Abigail realized she had enormously miscalculated her criminal abilities when she opened the door and was greeted by a man holding a shotgun to her face. Of course these people were still awake! It couldn’t have been past 7pm, not that Abigail had been completely sure of the time since she had left her home. She would have scolded herself for being so utterly foolish if she wasn’t focused on the immediate danger the man and his shotgun posed.

“Who the Hell are you?” The man yelled. Abigail flinched. She was more than used to being yelled at, but not by men that weren’t in her bloodline.

“I said” the man repeated “Who the Hell are you? Answer me now, girl!” he waved the gun in her face.

“I’m sorry sir, I’ll just leave. I really am sorry.” is all Abigail could make out before the man was dragging her in the house.

“Oh no you don’t. You don’t just break into my house and then get to leave Scott free.”

A woman who Abigail presumed must have been his wife walked into the room cautiously. It was clear she had been hiding and was listening to the heated exchange.

“Honey, she’s just a kid. Look at ‘er.” the woman reasoned with the man.

The man did not lower his gun.

 “Oh fantastic, a delinquent is trying to rob me, that’s SOOO much better!” 

The woman rolled her eyes. 

“Gerald, honey, show some compassion. Let me just talk to her.”

“Compassion,” Gerald emphasized, “runs in your family and look where it got ‘em. Your Gran Gran died from armed robbers just two weeks ago.”

“Why were you coming in here?” The lady addressed Abigail directly.

“Because,” Abigail sniffled, “I’m hungry and I don’t have any money. I don’t know where to get any food. I wasn’t going to hurt you, I swear”.

The woman noticed Abigail kept holding on to her side and upon further inspection, her face looked pretty bruised up, although the bruises seemed to be fading slightly.

“Are you hurt?”

Abigail nodded.

“Who hurt you, sweetheart?”

“My father.” Abigail was crying by this point and continued to issue apologizes for entering the home uninvited.

The lady looked at Gerald as if to say “I told you so” and started guiding Abigail up the stairs.

“Come. We have an extra bedroom. You look exhausted. I have some soup left from dinner, I’ll bring it up. I’m so sorry all this happened angel. We can talk about this in the morning. For now, rest. No one can hurt you here.” 

It had been several hours since then. The lady’s name had turned out to be Betty and she was true to her word and brought Abigail a bowl of potato soup and then another after she had finished the first bowl. Betty was one of the kindest souls Abigail had ever met, she felt safe with her. Gerald wasn’t all so bad either. He just had his guard up, rightfully so. Before Abigail had gone to bed, they had told her that she could stay with them as long as she liked. However, after about 3 hours of sleep, Abigail awoke and realized that if she stayed here, she’d have to tell them exactly what her father had done and worse, she’d have to say who he was. Despite all the horrible things he had put her through, she still had a sense of loyalty to him. She could never do that to him. His whole career, Hell, his whole life would be over. Besides, she couldn’t just leech off these people. Abigail decided around 4am that she had to leave. She tiptoed down the stairs and went through the kitchen, stuffing as many rolls as she could in her dress before sneaking out the back door. She didn’t know where she was heading, only that she couldn’t stay where she was.

It was pitch black outside and although Abigail’s eyes adjusted rather quickly, it was still hard to make out exactly where she was going. Before she had completely exited the town, Abigail’s feet crunched on something. She looked down to see it was a newspaper. The Western Times, it read in big letters. Abigail picked up the dirty newspaper and thought that maybe this could be her out. Her father read the local newspaper every day and she knew there were always people putting out ads in there for job listings. Maybe somebody needed a nanny or a housekeeper or someone to sew for them or- well she’d see later when the sun came up and she could see better. Yet again, Abigail found herself praying that things went her way.

As luck would have it, someone actually had put out an ad for a housekeeper! Some man named Mr. Greensboro. She hadn’t heard of him before but he apparently lived a short way away from the town she had passed earlier and if she was fortunate enough, she could get there before he hired someone else. Abigail was aware she looked ragged and dirty, something one wouldn’t like to see in a housekeeper, but perhaps the man would take pity on her. Abigail needed money and a place to live in order to survive. She really needed this job.

Things were going Abigail’s way yet again! She had met with the man and after about an hour and a half interview, he hired her. She was ecstatic. Mr. Greensboro was a kind man, although his selection process was kind of odd. He had asked her if she knew her bust size and if she was a virgin.His face contorted in an odd way when she regretfully told him that while she had never engaged in consensual sex, she had been taken against her will more times than she could count. He apologized to her for asking, saying he only asked just to know if she was married or would have an unexpected pregnancy while working for him. Seemed a bit of an odd way to ask, but she let it go. Beggars could not be choosers and she most assuredly was a beggar now.

Abigail had just shut the door to Mr. Greensboro’s sizable cottage when she heard some women calling to her from the side of the house.

“You there!” Abigail turned her head and saw a woman with a Nigerian accent calling to her. She was beautiful, with short black hair and soft brown eyes. “You came here for the job, didn’t you?”

Abigail glanced between the woman speaking and the two girls behind her. One had pale, freckled skin and strawberry-blonde hair and the other looked a little older than the other women and seemed more worn by life as well. She had skin weathered from the sun and wispy brown hair pulled into a braid. 

“Uh yes, I came for the job. I need the money.”

“How old are you?” The speaker of the group came closer.

“Sixteen but I can work hard.”

“Not like he wants you to. He’s a bad man, does bad things to us. We have people that we have to take care of. We all have kids to feed and we’re already in too deep. Trust me, you’d be better off being a working girl on your own terms.” 

After several more moments speaking with the women, Abigail was convinced. She left with her head hung down low, disheartened. Why were all the men in this world such creeps? It was heartbreaking to know that she would most likely have to make a profession from having to do the thing she was running away from: being touched by men she didn’t want to touch her. It wasn’t fair. All the girls in the town she came from were going to be housewives and socialites and she was going to be Abigail the Whore. Abigail never hated prostitutes, she just always thought herself to be above them. That’s what privilege does, she supposed, makes you so far removed from poverty that you can’t imagine that people are doing what they have to do to survive and that doesn’t make anyone better or worse than anyone else.

Abigail was contemplating all of this several days later as she hid behind a tree near a path running through the forest. She was thinking how wrong this was. She was only 16, but she was hungry, she had no choice. Her thoughts subsided instantaneously when she heard hooves gallop across the path. She was sure what she was about to do was a very shady way to pick someone up, but there weren’t any prostitute hangouts nearby that she knew of. She had no idea how to do this. It didn’t matter how she did it, she decided, as long as she got it done.

Abigail peeked out from behind the tree she was hiding and saw the person that was riding through was a man. That was great for her, she was getting fed tonight. If all went well, that is. The man was handsome enough, with greasy, rather long black hair, brown eyes, a mustache and stubble, and whatever Abigail referred to as “angry brows”. He was riding a small white Arabian.She took a deep breath and stumbled onto the road. 

“Mister! Mister!” she waved him down, not that it was hard to get his attention when she was blocking the path.

“Yes?” he asked impatiently, cocking his brow.

Abigail froze. She hadn’t gotten to this part in her mind yet.

“Do you need company for the night?” It all spilled out of her mouth so quickly that she wasn’t even sure what she was saying.

The “angry brow” man laughed. “Y’all are getting a bit desperate, aren’t you? Advertising out in the forest? That or you ain’t a real lady of the night.”

Was she really that bad at this?

“I’m not one yet, you would’ve been my first, errr, client. I’m just hungry, you know?” Abigail admitted.

She could tell the angry brow man was sizing her up. She tried to look more tall and confident and he chuckled at her yet again.

“Sorry ma’am, I got me an old lady. I do have some boys, though. They’re sloppy as all Hell and have no manners, the lot of them. Tell you what, you come back to camp with me and I might have a business proposition for you.”

It took a lot of convincing for Abigail to get on the man’s horse and leave with him. What if he was a murderer or something? But in the end, she was hungry.

Angry brow man chuckled when Abigail hesitated. “Some whore you are.”

     The words stung. It was silly at this point, really. She knew she would have to get used to it but that didn’t make it easier and it certainly didn’t make her feel like it was right. Despite everything that happened to her, she still felt like a child. Probably because she was; plain and simple. 

“Here, you can hold my gun. That way, I try anything you don’t like, you can shoot me.”

Abigail took the shotgun gingerly. “I don’t know how to shoot a gun, never held one.”

Angry eyebrow man chuckled again. “Probably not the best thing to tell someone you’re afraid of, for future reference.” he paused as he helped her up onto the horse. “You don’t come from the streets, do you?”

“I told you that I’ve never been a working woman before.”

“Yes I know, but I meant that you aren’t poor.”

Abigail laughed. “Look at me, do I look like I have any money? If I did, I wouldn’t be out here.”

“Usually how it goes. You weren’t poor before, though.”

“Sure. this horse is rather aggressive.” the white Arabian, despite having been calm with just its owner on it, was trying to buck Abigail off. It was quite a strange thing for Abigail, she had seen a horse become upset when a person besides their owner rode them alone, but never had she seen a horse be so aggressive when it was carrying both its owner and an outsider.

“Ah well, The Count doesn’t take kindly to strangers. He won’t even let my boys ride him. It’s nothing personal, trust me.”

“Your horse has a name?”

“Of course. All of our horses at camp have names. Do you rich people not name your horses?”

“I don’t know about rich people, but no, I’ve never met a horse with a name. We just call them by their breed and color where I’m from.”

“Seems a bit barbaric.” The angry brow man told her, huffing. She couldn’t quite tell if he was offended because of the way they treated their horses or that he wasn’t assimilated with he presumed to be “rich folks” culture. It wasn’t exactly a secret, just by looking at him, that he wanted to have an austerity look about him. He wore a velvet vest with gold chains hanging from his sides and steel boots Abigail had sworn she had seen at a speciality store for almost $60. And then there was the fact that he had this White Arabian, which was about $2000 for the horse itself, not including any equipment. He sure did have equipment for the horse, too. Gold saddle and everything: the works. Yet, he spoke of the rich as if he was far removed. It was odd but she didn’t have much time to figure the man out before he started talking again.

“My name is Dutch, Dutch Van Der Linde. And yours?”

“Uhhh, Abigail Roberts. Your name sounds like royalty.” Abigail was yet again taken aback by the contrast between the way this man presented himself to who he really seemed to be.

Dutch laughed. “I wish. If I was any sort of royalty, people wouldn’t live like you. We’d all be a huge family, this nation. Everybody would earn their keep, but nobody would ever go hungry.”

“You’ve got dreams, Mister Dutch. You sound more like a cult leader, though, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“You know, strangely enough, you’re not the first person to tell me that. I don’t mind. America is one big cult that makes you think the difference between the good guys and the bad guys is clear cut. Well let me tell you, the answer isn’t as clear as people would like it to be. Lines get blurred among all people.”

Abigail didn’t care much for this philosophical talk. She had never been to school or learned how to read, philosophy went right over her head. And she didn’t quite appreciate being talked to about things that made her feel dumb.

“So, you said you have boys?” Abigail changed the subject, partially to be spared of looking like a fool and partially because she was both interested and worried about what she was getting into. “How many?”

“Uh I can’t give you a count straight off the top of my head. I don’t know, maybe a dozen? At least?”

Abigail was extremely taken aback. This man had 12 kids? Abigail had never heard of a man that had both 12 kids, wore ostentatious clothing, and still talked about the US like it wasn’t doing them justice. Nothing about this man made sense so far.

“You have 12 sons? And you’re just going to give me to them? I’ve never heard of a father that does things like this.”

Dutch lit a cigar, balancing it in his mouth while he kept his hands on the reins of The Count.

“Well, I’m not exactly a ‘by the book’ type man. And besides, I fear I might have led you astray. I have four sons, but my gang is a sort of a found family sort of thing.”

Abigail's mind went fuzzy in terror when she heard the word “gang”. A gang? Oh God, what had she gotten herself into?

“What do you mean, gang? Do y’all go around and kill people?” Abigail thought of jumping off the horse at that point. Either they were to kill her when she got there or she’d be party to murdering others. Abigail didn’t care how hungry or hurt she was: she was not going to go around and start killing people for sport. This life felt like Hell, but she surely was not going to sign her spot in everlasting Hell. It simply was not worth it and besides, the thought of looking someone in the eyes and killing them made her sick, even despite her religious convictions.

“Sort of, but only bad men.” Dutch retorted, sensing she was getting worried and trying to calm her.

“Didn’t you just say the line between good and bad people is not clean cut?”

Dutch laughed nervously. Abigail could already tell he didn’t like to be questioned.

“You’re a good listener, aren’t ya? I’m not used to that. But not to worry, these people really deserve it. And we don’t usually let the women do the killing. Besides, it’s not mainly about the killing. More about taking from the rich and giving to the poor. Like Robin Hood. Do you know Robin Hood?”

Abigail nodded. She wasn’t so sure about his overall sentiment, however. Nothing should give someone the right to take another’s life. That was God’s job and to an extent, the law. “And so who are the poor, hmm?” Abigail was pretty sure that she already knew the answer to that one. 

“Well us, mostly.” Dutch admitted nervously.

Abigail scoffed. This man sure was a prize. He felt bad for his lady. She probably had to listen to this all day.

“Mister Dutch, I understand I’m not in a position to be making demands, but with all due respect, I’m not sure I’m gonna want to service these boys. What if they hold a knife to my throat or something?”

“They’re not like that. Look at how society has caused you to judge. You don’t even know my boys and you are already thinking bad things about them. Now-”.

Abigail didn’t fancy hearing any more of this man’s straw man spiel. She could tell that he had a silver tongue, but it wasn’t working on her. “Is it that big of a stretch when these men have murdered people?”

Dutch tutted her impatiently. “Killed, not murdered. There’s a difference. Besides, they treat ladies real nice. They don’t hurt ‘em. Especially a doll like you.”

The last sentence made Abigail uncomfortable to no end. “If they treat ladies so nice, why don’t they have women already?”

Dutch seemed to not have a response to that. The trip continued largely in silence. Abigail kept trying to decide if she wanted to jump ship or not, but ultimately decided against it.

Eventually, they made their way to a clearing behind a forest. Abigail could see at least a dozen tents and lean-tos. It was lively with music and laughter. But it was not lost on her that she could smell a stench from dozens of meters away.

“This is our place, Abigail. You will be safe here. No one will hurt you.” Abigail remembered hearing those same words from Betty and suddenly wished that she had just stayed there.

Dutch helped her off the Count and practically dragged her to a soap box to the side of the camp. It was a bit overwhelming for Abigail, she was trying to take everything in. It was rather hard, however, when several pairs of eyes were on her. 

“Everybody, listen here!” Dutch yelled. It didn’t take much, however, there was already a crowd gathering to catch a glimpse at her. Abigail guessed they didn’t have outsiders in their camp often. Abigail looked through the group of what she assumed would be leering faces. To her surprise, no one looked especially mean or murderous. The face looked curious, some even looked concerned, but none looked particularly dangerous. Abigail found herself wondering if Dutch had overstated the harm that his “gang” had done. There were several women with kind expressions, some even seeming to be younger than her, and this made her feel at ease. Not that women had stopped what had happened to her in the past.

“This is Abigail. Poor thing, I found her off the side of the road on my way back here from my meeting with Colm. Update on that: it did not go too well and for the time being, I think we should post at least two people on guard duty at all times. Nothing to be concerned about, though, we will pull through no problem. But I digress. Abigail here has been a victim to the ruthlessness of American capitalists. The ‘rich man’ raised her and then tossed her aside, poor and defenseless. And they think we’re the ones needing our throats sliced-” Dutch droned on and on and Abigail tuned him out, silently thanking herself for not sharing all her life details with him, for her surely would have repeated it all to everyone to prove his point. Abigail snapped back to reality when she heard Dutch order the boys to “meet their new lady”. Again, being referred to that way made her very uncomfortable.

A gaggle of men stepped towards her before a scowling woman with graying hair stepped forward, clanked two bowls together and yelled, “Dutch Van Der Linde, what the Hell do you think you’re doing? She must be scared out of her mind and you want her to meet the boys already? You’re insane.” The group of men laughed at the sight of the woman scolding Dutch.

The woman with the scowl walked towards Abigail and her expression softened as she held out her hand to Abigail “I’m Susan. Guess I’m the mother of sorts to all these fools. Let’s go set you up an area for you to live and be comfortable. Trust is important in a space like this and you can’t trust us if you don’t feel safe with us.” Abigail took Susan’s hand and walked with her towards the north side of the camp.

“These men are idiots, don’t understand feelings. But don’t mind them, they don’t bite, and it’s okay to yell at them if they overstep their boundaries.” Abigail nodded, knowing full well that she would never be comfortable yelling at those burly men. “Here’s where the girls sleep. There’s Jenny’s tent, Tilly’s tent, Mary Beth’s tent. Bessie sleeps in her tent with Hosea and I sleep in my tent with Dutch. I’ll send Uncle into town as soon as I can to get you a proper tent, but I’m sure any of the girls wouldn’t mind sharing in the meantime.”

Abigail’s head was spinning. All these names and information was a lot to take in at once.

“Uncle? Who’s Uncle is he?” she asked

“Oh that’s just his name.” Susan answered, matter-of-fact, as if men named Uncle were a normal occurrence.”

Susan spent the next few hours introducing Abigail to the women. First she met Bessie, a sweet woman who appeared to be quite a few years older than Susan. Bessie was kinder than Abigail remembered any woman ever being towards her, offering her candy and giving her constant words of assurance. Abigail immediately felt a daughterly sort of bond to Bessie, feeling that Bessie would never let any harm come to Abigail. After speaking with Bessie, Susan brought Abigail to speak with Mary Beth, Tilly, and Jenny.  Mary Beth and Tilly seemed to be around her age, maybe slightly younger, but still had a youthful joy that Abigail had lost long ago. Jenny was clearly several years older than the other two but still seemed young enough to be Susan or Bessie’s daughter. All three girls were very kind to Abigail, but Mary Beth seemed to warm to her the quickest. She quickly invited Abigail for a “sleepover” in her tent, showed her all the books she had, her new journal that she worked in daily, and pointed out all the men in the gang that she had a crush on. Susan scolded Mary Beth for “overwhelming” Abigail, but Abigail felt herself smiling and being grateful for her friendliness. Tilly was sweet but cautious, telling her some of the camp rules and showing her where they washed clothes and did other camp chores. In what seemed to be an attempt to relate to Abigail and make her feel at ease, Tilly told her the story of how she had been rescued by Hosea from a nasty gang. A part of Abigail wanted to tell Tilly her own story, but felt it was too soon and that she wasn’t ready just yet. Jenny smiled at Abigail a lot but didn’t say much besides introducing herself. All in all, the ladies seemed very nice and Abigail enjoyed their company.

At nightfall, Dutch approached Susan gingerly, as if she was a dangerous animal, and asked if Abigail could meet the boys now. Susan agreed as long as Abigail was okay with it. Abigail, still feeling terrified of the gang members of the opposite sex but not wanting to anger Dutch, nodded and went with Dutch to the camp fire where all the men were huddled together singing some song with vagina euphemisms. 

Most of the boys stood up when they saw Abigail and Dutch walking towards them. Two men, however, an old man who was very clearly drunk, and a lean man with extremely greasy hair, stayed sat down. Dutch went through all the men and introduced them all. The names spun around in her mind. Reverend, Davey and Mac Callender, Bill, Pearson, Dutch’s sons Henry, Frank, Robert, and Thomas. The list of names went on and on until there seemed to be only two more people to introduce. The old man, who Abigail was told was “Uncle”, had passed out, and the other man who had been sat at the camp fire had slunk away to his tent. The last two men introduced themselves as Arthur and Hosea.

“Don’t worry about these two, Abigail. They’ve both got women.” Dutch informed her.

The man called Hosea rolled his eyes and told Dutch in a strict voice that there was more towards this gang than an orgy house and Abigail was allowed to have friendly relationships. With the way Dutch seemed to almost cower at Hosea’s words, Abigail wondered if Hosea was the true leader here. Abigail would be very happy if that was the case, Hosea both looked and sounded more kind and sensible than Dutch. 

The other man spoke up, trying to dissipate the escalating tension between the two men before him. “Hello miss Abigail, I’m Arthur. Like Dutch said, I have a girl and a son, actually, his name is Isaac and he’s the best little boy anyone could ask for. I bring him to camp sometimes and you’ll see he’s the cutest buckaroo in the world.” Arthur beamed while talking about his son. Abigail knew far too well that being a father didn’t automatically make you a good person but she couldn’t help but feel safe with Arthur. He was big and muscular, but spoke with such kindness.

The four of them sat down at the campfire and talked for an hour or two. Abigail enjoyed herself more than she had in a long time, listening to Hosea recount his heists in his youth and embarrassing stories about his three “kids”, Arthur, John, and Jenny, who had been with the gang the longest. Her sides hurt from laughing when she heard the story of Arthur trying to teach John to swim.

“Speaking of John, where is he? He didn’t introduce himself to you tonight. That’s not like him, to be shy.”

Arthur scoffed, “he’s not shy, just a bastard. Thinks he’s too good to have to introduce himself like everyone else. He thinks that way because you treat him special, Dutch.” Arthur’s brows furrowed as he focused on crushing the cigarette butt beneath his shoes.

Dutch opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but Abigail was too tired to hear any more arguments. 

“I’m sorry, y’all, I better go to bed. Mary Beth is waiting on me.”

Abigail walked to Mary Beth’s tent and was greeted excitedly by the girl. Mary Beth wanted to share stories and gossip all night long; Abigail politely obliged. However, the excitement seemed to be all too much for Mary Beth and she collapsed of exhaustion within the half hour. Abigail didn’t have the same luck falling asleep, not at all. She gave up on the idea entirely after a few hours and crawled out the tent silently to get some fresh air. Abigail assumed no one would be up at this hour but as she was pacing around, she saw John sharpening a knife at the second camp fire at the back of the camp. She didn’t want to disturb him, he clearly hadn’t wanted to introduce himself to her in the first place, so she started walking back to the tent. Her attempts to go unnoticed failed when she got too close to one of horse and spooked it, causing it to winnie loudly. John turned around to see the commotion and noticed Abigail.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m heading back to Mary Beth’s tent, just needed to clear my head for a moment.” Abigail apologized. John stared at her blankly and she awkwardly began to step backwards towards the tent.

“Come sit.” he said flatly, as if he was reciting a line to himself.

Abigail was taken aback and unsure of what to do. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to talk to John, especially alone. But, acutely aware that she was alone with this man and knowing what men in her life did when they were angry, she walked over to the campfire and sat next to him on a log.

Abigail hadn’t seen John’s features properly until now, but seeing him in the light from the fire, he took her breath away. He was beautiful. Rough and tumble, sure, but still beautiful. He had deep brown eyes that had a softness to them, giving away that he wasn’t all so tough as maybe he wanted to be. He was clean shaven and had a slight smirk that didn’t seem to drop. He had various scars on his face and Abigail wondered exactly what trouble this man had gotten into.

  “Uhhh hi.” John greeted, bringing Abigail to reality and making her realize that he knew she was staring.

“Oh, yes, hi. Sorry about that.” Abigail was thoroughly embarrassed.

“It’s fine. Used to it. I’ve always been ugly.” he told her solemnly.

“No no no, that’s not it at all. I- well, I don’t know.” Abigail cursed herself when she started to blush, knowing that she had a habit of turning tomato red.

John noticed that she was blushing, it was hard not to, and seemed to realize why she was actually staring. His smirk grew a bit and he sat up a bit more. The smirk, however, didn’t last very long when he started to speak again.

“I think it’s fucked what Dutch is doing. Making you be a whore just for you to survive and all,” he said seriously before quickly addinh, “Not that I care who you fuck. Fuck everyone for all I care.” John’s eyes darted to Abigail nervously.

Abigail laughed despite the overall sentiment of his original comment. “ I didn’t think you cared, John.”

John seemed satisfied in her answer and continued with what he had been saying. “You know, I heard you telling some of the guys what had happened to you with your dad in all and well, don’t tell anyone this, but I understand. I went through it too, being exploited before my dad died. And Dutch picked me up and ain’t never made me do what he’s making you do. And it’s just like, how are you supposed to heal when this is your life now?” John struggled to get his words out; it was clear that he was having a hard time being vulnerable.  

Abigail nodded, not knowing what else to say. She knew what he was saying and she agreed. She also appreciated his words, she knew it was hard speaking about trauma with total strangers. They sat in comfortable silence for a while before John blurted out, “You know, it’s a shame. You’re so pretty, you could be an actress instead.”

Abigail giggled at the words that came out of nowhere. Was this flirting? She wasn’t quite sure, she had never been allowed to speak to men outside of her family.

“I- well thank you. That means a lot.”

John seemed frustrated with the response he was getting, so he continued. 

“No, I’m serious. They should put your name up in lights in those fancy cities with the picture shows.”

“You’re real sweet, John Marston. You don’t seem to be the type that should be running with a gang.”

John scoffed. “You don’t know me like that, Miss. I’m a bad man. Maybe an evil man. Although Arthur says I’m too stupid to be evil.”

“You are no such thing!” Abigail gasped.

John’s smirk had now grown to a full grown smile. He was basking in the attention he was getting from Abigail.

The two of them spent a few moments playfully arguing over whether John was stupid in which John told her of some stories that were compelling to his argument that he was, in fact, stupid. After the laughter dissipated, John started digging in his pocket nervously. His face lit up when he found it. He pulled out a pearl necklace.

“Hey, I was wondering if maybe you’d like this. I’d usually sell it but I noticed that you’re not wearing any jewelry and I think you would look nice in jewelry so maybe you could take this and put it on your neck.” John rambled, scared to death of being laughed at for the gesture.

“Yes, I know how necklaces work, John. Maybe you are stupid.” Abigail smirked. When she saw John’s face fall, she added, “I would love the necklace. Thank you for thinking of me.” She took the necklace from John and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, causing to duck his head so Abigail couldn’t see that he was the one blushing now.

“Well then, since we’re friends now, I was wondering if you’d want to go to a saloon and get something to eat sometime. It’s better than Pearson’s cooking, at least.” John fumbled through the sentence.

“I think if we’re going to go on a date, we should do something a bit more romantic than going to a saloon. Maybe we can have a picnic on one of those hills down the way. I saw them on the ride up here.”

“Well I didn’t mean it like that. But I guess if you want to…” John shrugged and tried to seem nonchalant but couldn’t contain his smile.

The past was Hell, but Abigail was starting to think that maybe the future wouldn’t be so bad.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr #rdr2 #Red Dead Redemption #John Marston #abigail roberts #marstongail #john x abigail #susan grimshaw #arthur morgan #tilly jackson #Dutch Van Der Linde #hosea matthews #mary beth gaskill

[manychocolatefactories]

CatCF Milk Chocolate: Part 1, the kids

About this version: Milk Chocolate was inspired originally by a mix of the book, the vibes of the 1971 movie and the Tim Burton movie aesthetic. A bit more goofier and whimsical than the other versions. In term of era, I thought of it as a mix of 1960s, 1970s and 1980s.

In this version seven Golden Tickets are spread throughout the world, and each time one is found the same female reporter (her character is a reference to the musical) goes to interview the children. Another recurring joke is that while the hunt is going on for the Tickets, there are all sorts of ridiculous debates on television such as: do the Golden Tickets really exist, or is this just a hoax ? Do the Golden Tickets give cancer? Can animals go on a tour like humans? What happens if a Golden Ticket winner dies before the tour? Are the Golden Tickets linked to the rise of youht delinquence? Are the Golden Tickets a proof of Wonka's alleagiance to the obscure sect of the Golden Bird?

  First Winner: Augustus Gloop

(Based on Augustus Gloop)

This Augustus was actually based on an idea Stained-by-the-sea allowed me to "borrow" a bit. Stained noted that Augustus always made him thought of this section from the movie "North", about Buck and the Texan parents. If you don't know what I am talking about, I'll leave links down there. And this is such a perfect matc I had to dig a bit down there.

This Augustus is basically a mix of all the archetypes associated with Texas and Nevada. But more precisely, he is basically "Buck" from North - a boy whose family (and his own mindset) embody the motto "bigger is better".

The Gloop family always thought that they should be "the biggest and the bests" and that "bigger is better". Ironically, the Gloop parents themselves are regular-sized people, but they clearly enforced this mentality on their son. Augustus is a big boy. Literally. He is tall, he is thick, he is fat, he is very, very big. He is probably one of the tallest, and definitively the largest boy on the tour (in fact, he once or twice gets stuck in the doors of Wonka factory). He eats ten meals per day, and we are not talking of regular sized meals. We are talking piles of ribs, kilos of potatoes, entire chickens... His parents also prepared for him a "big" and "best" future - paying the local sportive teams to claim he is a sports champion despite Augustus never setting a foot on a sports field, arranging his marriage with the local beauty queen of the state he lives in, already preparing the three different houses he will live with his fifteen kids... As a result, Augustus isn't just big and fat physically, he also has a massive and bloated ego. He thinks that he is the best at everything, and that he should have absolutely everything he wants.

The Gloops themselves are actually the masters of the state they live in, so to speak. They are the wealthiest and most influential industrials of the area: they built highways, casinos, hotels, private villas, they are cow-farmers, owing a lot of slaughterhouses, and also dig for oil and gold. They want their business to be the "biggest there ever was" and all they do is exaggerately big: their villas are enormous, their hotels are everywhere, their farms hosts several thousands cows, their mines are among the deepest in the world...

Trouble is that, due to their expansion and consumption of everything, they are a threat to the landscape and the environment - destroying forests to build their roads and buildings, drying out the lands to feed their farms... in fact, part of the reason why their state looks like the most desertic parts of Texas and Nevada is due to their actions.

Think... Buck from North. Think Art Land from Mar Attack. Think an evil (and obese) version of Clay Bailey from "Xiaolin Showdown". In fact, if I remember well in one episode Clay turns into a sumo for one of the Showdowns... this would probably be Augustus' appearance in this version: sumo Clay Bailey. (Edit: Yes, I checked out, it is episode 23 of the series).

 Second Winner: Clarence Crump

(Based on: Clarence Crump)

Clarence didn't had any kind of personnality in the original drafts outside of a desire to prove he was right. As a result, I decided to have a lot of fun and create my own character.

The idea of vanity has already been touched several times with the other brats, but I wanted to give it its own character and kid. I also wanted to create a polar opposite of Augustus, denouncing the fact that being skinny can be just as bad as being fat when in excess. As a result, Clarence Crump is here a boy obsessed about being thin, and proud of being too skinny for his own good.

Mr. Crump is a pseudo-health guru that keeps writing phony and very dangerous diet books, the kind that will advice you to stop eating altogether to lose weight. As for Mrs. Crump, she is a beauty pageant champion (local and regional, and while she acts as if she was some national beauty champion, she always failed at nationals). From their union was born a child who inherited their vanity, pride and obsession with "health"

Black haired, very pale, very thin, very slender, to the point his bones show, Clarence delights in being skinny, and works as a teenager model promoting the "thin-fashion". He is also the embodiment of fat-shaming, never missing an occasion to insult fat people (in fact he often calls Augustus a big fat cow). He uses however the excuse of health for that (a trick his parents taught him) - promoting extreme thinness by talking about health and fat-shaming people in the name of health allows one to be much more horrible than normally accepted.

A good proof of how Clarence actually is just very vain and obsessed with being thin, and not at all defending health - Clarence condemns sports for being unhealthy, because according to him "muscles are unhealthy because they don't make you look beautiful, they make you look ugly".

He always wears short and black sleeveless tank-tops, the point being that he needs to show as much as his body to the world as possible, to be a "living example". He even wears his black short and tank-top during the tour (despite it being winte - the only thing he wears on top of his clothes to not get cold is a skunk fur coat).

  Third  Winner: Miranda Grope

(Based on: Miranda Grope)

This character was based on Dahl's own character of "Miranda Grope" from early drafts of the story, the horrible and atrocious girl allowed to do "whatever she wants".

In my version, the Grope parents are hippie-like people, the father having a very long beard and being covered in fleas, while the mother is covered in flowers and oss (plants that grew over her), and both always wearing rose-tinted glasses. They are the kind of parents that refuse authority and orders, seeing these (and social norms as a whole) as a "dictatorship". They prefer to trust their daughter to find her own way in the world, believing that experience is the best teacher in life. The result? They lazily raised her by telling her they would never forbid her anything and that she could do anything she wanted.

Miranda is a devilish little girl who does only what she wants, and becomes extremely violent when prevented from doing something. Or when people say something she doesn't want to hear. Or just when people she dislikes are near her. She shouts, the screams, she insult, she kicks, she hit, she throw enormous and terrifying tantrums. She has a very wide range of insults, and a truly evil mind : most of the things she wants to do are borderline crimes. It seems for her only chaos and destruction is "fun", a true little punk.

Miranda has a disastrous haircut because she cuts her hair herself, and she is always wearing the same clothes that she rarely washes): a white shirt, a blue sweater with long sleeves, and a plaid tiles skirt. An outfit that looks strikingly like a school uniform - but it is pure irony, because Miranda hates more than anything in the world school. She doesn't go to school, and the only time she went near one was to try to burn it down. (Her appearance is in fact based on Lauren Child's illustrations for Miranda, if you are wondering).

  Fourth Winner: Veruca Salt

(Based on: Veruca Salt)

For this Veruca, I wanted to do something slightly different... here, Veruca doesn't want everything just because she is a spoiled rich brat. She is still one, but she is also the product of post-WW2 consumerism.

This Veruca was born surrounded by advertisements, logos, slogans and product placements. On television, in the streets, in shops, in journals, at the radio... She grew up with them and was influenced, brainwashed by them. As a result, she is obsessed with obtaining everything that was advertised, and she herelf looks like a walking billboard since she is covered in big, flashy logo and keeps reciting different brands' slogans and mottos. As soon as she sees something she saw publicity of before, she needs to obtain it at once. She is a true zombie, only hearing the call of the shopping mall and of the television advertisements.

One idea I had was that the Salt parents actually worked for (or where at the head of) a wealthy advertisement company, known to produce, design and create all kinds of famous publicities and slogans - and that they used their daughter as a guinea pig for their tests, and delighted in Veruca being so addicted to consumerism. In fact, they may have named her Veruca because at the moment of her birth they were working on advertisements for an anti-wart product, so that's all they had in mind.

  Fifth winner:  Herpes Trout

(Based on: Mike Teavee)

I went with this version of Mikee Teavee with the focus on "violence" already present in the original work, but also heavily used in the opera (and touched a bit in the 2005 movie).

This Herpes Trout is the embodiment of the fear of kids becoming violent upon watching television and playing video games (his only two passions in life). He has a true fascination with guns and firearms - US soldiers shooting aliens, gangs shooting each other, cowboys shooting at bandits, it's all he ever plays and watches. Herpes worships violence, and is absolutely obsessed with war (here I am thinking of all the wars present from the 60s to the 80s, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the Glasgow Ice Cream Wars...). War propaganda and the fight being glorifyed heavily influenced him - as a result his biggest dream is to go at war in some foreign country to kill everyone there and come home a hero.

Herpes comes from a family of rednecks and hillbillies from the deep country. They are not poor however, they are wealthy enough to have television and several video games, but they are uneducated people full of stereotypes, discrimination and hate. They named their son Herpes because they ignored what it meant but just thought of it as an "intelligent" name. Herpes has everal brothers and sisters, and all have a disease name.

Herpes himself is a big and strong kid, who followed body-buildings process a la Charles Atlas and military training, becoming impressively muscular. However, he retained a soft, childish and chubby "baby face", which kind of ruins the effect of this massive, muscular, almost adult body. Always dressed in a military outfit, he carries everywhere with him guns and firearms, the question being: are they real? Or are they not?

  Sixth Winner: Violet Glockenberry

(Based on Violet Beauregarde)

I wanted with this version to take back the idea of a competitive and "sportive" girl obsessed with contesting and winning - introduced in the Tim Burton movie.

This Violet is a tall, muscular and strong girl. She won numerous sportive competitions, but this doesn't make her just arrogant and prideful like in the Tim Burton version. In my version she is also very aggressive and violent (a bit like in the original novel). She is a nasty and rude bully easily prone to anger (in fact, if she keeps chewing gum it is mostly to calm her down sot hat she doesn't punch everyone around). Her parents originally pushed her towards competitions to manage her anger issues, but sports only gave her more strength and destructive power. In fact, they became terrified of her, while she considers them losers here to serve her - she basically thinks of herself as self-made, literaly.

  Seventh Winner: Charlie Bucket

(Based on: Charlie Bucket)

For this Charlie, I wanted to go with a Charlie similar to the original illustrations of the character: blond hair, blue eyes, a white boy...

Basically, he is the original Charlie. Very sweet, very innocent, a gentle kid, the best of the group.

However I changed slightly his background. Charlie in this version is not the grandson of four grandparents, but rather the big brother of four younger siblings - and his family here struggles with trying to feed five children (and a total of seven mouths) despite having very humble and low-paid jobs. I think Charlie has taken the role of a parentive figure for the siblings, but at the same time him spending so much time with young children helped him keep in touch with his "childish" side.

#charlie and the chocolate factory #catcf #milk chocolate #retelling #charlie bucket #violet beauregarde #mike teavee #augustus gloop #veruca salt #miranda grope #clarence crump

[goosebumpsbookclub]

Stay Out of the Basement

Yes, I'm still doing this.

We descend now into the second chronological entry in the Goosebumps series. I do want to stress that this is only the second book, and R.L. has gone with "plant monsters," something I'd expect from maybe book #50, after he'd run out of all the classic monsters. Points for originality.

The protagonist of this one, Margaret Brewer, is just Amanda Benson again, complete with annoying little brother. (Alas, this little brother, Casey, lacks the inhuman physical strength of his predecessor.) She also has a mom who's away on a trip and a dad who sucks so, so bad.

Basically, this book is told from the point of view of the child of a doomed Jeff VanderMeer character. Margaret's dad is doing science of some sort in the basement after losing his Real Science Job. He's weird and distant and doesn't let his kids enter his lab, so obviously they do enter his lab, where they find messed up plants that breathe. Their dad subsequently gets a lock for the basement door (which, like, why on earth didn't you do that in the first place, my guy) and starts wearing a baseball cap all the time, which is never a good sign. Also he eats dirt. Just out of the bag, like an animal.

What's under the hat? I'm happy to tell you! It's leaves and stuff. Margaret finds this out almost immediately because her dad is supremely bad at hiding his secrets. He convinces her and Casey that growing an entire tree out of the top of your head is actually totally fine and not a cause for concern at all, which is a stupendous feat of gaslighting. Then he serves them green potatoes. Which is also fine. (They don't eat the green potatoes.) His old Real Science Boss shows up, he takes him down into the basement, and the man is never seen again. Which is also fine! This is all great.

When Margaret and Casey inevitably return to the basement to catch another glimpse of those sweet, sweet evil plants, they find the boss's jacket Their dad explains that it was hot down there, so his boss took off his jacket and then forgot to take it with him when he left. This definitely sounds like they're banging. Mr. Brewer basically just told his kids he's gay in order to divert attention away from his weird plants.

A third and final trip to the basement (no lock can stop these children!) reveals the rest of the boss's clothes, confirming that he is their father's lover. More importantly, though, their dad's bound and gagged in the (literal) closet, when he's supposed to be picking their mom up from the airport. Uh oh! Two dads now! One was bad enough. Other Dad shows up and tries to convince the kids he's Real Dad, but Margaret figures out Closet Dad is Real Dad because he shows her love. Real Dad then cuts Other Dad in half with an ax, which, Jesus Christ. It turns out Other Dad was a plant clone that got too strong and stepped into Real Dad's life like a gay green Stepford Wife.

But it wouldn't be Goosebumps without that sweet cliffhanger. Margaret goes out to hang out in the yard, where a plant pokes her foot and tells her it, in fact, is her Real Dad. Fade to black. Fin.

I actually love this twist because it really reinforces the main theme of this book, which is that dads are terrible. Instead of processing his socioeconomic anxiety, this guy alienates himself from his kids and makes horrible horrible plant people, literally creating a surrogate dad to manage childcare. On accident, sure, but surely there's something going on there subconsciously. And at the end of the day Margaret remains unsure which dad is real, because they're functionally the same. Even (supposedly) Real Dad's declaration of love could be a front--Margaret can’t remain convinced of its truth for very long. She gets only a brief respite before she's caught up in her dad's bullcrap again, trying to decipher what the hell is going on with him, trying to keep up with him in order to survive. She's an unwilling player in the Game of Thorns and this guy is Tywin Lannister. Get it? Thorns? Please high-five me.

Ratings:

Cover: The cover I got from the library was the 2003 update, still by Tim Jacobus, and a little busy for my taste, but that plant guy is pretty spooky with his beakers and such. 2.5/5 The original shows a scary plant hand reaching out of the basement, much simpler in concept but detailed and gross and slimy as all Jacobus covers should be. I give it a 4/5.

Scare factor: I found this one less freaky than the first, but the detail about the plants breathing did give me a chill and genuinely reminded me of Annihilation. Also, a guy gets chopped in half with an ax. 3/5.

Dads: 0/5. Be better, dads.

#goosebumps #long post

[hisan-miren]

Redacted File

The First Date Pt 3

The two ate their meal in relative silence- although Mina did see fit to steal one of his sweet potatoes and quickly snatched it up before he could do anything.  He stared at her for a few seconds, completely flabbergasted (which was a hilarious look on him) before he snatched up her umeboshi (since she’d eaten all of her tempura.)  It quickly devolved into the two trying to steal even more of each other’s food and general tomfoolery and laughter after that.  They made sure to pick up anything they dropped or spilled in the chaos, knowing full well that Raios’ mother would thoroughly chew them out if they didn’t.  When the food (and cleanup) was finished, Raios loaded their tableware back on the tray to be taken away later, and the two moved to sit out on the walkway facing the garden.

“So, what comes after this?” Raios asked, half-grumbling.

“Well, I think it generally goes that you propose, I accept, and then we get married and live happily ever after,” Mina replied.

“I didn’t mean our relationship, you idiot!” Raios snapped, his face turning bright red.  “I meant this date!  I’m not exactly a fountain of knowledge when it comes to this!”

“Well-…”  Mina flopped over on her side, laying across Raios’ lap and causing him to panic very briefly, “we could always go to your roo-”

“Rejected,” Raios spat, a cold and angry demeanor taking back over.  “What is with you and my room anyways?  If you try to recommend it one more time, I’m seriously going to smack you.”

“Got it.  Won’t do it again,” she replied, a bit shocked by how genuinely angry he seemed to be at the mere idea of it.  Shocked, but not perturbed.  She’d try again next time.

“Pick something else.”  He still seemed pretty pissed, but his tone had lost a bit of its edge.

“… Isn’t this fine?”

“Huh?”

“Being like this,” she replied, motioning to their position.  “Or did you want to the one using my lap?” she teased.

“Hu- wh- No!  That’s not what I meant at all!” Raios spluttered, cheeks turning dark again. “And this isn’t what I meant! Aren’t people supposed to do things?!”

“This is doing something though,” Mina replied calmly. “And I am plenty satisfied to just stay like this and chat for a few hours.”

“My legs will fall asleep,” Raios complained.

“Then we can switch!  In an hour you can use my lap.”

“Somehow I get the sense that this isn’t exactly what usually happens on a first date.”

“Well yeah,” Mina replied.  “Usually, the boyfriend isn’t grounded.  We made the most of what we could, and it was fine.  I mean, we’re not breaking any records, but I don’t want to set our relationship to the pace of others’.”  Mina made herself comfortable again on his lap and stared up at him, starting yet another staring contest.  She was content to keep going too until Raios eventually sighed and leaned over.  She was so confused about what was going on that she didn’t realize what had happened until the sensation left her lips. She just stared up at him wide-eyed and quietly covered her mouth.  There was a silence and then she raised a finger.  “One more time.”

“Huh?”

“Do it again.  I wasn’t ready.”

“No,” he replied, seeming pretty adamant this time.

“Oh come on!”  She covered her face as she felt her cheeks start to actually physically burn. She kicked her feet against the wood floor and started to roll around in Raios’ lap, trying to remember not to let herself fall.  “Just one more!  Come on, please?!”

“I know you, it definitely won’t be ‘just one more’,” Raios replied flatly.

“You’re so mean!” Mina whined.

“Yup, I’m mean, horrible, awful- feel free to call me all the names you want, you’re not getting another one.”  Mina gave one last futile, dying groan of disappointment and laid flat on Raios’ lap again.

“I didn’t think you’d do it.”

“You underestimated me.”

“Clearly.”  Raios watched, slightly amused, as her face began to turn red again and she quickly tried to re-cover her face.  “Ughhhhh… Let’s just end it here for today. I don’t think I can function after that.”

“You sure?”

“Not at all, but I think I’m going to be completely useless the rest of the day.  Also my self-control just went in the garbage.”

“Huh?!  Your self-control?!” Raios asked.

“I’m gonna die.  I’m legitimately going to die.”

“You’re not gonna die from a kiss,” Raios ground out.

“I am so gonna die.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a drama queen.”

“And I didn’t realize you were such a tease!”

“Well there’s a lot more where that came from,” he replied, grinning smugly.  She looked up at him only to cover her face again.

“Okay, now I’m gonna die.”

“I’m not playing this game.”

“GREAT!  Because I’m already losing!”  Raios just sighed and leaned back while his girlfriend silently freaked out in his lap. “Ugh…  It should be illegal to be that hot…” Mina grumbled to herself.

“I’d be a lot more legal if you took off your rose-tinted glasses.”

“No thanks, I’m happy where they are.”

“You are just-…”  Raios gave a sigh that was somewhere between ‘annoyed’ and ‘exasperated’.

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘incorrigible’,” Mina replied cheekily.

“That’s definitely the word I was looking for.”

“Ready to switch yet?”

“We’re not switching,” Raios replied flatly. “You’ll just use it to kiss me.”

“You saw through it…” Mina grumbled, clicking her tongue and crossing her arms in irritation.  “Then at least give me your hand.  That’s the least you can do.”  She huffed and pouted until Raios eventually felt he had no other recourse but to give into her demands.  He sighed and picked one of his hands off the wooden floor and offered it to her. Mina’s demeanor immediately turned from sullen and dour to gleeful and bright.  Her two smaller hands immediately latched on, and her cheek quickly found its way into her palm.

“What in reverse world is so fun about this?” Raios grumbled. Mina’s thought process was completely beyond him most of the time, but he found this sort of behavior especially weird.  It wasn’t like this was the first time.  She’d done stuff like this to flirt with him even before they started going out, but he didn’t really understand this need for closeness she seemed to have.  He understood wanting to hold hands and be close, but hers seemed to border on outright cuddling.  He didn’t mind, but he didn’t quite get it either.  They sat in silence like that for a while; she spent time feeling out the callouses on his fingers and tracing the wrinkled creases of his palm like she was trying to memorize every inch of it.  A while passed like that without speaking, and eventually Mina sat up and chose to latch herself to Raios’ arm instead.  “I’ve been meaning to ask for a bit, but you’re the type that likes cuddling, aren’t you?”

“If I say ‘yes’, can we cuddle?” she asked hopefully.

“Absolutely not,” Raios replied flatly.  “What if one of my family walked by?  We’re in the garden.  At least pretend to have a bit of shame.”

“But if we weren’t somewhere with other people around?” she asked, eyes glinting with mischief.  

“…I’d think about it…” he replied quietly.

“Alright!” Mina cheered, pumping her fist.

“I didn’t say ‘yes’!” Raios snapped, a bit flustered.

“It’s just as good,” Mina replied.

They sat there and chatted for a while longer, continuing their game of pushing and pulling every now and then until the sun was halfway to the horizon. Raios looked up and judged that it was probably around 5:00pm.  Mina probably had to get home soon.

“Come on, get up,” Raios said, shrugging the arm that she was still very much latched onto.

“Don’t wanna,” Mina pouted.

“Get up,” Raios ground out.  “I gotta take you home.”

“I thought you were grounded,” Mina replied skeptically.

“You honestly think the old hag would allow me to not walk you home?”

“… Fair point.”  Mina reluctantly released him and stood up to stretch.  “We can work out the details of our next date on the way. I wonder where we should go~”

“Ever the opportunist,” Raios sighed, slowly getting up and working the pins and needles out.  The couple made their way over to the entryway, making sure to stop by the kitchen where Raios’ mother would be.  He popped his head in and got his mother’s attention.  She put down the dish she was using to taste the soup, a little surprised that her son had come to find her.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“I’m taking Mina home,” Raios said.

“You know you can’t leave the house, correct?”

“You would really have me not accompany her to ensure she gets home safely?” Raios growled.  Mina was a force of nature.  No one messed with her if they were trying to have a good and decent day.  But it was the principle of the matter.  Mrs. Minori’s placid face slowly morphed into a sly smile, and she turned back to the soup in front of her.

“If you’re not back in 30 minutes, I’m sending your sister after you.”

“I’ll come right back,” he replied quickly.  That was the last thing he wanted.  His sister would interrogate him the entire way back and drive him insane.  Dinner was already going to be bad enough, he didn’t need it to happen without the distraction of food (and he was sure their parents would conveniently ignore her jabs in an attempt to satiate their own curiosity.)  

“D’you get permission?” Mina asked.

“Yup, but I gotta be kinda quick otherwise aneki will be sent for me.  Being alone with her would be the most obnoxious thing in the world.”

“I’m not envious.”

“Must be nice being an only child.”  Mina just shrugged and started slipping her geta on.  Raios quickly followed, suit and the two left to go to her place.

“So, where should we go next time?” Mina asked.  

“A date on the mainland is a bit hard since it’d take most of the day to get there,” Raios mused, “but we might be able to get on a ferry to one of the nearby islands that has more to do.”  He looked over to find Mina pouting which completely bewildered him.  “What? Why are you making that face?”

“Those’re fine ‘n all, but I want something quieter,” she grumbled.

“So what, you just wanna hang out on the beach on the quiet side of the island or something?”  Her eyes lit up, and Raios once again came to the conclusion that there was no understanding his girlfriend.  He sighed in resignation.  “I guess that’s what we’ll be doing then.”  Mina clapped her hands and giggled in glee before once again latching onto his arm.  Raios didn’t even bother trying to get her off this time.  If someone saw them, then they saw them.  

It didn’t take long to arrive at Mina’s house, even with the awkward way she was hanging off him, and Raios stopped at the door.

“Alright, let go.  It’s time for you to go home.”  Mina grumbled under her breath and stubbornly clung to his sleeve.  “Come on, I’ll see you on Monday.”

“It’s too long…”

“It’s the day after tomorrow!” Raios snapped.

“I wish we could just skip to being married already,” Mina pouted, moving to grip the collar of his yukata.

“That’s gonna be a bit,” Raios replied, feeling a bit sheepish. “We’re not even old enough.”  Mina pouted, feeling disheartened when faced with the truth.  “Quit that. You’re being ridiculous.  At least consider for a moment the idea that you may be happier with someone else.”

“Not happening,” Mina growled at him.  “It’s definitely gotta be you.”  Then, Mina violently tugged on him pulling him downwards and caught him completely off guard.  The one Raios had given her had been soft and fleeting.  One of his many ways of gently telling her he loved her and appreciated her. The kiss Mina gave Raios was longer and firmer, and she didn’t even give him a chance to try and lead it.  When she finally let go of him, he covered his mouth with his arm and stumbled back, a violent blush covering his entire face and creeping down his neck.  Mina was almost sure she saw steam coming out of his ears too.

“YOU-!!”  Mina just flashed him a smug smile and stuck her tongue out at him.

“See you Monday~” Mina said, waving to him as she went inside, feeling like she’d set off a whole warehouse’s worth of fireworks.

#Redacted File

[bush-viper-cutie]

“Final Exams Week” || YEAR 3 – Ch.33 (HP au)

                              Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter                          Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 12/4/2020

Word count: 3, 416

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

-----

A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

-----

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Heather ran her tongue against her front teeth and squinted at the words on the page. The sun was shining down on her stolen potions book and no matter how she moved her head to block it, the glossy ink kept blinding her. She sighed and let her head fall back against the rough bark of the tree she was leaning on.

“Angelina said she’d work all summer to afford a firebolt – ”

“The team would be unstoppable then!”

Heather quickly stuffed the potions book in her bag and stood to face Harry and Ron as they approached. “Won’t you act the least bit disappointed you lost the Quidditch Cup? For me? Just for show.”

Ron nearly tripped and slid down the small hill in his attempt to suppress a laugh. “Just face it Heather. You saw how fast Harry was. Next year Gryffindor will win every match, the Quidditch Cup, and the House Cup. And the year after that, and the one after that. There’s no stopping the firebolt!”

“As if.”

“Catch!” Harry tossed a can of iced pumpkin juice at her. “We’ll get you a firebolt over the summer and then maybe Slytherin might be able to keep up.”

Heather caught it and dropped back onto her spot facing the lake. “You know we can’t afford it. And since we can’t, I think a week of gloating is quite enough from you two. You’ve only won a measly match.”

“Says the losing team,” Ron laughed.

Harry and Ron sat beside her and took out their textbooks.

“I can’t believe it’s almost June.” Harry flipped through the pages of his textbook lazily.

“How’re we supposed to study for our exams with all this homework?” Ron turned the pages one by one while staring at the giant squid as it propelled itself out of the water, twirled, and splashed back down.

Tiny waves crashed on the lake shore as laughter could be heard from the other students basking in the sun on the grassy castle grounds.

Heather picked at the can of ice cold pumpkin juice with her nail, wedged it underneath the tab, and plucked it up hearing the tantalizing fizz. She smiled and pressed the opening to her lips.

“WHAT are you three doing!”

Ron, Harry, and Heather screamed as Hermione came out from behind their tree.

“You should be studying for exams!” Hermione handed them each a paper with their study schedules along with their exam times.

Harry waved his textbook in her face. “We’re already doing that.”

Hermione pushed the book away and placed a single hand on her hip. “Not out here. There’s too much distraction.” She dragged the three of them into the castle and forced them to sit down in the much quieter Great Hall during study hour. “Now you can ask the Professors any questions you have.”

Heather, Harry, and Ron grumbled as the summer air blew through the doors.

Heather glanced at Hermione’s exam times and frowned.

‘Monday:

9 o’clock, Arithmancy

9 o’clock Transfigurations

Lunch

1 o’clock, Charms

5 o’clock, Care of MC

11 o’clock, Astronomy

Wednesday:

10 o’clock, Herbology

Lunch

1 o’clock, Defense Against DA

1 o’clock, Ancient Runes

3 o’clock, History of Magic

5 o’clock, Potions

5 o’clock, Muggle Studies’

“Hermione. I don’t think Snape will let you leave early to take your Muggle Studies exam or arrive late from it.” Heather watched Hermione stuff the paper in her bag and push her hair behind her ears.

“Of course not. That’s silly.”

Ron pulled a face. “Then you’ve copied the times wrong.”

“No.” Hermione snapped. “And might I remind you, you’ve got two essays due tomorrow. Now… I NEED to study so no more interruptions – Where’s my copy of ‘Numerology and Grammatica’? Have you seen it?”

“Yeah, I used it for a bit of bedtime reading last night,” Ron mumbled.

Heather pulled the book out from under a stack of five and slid it roughly across the table to her. How could Hermione not trust them? After everything they’d been through? What. Was she afraid of spilling her punctuality secrets?

Hedwig flew down and landed on the large stack of books besides Heather. She pulled the letter out of her beak and handed it to Harry to read while she smoothed down Hedwig’s fluffy white feathers.

“From Hagrid.” He turned the note over and flipped it open. “Buckbeak’s appeal… Its set for the sixth of June. That’s next month…”

“That’s the last day of exams,” Hermione said from behind her book.

“Well they’re coming up to the school for it with a Ministry official… and an executioner.”

Hermione gasped.

Ron took the note out of Harry’s hand and turned it around to read for himself. “That’s not bloody fair!”

“Mr. Weasley!” Professor McGonagall gave them menacing eyes from the High Table.

“It doesn’t sound like they’ll be very willing to hear Hagrid out.” Heather gripped her quill tight and poked holes into her parchment. “Not fair at all. Poor Buckbeak.”

“It’s Malfoy’s fault.” Harry looked around for him, ready to stare daggers.

“Yeah, and I’ve got a stack of handwritten Hippogriff research scrolls to shove down his throat. Where is he?” Ron stood, searching with Harry for their target.

“Do not make things worse with him,” Heather warned.

Although she managed to settle them down to study that day, she could not help the growing hostility between them for the next several days. However subdued Draco had been after the Slytherin Gryffindor match loss was all in the past now. Draco had regained his confidence after hearing from his father about Buckbeak’s scheduled beheading, thinking it was all thanks to him, and was now parading around the castle with Lockhart’s same pompous attitude.

After his daily dose of bragging, gloating, and boasting he took extra time from his busy schedule to sneer at them from afar, whisper rude comments about it in the corridors, and even pass taunting notes to Harry and Ron during classes.

‘Ignore him’ was all Heather and Hermione were saying until exam week began, and an unusual silence fell upon the castle. Even Percy was going around shushing anyone who disturbed the quiet of the corridors.

“People are studying!” he hissed at a group of second years before going back to soundlessly reciting charms and spells on his way up to the Gryffindor common room.

“He’s almost as bad as Hermione,” Ron noted, turning around to watch Hermione bump into student after student from behind a leather-bound book so large it hid even her bushy hair.

Harry eyed Heather as she doodled in her art journal as they walked. “How are you managing to not have a mental collapse like them?”

Heather scoffed. “For the same reason the Slytherins and Ravenclaws never worry over exams. Slytherins are always studying and Ravenclaws are always OVER studying – It’s not impressive they could pass next year’s exams, it’s annoying. They should stop bragging.”

They sat all of Monday’s exams and by late dinner the whole school was spent and puffy eyed. Heather sat with Pansy and her friends who were all talking about the tasks for Transfigurations, particularly the one that involved turning a brick into a crow.

“Yours looked like a raven.”

“Did you see Cindy’s magpie?”

“I heard Neville’s was still red – ”

“I heard Neville’s was still a brick.”

Heather rolled her eyes and turned away. Almost everyone at the table was bragging about their results, which would be fine if she wasn’t a little insecure about her transfiguration and charm skills. As much as she tried, Hermione was always better and got the spells faster than Heather did. The only reason she wasn’t more worried about her skills on those subjects were mostly due to Ron and Harry and their consistently horrible attempts.

Draco turned to Heather and smiled. “Know what I Saw in the crystal ball?”

“Was it Hermione smacking you again?”

He frowned and stabbed his fork into his potato salad. “No. That pigeons head rolling around those pumpkins. Got perfect marks for that too.”

“That’s funny. I saw YOUR head rolling around the boy’s urinals. Perfect marks on that prediction as well.”

Draco set down his fork and slid his wand out of his sleeve and pointed it at her, hidden from view of the High Table. “Is that a threat, Potter?”

Heather scoffed and leaned forward. “It is if you don’t stop talking about murdering that poor creature.”

He laughed and nudged Goyle beside him. “Hear that? She thinks she can take me.”

Heather had better things to do than sit around the table entertaining Draco and the two goons beside him. She still had Astronomy to study for and got up to join the several other students who were gathering at the astronomy tower to go over star charts and planet paths.

The test was on the last century only and as much as she hated when Harry cheated, even she knew he’d need her answers to pass. What star constellation was visible during the mountain troll attack of Hogsmeade in 1901? What planetary alignment led to the invention of self-tying brogues? The easiest part was the final question which asked what the current visible stars, constellations, and planets were.

After the test Professor Sinistra collected their telescopes and let them hang around for a few minutes while she put them away.

Ron’s hair danced in the wind as he leaned over the stone half-wall and squinted through the darkness at the grounds. “Er… Harry? Did YOU remember to put our Salamander away after the exam?”

Harry pulled him back and leaned over the wall, holding his glasses securely to his face as he looked down. “I’m sure Hagrid will notice the small fire…”

Heather looked down and saw tiny flames growing in the bushes on the outskirt of the forbidden forest. “Is there ever a year where you two WON’T damage the school in some way?”

“What did we do first year?” Harry pulled them back and together headed down the tower stairs.

If they still had their invisibility cloak Heather would have suggested going down to tell Hagrid about it and also taken the opportunity to check in on him – which they hadn’t been able to do for several weeks due to the strict rules on Harry and her because of Sirius Black. The strict rules wouldn’t be much of a problem, except the cloak was still down in the one-eyed witch’s tunnel which was under constant guard of Snape, Filch, and Mrs. Norris after their last talk and Heather’s outburst in Snape’s office.

She didn’t think there was anyone as naturally suspicious and distrustful as Snape was. The way he could smell out trouble and deceit and stay on his intuition was impressive in some ways and just downright annoying now that she disliked him.

The next day was spent studying for Wednesday’s exams in the common room during the morning – since Harry and Ron had stayed up late and were fast asleep during valuable studying hours – and the library and study hall in the afternoon with Hermione as frantic as ever.

“Oh! Why is there so much to know!” Hermione gathered all her notes and pulled at her hair. “I-I’m going to go splash water on my face.” She stood with a thick pile of notes in her hand and walked away from their table towards the large Great Hall doors.

Heather bit her lip and ran to catch up to her. “I’ll go with you. I could quiz you with those notes while you dunked your whole face in water if you wanted.”

Hermione stopped her and shook her head. “Oh, no, that’s alright Heather.” She stood waiting for Heather to turn around and march back to Harry and Ron.

“I don’t mind.” Heather crossed her arms.

Hermione nodded slowly and handed her the stack of notes. “Wonderful.” She walked out of the Great Hall and down the corridor towards the girl’s bathroom.

Heather looked through the notes and found the ones for Ancient Runes. “What’s – er – the symbol with the bug and two lines mean?”

“Too easy. It’s the letter ‘B’. Give me actual sentences.” Hermione turned the cold water on and ran her hands under.

“Hermione. How are you going to take this exam at the same time as Defense Against Dark Arts? In fact, how have you been attending this class at all?” Heather stared at Hermione reflection and watched her look around the sink.

She frowned and turned off the running water. “I – well – You’re supposed to be quizzing me. I have six exams tomorrow – ”

“You’re keeping a secret. I know it Hermione. I can understand why you wouldn’t tell Harry and Ron… but me? Last year you got upset that – ”

“Yes I know! But… I’m sorry, I’m just not allowed to tell. I swore I wouldn’t.” Hermione took back her notes and looked down at her shoes. “You can go back. I’m staying here for a minute.”

Heather clenched her jaw and ignored the tightness in her chest that made her want to tear up. Before she had friends she’d always found it easy to hold back tears. Now it was hard to not show her emotions around them, even when she was hurt and sad. “Just tell me. Please? You’ve hardly been around while somehow being around and if it’s because of this secret so why not just let me know? We’re best friends.”

Hermione looked up with watery eyes. “Then why don’t you share your secret first?”

Heather looked around at the dirty tiled floor and up at the streaky mirror. Should she come clean about the raskovnik growing in her charmed pot? She’d have to explain then about the stolen library books as well…

“I know you and Draco hung out over the summer. You went to his house. I overheard it.” Hermione wiped at her eyes and huffed. “He’s always using the word mudblood, always fighting with Ron and Harry, and now he’ll be responsible for Buckbeak’s death… and you’re friends with him. Harry doesn’t even know you’ve been INSIDE his house.”

“It was only a few days! I swear! I hated it there but I NEEDED to. You don’t understand how it is in Slytherin. Flint doesn’t even want me on the team for being a girl. I have to keep up the drills and beat all those stupid boys who are all so much stronger than me! I don’t even know what I’ll do next year if Flint doesn’t get held back again and some other idiot becomes team captain.” Heather pressed her palms to her eyes and sniffed. “I have to prove I’m not weak because I’m a girl. I have to prove I’m not weak because I’m a half-blood. I have to prove I’m not a house traitor because of Harry.” Heather wiped her nose on her sweater sleeve and sighed. “I don’t get to relax comfortably in a house that just accepts me… Everyone’s always watching me, waiting to see me trip up and prove them all right… And then I’m stuck all summer in a house that forbids magic? I’m sorry Hermione… please understand? I know how horrible he is to us. But I needed his help.”

“I… do. I’m sorry I know it must be hard not being in Gryffindor with us. But who cares what they think? They’re all just a bunch of blood-purists. You have us aleways. And we don’t judge you or anyone else like that.” Hermione hugged her and pulled away.

Heather nodded and wiped the few tears that had escaped. She was relieved Hermione forgave her. Maybe if Harry found out, would he too? Although it might be harder after Buckbeak’s appeal depending on the outcome. “What’s your secret then?”

Hermione sighed and hugged her arms. “I really can’t say… yet… Look, I swear I’ll tell you on the train. But you can’t tell Harry or Ron… ESPECIALLY not Ron. He could mess up the whole world and even worse, get me expelled.”

Heather nodded and they sealed the deal with a hand shake. She walked back into the Great Hall and a minute later Hermione followed and was back to her usual frantic self.

The next morning was the Herbology exam which had them out in the sun baking to crisps in the greenhouses. Defense Against the Dark Arts exam was after lunch and Professor Lupin had made them some sort of obstacle course outside.

“Oh no…” Heather’s eyes swept across the transformed grounds closest to the lake at the small pool labeled ‘Grindylows’, the field of potholes labeled ‘Red Caps’, and the patch of marsh labeled ‘Hinkypunks’.

“The end of the exam is hidden. Full marks to those who come out the right tree.” Professor Lupin smiled and signaled the start of the exam.

They waded through the pool – holding their socks and shoes in one hand and their wands in the other – then jumped over the Red caps, squished through the marsh while Hinkypunks shouted misleading directions, and headed into the trees. Heather stayed on the marked path and tried to figure out the correct tree. There was a large tree the width of Hagrid’s shack with a large hole carved out the side. It looked hungry, with its gaping mouth showing the darkness that would engulf anyone who entered.

Harry was the first to crawl in with Hermione, Heather, and Ron following in right after. With wands up they fought the new boggart that was shoved into a hollowed branch. For her turn, Heather swallowed as it slithered out from its hole in the darkness and dropped to the ground just beyond the light of her wand.

“Riddikulus!” Heather shouted, before it could manifest into anything. A bouncing red and gold ball rolled into the light. She shot a simple spell at it and it shot back into its hole, wedging in tight.

Almost everyone had received full marks, except poor Neville who had to face his grandmother telling him Snape would be his new grandfather. He was so shaken up several students had to help walk him up to their next exam, History of Magic.

Heather was fairly certain she’d passed all her exams so far, and was now worried about potions.

“After this we’re free!” Ron skipped down the corridor. “The last exam of the year!”

Heather could still hear herself shouting at Snape to shut up and the look of pure rage on his face. She was going to fail. She knew it. He hadn’t even given her detention for that – nothing. He was waiting for this exam to get back at her and Harry.

“We’re going to fail this one.” Heather shook Harry’s arm as they walked down the dungeon stairs. “He’s going to give us low marks out of vengeance!”

Harry pushed her away. “What’s new?”

“He’s never done that to me! You, I understand, but I always get high grades! Second to Malfoy – ”

Hermione huffed. “I thought you were second to me.”

They took their seats near the back of the classroom.

“No… Second to Malfoy but I’d be first if he’d just let me ‘study’ with him – ”

“Silence.” Professor Snape stood from his desk and began explaining the exam.

They were afforded two whole hours to brew a Confusing Concoction which turned into the biggest, messiest disaster Heather had yet seen. Cauldrons were erupting with goo, over spilling with sticky liquid, or hardening into chunks that melted out the cauldron bottoms.

It took Heather almost the full two hours to complete the potion and in the end she wasn’t sure if it was supposed to look like yellow cake batter in there. Snape peered in and grinned before marking his notes and tisking vindictively. He then stepped over to Harry’s cauldron and waited as Harry desperately tried to thicken his up enough. Snape stood tapping his notes with his fingers and the second the bells tolled, scribbled something suspiciously like a zero and walked away.

They left the dungeons feeling empty and relieved that everything was over. Heather and Hermione were starting to poke fun at Ron and Harry’s attempts when their attention was caught by the two men waiting at the bottom of the Entrance Hall stairs.

Cornelius Fudge and a black-hooded man with a large blade stood looking at all the students as they ran to the Great Hall for late dinner.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

                          Chapter List

<-- Last chapter                       Next chapter -->

-----

@lokilover-39

@halcyonrogers

@krazykatkay456

@lady-of-black-roses

@writingmi

@joscelyn02

-----

#harry potter #heather potter #severus snape x oc #severus x oc #snape x oc #severus snape x reader #severus x reader #snape x reader #snape fanfic #pro snape #snape fanfiction #snape fan fiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction

[foodreceipe]

The 1990s Moments That Changed the Way We Think About Food

By: Anna Hezel Illustrations: Ellie Skrzat

The ’90s were a decade of information, SnackWell’s, and sun-dried tomatoes on everything. Here are eight events that shaped our opinions about cooking and eating.

1. The Launch of the TV Food Network In April of 1993, a young and scrappy Food Network launched with a debut lineup of French chef Jacques Pepin, writer David Rosengarten, Mrs. Fields founder Debbi Fields, and Emeril Lagasse, a little-known Louisiana restaurateur in his mid-30s with only a handful of prior television appearances under his belt.

Dorie Greenspan, who worked at the network during its launch as a consultant and producer, remembers it as a pioneering time in the unexplored realm of food television. On the TASTE Podcast, Greenspan recalled the head of programming at the time saying, “We’re going to make somebody a star, but we don’t know who that person will be.” It swiftly became clear that Emeril was that star.

In addition to the runaway hits, like Essence of Emeril, there were misgivings during the launch. “This was really a startup in every sense of the word,” she told me. “We made some terrible mistakes. We couldn’t figure out a bunch of things. We tried doing a call-in show, which seemed revolutionary. We were learning.”

The only model the network had at the time for programming about cooking was public television—shows like James Beard’s I Love to Eat and Julia Child’s The French Chef. But the move to cable meant a move toward the mainstream. “I don’t think you can underestimate the impact of that,” says Ruth Reichl. “That’s the moment that food really stopped being the provenance of the elites and became part of popular culture. Children watched it and were interested in chefs, and chefs became cool in a way that they hadn’t before.”

2. Fat Is Bad, But Everything Else Is Good At the tail end of the ’80s, a few influential government reports were published, recommending that Americans consume less fat. Americans internalized this as a directive that it was OK to consume as many calories as they wanted, as long as those calories weren’t coming from fat. A zany infomercial nutritionist named Susan Powter encouraged Americans to fill their shopping carts with cereal and low-fat chips, and SnackWell’s were born, promising unlimited amounts of dessert with no health repercussions.

Lay’s launched one of the most famous product missteps in the history of American consumerism. WOW chips, introduced in 1998, promised the same potato chip flavor with only one gram of fat per serving—a feat made possible by frying in a synthetic fat substitute called Olestra. Almost as soon as the chips hit the market, accounts started to pour in of horrible stomach woes caused by the chips. The FDA famously used the phrase “anal leakage” to describe the side effects, leading to one of the grossest and most memorable PR disasters in the history of packaged foods.

3. Sushi Goes Mainstream By the ’90s, sushi had existed in the United States for more than three decades, but this was the moment when it really caught on, especially as Japanese companies opened offices in U.S. cities. “It all started when Sony bought Columbia Pictures in 1989 and the entire West Coast went mad for sushi,” speculates Alan Richman, who was the restaurant critic at GQ at the time.

Everyone started opening sushi restaurants, including Robert DeNiro with a then little-known chef named Nobuyuki Matsuhisa, and in turn, sushi evolved from a rarefied luxury that one could only find in coastal cities to a casual, affordable treat that happened to fit perfectly into the era’s philosophy about nutrition. And then grocery stores started to catch on, stocking their refrigerator cases with plastic trays of California and spicy tuna rolls.

4. The Dawn of Online Recipes When we talk about the kind of rapid globalization that happened in the ’90s, it’s hard to avoid talking about the Internet, which shattered our spatial relationships to one another by making it as easy to talk to someone in Australia as it was to talk to the kid in your social studies class who lived down the street.

As the Internet became woven into our daily lives through services like Prodigy and America Online, it was only a matter of time before this rapidly growing technology became a way to disseminate the recipes and cooking advice that you could previously find only in magazines and cookbooks.

In 1995, Condé Nast launched Epicurious, a forward-thinking database of recipes compiled from some of the company’s food and travel magazines, including Bon Appétit and Gourmet. By the end of the decade, blogging platforms like Blogger and Xanga had emerged, paving the way for a generation of self-publishing food bloggers, like David Lebovitz in 1999, and Heidi Swanson, Pim Techamuanvivit, and Clotilde Dusoulier in the early 2000s.

5. A New Era for Restaurant Critics “I think the ’90s were the great era of restaurants in America,” says Alan Richman. The economy was strong, people had money to spend, and newspapers and magazines had budgets to send their critics to eat out and report on the latest trends in food. Fine-dining stalwarts in New York, like Le Bernardin, Daniel, and Jean-Georges, were thriving. But it was also a time when critics like Robert Sietsema at the Village Voice and Ruth Reichl at The New York Times started to clue diners in to the fact that “eating out” didn’t always have to mean French restaurants with white tablecloths.

“I was interested in talking about the way real people ate,” says Reichl. “I felt like restaurant reviews in The New York Times had been geared to a very small group of wealthy white people. And I thought everybody should go to restaurants.”

When Reichl reviewed her first Korean restaurant, Kang Suh, in 1993, three separate local Korean newspapers from New York reached out to her for interviews. When she wrote about a soba restaurant called Honmura An that same year, it caused a flap among readers who weren’t used to seeing “a little Japanese noodle shop” receive three stars.

6. NAFTA Reshapes California’s Food Landscape In 1994, NAFTA (the North American Free Trade Agreement) was signed, formalizing a trade agreement among Canada, Mexico, and the United States. As Tina Vasquez writes, the agreement was greeted with lots of anti-immigrant pushback among Americans. Carlos Salinas de Gortari, the Mexican president at the time, promised Americans that the agreement would reduce migration by stabilizing Mexico’s economy.

Instead, the agreement caused vast unemployment in Mexican industries that struggled with their new competition, leading to one of the largest historic spikes in immigration to the United States from Mexico. This brought a boom of Mexican grocery stores, butchers, restaurants, and other businesses to the U.S., especially in Californian communities like the Bay Area and Los Angeles. Grocery store chains like Chavez Supermarkets, Vallarta Market, and Northgate González are still thriving in these parts of the state.

7. Italian Food Goes Regional In my house, in a suburb of Buffalo, New York, the ’90s was the era when the green Kraft canister of Parmesan cheese in the refrigerator was replaced with a little plastic-wrapped triangle of hard cheese and a hand-crank cheese grater. Starbucks and Olive Garden (which were founded in the ’70s and ’80s, respectively) were starting to make their way into every suburb, and Americans were warming up to the idea of saying “venti” out loud.

Marcella Hazan, Italy’s Julia Child, published The Essentials of Italian Cooking in 1992, and Molto Mario (starring Mario Batali before he had been accused of sexual assault) first aired in 1996. Americans were coming to terms with the fact that Italian food was more than a plate of spaghetti and meatballs—it was a cuisine with discrete regions, like Piedmont and Emilia-Romagna. And of course, every chef and home cook in America started putting sun-dried tomatoes on everything.

8. The Collapse of the Soviet Union Rewrites the World Map When the Soviet Union ended in 1991, the entire world map changed. Countries that hadn’t had a spot on the spinning globe in decades reemerged, and a few altogether new ones were formed. Suddenly, trade opened up between these countries and the rest of the world, spurring a period of wild, unregulated capitalism. Soviet-government-owned food-manufacturing companies started going out of business.

“Everyone wanted pizza, and later in the ’90s sushi, and there was this huge flood of new, very shoddy quality global foods, to which most people didn’t have access because the prices weren’t regulated,” says Anya Von Bremzen, the author of Please to the Table and Mastering the Art of Soviet Cooking. “It’s a decade that’s remembered really negatively in that former Soviet bloc.”

The dissolution of the USSR also increased immigration to the U.S. from former Soviet countries. Cuba, which had been a close ally of the Soviet Union, was plunged into an economic depression, during which lack of ingredients lead to a loss of traditional Cuban cuisine.

On a broader level, as Von Bremzen points out, this large-scale globalization was the start of another very ’90s concept: nostalgia for all things regional.

https://www.tastecooking.com/1990s-moments-changed-way-think-food/?utm_source=pocket-newtab

Recipes:   https://www.tastecooking.com/recipes/

   Most Recent features 

Calamari in Crisis    February 2, 2021                                                          

Hetty McKinnon and the Quiet Power of Tomato and Egg February 1, 2021                                                                  

Got Milk? Make Salsa.

#Food #1990s #cooking and eating

[peterxwade24]

BWYD Shorts

Ma Kent Part 3

Jonathan Kent tucked Marinette into bed, the bed Connor usually claimed when he stayed the night, before he sat on the end of the bed. “Do you wanna tell me what caused you to run from the barn earlier?”

Marinette shrugged before pulling the collar of the shirt, one of Jason’s, higher around her neck. “Mrs. Kent was being mean to you, and talking badly about Ubaba. But Ubaba’d never hurt me, never!” Marinette sat up straight and stared at Jonathan. “Ubaba and Jay-Jay saved me from bad people in Paris. They brought me home and understood when I only spoke French, they gave me a safe place to live after Maman and Papa burned with our apartment. Ubaba and Jay-Jay gave me a family, they made sure that everyone else was nice to me.”

Jonathan felt his blood run cold. “Little calf, when you say bad people, what did they do?” He looked at Marinette, looking for any evidence of past abuse.

Marinette wrapped her arms around herself and shrugged. “Got mad when I spoke languages other than French, or when I didn’t know what they wanted from me, or when I was better than their kids at school, or when I wanted to go to my friends’ houses.”

Jonathan frowned before he moved to sit beside Marinette. “Little calf. Hey. None of that was your fault, and I will protect you from whatever I possibly can.”

Marinette leaned against Jonathan’s side for a while, the two talking about whatever until Marinette fell asleep. Jonathan tucked her back in before pressing a kiss to her forehead and leaving the room for the night.

Jonathan walked into his bedroom and got into bed. He stared at the ceiling until Martha came to bed, at which point he turned to face the wall. “She lived a horrible life before Bruce rescued her. You’re not helping.”

---

Jonathan and Marinette were out of the house before Martha woke up. Martha didn’t see them until it was time for dinner. Martha made fried chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans.

Jonathan sat at the head of the table, Marinette to his right and Martha to his left. Jonathan talked to both of them but they didn’t talk to each other. And then, when Marinette got ready for bed, Jonathan tucked her in and let her talk some more.

---

Martha startled awake, glanced at the clock and saw it was just after midnight. She rolled out of bed before pulling on a robe and walking out of her bedroom. She walked down the hall to the room Marinette was staying in and pulled open the door. She sat down on the bed beside Marinette and pulled her into her lap.

Marinette struggled for a few moments before settling down, smelling the familiar scent of farm animals and floral.

“Oh sweet pea.” Martha wrapped her arms around Marinette and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I know I haven't been very understanding since you got here but I’ll try harder. I’ll try to get along with you better.” Martha wiped away the tears that cascaded down Marinette’s face before pulling her close. “It’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to but I will always be here when you have a nightmare. I will always be here to comfort you after a nightmare and sometimes that’s all anyone needs.”

---

Marinette hugged Jonathan before hugging Martha. “Bye Grandma. Bye Grandpa.” Marinette waved as she ran to her dad.

Martha leaned against Jonathan as they waved at their little granddaughter. She waited until Marinette and Bruce had driven away from the house to talk to her husband. “You ready the shotgun, I’ll buy the plane tickets. We’ll murder whoever hurt our little girl.”

@dast218 @amayakans @toodaloo-kangaroo @crazylittlemunchkin @marinettepotterandplagg 

#maribat #ml crossover #mlb crossover #ml x dc #mlb x dc #bruce wayne's youngest daughter