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synchronousemma · 2 years ago

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1st June: Mr. Knightley is suspicious

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Read: Vol. 3, ch. 5 [41]; pp. 224 (“In this state of schemes” to “seemed somewhat out of place”).

Context

The Campbells push their return from Ireland back from Midsummer, at the end of June, to August; Jane is thus to stay in Highbury longer than planned. Mr. Knightley dines with the Randalls family and Jane at the Eltons’, and sees several looks cast at Jane Fairfax by Frank Churchill that lead him to suspect the latter of some double-dealing with respect to Emma.

We know that this occurs as “June open[s]” (p. 224).

Note that this write-up contains spoilers.

Readings and Interpretations

Discretion and Indiscretion

The opening of this chapter gives us an overview of the disposition of various characters. Per Alistair Duckworth, “an insidious note is present from the first sentence” of the chapter (“In this state of schemes, and hopes, and connivance…” p. 224) (p. 171). Loraine Fletcher notes that the action begins to escalate from this point onwards:

In chapter 41 we first begin to see the action through Knightley’s eyes. There are many different plots to resolve: ‘In this state of schemes, and hopes, and connivances, June opened upon Hartfield’. In the word game at Hartfield, the strawberry-picking at Downwell Abbey and the picnic and word game on Box Hill, episodes that succeed each other, the confusion between Emma’s and the narrator’s fiction is at its most intense. As the heroine’s imaginary world breaks down, all actions become increasingly inexplicable to her, and uncontrollable--even her own […]. As Knightley watches we know that some resolution is coming. He has learned enough from Emma to see that he too may be capable of imaginative blundering, something that Emma never suspects. (p. 40)

For David Medalie, this passage

reveals a tension between competing ‘stories’ or narratives. The most beguiling is the one which declares Emma to be the ‘indisputable’ object of Frank Churchill, since this narrative coincides with a general desire to see Emma and Frank united in marriage. This outcome is what would gratify the little society of Highbury; it amounts, therefore, to a form of communal self-satisfaction. The blindness which proceeds from this prevents the onlookers from ‘reading’ the situation correctly—establishing yet again the link between self-satisfaction and false knowledge. For all the goodwill it implies, the story of Frank’s ‘pursuit of Emma’ constitutes a partiality which is nevertheless entirely lacking in ‘sympathy’ (in the sense in which Hume and Smith use the term), since there is none of the distance which objectivity requires and no awareness of the fallaciousness of expecting that other people’s wishes will inevitably coincide with one’s own.

It requires ‘sympathy’ to unlock the secret and recognise the situation for what it is, as opposed to what people wish it to be; and Mr Knightley is identified here as astutely ‘sympathetic’, using close and precise observation and his knowledge of human behaviour to uncover the ‘private understanding’ between Jane and Frank. He manages to overcome his own emotional involvement—his dislike of Frank, and feelings of jealousy towards him—in order to attain a level of disinterestedness which allows him a certain distance and, therefore, a measure of objectivity. Empirical observation precedes cognition: covert glances and hints of subterfuge between the two become apparent to him before he understands fully their significance. (p. 9)

Discussion Questions

Is Knightley, as Medalie claims, a disinterested observer in this instance? Has he uncovered the truth of the situation?

What does Knightley’s suspicion suggest about the nature of observation and knowledge in Emma?

Bibliography

Austen, Jane. Emma (Norton Critical Edition). 3rd ed. Ed. Stephen M. Parrish. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, [1815] 2000.

Duckworth, Alistair M. “Emma and the Dangers of Individualism.” In The Improvement of the Estate: A Study of Jane Austen’s Novels. Baltimore, ML: John Hopkins Press, 1971, pp. 145–78.

Fletcher, Loraine. “Emma, the Shadow Novelist.” Critical Survey 4.1 (1992), pp. 36–44.

Medalie, David. “‘Myself Creating What I Saw’: Sympathy and Solipsism in Jane Austen’s Emma.” English Studies in Africa 56.2 (2013), pp. 1–13. DOI: 10.1080/00138398.2015.856553.

#Emma #Jane Austen #Emma Woodhouse #Mr. Knightley #Jane Fairfax #Frank Churchill #Mrs. Bates #Mr. Elton #Mrs. Elton #e

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blccmngs · 5 months ago

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That was how most of the softer moments of their relationship were dealt with. Brushed past and ignored almost like they hadn't happened. They were happening more and more regularly, though, which definitely meant something about the shift in their relationship. They would just not talk about it, though, until they absolutely had to like the last big conversation about where their relationship stood. But, for now, Parrish would happily pretend that they were something more serious, something a bit softer, and enjoy his time practically being pampered by Lucian. "I look like a wet cat," he muttered despite being unable to see himself. It was just a ridiculous thing that he had thrown out to describe how the small part of his brain that was still clinging to being pouty and sick felt. That didn't matter, though, because he definitely looked better than the sweaty and exhausted state that he had been in when Lucian had first arrived. "A little bit," Parrish admitted, surprisingly easy. There was a small jerk of his shoulders in surprise at the brief cold of the soap before he was relaxing again. Silence settled over them for a beat or two before he glanced up at Lucian. "Thanks."

he was convinced they would never speak about this again. maybe wishful thinking, but maybe parrish would have the same thought - that this was getting just close to something real. something they were never supposed to be. but right now, when parrish seemed so small under his fingers; he couldn't imagine being anywhere else. it wasn't the time to talk about it, but he could feel it in his gut - at some point he had started to fall for the blonde head of floppy hair. not fall for like he usually did, not the empty words and promises that lasted until he saw the next pretty face, but something new that left him feeling like he was free falling through the universe, "you really are though, baby. the most adorable - even when you're sick." he chuckles softly, head shaking back and forth as parrish's face nuzzled into him like he was a kitten, "look at you," his voice is reverent, gazing down at where their skin met. it almost slips out then - i'm falling for you, stop doing that, stop making it worse. he just finishes rinsing the shampoo from his hair, moving onto the conditioner, easily working it through his hair and rinsing it out. "feel any better?" he reaches for the soap, squeezing it directly onto his back, not thinking how cold it would be, but quickly his hands are on parrish's back, rubbing into his muscles.

#littlcfreaks #( with all respect which is none ; parrish. )#( putting things off ; queue. )

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mst3kproject · 4 years ago

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The Astral Factor

This movie has a great deal to offer the MSTie. It was written by Arthur C. Pierce, who did the same job on The Human Duplicators, and it can boast the presences of Leslie Parrish of The Giant Spider Invasion, Frank Ashmore of Parts: the Clonus Horror, and Rayford Barnes from Mitchell. The premise is ludicrous but presented with a perfectly straight face, and the whole thing just oozes 70’s-ness.

Roger Sands is a man of many talents, the most important of which for our purposes is his ability to become invisible in a shower of disco sparkles. This allows him to escape from prison, argue with his mother’s ghost (who apparently throws bangin’ parties in the afterlife) and go on a killing spree. The cops know who they’re hunting because he’s left fingerprints all over the place, but they have no idea how he’s moving around unseen. Fortunately, the prison psychologist knows some psychics who might be able to help them out… but will they be in time to save the various celebrities Sands is stalking, women who remind him of his own neglectful mother?

The main impression one gets from The Astral Factor is that it’s a parade of clichés. The first victim is killed in a bubble bath. Chuck the detective gets dragged out of bed to come investigate the case, which makes his girlfriend pout because she was hoping for sex. The killer is obsessed with his mother. Dogs and birds can sense Sands’ presence when he’s invisible. Chuck’s girlfriend is a terrible cook. That sort of thing. None of this needs to kill a movie, of course… clichés become clichés because they work.

Much worse for the movie is that it isn’t very interested in its characters. Sands’ backstory is that his mother was a movie star who thought it would ruin her career if it came out that she’d been briefly married and pregnant at the age of seventeen. She therefore distanced herself from him, leaving him feeling unwanted and invisible (insert giant blinking neon sign that says METAPHOR) until he finally got fed up and strangled her. This isn’t a bad setup for a movie’s serial killer, but the narrative doesn’t do much with it. Sands has a list of women he wants to murder, but we never find out what makes them good potential victims beyond simply being famous blondes. Surely there should be some moment of recognition, some sin they’ve each committed against their own families, but apparently ‘famous and blonde’ should be enough.

Opposed to Sands is, of course, Chuck the detective. He comes across as kind of a jerk but he does seem to love his empty-headed girlfriend Candy. I think his arc is meant to be that he starts off skeptical of the paranormal but is eventually forced to believe, but this is pretty badly mishandled – when the prison psychiatrist talks about Sands’ interest in psychic phenomena, Chuck seems bored rather than disbelieving, and when a man demonstrates telekinesis in front of him, he accepts it but looks entirely unimpressed. He never seems to be really affected by the phenomena he encounters. Instead of a man whose worldview is shaken to the core, Chuck appears to be merely annoyed that this is yet another thing he has to deal with.

The other possible arc Chuck has is that Candy suggests he get a job with ‘normal hours’ so that she no longer has to make coffee for his co-workers when they come to tell him about a murder in the middle of the night. He says he’ll think about it, but there’s no follow-up.

Finally, there’s Christine, the potential victim that we’re supposed to get attached to and worry about. She’s a spoiled trophy wife who hangs around in her mansion drinking while her husband, who lost all interest in her once she turned thirty, is out of town. The problem with her is that she doesn’t have much by way of a personality. In one scene she’s grateful for the cops protecting her, in the next she’s telling them to piss off and let her go shopping in peace, and then suddenly she’s sobbing in her room. Are these supposed to be mood swings? It feels more like neither the writers nor the actress cared enough to figure out who she is.

I guess that brings us to the movie’s misogyny, which is as rich and gooey as the inside of a lava cake but does not taste like chocolate. First of all, Sands’ problems are said to be his mother’s fault – she abandoned him, leaving him no choice but to murder women who remind him of her! The prison psychologist specifically absolves Sands of responsibility for his own crimes. He cannot be reformed, he cannot be helped, he must be locked up because his mother’s selfishness (more interested in her own career than in raising her son) destroyed his mind. Never mind that there are people with neglectful or even abusive parents who don’t grow up to be serial killers.

The women Sands kills are celebrities – models, dancers, actresses, socialites – because they remind him of his fame-obsessed mother. But as I previously mentioned, they’re not really all that like her. We don’t see any signs of any of them having families they neglect. The only one who even seems to have a husband is Christine and it’s him who neglects her. Perhaps the point is supposed to be that Sands has misjudged them, but we don’t see any signs of them being better than his mother in this respect, either. Most of them seem to have avoided children in order to focus on their careers. Perhaps in the mind of a male writer in the 70’s, this is itself a sin.

Certainly the movie is not interested in these women as characters. I’ve already discussed Christine, but there are others. The first one comes home, takes a bath, and dies. The second one is working on a painting when her dog runs off – she chases it, and she and the dog both die. The third is the dancer at her rehearsal. She has the creeps for no reason, does her rehearsal, and dies. The emphasis is always on their bodies: they’re sexy, then they’re dead. The sequence with the dancer is particularly weird, with her male partner representing the devil dressed in some kind of bondage getup.

The most frustrating thing about The Astral Factor, though, is that it really doesn’t know what to do with its premise. It keeps bringing up interesting ideas about what a psychic murderer might be able to do, and then just drops them.

The opening scene, in which Sands escapes from jail after telekinetically beating up his cellmate with furniture, seems to promise us a much more exciting movie than we get. After escaping, Sands visits the cemetery and his heart-to-heart with ghost mom is interrupted by a security guard. Sands uses his powers to push the guy into an open grave and bury him alive! I wanted to see more of this kind of thing, but after that Sands seems to forget he can do anything besides the ‘becoming invisible’ thing. Later victims are either beaten or strangled, as if they were killed by some loser who doesn’t have any psychic powers. Perhaps he has to strangle the women because that’s how he killed his mother, but he does the same thing to bodyguards and boyfriends when we know he has more creative means at his disposal.

The rest of the movie is also at odds with the title, which suggested this would be a movie in which Sands sits in jail the whole time, astral-projecting himself into his victims’ homes to strangle them. This idea is discussed, but it is in no way what happens so I’m not sure why they brought it up. There are a couple of reasonably effective scenes, as when it’s implied that Sands is invisible inside his first victim’s apartment but we can’t be absolutely sure until he starts interacting with objects. The bit where the dancer is strangled onstage and people don’t intervene because they think it’s part of the show… that’s another cliché but it works all right.

The Astral Factor also has no interest in how psychic powers work. They’re shown to require great concentration for the guy demonstrating them at the institute, but Sands seems to throw things around effortlessly. Why is that? Where did he get these powers? Just by reading about them? Can anybody learn to do this or just certain people? If the latter, what makes Sands special?

In trying to catch his invisible killer, Chuck shows very little creativity. I can think of a bunch of ways to try to thwart an invisible man. What about filling a room with mist or smoke? What about scattering flour on the floor to show his footprints? What about physical tripwires? None of these are ever suggested. Nor does anybody ever come up with the idea of fighting back psychically. If anybody can learn these powers, that could have been a cool thing for Chuck to have to do – not only come to terms with the fact that this exists, but having to figure out how to do it himself! Or if only special people can do it, why not hire one of those psychics the scientists were working with? If a parrot knows there’s an invisible man there, surely another psychic could figure it out!

The way they do eventually catch Sands is by having Christine speak to him as if she is his mother, which prompts him to reply, and the sound of his voice tells the cops where to aim their guns. This works, but it’s not nearly as interesting as some of the other possibilities and does not reveal anything new about Sands himself.

Watching people get ‘strangled’ by something invisible is always fun, and The Astral Factor has a couple of really funny special effects (I especially like the cellmate pretending to be in a fight with his mattress), but mostly the movie is a disappointment. It had potential to be way scarier and way more fun if it were willing to explore its premise a little more deeply, but all it really wants to show us is blonde women getting killed.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #the astral factor #70s

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anythingbutmyname00 · 5 years ago

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“I thought if I acted like it didn’t matter, then it wouldn’t.” for pynch? Thanks in advance 💛

Prompt #2: “I thought if I acted like it didn’t matter, then it wouldn’t.” for pynch :) I set it somewhere either before the books or in the very start of TRB hope that’s okay!

TW: mention of abuse

Adam knocked on the door of Monmouth Manufacturing but it was already open, so he guessed it didn’t matter anyway.

He remembered seeing the inside of Monmouth for the first time. The books and historical memorabilia scattered around the room. The factory style window panes with tiny square after square of glass; the way light shining through them made a checkerboard pattern on the floor. There was an air of mess and simplicity about it that could only be money trying to pass off as aesthetically thrifty.

Seeing it now, today, Adam saw more. He saw that the miniature model of Henrietta on the floor had a new row of buildings, meaning Gansey hadn’t slept the night before. The sheets were off his bed and curled in a ball on the floor just past where the model ended. he saw—

He saw Ronan Lynch, sitting in Gansey’s desk chair with his eyes closed and headphones on, blasting music so loud Adam didn’t know how he hadn’t gone deaf. His feet were up on the desk, resting on top of an open book. Adam scoffed. If Gansey were here, he knew that wouldn’t be tolerated. Which means Gansey wasn’t here.

“Lynch.” Adam said, rather loud, he had thought. Apparently not though, because Ronan did not even open his eyes. He stalked over and lifted one of the headphones out of Ronan’s ear. “Lynch.” he repeated.

Ronan peaked open an eye. “Parrish.” he said, and then closed it again.

Adam rolled his eyes. He couldn’t understand what about Ronan drew Gansey in so much. But he supposed Gansey liked things as beyond comparison to anything else as him. Ronan was certainly inimitable.

“Is Gansey here?”

“No.” Ronan said, eyes still closed.

“Do you know where he is?” Adam asked. “He has the work I missed.”

“I’m not his mother, Parrish.” Ronan said. Even with his eyes closed and his face relaxed, he seemed to be scowling. Like he was disappointed at what he was seeing, even when it was nothing.

“Okay. Great, thanks.” Adam said, dropping the headphone and turning to leave. What a waste of time, he should have just called Gansey before he came or coordinated an actual time to get the work. He would’ve been saved the interaction with Ronan which did nothing but raise his blood pressure.

“Rowing practice.” Ronan said from behind him, when Adam had gotten just about halfway across the apartment to leave. “Nice shiner, by the way.”

Adam stopped walking. His eyes were trained straight ahead. He had missed school because he had stayed out too late helping Gansey with the search the night before and hadn’t fixed up the car, or mowed the lawn, or repaired the leak, or any of the other things his father had asked him to do. Those weren’t the actual reasons he’d missed school, but they directly correlated to what his dad did when he got home.

Which is why he missed school.

He had only been apart of this thing—this Gansey, Ronan, Noah, and Glendower thing—for a few months. Until now, the details of Adam’s home life included a lot of gray areas. They knew to pick him up from the end of the dirt road that led to the trailer park and not to enter. They knew sometimes he said he had to be home and he meant he really had to be home. They knew one time that he slipped in the shop and bruised his side up real good in a way that falling on a tool box shouldn’t have.

Gansey was smart; he knew something was up, but he was just subtle and polite enough to know he couldn’t just ask.

Ronan was less constrained by the laws of upperclass society.

“Should’ve told us.” he said.

Adam didn’t turn around, but he could picture Ronan still sitting there with his feet up and his eyes closed looking so extremely cavalier and not at all understanding the delicate terrain on which he was treading.

“I thought if I acted like it didn’t matter, then it wouldn’t.” Adam said in a low voice. This was not the conversation he wanted to have. Especially not with Ronan Lynch.

“Bullshit.” Ronan said.

Adam turned back around. “Excuse me?” he asked.

“Talking about things doesn’t make them fucking valid. They’re valid when they happen.” It might’ve been the longest sentence Ronan willingly constructed in Adam’s presence without Gansey around to draw it out of him.

Talking about things doesn’t make them valid. It explained a lot about how Ronan saw things. Adam considered it. He’d just assumed Ronan didn’t speak because he had nothing to contribute. Maybe, he thought now, Ronan didn’t speak because he didn’t think it changed things. Actions speak louder than words.

Adam huffed. “Right.” he said, a little in disbelief that this conversation was happening. He looked at the door again, and then back at Ronan, who was the less appealing option for Adam’s attention.

Not because he wasn’t appealing, but because he was too aware he was appealing, which made him arrogant. And that’s without listing all of his other disagreeable qualities.

Adam decided once again it was time for this conversation to be over and for him to leave.

“Didn’t anyone teach you to throw a fucking punch.”

“God, no, Ronan. Would you like to insult my upbringing any more or may I go.”

He turned and expected the same careless image of vanity, but found Ronan instead with his feet on the ground his headphones around his neck and his eyes trained on what was previously the back of Adam’s head before he’d turned.

Ronan stood up and walked towards the center of the room. He said “Parrish.” and pointed at the ground directly in front of him.

Adam walked, against his better judgement, and stood across from Ronan.

“Make a fist.” he said.

Adam did.

“Fuck, no, Parrish your thumb goes outside. Do you want to fucking break it.” Ronan grabbed Adam’s fist and corrected its positioning.

The whole time, Adam was studying Ronan’s face. It looked a lot less mean and like he was on alert when he wasn’t paying attention. His effort was no longer on looking like a flashing neon sign that said “danger: will bite!”

Adam filed this away to remember the next time Ronan did something he thought was cruel. Where did this Ronan go then?

“Better.” Ronan said. Adam looked back down at his fist.

“Fucking splendid.” Ronan sighed in admiration of his handy work. “Now punch me.”

“What!” Adam snapped out of his reverence over his fist.

“Fucking punch me, Parrish.”

Adam looked at Ronan appalled. “No.” he said, and took a step back.

Ronan took a step forward. “No, do it. Parrish punch me.”

Adam didn’t respond. He searched in Ronan’s eyes for the joke, but there was none. Ronan didn’t joke.

“Don’t act like you’ve never fucking wanted to. Here’s your chance. Your lucky fucking day.” Ronan looked almost annoyed that Adam hadn’t done it yet.

“I don-” Adam started and stopped. I don’t want to? I don’t know how? I don’t know what the fuck is going on? All valid questions Adam didn’t ask.

“God, Parrish. You have the fist. Pull it back. Only instruction is don’t think about how much it will hurt.” Ronan said. His hands were in his pockets. He was standing straight, not shying away from Adam despite their decently close proximity and the chance he was about to be punched.

Adam looked in Ronan’s eyes for something that would tell him what to do. He found it though in his own reasonable thought: if you do this, you’ll earn his respect.

Adam desperately wanted Ronan’s respect, as much as he hated to admit it. Gansey had it, and Adam wanted to be good enough to have it too.

What Adam had failed to consider was that if Ronan didn’t already respect Adam, he wouldn’t be teaching him to throw a damn punch. He wouldn’t bother.

“Adam,” Ronan said. “just pu-”

Adam punched him. Ronan stumbled back a step, and one of his hands went to touch his face lightly. Adam cradled the hand he hit Ronan with in his other. He was right, it hurt.

“Jesus fucking christ Parrish.” Ronan looked up at him, but he was smirking. Adam, despite his utter shock, smirked back.

“That’s how you throw a fucking punch.”

Little longer than a drabble but oh well!! I really enjoyed writing it, hope you liked it :)

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gophergal · 4 years ago

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Hooooo Boy! This took longer to write than I though, but with the help of @bucketofcowboys , I did it! (Encouragement from @bisexual-horror-fan was also a major motivator) enjoy this second chapter <3

I’m Not Lonely - Chapter Two

Word count:4 000+| Rating: M | Michael Myers x OC | M/F

Morning came, with all that entails. In the midst of her freshly awakened delirium, Jean was sure that the previous night's events had just been a strange dream. She'd been known to have dreams like that, especially when she was stressed. The paranoia induced by the news I listened to on the way home must have been the basis, she told herself. She had been exhausted and what she did in that dream was absolutely ridiculous. Never in a million years would she be so stupid as to do what she did. That would be like one of those foolish horror story protagonists that Jolene liked to tell her about. With a light chuckle, Jean changed out of her pajamas into the brown sweater and jeans she liked wear on cool mornings like this. There were plenty of things to do today, but none of them could be done on an empty stomach, so off to the kitchen it was.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, the living room came into view, and suddenly her train of thought came to a screeching halt. The coveralls, with their dark stains and tears, lay on the floor, mocking her for her stupidity. Their owner, however, was absent, with no sign of his presence. Jean's heart began to beat far too fast in her chest as her mind raced with all the things that could go wrong. She turned suddenly to leave the room and crashed into a solid mass, stunning her for a moment. At once, she was hit with a wave of embarrassment as she was pressed against the chest of her uninvited guest.

“Oh! Excuse me, I didn't see you there,” She exclaimed, taking a step back from the man. Now, in the daylight, she could take the moment to realize how tall he was. He was about a whole foot taller taller than her, built like a football player, and, when she'd been pressed against him, solid muscle. “Um, I, well, I'm going to be making myself some breakfast. Would you like to join me in the kitchen?” He didn't answer, unsurprisingly, but she could feel his presence as she moved toward the other room. Her mind was a storm as she flipped an egg in the skillet. What am I even doing? She wondered, I don't know who the hell this guy is or what he did last night before he broke in.

Jean set a plate of eggs and toast in front of the stranger, then sat across from him with her own steaming plate. The air was heavy with tension as they sat, the man staring at Jean as she struggled to force her mouth to form words. Neither of them reach for their food and Jean feels the need to squirm in her seat. She spots her notebook and pen.

“Ah, I- Um, I never caught you name,” she pushed the paper and writing instrument toward him gently, “Mine's Jeanette. Jeanette Parrish. Well, I just go by Jean, because that's what everyone calls me.” She stuttered out. She would almost feel embarrassed if he weren't watching her in such an intimidating way. Like an owl watching a mouse scurry across the forest floor, waiting for the moment to swoop down with its talons bared.

Stop that, she thought to herself, you're working yourself up over nothing. The little voice of common sense returned, Or not. He very well could be dangerous. After all, how many good men just break into a person's home covered in blood, refusing to speak? Feeling a bit overwhelmed by the thoughts racing in her head, Jean pushed herself up from the seat a bit too forcefully, nearly knocking her half eaten breakfast off the table. She needed air. Somewhere without his eyes on her, forcing her mind to spin wild thoughts. She went outside to the utility shed, a basket of dirty laundry (she'd grabbed the filthy jumpsuit without thinking on her way out) pressed to her hip as she exited. The washing machine was set up to cycle and she leaned against it as it filled with water.

She let out a shaky breath, tapping her fingers against the cold metal as she calmed. The machine hummed and shook as it worked, the rhythm of it lulling her into a sort of relaxing trance, broken by the buzz signaling the cycle's completion. On autopilot, she removed the garments from the washer's drum and took them to the line, performing the repetitive motion of hanging them up to dry. When done, she went back inside, seeing no sign of the man when she did. He wasn't in the kitchen, where she had left him, the only sign of him being on the table, where his empty plate sat beside the notebook. Jean was amazed to see a name written down on the paper in a childish, unpracticed scrawl. “Michael,” she read softly to herself. Well, that answers one thing, she thought, but leaves a lot more for me to wonder about.

Michael watched from threshold undetected as the woman, Jean, flit around the kitchen tidying things up and washing the plates and silverware. She moved with purpose and care, reminding him much of the few nurses who cared for him in the sanitarium. One question kept coming to him, however: how stupid was this woman? When she first saw him, she did not scream or beg, or even run away. No, this one stood her ground against him, a thing of pure evil, silent and horrific. Admittedly, it intrigued him, her strangeness. He realized that she lived alone, yet appeared no older than his escaped prey, Laurie. Young women didn't tend to live alone, only old women and men did. She would have been an easy kill, had he chosen to do so.

Why hadn't he? Well he hadn't wanted to, of course. Why hadn't he, though? Enough. He wouldn't waste time on this line of thought for longer than he needed to. Only because you have no answer, The Shape spoke. He supposed that was true. He felt the same urges he had when seeing those girls Laurie surrounded herself with. The same urge he felt when he was young, seeing the life leave Judith. Jean was beautiful, and there was only one thing a devil could ever do to beautiful things: destroy them.

Jean felt eyes on her back as she put the clean, dry plates in the cabinet. She twirled around to see Michael in the threshold, head cocked ever so slightly to the side. She started to move again, not even noticing the pause she made in her movements. She walked past Michael into the living room, deciding to straighten the book shelves and sweep the floor. The usual intense focus she would fall into refused to come, the presence of another body too distracting for her to push from her mind. Why won't he leave, she wondered quietly.

Eventually, she gave up on the endeavor, choosing to flop onto the couch, frustrated. She picked up the book on the end table. Well, I could always start that book Jo recommended to me, she considered as she opened the book. She'd only gotten a few lines in when she felt breath on her shoulder, causing her to hesitantly look to the source. Michael stood, head tilted like a confused pup. She swallowed and pointed to the book, “Have you read this one? My coworker said it was good, but I'm not very fond of scary stories,” she said, “but, if you wanted, I could read it aloud and we could experience it together? You might want to sit down if that's the case.”

Truthfully, she just wanted him to stop hovering uncomfortably behind her like a cat ready to pounce. To her surprise, he did, though a bit closer than she was comfortable with, a closeness which was increased by gravity pulling her to the low spot made by his superior weight. She cleared her throat, “Well, I suppose I should start then,” a pause as she readied herself to read, “Chapter one: Job Interview. Jack Torrance thought: Officious little prick...”

She read until she could read no more, Michael sitting as still as a cold marble slab next to her on the old couch. When she looked up, throat scratching from the use, she noticed that it was quite dark outside and, upon looking at the clock, realized that she had missed dinnertime and her stomach was quick to confirm. Dog-earring the page she was reading, Jean set the book back on the table, rushing to the kitchen to get something to eat. She eats a plate of leftover meatloaf that had been in the refrigerator, and left a plate for Michael, should he decide to have some. With a yawn, she turned off the light in the kitchen, slinking up the stairs and looking over to the couch where Michael still sat.

The bedroom door was shut firmly behind her and she turned the lock to give her peace of mind while she slept. Are you so sure that will keep you safe, her common sense questions, when he's so close by? She pushed it from her mind, it's all she could do if she wanted to sleep. Besides, becoming paranoid wouldn't serve her well either. The bed wasn't comfortable enough to counter her stress and confusion over the situation she'd gotten herself into.

Jean awoke abruptly, horribly aware on this morning that the previous day and night were not, in fact, dreams. She was also horribly aware that she would have to leave her room at some point that day. Oh shit, she thought, I have to work tonight. Snuggling further into the soft comforter on the bed, she grumbled internally. She didn't hate her job, but she sure as hell didn't like it. Annoying, entitled customers weren't the only thing she disliked about it, but they were a big part of it. The next man to call her “sugar tits”, “babydoll”, or anything overly familiar was going to have to get her fist surgically removed from his face. She was a waitress, goddamnit, not a whore! And even whores deserved more respect than that. Both she and they were just working women, after all. How could that ever be undeserving of basic human dignity?

Rolling out of bed, she hissed at the cold hardwood under her bare feet. The weather is cooling rather quickly, she noted as she put on slippers, unlocked the door, and braced herself as she tiptoed down the stairs. There was no sign of Michael, which seemed to be the norm with him. She half expected to run into him again as she had the previous morning. He wasn't in the kitchen either. Or the bathroom. Or the closet. Not hiding behind her like the shadowy creature in an old monster movie. Finally, she checked the backyard, only to see that the man's coveralls were missing and in there place the clothes he'd borrowed had been lazily draped over the line.

It was- surreal in a way. He was gone just as abruptly as he'd appeared. It was almost sad to have him gone, in a strange way. The house felt emptier, like it was missing something. She shook her head. No, this was the way it was meant to be. She could only hope that he didn't decide to return. That settles that, she thought to herself, now I can just live my life in peace. All that left for her to do was get some breakfast and enjoy some time to herself. Same thing as every day. Eggs and toast. Get dressed. Tidy the house. Sit and read. She felt odd picking up The Shining again. It's rude to read ahead when you're trying to share a book after all. She put it down without a second thought. Picking up an old favorite, she began to read it all over again. It must have been the- what? Tenth time? Something like that. It was a comforting book to read, after all.

Soon enough, it came time to ready herself for the long shift ahead. Her clean, wrinkle-free pink blouse and black skirt reflected back at her in the mirror as she pulled her hair into a half ponytail in the back. She dragged herself to the car, an old gray clunker that had to be from the last decade or so. Jean didn't really know. It was granddad's from when he was a younger man, but she remembered how her brain would shut down every time he tried to talk cars at her. At least she knew how to change tires and oil, the mechanic could worry about everything else.

The door to the diner section of the truck stop swung open as Jean walked in. There was only one patron sitting at a table, a plate of meat and potatoes set before him. He looked up at Jean and gave her a friendly nod, which she returned with a smile. At least he wouldn't be a nuisance tonight. She walked back into the kitchen where Jolene leaned against a counter top as she chatted with Gus, the cook. He was a big man who's heart was as big as his biceps. He was an amazing cook too and, oftentimes, it made Jean wonder why he hadn't become a chef at some big fancy restaurant. He noticed her and grinned.

“Hey Jean, did you have a good day off?” he asked, deep voice carrying over to her. Jolene seemed to light up, turning to look at Jean.

“Yeah, it's never as fun around here without you!” she said. Jean smiled.

“Oh, y'know, same old, same old. I started reading that book you recommended to me though!”

“Really? What do you think? I know you're not one for scary stories, but I thought you might like this one.”

“Pretty good so far, actually. I didn't think I'd like it, but I've enjoyed it quite a bit. I like the atmosphere the author's set.” Jolene smiled at that.

“That makes me really happy, Jean. Now if only you'd just-”

The redhead was cut off by the jingle of the door as a customer stepped into the establishment. Jean flashed her a small smile as she made her way over to where the man sat down. She knew exactly what Jo was about to say next and felt as though she'd dodged a bullet when she got away. Now she'd just have to be sure she wasn't hit by the ricochet when they took their break. “Now sir, what can I get you?”

Finally, a quiet moment came where no customers sat in the dining area. Jean took the moment to join Jo as she left out the back door. Jolene stood in the light of the small bulb that flickered above the back door. She puffed away at a cigarette that she clenched between her peach toned lips. A grin quirked up to her lips when she noticed Jean, who sighed as she prepared for the usual lecture Jo liked to give her.

“Oh Jean, you wouldn't believe the guy that came in here yesterday,” Jo began, taking a pull off the dwindling white stick, “guy waltzes in like he thinks he's hot shit. Couldn't be any older than, what? Sixteen, I'd guess. Just some dumb fucking kid. And he says to me Ay, dollface, how's 'bout you get me a beer?”

She throws her hair around, “As if he thinks we won't card him, ha! I tell him about as much and say I'll bring him a soda, so Mr Tough Guy gets pissy, but agrees. When I leave to go get it though, the little bastard grabs my ass! What a pig, am I right?

Well, I know he's lucky that you weren't here because you would've been on him like that!” she snaps for effect, “well, Gus just threw him out and made sure I was ok, but still, what a little creep!” She finishes, throwing her hands up in the air as she did.

“Wow,” Jean began, a bit confused as she always was when Jo would go off on a rant like that, “the nerve of some people! You're right, I would've taught him some manners right then and there. Little bastard.” She swore.

“It's no big deal, I guess. It's not like I'm hurt or anything.”

“That's not the point! You know I can't stand when people like that act like they can just do whatever the hell they want.”

“I know, but there's no need to worry about it. Gus took care of it.”

“Not as harshly as he should have.”

“Well, you know that's just not how he rolls.”

“I do.”

“Now-”

“Oh no.”

“Don't you Oh no me! You didn't call my buddy Robert back!” She threw her hands to her hips, her brows furrowed.

“Jo, please-”

“You promised me that you'd give him a chance, Jean.”

“I did. We just didn't hit it off, I guess.”

“Ugh, that doesn't mean you get to be rude to the guy. The best thing to do is tell him up front.”

“I'm sorry,” and she was. Jo was just trying to help her, in her own way. This was the third guy she'd set Jean up with. It was sweet of her, but the help was unneeded and very much unwanted.

“I'm just- Well, I'm just worried about you. I don't want you to end up a lonely old woman, bitter because you never found anyone.”

“According to you, I'm there already,” Jean said, chuckling.

“Laugh it up, but when that happens you'll think: Oh, how I wish I listened to Jolene! She's always been so smart, why did I disregard her advice!” she danced about dramatically as she said this, throwing an arm over her head with the last word, making Jean snort-laugh.

“Alright, alright, you have a point.”

“Yes, I do! Now do you promise to keep an open mind?”

“Of course.”

“Pinkie promise?”

“Yes,” she said, holding out the finger, which Jo hooked with her own. The door opened gently and Gus stopped it with his foot.

“Something I missed?” he asked softly.

“No, no,” Jo laughed, “nothing at all!” Gus rolled his eyes.

“A'right then, well your break's up, ladies,” he said, holding the door open more so that they could enter.

Jean felt light as she drove home from work. Her shoulders were relaxed as the blackness surrounding her passed by. Talking to Jo and Gus was like therapy for her. She could almost push Michael and his intrusion from her mind. Almost. She was still a little worried that he'd show back up in the night. Thankfully, there was no figure on her couch when she unlocked and opened the door (making very sure to lock it back after her). There was no man sat at her table, no towering mass in her corner with intense black eye holes that made her feel weak and small. And that was how it stayed for days. That's how it stayed when she woke up to eat eggs and toast. That's how it was when she went to work and when she got home. For about two weeks.

She got home after a late shift, more tired than she had been in a long while. It had been the stress, she guessed, of Jo reminding her that she had no plans for the holidays that were rapidly approaching. No loving husband and in laws to fill her home with joyful voices and good memories. Being alone had its downsides, it seemed. She flopped straight into bed with a muffled groan of annoyance, then fell asleep with ease. It was also with ease, however, that she was awoken. First slowly by the creaking of her window and the cool breeze that came through it, but then abruptly by the sudden presence at the end of her bed.

The foreboding black shadow just stood there, the moonlight obscuring the figure in silhouette. She at once felt panic rush through her veins as she kicked her legs out. They connected with the figure's abdomen, forcing a deep strangled grunt from it. She flipped out of the bed, staggering to her feet as they tried to carry her to the exit. Her arm was grabbed, causing her to slip and nearly fall, had she not been pulled roughly to the figure's solid chest. She struck out with her free hand wildly, which was caught in a vice-like grip and, using the leverage gained from having her hands in its grasp, the figure pushed her roughly against the wall, pinning her and knocking the air from her lungs. The figure breathed heavily.

Jean squirmed helplessly against the wall, her torso bared vulnerably to her attacker. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head away and holding her breath as she waited for the inevitable. When nothing happened she opened her eyes and looked back, catching the sight of a telltale white mask and blue coveralls. “What the hell, Michael?” She breathed through a clenched jaw. He responded with a head tilt, as though he saw no issue with the situation at hand.

“You can't just do that!” She yelled, which amused him because he could, and he did.

“Can I at least have my arms back?” She asked, as he pretended not to hear her, keeping her arms in his cruel grip.

“I'm sorry I kicked you, but you have to understand that I was afraid I would really be killed- Or worse!” Were he any other man, Michael would have chuckled. Not yet, Jean, the Shape supplied for him. That would have to wait. Regardless, he released her wrists, which she rubbed gratefully. She left the room, pausing to look over her shoulder expectantly, almost like she was waiting for him to follow her. And so he did, down the stairs and into the living room where she plopped herself down on the couch. He sat beside her, feeling as she leaned against him at first, then readjusted herself on the couch.

“It's been a while, huh?” She said softly, peering at him nervously. “Well, I'll admit, I can't get back to sleep with all this excitement. I'd like to read our book. Would you like that?” He tilted his head, first to one side, then to the other, which she took as a yes of sorts. She cleared her throat, then picked up the book, “Alright-y, where were we? Aha! There!” And she began to read.

Michael didn't pay much attention to what she was reading to him. On occasion, he would tune back in to her words to catch bits of the plot. Not that it interested him, but her voice, on the other hand- It was mesmerizing. He'd heard women's voices before. Obviously. Usually they held the tone of disinterested disgust, much like the nurses at the sanitarium. Sometimes it was in the midst of a pleasured moan, much like his sister, Judith mere moments before her life ended. Best of all was their fear, their pain, their death. The sound of it intoxicating, filling him with a sense of control and satisfaction. Something about Jean's voice, however, was very different.

When he heard her voice, regardless of what he would think on first seeing her (that being the desire to snuff her out like a candle), he would begin to feel a sense of calm wash over him. He felt like a child again, hearing his mother speak to him in soft tones. Mother. She wasn't quite like his mother, this woman, but it was a closer comparison than to either of his sisters. She was caring. Not like the nurses, with their fake chipper tones and needles filled with numbing drugs. No, she was real. For a moment, when she bandaged his wounds, he remembered Sunday school and the stories of angels he was told. Is this an angel? He asked the Shape. No, it responded angrily, this is flesh and blood. This is for you to rip and shred. To break into a million pieces. But not now, not yet. Now you wait. Now you remain patient.

And so he did.

#michael myers #slasher x oc #slashers #michael myers x oc #gopher writes #I'm Not Lonely

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blccmngs · 9 months ago

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Anyone who would knew the two of them could testify to the fact that the fact that both were into the idea was far from surprising. What was far more surprising was the fact that it had not been brought up until now. "I think that that's just an added bonus of it," he said simply. Because he most definitely believed that Lucian would be into anything that he had mentioned. That was part of the reason why Lucian and him seemed to get along so well — Both of them were more than willing to try anything that the other seemed to be interested in. And, while there might be some teasing, they didn't have to worry about the other not being into it. (The beauty of being the sort of couple to try everything once). Parrish felt a whole new wave of warm arousal wash over him, cheeks tinting pink again, at the suggestion of actually finding somewhere more public for Lucian to fuck him. "Surprised you don't have a list made and ready to go." The blonde tilted his head back at the feeling of Lucian's lips against his neck. "I suggested that I'd like you to fuck me in front of people," he said, a light correction for the sake of it. Parrish does not even try to cover up the noise that escaped him at the press of the other's teeth. Despite the flushed state, he snorted softly at the little threat. "You know I'd probably be into that, too, right?" He shifted again, unconsciously pressing closer to Lucian, eager to have absolutely no space between the two of them. "You're the one who upped the ante here." It was actually the two of them building off of each other like every other interaction they had. Bouncing off of each other until they came to a breaking point. "'Course it's a yes."

lucian makes no attempts to hide the smile on his lips as his shoulders shrug, "i am into that shit - i'm into turning you into a whiny fuckin' mess." half of the shit he found himself considering with parrish, he never thought he would have been open to, but found himself enjoying each and every thing that he tried. he was sure this would be no different, nor would just about anything parrish could confess to wanting to try. the nod shifts into shaking his head, "not surprised at all, baby boy," the words are muttered against his skin, "that's not as close as possible though - bet we could find somewhere that i could fuck you in public." his head tilted down, nestling in the cook of parrish's neck, letting his lips brush against the soft skin, "mhm, we're not anywhere that anyone can hear us - not that i think you'd mind all that much, if you'd let me fuck you in public." he's starting to think that he really can't resist parrish, that he's incapable, as his teeth press into the sensitive skin at the base of his neck again, "tell me, or i really will put you over my knee right here and right now." his head dragged up, reluctantly and slowly, "nah - only if you flirt back. i'd spend too much of time punishing you if it was when people flirted with you too." arms cage parrish in against the car, body flush against his now, "that's what i said, ain't it? i didn't do a damn thing - i blame it all on you." half laughing at the look on parrish's face, half smiling fondly at the lack of a refusal, "nah, not nearly enough - obviously." eyebrows raise as he reaches towards the handle of the car, "sooo... thats a yes, then?"

#littlcfreaks #( with all respect which is none ; parrish. )

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justsomewritingsandshit · 5 years ago

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The Struggles of a Male Veela (Part 5 - Selene’s Got A Date)

Louis Weasley x Soulmate!OC

Length: 3190 words

Warnings: soulmate!au, altered ages of next gen, female OC, Hunter Parrish as Louis, fxf date, mentions of sAd bOI hOuRs

Part 5 of this series | Masterlist | Part 4 | Part 6

Selene has never been fussy when it comes to dating – for her, (so long as the person expressed an interest, didn’t seem oddly clingy, or overly possessive) anyone was game. So, when the attractive Mari Singh (of Ravenclaw house) asked her out… well, she said yes.

Mari and Selene had been ‘classroom friends’ for years, so she had supposed it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. Their rapport was friendly enough, and Mari was an attractive girl, so there was no real reason to say no.

Plus, Selene happened to know that she was the first girl that Mari had asked out since her coming out over the summer. Selene felt that she had a sort of duty to treat Mari to a wonderful time, setting a good example of what Mari should look for in a partner, should she choose to date again. Too many people let themselves be in bad circumstances, simply because it’s all they knew, and Selene wouldn’t let Mari’s kind soul be one of those. Selene wished she’d had a person do the same for her, when she was younger. It would have saved her a lot of broken hearts.

In the end, the two girls arranged it for their date to be the first Hogsmeade trip, which was on the last day of the month. The two of them were going to end up spending their entire time there making awkward but friendly conversation, and drinking butterbeers – there was never much to do in Hogsmeade, after all.

If anyone was asked to go off and experience Hogsmeade, they’d come back and say that it felt as if the village had been unchanged for hundreds of years. Contradicting that analysis was the known fact that many of the buildings were only two decades old, as some of them had to be repaired after the war. And, the war memorials and plaques in the middle of the village were only a few years old themselves.

Despite the newer builds, the town was one of the oldest magic-only communities in the United Kingdom – there were much older communities in remote areas of South America, Asia, and in concealed tribes all throughout Africa, though. There wasn’t much to the small town, just a joke shop, a sweet store, a few small trinket shops, a pub or two – basically; nothing much for the teens whose only chance at an off-campus activity was a monthly trip there.

So, yeah, dating at Hogwarts was kind of the worst.

Louis didn’t find out about the date, until what he would consider the last minute.

On the eve of Halloween (a Friday that was surprisingly mild for the season), Selene and Louis found themselves once again at their usual haunt – a large, wooden table located in the back of the ginormous hall that was the library.

Said teens were staring intensely at the parchments clasped in their respective hands. Louis’s happened to be a letter from his mother, a long winded one that was reminding him to try and ‘stretch’ in his veela form weekly – the fact that she went on to describe how it may feel similar to a female’s period was why he was contemplating an attempt at trying to burn it with his gaze. Selene’s parchment held the notes that she’d taken down in Charms earlier that day – at that moment, they weren’t making any sense to her.

“Louis? This new Charms stuff, I don’t get it. Help me out over here?” Selene’s interruption was received warmly by Louis, as Fleur Weasley (nee Delacour) had, in her lengthy letter, began to describe the severity of her monthly flow to her teenaged son.

“Go ahead.” Louis eagerly ditched his parchment to the side, one-hundred-percent ready to never read it, ever again. “Was it the wandless stuff we started this week? On Tuesday?”

Selene sent him a confirming nod, going into her dilemma, “If I’m casting a charm like ‘protego totalum’, how am I supposed to control what I’m casting it on? It’s, uh, pretty important that it’s cast on the right thing.”

Louis was momentarily distracted by the way her brows furrowed together in obvious confusion, sending his mind spiralling. By the time he managed to force his stupid veela brain to focus, he realised that he had succeeded in the task of being weirdly silent for close to a minute. If there was a wizard-god, then Louis prayed to them that Selene would just think he was seriously contemplating her question and coming to a slow conclusion. “I guess it could be one of those charms that are always going to require a wand. Or, you can just think super hard while casting.” Louis let out a breathy chuckle.

Entertaining this thought, Selene muttered, “I don’t know what wizard-kind did before they realised they could use a wand.”, as she flipped over her parchment.

It hadn’t been a real question, but none the less it had amused Louis to think up an answer to it. He chuckled, crossing his arms on the table to rest on, “I can just imagine it was a bunch of people awkwardly performing ‘accidental magic’, like when we were kids.”

His words caused Selene to laugh too, as she pictured people in old-timey clothes waving their arms accidentally and setting something on fire. “The first person to use a wand must have been like; ‘what?’!” Selene’s face got slightly warmer, as her breathing was interrupted by her chortles, “They were like ‘Bartholomew,” Louis had to cover his mouth in order to hide the snort of laughter he produced at Selene’s excellent impression of the ‘Bloody Baron’. His uncle’s impression was nothing on hers. “Thou hast pick-ethed up a stick, which doth work well-eth’ at mastering thoust powers’.”

Both of them had stomach cramps, trying to contain their laughter. Louis had tears building up in his eyes, and his face was turning red. Selene had doubled over, laughing mostly silently, the only sound being her inhaled breath and the slapping of her had against her knee. Their ‘quiet’ laughter was eventually drowned out by the librarian’s shrill cry of, “Get out of my library if you’re not going to follow the rules!”

Hurriedly, the two of them pack up all their belongings, erupting into occasional giggles every time the two caught each other’s eyes. They burst from the library’s entrance, and the Gryffindor and Slytherin stumbled along the large corridor. By the time they’d reached the end of the long hallway, they both decided it was best for them to start making their way to their respective common rooms.

There was calm silence for ten minutes.

Eventually it was broken. “So…” Louis’s shoulders were hunched over a little, his hands looking as if he’d shoved them as deep as he could, into the pockets of his school trousers. Making himself look smaller was his main way of coming off across nonchalant. However, the only thing he looked, was uncomfortable. “The, uh, first Hogsmeade trip is tomorrow. Are, um…” He paused to inhale some confidence, “Are you going to go?” Louis wanted so bad to shout out, to ask (or even beg) her to go with him on this trip. The sixth-year could imagine it now; the two of them wander the lanes of Hogsmeade together, their noses getting redder the longer that they’re out in the cold… their breath visible and intermingling, as they get closer and closer… maybe, a kiss? Oh, Louis wanted nothing more than that.

“Yeah, I-” Selene argued with herself. She shouldn’t have felt uncomfortable (awkward?) telling Louis about her upcoming date… and yet, she did. Which was absurd, because they were friends! “Uh… Actually, I have a date.” Merlin, Selene’s stomach squirmed. She felt awful admitting this to Louis, even though there was no need to, at all. Her nerves made her ramble, “With Mari Singh, from Ravenclaw. I think she’s in your Transfiguration class?” Selene went on, her mouth moving a mile a minute, but Louis heard none of it.

The blonde boy felt like he’d been physically hurt, despite knowing he certainly had absolutely no true right to feel as pained as he did. Selene Morgenstern was his soulmate, sure, but she didn’t know that. He hadn’t informed her that destiny (and, he guesses; his veela instincts) had fated them to be together. Plus, he was pretty sure that he hadn’t let on about his romantic feelings towards her either.

The Slytherin was her own person, and as such; allowed to date whomever she wanted…

But Louis was allowed to be upset about it. Even if it was irrational to be so. Boys (well, really, he’d insist that he was closer to a man, now) could be emotional too! However, he wasn’t going to expose said hurt feelings to Selene. He was upset by her words, but they were just friends… just friends, even if he did have different sentiments towards her.

Everything Louis Weasley had been taught by his family as a child was blooming into fruition in this moment; good friends support their friends – no matter the personal consequences.

As if the gods above had granted him lee-way, Louis’s turning to go up to the Gryffindor Common Room was fast approaching. “Well, uh, you have a great time! I’ll see you later!” Hastily exiting the situation seemed to be the only way to end this conversation, plus Louis was finding that his eyes were quickly filling with tears, and he didn’t want Selene to see them.

“Uh, thanks, Louis! See you!” Frantically waving at the back of the already turned-away boy was not the way a cool and collected Slytherin behaved. For love of Merlin, why was she acting like this? In true Slytherin sentiment, Selene ignored the way her stomach clenched up the moment Louis was out of sight. “Ugh, I need to get more sleep.”

Louis spent that night clutching his pillows tightly to his trembling body, desperately trying to not burst into his veela form. It was exhaustingly difficult to hold on to his human form, as his veela’s desire to fly away from all the pain he was facing was almost too powerful. The teen was virtually bursting at the seams, due to the effort it took to hold back this side of him.

His heart felt like it was under an intense pressure, as if it was being compressed. And his skin was positively feverish! Every pore along his body was asking for relief. Every muscle fibre itching for some form of freedom that only his veela form could give to him.

And to think, Louis had bitterly mused to himself, all this because I’m jealous. Louis knew, deep down, that he had no true reason to be jealous, or hurt, or sad, or angry. Selene was not his. Not his girlfriend, nor anything more than his close friend! The girl was her own woman. One who can decide for herself who she wants to love, and whom she wants to date.

Still… His acknowledgement of this fact did not miraculously send him into recovery.

Louis remained lonesome and feverish through the night.

There was a problem with Selene’s date.

Or, rather; there was a problem with Mari Singh – well, not really.

Okay, so the issue was with Selene. She was positively sure that there were a dozen other places she’d rather be, than on this date with Mari. The Slytherin clearly did not feel one iota of a romantic stirring towards the bird.

Now, that’s not to say the other girl was not lovely! Mari was smart, pretty, and rather funny - an all-around kind person.

Still, Selene found herself wishing that she was not the one opposite the Ravenclaw in the Three Broomsticks. And, that wasn’t to say it was an awful date! Not at all. It was a… nice affair. They talked over a butterbeer, and giggled at each other’s stories... And, yes; the conversation had been (sometimes) intelligent and (somewhat?) interesting.

Selene just felt like something was missing from it all, though.

“I was like; ‘why does this always happen to him?’!” Mari let out a chortle at her own story. It was a rather long-winded, yet deeply hilarious, anecdote of her families’ latest vacation. Her father apparently fell off a dinghy that the whole family had been sitting in, right into the arms of what may have been a hairy man (or, perhaps, a large bear), whilst not even in the water yet. “Anyway…”

The two female students had slowly been making their way back to the castle. And, now they were standing at the crossroads of where they’d each have to turn away to go to their separate common rooms.

Before Mari could even say anything else, Selene had to be honest with her, “Mari, I had a nice time today, but, uh, I have to be frank with you… I like you as a friend, Mari, but I-” Selene paused, to place her hand on the Ravenclaw’s shoulder and to carefully choose her following words. “I, um, I don’t feel for you, romantically that is.” Mari’s face began to crumble, “I’m sorry, but I had to be honest with you. It would be cruel for me to get your hopes up like that. You’re my friend but sparing your feelings now would only hurt you later. Right?”

Mari mulled the words over, but finally nodded her head softly.

Selene removed her palm from the other girls’ shoulder. She felt obliged to offer up some information that might soften the blow she’d just been dealt, “Plus, it wouldn’t be fair to Naomi…”

Mari’s head tilted to her left, “Gnomes?” It was a cute nickname Mari had for her roommate, fellow Ravenclaw Naomi Gardener. “W-Why would it be unfair to her?”

Selene heard the thinly veiled excitement in her voice. It was well-known within the female population of their respective year-group, that Naomi Gardner fancied Mari Singh. It was true that pretty much everyone knew that, but only Selene heard said information first-hand from Naomi. “Well, Naomi may have mentioned something to me… But it’s probably best to ask her about it.” She leant forward, pressing a friendly peck to Mari’s cheek, “Thank you for a lovely time, Mar.” Sending a wink to the girl, Selene began to walk away. “I hope we’re still friends, Mari! Good luck!”

Louis didn’t expect to see Selene the next morning.

Not because he assumed that something… like that... would happen between the two girls. No, not at all! Rather, Louis was surprised to see Selene, since he had decided to try to avoid her altogether.

Also, the idea of seeing her in the boys’ bathroom was incredibly surprising.

“Um, hello?”

Carefully, Louis angled his entire body away from the approaching teenaged girl. As quick as he could he tucked himself away and buttoned up his trousers. Due to his complexion, the flush on his cheeks was all too visible. Even knowing she could see the blush; he tried his best to act casual as he walked over to wash his hands. Selene was in his peripherals the entire time.

“So,” Louis shook his hands out, getting them dry enough to wipe against the fabric against his thighs – he didn’t even think about using his magic or wand to dry them. “Uh, what brings you to the men’s bathroom?” Before he could embarrass himself, he tucked his hands into the back pockets of his trousers. It was an attempt to seem casual.

Selene let a faux look of sadness creep onto her face, “Well, when I saw you practically running down the hallway when you saw me coming, I figured I should check on you.” She rested her shoulder on the wall to her right, “After all, I am a good friend.”

Louis’s was sure that his heart was going to jump out of his chest. Even though he knew that she was being a nice person, a great friend, his veela hindbrain was absolutely screaming at him. Surely that meant she was accepting the bond! Checking on her mate, right? Merlin! Louis had to snap himself out of those thoughts, because they weren’t facts. He knew first-hand that not thinking truthfully only damaged your own feelings.

“I- I just,” Louis was tongue-tied now. How exactly could he explain that he didn’t want to hear about her amazing date with bloody Mari Singh? “Well-”

Selene cut him off, not wanting to hear any of his poor attempts at lying to her, “I wanted to vent to you, about my date last night.” She rushed out first, before pausing. The Slytherin was gathering herself, choosing her next words carefully. “It was alright.”

The male noticed the lack of enthusiasm in her description of the event. His stomach lurched in awkward excitement.

She let out a quiet laugh, “You know… I was going to talk to Emmaline about it all, but-” Her head lolled to the side as she thought hard, “But I don’t know, I just-” Eventually, Selene pushed off the wall she was leaning on and strolled closer to the him. “I guess I just really wanted to talk to you.”

Louis was sure that he wasn’t breathing. “Oh.” In fact, he was pretty sure that he hadn’t been breathing for Selene’s entire speech. “Okay. Yeah... Alright.” Taking his hand from his pocket, he gestured over towards the exit of the bathroom, “Shall we, then?” Yes, that was normal. If only his heartbeat could chill out, too.

Luckily for them, there was only one first year in the otherwise empty hallway. Said single first year awkwardly still stood, deer-in-headlights-style, as they witnessed the two elder teens exit the boy’s’ bathroom together.

“So,” Louis was trying his best to seem calm, “It didn’t go well?” He paused, before clarifying, “Your date, I mean.”

The two of them were back in the school’s library. It was during a shared free period of theirs, and like always Selene and Louis were nestled together at their table. Heads were pushed closer to one another than strictly needed, both attempting to talk as quietly – they were in fear of the librarian, who had already given them both the most scathing look when they’d walked in talking.

“No, it was fine.” Selene answered him, her lips twisting into a grimace as she thought over the date, “Nothing awful, it just - it didn’t feel right.” She played with the quill in her hand, “I guess when I’m on a date, I want it to feel nicer than a ‘fine’ or ‘alright’.”

Louis nodded, understanding what she meant. “True.” There was silence as the blond wrote down a sentence or two on his parchment. He could feel the tingle of Selene’s eyes watching him do so. “So,” He began again, “No second date, then?”

Selene averted her eyes from his form, pretending that she didn’t catch him observing her from the very corner of his eye. “Not with Mari, no.” She looked down to her work, and unbeknownst to her Louis did as well.

Both had smiles on their faces.

TAGGED:

@iamwarrenspeace, @itsnolongerteen, @stilesloverdaily, @immortalmurphy, @fandomsandotherstuff, @mcheung0314, @aw-hawkeye, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @thenodmonster, @realgreglestrade, @seninjakitey, @theshortegg, @gqlqxies, @footballiskillingme

#louis weasley #louis weasley imagine #LouisWeasley #louisweasleyimagine #louis weasley x oc #not reader insert #hp imagine #next generation #next generation harry potter #next gen harry potter #nextgen!#harry potter imagine #hunterparrish #Hunter Parrish #the struggles of a male veela series #the struggles of a male veela #series #harry potter series #harry potter

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sciencespies · 4 years ago

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How Viruses Evolve

https://sciencespies.com/nature/how-viruses-evolve/

How Viruses Evolve

The unusual cases of pneumonia began to appear in midwinter, in China. The cause, researchers would later learn, was a coronavirus new to science. By March, the infection began to spread to other Asian countries and overseas. People were dying, and the World Health Organization issued a global health alert.

But this was 2003, not 2020, and the disease was SARS, not Covid-19. By June, the outbreak was almost gone, with just 8,098 confirmed infections and 774 deaths worldwide. No cases of SARS have been reported since 2004.

Contrast that with the closely related coronavirus that causes Covid-19 today: more than 13,600,000 confirmed cases as of July 16, and more than 585,000 deaths.

Why did SARS go away while today’s coronavirus just keeps on spreading? Why, for that matter, did both these coronaviruses spill over into people at all, from their original bat hosts?

And just as vital as those questions is another: What happens next?

As we face the current pandemic, it will be important to understand how SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes Covid-19, is likely to evolve in the months and years ahead. It’s possible the virus could lose its lethal character and settle into an evolutionary détente with humanity. It might end up as just another cold virus, as may have happened to another coronavirus in the past. But it could also remain a serious threat or perhaps even evolve to become more lethal. The outcome depends on the complex and sometimes subtle interplay of ecological and evolutionary forces that shape how viruses and their hosts respond to one another.

“One thing you learn about evolution is never to generalize,” says Edward Holmes, an evolutionary virologist at the University of Sydney, Australia, and author of an article on the evolution of emerging viruses in the Annual Review of Ecology, Evolution, and Systematics. “It depends entirely on the biological nuance of the situation.”

Steps to viral success

Many of the scariest viruses that have caused past or current epidemics originated in other animals and then jumped to people: HIV from other primates, influenza from birds and pigs, and Ebola probably from bats. So, too, for coronaviruses: The ones behind SARS (severe acute respiratory syndrome), MERS (Middle East respiratory syndrome) and Covid-19 all probably originated in bats and arrived in people via another, stepping-stone species, likely palm civets, camels and possibly pangolins, respectively.

But making the jump from one species to another isn’t easy, because successful viruses have to be tightly adapted to their hosts. To get into a host cell, a molecule on the virus’s surface has to match a receptor on the outside of the cell, like a key fitting into a lock. Once inside the cell, the virus has to evade the cell’s immune defenses and then commandeer the appropriate parts of the host’s biochemistry to churn out new viruses. Any or all of these factors are likely to differ from one host species to another, so viruses will need to change genetically — that is, evolve — in order to set up shop in a new animal.

Pandemics — disease outbreaks of global reach — have visited humanity many times. Here are examples.

A recent mutation alters the SARS-CoV-2 spike protein to make it less fragile (the altered bits are shown as colored blobs). This added robustness appears to make the virus more infectious. Three sites are shown because the spike protein is composed of three identical subunits that bind together.

(DOE/Los Alamos National Laboratory)

Host switching actually involves two steps, though these can overlap. First, the virus has to be able to invade the new host’s cells: That’s a minimum requirement for making the host sick. But to become capable of causing epidemics, the virus also has to become infectious — that is, transmissible between individuals — in its new host. That’s what elevates a virus from an occasional nuisance to one capable of causing widespread harm.

SARS-CoV-2 shows these two stages clearly. Compared with the virus in bats, both the virus that infects people and a close relative in pangolins carry a mutation that changes the shape of the surface “ spike protein.” The alteration is right at the spot that binds to host cell receptors to let the virus in. This suggests that the mutation first arose either in pangolins or an as yet unidentified species and happened to allow the virus to jump over to people, too.

But SARS-CoV-2 carries other changes in the spike protein that appear to have arisen after it jumped to people, since they don’t occur in the bat or pangolin viruses. One is in a region called the polybasic cleavage site, which is known to make other coronaviruses and flu viruses more infectious. Another appears to make the spike protein less fragile, and in lab experiments with cell cultures, it makes the virus more infectious. The mutation has become more common as the Covid-19 pandemic goes on, which suggests — but does not prove — that it makes the virus more infectious in the real world, too. (Fortunately, though it may increase spread, it doesn’t seem to make people sicker.)

This evolutionary two-step — first spillover, then adaptation to the new host — is probably characteristic of most viruses as they shift hosts, says Daniel Streicker, a viral ecologist at the University of Glasgow. If so, emerging viruses probably pass through a “silent period” immediately after a host shift, in which the virus barely scrapes by, teetering on the brink of extinction until it acquires the mutations needed for an epidemic to bloom.

Streicker sees this in studies of rabies in bats — which is a good model for studying the evolution of emerging viruses, he says, since the rabies virus has jumped between different bat species many times. He and his colleagues looked at decades’ worth of genetic sequence data for rabies viruses that had undergone such host shifts. Since larger populations contain more genetic variants than smaller populations do, measuring genetic diversity in their samples enabled the scientists to estimate how widespread the virus was at any given time.

The team found that almost none of the 13 viral strains they studied took off immediately after switching to a new bat species. Instead, the viruses eked out a marginal existence for years to decades before they acquired the mutations — of as yet unknown function — that allowed them to burst out to epidemic levels. Not surprisingly, the viruses that emerged the fastest were those that needed the fewest genetic changes to blossom.

SARS-CoV-2 probably passed through a similar tenuous phase before it acquired the key adaptations that allowed it to flourish, perhaps the mutation to the polybasic cleavage site, perhaps others not yet identified. In any case, says Colin Parrish, a virologist at Cornell University who studies host shifts, “by the time the first person in Wuhan had been identified with coronavirus, it had probably been in people for a while.”

It was our bad luck that SARS-CoV-2 adapted successfully. Many viruses that spill over to humans never do. About 220 to 250 viruses are known to infect people, but only about half are transmissible — many only weakly — from one person to another, says Jemma Geoghegan, an evolutionary virologist at the University of Otago, New Zealand. The rest are dead-end infections. Half is a generous estimate, she adds, since many other spillover events probably fizzle out before they can even be counted.

Getting nicer — or nastier

SARS-CoV-2, of course, is well past the teetering stage. The big question now is: What happens next? One popular theory, endorsed by some experts, is that viruses often start off harming their hosts, but evolve toward a more benign coexistence. After all, many of the viruses we know of that trigger severe problems in a new host species cause mild or no disease in the host they originally came from. And from the virus’s perspective, this theory asserts, hosts that are less sick are more likely to be moving around, meeting others and spreading the infection onward.

“I believe that viruses tend to become less pathogenic,” says Burtram Fielding, a coronavirologist at the University of the Western Cape, South Africa. “The ultimate aim of a pathogen is to reproduce, to make more of itself. Any pathogen that kills the host too fast will not give itself enough time to reproduce.” If SARS-CoV-2 can spread faster and further by killing or severely harming fewer of the people it infects, we might expect that over time, it will become less harmful — or, as virologists term it, less virulent.

This kind of evolutionary gentling may be exactly what happened more than a century ago to one of the other human coronaviruses, known as OC43, Fielding suggests. Today, OC43 is one of four coronaviruses that account for up to a third of cases of the common cold (and perhaps occasionally more severe illness). But Fielding and a few others think it could also have been the virus behind a worldwide pandemic, usually ascribed to influenza, that began in 1890 and killed more than a million people worldwide, including Queen Victoria’s grandson and heir.

After rabbits were introduced to Australia, their population exploded. “They are very plentiful here,” says the handwritten inscription on the back of this postcard from around 1930. Scientists eventually introduced the myxoma virus to control the rabbit plague.

(Photographer Paul C. Nomchong / National Museum of Australia)

Scientists can’t prove that, because no virus samples survive from that pandemic, but some circumstantial evidence makes the case plausible, Fielding says. For one thing, people who were infected in the 1890 pandemic apparently experienced nervous-system symptoms we now see as more typical of coronaviruses than of influenza. And when Belgian researchers sequenced OC43’s genome in 2005 and compared it to other known coronaviruses, they concluded that it likely originated as a cattle virus and may have jumped to people right around 1890. They speculated that it may have caused the 1890 pandemic and then settled down to a less nasty coexistence as an ordinary cold virus.

Other evolutionary biologists disagree. The pandemic certainly faded as more people became immune, but there’s no solid evidence that OC43 itself evolved from highly virulent to mostly benign over the last century, they say. Even if it did, that does not mean SARS-CoV-2 will follow the same trajectory. “You can’t just say it’s going to become nicer, that somehow a well-adapted pathogen doesn’t harm its host. Modern evolutionary biology, and a lot of data, shows that doesn’t have to be true. It can get nicer, and it can get nastier,” says Andrew Read, an evolutionary microbiologist at Penn State University. (Holmes is blunter: “Trying to predict virulence evolution is a mug’s game,” he says.)

To understand why it’s so hard to predict changes in virulence, Read says it’s important to recognize the difference between virulence — that is, how sick a virus makes its host — and its transmissibility, or how easily it passes from one host individual to another. Evolution always favors increased transmissibility, because viruses that spread more easily are evolutionarily fitter — that is, they leave more descendants. But transmissibility and virulence aren’t linked in any dependable way, Read says. Some germs do just fine even if they make you very sick. The bacteria that cause cholera spread through diarrhea, so severe disease is good for them. Malaria and yellow fever, which are transmitted by mosquitos, can spread just fine even from a person at death’s door.

Funeral for a U.S. soldier who died of influenza in Russia in 1919. The 1918-1920 pandemic killed an estimated 50 million people worldwide.

(U.S. National Archives)

Respiratory viruses, like influenza and the human coronaviruses, need hosts that move around enough to breathe on one another, so extremely high virulence might be detrimental in some cases. But there’s no obvious evolutionary advantage for SARS-CoV-2 to reduce its virulence, because it pays little price for occasionally killing people: It spreads readily from infected people who are not yet feeling sick, and even from those who may never show symptoms of illness. “To be honest, the novel coronavirus is pretty fit already,” Geoghegan says.

Nor are there many documented instances of viruses whose virulence has abated over time. The rare, classic example is the myxoma virus, which was deliberately introduced to Australia in the 1950s from South America to control invasive European rabbits. Within a few decades, the virus evolved to reduce its virulence, albeit only down to 70 to 95 percent lethality from a whopping 99.8 percent. (It has since ticked up again.)

But myxoma stands nearly alone, Parrish says. For instance, he notes, there is no evidence that recent human pathogens such as Ebola, Zika or chikungunya viruses have shown any signs of becoming less pathogenic in the relatively short time since jumping to humans.

“Everyone has influenza,” reads a headline in a French publication from January 1890.

(Wellcome Collection via CC by 4.0)

The ones that went away

The faded nightmares of our past — pandemics that terrorized, then receded, such as SARS in 2003 and flu in 1918-20 and again in 1957, 1968 and 2009 — went away not because the viruses evolved to cause milder disease, but for other reasons. In the case of SARS, the virus made people sick enough that health workers were able to contain the disease before it got out of hand. “People who got SARS got very sick, very fast and were easily identified, easily tracked and readily quarantined — and their contacts were also readily identified and quarantined,” says Mark Cameron, an immunologist at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, who worked in a Toronto hospital during the height of the SARS outbreak there. That was never going to be as easy to do for Covid-19 because people who don’t show symptoms can spread the virus.

Flu pandemics, meanwhile, have tended to recede for another reason, one that offers more hope in our present moment: Enough of the population eventually becomes immune to slow the virus down. The H1N1 influenza virus that caused the 1918 pandemic continued as the main influenza virus until the 1950s, and its descendants still circulate in the human population. What made the virus such a threat in 1918-20 is that it was novel and people had little immunity. Once much of the population had been exposed to the virus and had developed immunity, the pandemic waned, although the virus persisted at a lower level of infections — as it does to this day. It appears less lethal now largely because older people, who are at greatest risk of dying from influenza, have usually encountered H1N1 influenza or something like it at some point in their lives and retain some degree of immunity, Read says.

With the new coronavirus, Parrish says, “we’re sort of in that 1918 period where the virus is spreading fast in a naive population.” But that will change as more people either catch Covid-19 or are vaccinated (if and when that becomes possible) and develop some level of immunity. “There’s no question that once the population is largely immune, the virus will die down,” Parrish says.

The question is how long that immunity will last: for a lifetime, like smallpox, or just a few years, like flu? In part, that will depend on whether the vaccine induces a permanent antibody response or just a temporary one. But it also depends on whether the virus can change to evade the antibodies generated by the vaccine. Although coronaviruses don’t accumulate mutations as fast as flu viruses, they do still change. And at least one, which causes bronchitis in chickens, has evolved new variants that aren’t covered by previous vaccines. But at this point, no one knows what to expect from SARS-CoV-2.

There is, at least, one encouraging aspect to all this. Even if we can’t predict how the virus will evolve or how it will respond to the coming vaccine, there is something all of us can do to reduce the risk of the virus evolving in dangerous ways. And it doesn’t involve any complicated new behaviors. “Viruses can only evolve if they’re replicating and transmitting,” Streicker says. “Anything that reduces the replication of a virus will in consequence reduce the amount of evolution that happens.” In other words, we can do our part to slow down the evolution of the Covid-19 virus by behaving exactly as we’ve been told to already to avoid catching it: Minimize contact with others, wash your hands and wear a mask.

This article originally appeared in Knowable Magazine, an independent journalistic endeavor from Annual Reviews. Sign up for the newsletter.

#Nature

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blccmngs · 6 months ago

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"Maybe. You gotta say it first." The corner of his lips curled up into a smirk as he leaned over Parker from where he was straddling the other. It could have been considered some light, playful wrestling (and it was mostly) if the pair didn't seem so competitive. "I would have settled for just 'so pretty' but I'm glad for all the extra fluff and stuff." / @newrcgime ; cont.

#newrcgime #( with all respect which is none ; parrish. )

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homenum-revelio-hq · 5 years ago

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BASICS.

NAME. Archibald Macmillan AGE: 27 ALUMNI HOUSE. Slytherin BLOOD STATUS. Pureblood ORDER RANK. Mid-level FACECLAIM. Freddie Stroma

PAST.

Archibald grew-up knowing that a life like his required certain standards - and certain sacrifices. It wasn’t that he wasn’t allowed to “be himself”; simply that the “self” he presented to the world had to meet certain requirements: good manners, good breeding (that at least was easy: the Macmillans were eighth-generation Wizarding even by the most strident standards), good grades, good job... good wife. The latter was no problem either, even though Archie figured out he was queer as a sixteen-sickle Galleon by the time he was twelve. That was common; there were a myriad of ways to handle it. For Archie, it was even easier than most: he was best friends with a witch of suitable lineage who didn’t want to marry anyone - but like Archie, she had standards to uphold. It was the simplest thing in the world to join their family interests in matrimony - and if surmounting the less-than-pleasant process of procuring an heir was somewhat trickier, well, it could have been worse. (He’d seen some of his friends’ marriages, after all...) Isla was no simpering feather-brain at least, even if she was decidedly not the sort of person he would have taken to bed by choice. For that, Archie preferred the company of the Ganymede Gentlemen’s Club - a less exclusive establishment than it had been in his grandfather’s time, true, but still charming. And while Archie wasn’t the sort to turn up his nose at a proper lineage, he also wasn’t some hotheaded extremist. Most half-bloods these days were so civilized you could hardly tell them apart from a pureblood without a family tree - and some muggleborns were so well-behaved, you’d practically think they’d been raised magical! Really, modern times were astounding.

PRESENT.

Life was going well enough for Archie, overall. He’d checked all those requisite boxes of societal standards - a clever wife, enough of an eye for fashion to not embarrass himself, a respectable job that he largely enjoyed... even if it did get a bit tiring, having to re-hash the same arguments all the time. (Yes, Mr. Bogrod, you really do have to let them access their family vault even though they aren’t the generation who founded it... No, Gornuk, you don’t get to take that necklace back just because the owner died and yes it would be very bad form to go to the funeral and ask them to hand it over before they bury her...) Still, Junior Ministry Liaison to Gringotts Wizarding Bank was a prestigious position even if it did involve working with, well, goblins. Not that Archie was prejudiced, of course - but they did wear on a fellow after a while, goblins. They weren’t the only thing dragging down his spirits: Archie had thought that a marriage and the eventual inevitable heir thus entailed would mean he’d reached the finish line - that society would stop demanding things of him. But it seemed he still had a façade to uphold. Still wasn’t allowed to talk openly about certain subjects. No one expected a husband and wife to sleep in the same bedroom, yet somehow saying it sent lips all a-flutter (as if any of those gossips shared rooms with their spouses?). Archie was sick of the old-fashioned illusions - so he decided to change the world. Why not? It had happened before. And if most of the people involved in this little “Order of the Phoenix” weren’t exactly his sort of people - well, neither were goblins. And he did all right there.

CONNECTIONS.

BRANWEN YAXLEY. A part of him is only slightly jealous that Yaxley can live the life that he cannot. Branwen isn’t necessarily out and free, no one in their position was free, but he could still remember her confession in her fifth year. He can still remember the words he was too afraid to speak out loud. The jealousy wasn’t quite that after all. It was awe, and a bit of panic. They ran in the same circles, after all. What would happen if Branwen were to find him somewhere she shouldn’t? ISLA SELWYN-MACMILLAN. Archie loves his wife - he’s just not in love with her. They’re best friends - and she’s the first person he really opened up to about his fear of having to marry a woman. She hated the idea of marrying all together - so it worked out! With Isla on his arm at both Ministry and pureblood functions alike, no one bats an eye. And because she loves him in the exact same platonic way he loves her, she doesn’t think anything of his extracurricular activities. He might just be able to share anything with her, which can be a dangerous slope for a pureblood. HESTIA JONES. Is it wrong to want to adopt a girl less than five years your junior? Archie can’t help himself, her boundless energy and curiosity are just adorable. The fact that she’s got such a powerful wand-arm to back up that bounce just makes her more fun to be around. He’s not old enough to say that she makes him feel young again, but... all right, that’s exactly how she makes him feel.

Alternate FC Suggestions: Hunter Parrish, Lucas Till, Taron Egerton

**Note: It will be up to the players applying for Archibald and Isla to decide whether or not they are Ernie’s parents (in which case, they have at least one child) or his uncle and aunt (in which case, they are free to have as many or few children as you like, including none).

ARCHIBALD IS OPEN.

#marauders rp #marauders era roleplay #marauders era rp #marauders era rpg #bio rp #archibald macmillan bio #archibald macmillan #slytherin #pureblood #mid level #character bio #open

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ceruleanharley · 5 years ago

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anyways, for all of you preparing for cdth here’s a recap of the dream thieves written by maggie herself for recaptains.co.uk

also just read it cuz it’s hilarious as hell (also also she recapped first 3 books)

in short

The Dream Thieves is the second book in the four-book Raven Cycle. The sequel follows four private school boys (Gansey, Adam, Ronan, and Noah), three professional psychics (Calla, Maura, and Persephone), two cars (an elderly but powerful Camaro named the Pig and a brutish but nuanced Mitsubishi named the Mitsubishi), and one clever and judgmental girl who is shorter than the author (Blue). Gansey still searches the mountains of Virginia for the legendary Welsh king Glendower, a quest made more plausible by the group’s discovery of a creepy, gorgeous, sentient, magical, adjective, adjective forest called Cabeswater. In The Dream Thieves, however, all of this takes a back seat to Ronan’s confession on the last page of The Raven Boys: he can take things out of his dreams. Things you should remember: The book takes place in Henrietta, VA, a town crossed by a ley line — an invisible energy path. Noah is dead: he creepily reenacts his own death without noticing. Blue is cursed: if she kisses her true love, he’ll die. Gansey is deathly allergic to bees. Also remember: Ronan’s father Niall was murdered mysteriously before book 1 began, and his mother Aurora became catatonic directly afterward. She remains motionless as the Barns, the Lynch family home, though none of her sons can see her: Niall’s will forbids the brothers from returning home. Oh, also remember: In the last book, Adam Parrish made a hasty bargain with the creepy, gorgeous, sentient, magical, adjective, adjective forest. He promised to be its hands and its eyes. No, nobody else knows what the hell that means either. WTH, Adam. Cue some light summer driving music. Let’s do this thing.

what happened in The Dream Thieves

Ronan has three secrets. 1. His scoundrel father could take things out of his dreams. 3. Ronan can also take things out of his dreams. #2? There was no 2. What? It’s probably nothing. It’s just the wind.

Ronan demonstrates his secret for the boys and Blue. Blue, by the way, is 100% not in love with Gansey. She hasn’t been staring at him for a page and a half. He does not have a great mouth. It’s just the wind.

Here is a thing that’s not the wind: The Gray Man, the hitman who killed Niall Lynch, has come to town looking for something called the Greywaren. He kicks the stuffing out of Ronan’s older brother Declan and questions him. Although 90% of Raven Cycle readers and characters dislike Declan, the author would like to point out that Declan handles the interrogation with due dignity.

Gansey’s mother quietly runs for Congress in the background.

As the boys and Blue riding back from exploring in the Camaro, a Mitsubishi pulls up alongside. Inside is Kavinsky, an Aglionby student named after the French house artist of the same name (who is not fond of the tender homage, the author sadly notes). His eyeballs say LET’S RACE. My, thinks Ronan to himself with a curled lip, that boy is certainly one hundred percent not attractive. “My,” Gansey says out loud with a curled lip, “that boy is one hundred percent not attractive.” “Asshole,” notes Blue. Adam adds, “There is no point racing with him as we’re carrying four living passengers which results in a loss of 7.5 horsepower for each of us using even the most forgiving of weight gain to power loss formulas.” Ronan concludes that his friends suck and are no fun.

The Gray Man likes Henrietta. He decides he could really spend some quality time here, if it weren’t for his employer, Colin Greenmantle, the man who really wants the Greywaren: an object rumored to allow one to pull things from dreams.

Back at Monmouth Manufacturing, the gutted hipster warehouse palace the boys live in, Ronan tries to describe to Gansey how his dream-to-reality process works. He makes a small gay joke, which is funny because he is definitely not interested in boys, and then he shows Gansey what he has just pulled from his dream: a wooden puzzle box that translates phrases from old languages.

The next day, Blue waitresses at Nino’s as the boys discuss the puzzle box and Gansey’s dead Welsh royal boyfriend Glendower. Kavinsky appears and gives a pile of leather bracelets identical to the ones Ronan already wears. He also makes a “your mama” joke because what else do you get for the man who has everything?

The Gray Man explores Henrietta using fancy energy devices. The Greywaren supposedly gives off energy when used, but so does this ley line thing. The Gray Man’s brother calls as he works, but he doesn’t pick up. He finds a twisted, black rose plant somehow affected by the strange energy lines in Henrietta. Cool, thinks the Gray Man. Too bad my brother is such an off-screen creeper.

Adam discovers Aglionby tuition is going up. Bad news: he is still poor.

Adam discovers he’d like to kiss Blue. Bad news: she doesn’t want him to.

Cue: fight. Cue: cold shower. Cue: landlady informing Adam that, strangely enough, his rent has been reduced the exact same amount the tuition raise. This sounds suspicious like charity to Adam. Who could be pointing their charity gun at him? GANSEY!!?? A box gets kicked in this chapter.

While Ronan, Gansey, and Noah are hanging around the Dollar City — because that’s what cool rich kids with lots of expendable income do — Adam calls. He’s seen a ghost. Mon dieu, says Gansey. Ghosts? In this series? As Gansey talks on the phone, Ronan notes that he is a fine-looking rich boy and that this pisses him off. The idea of home also pisses him off. This whole pissing chapter pisses him off. A snow globe full of glitter gets dropped in this chapter.

Later, Gansey carefully asks Adam if he would like to go to his mother’s Congressional party in D.C. “Nothing bad will happen there,” he promises. “It will not be a plot point or anything.” In the background, Ronan throws Noah out of the window.

Ronan takes some time to dream an exact copy of Kavinsky’s white sunglasses.

At Sunday Mass, Declan tells Ronan to keep his head down and not hang out with Kavinsky. I know, we don’t know why he bothers. Ronan leaves and promptly finds Kavinsky. Ronan tosses the copied sunglasses into the Mitsubishi. Then they race, as one does after Mass.

The Gray Man stops by 300 Fox Way for research. He can’t help but notice that Maura, Blue’s mother, is a little foxy. She can’t help but notice that he is a little foxy too. He tells them he’s a hit man, then quotes a little Anglo-Saxon poetry to break up the heavy mood. Calla makes him a drink.

While the ladies of 300 Fox Way are occupied stealing the Gray Man’s wallet, the boys and Blue travel to Cabeswater to search for Glendower. The group discovers that the creepy, gorgeous, sentient, magical, adjective, adjective forest is missing.

GASP WHAT

The Camaro breaks down.

SPOILER: It’s the alternator.

HOW DOES A WHOLE FOREST GO MISSING WHAT WHAT

That night, Ronan has a nightmare about a mask that fuses to Adam’s face. Noah wakes him just as he is ripping it — and Adam’s skin — off. But it’s too late. Ronan has also manifested one of his night terrors, which are clawed, beaked, greasy birdmen who want Ronan dead.

Gansey and Ronan kill one of the night horrors, but one of them gets away. There is a gross sentence with a box cutter in this chapter.

The boys and Blue violate Niall Lynch’s will to bury the bird man at the Barns. They discover the Barns is full of sleeping animals — every living thing Niall Lynch ever dreamed into being has fallen asleep upon his death. Including Ronan’s mom, Aurora.

WHAT SHE’S A DREAM CREATURE WHAT NIALL DREAMED HIMSELF A WOMAN WHAT FEMINISM GOES BONK

A wall gets punched in this chapter. Also Ronan snuggles a baby mouse.

In light of Ronan being the product of a dream-mama, they convince him to talk it out with Calla. She says dream objects have no soul of their own, so therefore, when the dreamer dies, the object falls into stasis, unless the object is put back into a dream. “Hey,” says Ronan. “You know what’s dreamy? The creepy, gorgeous, sentient, magical, adjective, adjective forest.”

THAT’S MISSING, REMEMBER?.

The boys and Blue explore a lake on the leyline and find an old shield boss and an ancient Camaro wheel. No, actually ancient. 500 years old. That’s what we call a “classic.”

The Gray Man picks through the boys’ hipster factory palace while they’re out. As he is carefully and respectfully prying through their private things, two random thugs break in and begin actually tossing the place. The Gray Man is so offended! This is not the respectful way to break into someone’s home. So he kills them. He also calls Maura to flirt with her.

Kavinsky also stops by Monmouth Manufacturing to drop off dozens of forged drivers licenses, all with Ronan’s face.

Assuming Kavinsky trashed Monmouth, Gansey and Ronan track down Kavinsky at one of his “substance parties.” They don’t get a lot of information, but Gansey imperiously and nobly throws a Molotov cocktail into a Volvo and Ronan lights the Mitsubishi on fire while Kavinsky stands really close to him. It probably doesn’t sound hot in this summary, but I swear to you, it’s pretty sweaty, especially if you’re the sort that goes for cars, fire, and felonies.

Maura and the Gray Man go on a date. The Gray Man talks about hiding from his sociopathic brother who tormented him as a child. He also talks Anglo-Saxon poetry, because he knows what the ladies like. Then they kiss, which, finally. Someone should get kissed in this series.

Ronan has a dream that’s sweatier than the substance party chapter, especially if you’re the sort who goes for tattoos or Catholics or French house artists. This is chapter 30, also known as METAPHOR CITY

Gansey’s sister Helen flies Adam and Gansey to D.C. in her helicopter. The boys call the old professor Malory for ideas about Cabeswater’s disappearance. Malory speculates that something might be robbing the ley line of energy. Then they talk a little bit about fancy show pigeons. You know, I wrote this book, and that sounds crazy even to me.

Back at Monmouth, Blue and Noah kiss in a recreational way, since she doesn’t have to worry about killing HIM.

Ronan realizes his father has left some kind of clue at the bottom of his will: a sentence in a mysterious language that Ronan translates with the puzzle box.

In D.C., Adam mingles at the Gansey Congressional party. He is feeling pretty crazy; he’s been hearing voices & seeing ghosts. He also hates people, it turns out, especially people with champagne. Then the power goes out; everyone hears a voice singing “The Raven King, make way for the Raven King” in Latin. This is not how these things normally go.

Back in Henrietta, Ronan uses a set of dreamed up keys to steal the Camaro and drag race with Kavinsky, who mysteriously has another Mitsubishi. As they race, a night horror lands on the Camaro and he wrecks it. Kavinsky returns to shoot the night horror and collect Ronan in his car.

Kavinsky reveals that he, too, is a dream thief. He shows Ronan a field of 100 nearly identical white Mitsubishis, which is how you can tell Maggie Stiefvater wrote this book.

Gansey and Adam fight. Gansey calls Blue for some solace. It’s sort of touching.

The next morning, Gansey discovers Adam has gone missing. After the entire Gansey family searches the neighborhood, Adam finally calls. He forgot himself and walked miles down the interstate.

Why would Adam do such a thing as forget his own body? Oh right, because he made a bargain with a creepy, gorgeous, sentient, magical, adjective, adjective forest.

Kavinsky teaches Ronan how to drink, get high, and get things from dreams. Ronan learns how to steal big things from his dream and also that this savage dreaming is what is draining the ley line … and making the creepy, gorgeous, sentient, magical, adjective, adjective forest disappear.

Ronan dreams a new copy of Gansey’s Camaro — perfectly battered and terrible, just the way he likes it, not like that’s a metaphor or anything — and then abandons Kavinsky rather rudely.

The Gray Man, meanwhile, has figured out that the Greywaren is Ronan. He glumly informs Maura, who of course already knows. The Gray Man doesn’t want to kidnap Ronan, but Greenmantle tells him that if he doesn’t return with the Greywaren, he will tell SociopathicBrother where the Gray Man is.

Calla does some psychic analysis on the shield boss and Camaro wheel from the lake. She tells Blue: “they were dragging him at this point … they meant to bury this with him, but it was too heavy. They left it behind.” Then, about the wheel: “He’s not alone when he leaves the car behind.” She also mutters about how some people use time over and over.

Back in Henrietta, Adam demands to know why Blue won’t kiss him. She tells him about her curse. And she tells him that he’s not going to be her true love anyway, so. SANITY GOES BONK

Adam, off his gourd both magically and mentally, allows Persephone to conduct a ritual to connect him more securely to Cabeswater while allowing his mind to remain his own. Persephone, being a creepy creature herself, warns him that the others won’t understand his change. Is she really qualified for psychiatric advice? We’ll probably find out in book 3.

Gansey and Blue go on a drive to feel repressed and not discuss how they feel about Adam’s strangeness or each other, so of course they end up discussing both of these things. They pretend-kiss, agree they cannot torment Adam by dating, and then Gansey says “now we never speak of it again.” Sure, Gansey, sure.

Now that Ronan has gotten Kavinsky out of his system — though Kavinsky has not got Ronan out of his — Ronan feels … okay. He chooses what to dream, for once, and he chooses to dream of his dead father. They have a goodbye moment that Stiefvater is really proud of.

Gansey convinces the Gray Man not to kidnap Ronan. Instead, the Gray Man intends to pretend to have stolen the Greywaren and then run from Henrietta, drawing Greenmantle’s attention elsewhere.

Meanwhile, Adam and Persephone drive all over the area performing small repairs to the ley line, strengthening the energy to make it more possible for Cabeswater to appear again.

Chapter 56 is a wonder of pacing.

how did it end?

Furious at being abandoned, Kavinsky kidnaps Ronan’s younger brother Matthew to blackmail Ronan into coming to his 4th of July party. When Gansey, Ronan, and Blue get to the party, Kavinsky goes into his dreams to get something to challenge Ronan with. Falling asleep as well, Ronan finds that they both dream of standing in Cabeswater. Kavinsky steals a fire dragon and vanishes as he wakes. Ronan chooses to request instead of steal from Cabeswater. But the forest is drained from Kavinsky’s thieving and can’t manifest something for Ronan to use as a weapon. Adam appears in the nick of time to restore energy to the ley line using his new woo-woo balance. He also tells Ronan he figured out Ronan paid the rent. Cabeswater, newly charged, grants Ronan one of his dreaded night horrors — only now the horror no longer hates him and will fight for him instead. This chapter should be called METAPHOR CITY, PART II. When Ronan wakes, the night horror and fire dragon fight, and ultimately Kavinsky’s fire dragon kills Kavinsky. Meanwhile, the Gray Man was leading the other thugs and his sociopathic brother out of Henrietta. With the ley line restored to full energy, he realizes that the Greywaren’s energy footprint will no longer stand out dangerously. The Gray Man convinces the thugs that the Greywaren doesn’t exist. Then, finally he faces up to his SociopathicBrother. He shoots him, twice. Hit men. Seriously. They think there is only one answer to every question. Ronan dreams a new will that allows him to return to the Barns and then takes his catatonic mother to Cabeswater, where she immediately wakes up. Then he tells the reader that Adam Parrish is his second secret. Blue discovers that during all of these shenanigans, her mother has disappeared. She’s left behind just a note: “Glendower’s underground. So am I.” Readers howl in annoyance and Stiefvater laughs cruelly. /fin summer driving music.

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