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jess-le-mess · 2 months ago

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Feedist Kinktober - Day 8

(Prompt: Ren Faire 👑)

[Content notes: fat FtM main character; fat cis woman supporting character; sibling dynamics; competitive eating; stuffing; descriptions of fullness; fat shaming/teasing]

[Author's note: Apparently I never posted this one, and only noticed when I was preparing my end-of-month story roundup; since I posted another Flynn story today, I figured it'd be a good time to also post this one.]

Eating Contest

"Flynn, buddy, I am just here to look hot in an old-timey dress, hit on cute girls, and drink beer out of a tankard. Happy to cheer you on, but I'm not doing the eating contest with you."

Flynn looked over at the tent where the eating contest was being held. It was held every year as part of the local Ren Faire that he and his sister Heather attended, and he'd always wanted to try it, but he'd never had the confidence before his transition and even now he still felt a bit nervous. Being generally seen as a bigger guy rather than a girl hadn't done a ton for his confidence with eating in public, but some part of him was excited to finally try this.

And Heather would at least be there supporting him in theory, that might be okay.

So he stepped into the tent, paid the fee, and looked around at his potential competition. There weren't that many people around, which made Flynn relax a bit.

He sat down at the contest table, watched Heather (having already found herself a tankard of beer) saunter off to the audience area, and then sized up his competition.

He saw about ten people, all of different shapes, sizes, ages, and genders. At the end of the table was a chubby elderly woman, flanked by a couple of teenagers who were presumably her grandkids. Next to him was this really buff white guy being patted on the back by a short, fat brown-skinned woman a flowing blue dress.

Flynn, who had been single a long time, felt a bit jealous of the guy. When the man caught Flynn's glance and reached over to shake his hand with a big smile, Flynn limply took it and tentatively shook.

"Hey buddy, I'm Luke" he said, and the pointed back to the woman in the blue dress, "And this is my wife Jasmine. This your first time?"

Flynn nodded slowly.

Luke laughed. "Ah well, you'll get the hang of it. I live for this kinda thing. My wife and I travel around, hitting up these things. I mean, what could be better? Competitive gourmandizing? That's, like, the pinnacle of humanity. It has the thrill of competition, and food! Have yet to win though."

Flynn just smiled until Luke started chatting up the tall, skinny woman on the other side of him.

New people could be such a pain in the ass, especially when Flynn didn't know if they were queer or not. It wasn't so much that he was all that worried about getting clocked anymore; already being 5'11", the magic of top surgery, and now mostly being able to grow a beard had taken care of those worries. It's just that he couldn't really imagine living the kind of life a guy like Luke probably did.

Like, Luke probably met his wife in college, got some corporate job, worked his way up and is now, like, senior manager assistant to the VP or whatever with five houses and two and a half kids.

Whereas Flynn, although he liked his job at the software company, had never really moved up in the company and had only really dated once, and that girl had dumped him when he said he was planning to transition, although it wasn't directly related to that, or so she had told him.

It just felt like there was a hopeless chasm between him and people who never had to think about their gender for a single second.

The announcer, a blonde middle-aged woman in a cornucopia hat, stepping up to her podium stopped Flynn from floating off too far into self-pity.

The contest itself is simple enough. It was just a simple hamburger-eating competition. Competitors could drink as much water as they wanted, submit when they wanted, and the whole thing was timed, so if they couldn't meet a certain threshold they would be eliminated.

Luke reached out his fist to Flynn. Flynn stared at him, puzzled for a second, before Luke finished the fist bump. "Hope you do great, my man."

"U-um, you as well," Flynn replied, dumbfounded.

"Hell yeah," Luke replied.

The announcer called for the first round to begin, and Flynn immediately got started. The burgers were luckily delicious, perfectly charred, with a light and fluffy bun with no sauce of any kind, just the way he liked it, and something that always made Heather annoyed at him at barbecues.

"Freakin' weird, monk ass burger; put some ketchup on there at least; no wonder you can't find a partner."

Flynn had made it through the first round. The older woman had tapped out, and the bigger guy with the ponytail down near the end of the table ran out of time to eat another burger.

The first few rounds were fine. Flynn was used to eating quite a few of these on his own. He loved the feeling of being full, always had in fact. Just something about it made him feel warm, happy, like everything was going to be okay.

By the fifth round, Luke tapped out. He slapped his hand on the table and said, "That's it for me, then. Damn," and let his wife help him stand.

He glanced at Flynn. "Don't let me down, big guy. I'll be rooting for you."

Feeling weirdly inspired by that, Flynn polished off the last of the burgers on his plate, ending the round.

Until now caught up in his food-induced reverie, Flynn finally looked up after Luke had left and saw that he and the tall, skinny woman were the only ones left.

He glanced over to the crowd and saw Luke and his wife cheering, and saw Heather---tankard of beer in hand---shouting, "Go Flynn! Eat that goddamn mofo under the table!"

Flynn met the eyes of the skinny woman. He waved politely. She smiled and waved back.

After a brief pause, they were presented with their plates and Flynn was back to it.

Except something seemed off.

It was like the room had suddenly gotten five degrees warmer. And his pants were feeling awfully snug, weren't they? Well, they were pretty tight to begin with, weren't they?

He wiped his forehead with his napkin. God, it really was hot though, wasn't it.

And he didn't want to be the "ate so much he had to unbutton his pants" guy, but he told himself this was an eating contest and needs must if he wanted to---

The cheap, tinny buzzer sounded and Flynn looked up. The skinny woman was holding her distended belly and smiling as people were coming over to her table and shaking her hand, her face bright red and with a blissful smile.

Oh. So that's what had happened. In his struggle to get more comfortable, he'd run out of time and his opponent had won.

Still, he looked down at his heaving belly, now freed from his jeans. He'd done damn well, if he said so himself. He'd spent time doing exactly what he loved, and not giving a shit about what other people thought of him. He was fat, full, and happy.

A smile crept across his face, and he looked over at the woman who'd won. They shared a glance before she was helped to her feet by a middle-aged Asian guy in a black polo shirt.

He watched her walking away, savoring the moment until he felt a heavy slap on his shoulder.

"Ya lost asshole." His sister declared. "What's the point of being such a fatass if you can't win at an eating contest?"

He looked up. "You didn't compete. And you're fatter than me."

She sipped her beer and looked away. "I...am a princess. A princess would never stoop to something as gauche as competitive eating."

"Whatever. I'm happy you stayed for the whole thing."

Heather shrugged. "Didn't really see any cute girls so I was kinda forced to."

"But I appreciate it."

Heather just rolled her eyes. That was just how things were with her. Any hint of affection and she was back to snark. "Yeah, yeah. So anyway, you need me to get you out of that chair, or are we gonna need a forklift?"

He smiled weakly and held up his arms. "Would you?"

And then she carefully set down her beer, looked at him and gently said "Okay, take my hands," and with some effort pulled him to his feet.

"Thanks Heather."

"Okay, whatever. So are you good though?"

"I'm good."

"Awesome," she replied. "So you feel up to a tankard?" she asked, clinking her now-empty vessel at Flynn.

He just laughed as they began walking, him struggling a bit from his full belly sloshing around. "Maybe a glass of water?"

"Weakling," she scoffed. "You'll never be a champion eater with that attitude." She looked at him for a second, her face softening into a smile. "But okay, water it is."

#feedist kinktober 2024 #feedist kinktober #stuffing #competitive eating #fat ftm main character #flynn & heather #cw fat shaming

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glitterdustcyclops · 2 years ago

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speaking of "bunch of queer misfits find family and belonging with one another" i was re-reading one of my many (many many) WIPS last night and i have poured both my heart and soul and literal years of faffing about with this particular story, and going back to it last night i surprisingly didn't hate most of it

it's about a girl named Cat, perpetual ADHD/Anxiety Ridden Disaster Machine, and how she just-friends her way into falling head-over-heels in love with the cool, mysterious Punk Baker she literally runs into, Quinn

they're both ridiculous and i love them with all my heart

anyway, here's the first chapter, in an effort to put more of my writing on tumblr

I always thought the moment my entire life changed would be more significant. That there would be some kind of ominous portent or some sign from the Universe. Even just some suitably dramatic background music at the very least. You’d think Fate would have the decency to give a girl a head’s up.

But no.

It started like any other morning. Running late, sleep deprived, and in desperate need of caffeine. That was my excuse. I mean, I was barely a functioning human being at 9 in the morning, how could I have been expected to do something ridiculous like pay attention to my surroundings? To notice the black-and-white person-shape strolling out of the propped-open door of Haven—my absolute favorite coffee dispensary—at the same time I was barreling in, my headphones firmly on and blasting Queen.

I swear, time actually slowed down as we collided. She practically skidded to a stop, her mouth dropping open on a gasp I couldn’t hear while I probably squakwed like a damn parrot, a gloriously dramatic cascade of hot latte raining down on us both while the empy paper cup thudded to the concrete.

“The fuck—” I yanked down my headphones, so very ready to take this already shitty morning out on someone else when—

Oh fuck, she’s cute.

Of course that’s what my brain decided to notice first. She was taller than me, especially in her stompy black punk boots, and her hair was almost silvery-white, her eyes like unfairly blue. She had a cute sort of pixie-ish face, tan skin and a silver eyebrow ring glinting at the corner of her neatly manicured black brows.

And she stood in the doorway with her very crisp, very tight white v-neck absolutely ruined by a giant coffee stain running right down the middle.

“Oh jesus I’m so sorry!” I basically shouted at her, like a completely normal functioning person would, flapping a hand awkwardly at her torso. “Your shirt!”

Oh yeah, good plan self. Let’s just go ahead and draw attention to the fact that we were staring resolutely at her chest, where the thin material of her shirt had gone very transparent, clinging to her skin and letting the pale blue lacy material of her bra peek through.

“Hmm?” She glanced down as I averted my eyes in just the smoothest way. “Ah, well, I guess we’re even then.”

I looked down at myself. My favorite faded blue Doctor Who shirt was a bit sticky, but since I was the one who had knocked myself into her, I’d mostly managed to get my arm, a light sprinkle on the thighs of my jeans.

And of course I found the soft little chuckle she gave me then utterly adorable too. There was just this smoky hint of an accent in her slightly-raspy voice and it sent a weird tingle down my spine. Because I was fucking hopeless.

“No no no, my bad, sorry! I wasn’t looking, God, I’m such an idiot.”

“Hey, relax. It’s just coffee.” She gave me a very casual shrug of her bony shoulder, and there was a wry sort of quirk to the corners of her lips.

“Here, uh, l-let me, uh, let me buy you a new one? To make up for it?”

“You don’t have to.”

“N-no, no I don’t mind, please. Shit I am so so sorry I wasn’t paying attention, I never pay attention, I can’t believe—” Great. Now I was spiraling.

“Really dude, it’s fine,” she said, sounding, well, at least not annoyed with me. Not yet. “I’m Quinn by the way.”

“Oh uh, uh Cat. I’m Cat.” I waved at myself like a complete moron.

“Pleasure to meet you, Cat.” There was another quirk of her lips that edged more towards a smirk, a glimmer of something slightly wicked in her blue eyes. I kind of liked it.

“You…too?”

“Leat’s go inside, yeah? Get cleaned up at least.”

So I followed her into the café, just barely managing to stop myself from compulsively apologizing again as I did. The interior of Haven Coffee was mostly quiet, somehwere in that weird bubble after the morning rush but before the lunch one. Always one of my favorite times here. There was this dreamy sort of quality that settled over the floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves and the stark black-and-white check tile floor. The sound of some vintage record drifted across the empty interior, the large stone hearth in the corner and the matching set of forest green velvet armchairs arranged invitingly in front of it, a cozy little nook blessedly unoccoupied, like it was waiting for me.

Haven lived up to its name, a safe little pocket dimension of warmth and old books and records and really damn good coffee. And it just so happened to be the employer of my two very best friends in the whole wide world who were also my roommates, Ginger and Greg.

“Oh, g’morning Kit Kat!” Ginger said brightly, only half paying attention as she rearranged something on the counter, before she finally looked up and then saw the strangest thing she’d probably ever seen me do (which was saying a lot, really): walk into Haven with a stranger, both of us lightly doused with coffee.

At least Greg wasn’t out here this morning so I didn’t have to deal with him judging all of my life choices with a single look the way Ginger so very obviously was.

“Oh jeez, what happened.”

Audrey “Ginger” Parker had been assigned into my life by the whims of the Greendale University Student Housing Department, and I was ever thankful for it. She was basically if a pumpkin spice latte was a person, with her wild Merida mane of ginger curls and a constellation of freckles dusted liberally across her skin like cinnamon sprinkles. She could be obnoxious and pushy sometimes but she was also a total goofball and one of the least judgemental people I’d ever met. Which was a good thing for her, surrounded as she was by a bunch of dramatic artsy queers.

She was my token Straight Best Friend, and I loved her dearly. Usually.

Right now, standing next to a hot punk rock chick I’d practically assaulted and Ginger staring at me all wide-eyed and concerned I was questioning a lot of things.

“Oh, just a small accident,” Quinn was explaining with that stupid edge of a smirk to her mouth. Why is that attractive?

“Oh no! I’ll get someone to clean that up, and I can get you another vanilla latte of course,” Ginj replied, all warm smiles and Customer Service Voice.

“Yes please, and whatever she wants.”

Ginger glanced between the two of us with a raised eyebrow. I shrugged back in my customary twitchy manner—and hey, wasn’t I supposed to be buying her coffee? But of course, I wasn’t nearly socially adept enough to say anything about it, consumed as I was with wishing that my too too solid flesh would melt right through the polished tile floor.

“Alright!” Ginger said in an almost gratingly perky voice. “One large vanilla latte and one Kitty-Cat special, comin’ right up! That’ll be $4.35 please.”

I shambled over to the other side of the counter to wait for our drinks while Quinn finished paying, Ginger and her making casual small talk in that way I could never quite grasp. Instead I grabbed a handful of napkins and started dabbing ineffectively at my jeans. It was an excuse to look down at my feet and not make eye contact with anyone else, and I took those where I could get hem.

“Come here often?” Quinn asked me with slightly more than a hint of a smirk as she came over to join me, grabbing her own handful of napkins and making a valiant attempt to blot the stain from her shirt.

“Uh, somethin’ like that. I, er, Ginj is my roommate. We live thataways.” I gestured randomly with my other hand without looking up, deeply aware that it probably made me come off as even more of a twitchy weirdo but utterly unable to stop myself.

“Convenient.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

And just like that our feeble attempt at conversation bled out and died on the checkerboard floor below us. I was about to start praying for a god to smite me out of pity when Ginj finally finished our drinks, handing over the cups with a cheeky little wink as I glared daggers back at her.

She was so getting a bunch of trash shoved into her bed later.

“So, stay and chat?” Quinn indicated the cozy little nook with the fireplace and chairs in the corner—my spot, my favorite spot, and how the fuck did she know that anyway—and for a brief second the fantasy flashed before my eyes. The two of us, sitting there together, talking and laughing, getting to know each other.

But of course this was me we were talking about so it would mostly be like: awkward silence while avoiding eye contact and then eventually slinking away, trying to apologize for my general failure at existing without having to actually say anything.

And more importantly, after seeing what a stunning conversationalist I was for like the two minutes it took to order our drinks why would anyone I didn’t already live with voluntarily subject themselves to more of me. It just didn’t add up.

And oh fuck, she was still standing there looking at me expectantly and I hadn’t replied. Because of course this was my life, God, why didn’t I say anything? Say something you idiot, oh God this is it, this was somehow the most awkward situation I had ever been in, pack it up boys we’ve done it—and then suddenly I remembered I had an out, and I’d never been so grateful to already be late for a 9 AM opening shift in my entire life.

“C-cant, sorry! I uh, late for work. Butthanksforthecoffeebye!”

And with that eloquent little display I turned and swiftly walked out the door, another flappy wave to Ginj as I went. Once I was safely deposited onto the concrete outside I fucking ran for it, straight booking it out of there like I was being actively chased by dinosaurs.

Briefly I contemplated Forest Gumping my way past all of my problems and not stopping until I ended up on a different coast. But I quickly got winded—it wasn’t like I was renowned for my athleticism or anything—and I needed to pay my rent. Ginj would find me somehow, if I skipped town, and then she would be forced to kill me. And I couldn’t do that to my best friend.

I slowed down to somewhat of an amble, trying very hard not to barrel into any more cute tattooed hipsters as I did. Suddenly I realized I was still holding my drink (the Kit Kat Special is basically hot chocolate with a double shot of espresso doused liberally in caramel sauce and then topped with a mound of whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, because I liked to consume my coffee like a five year old would) and it made me feel weirdly guilty so I quickly tossed the whole thing in a nearby trash can as I walked down the street to my job.

The Dragon’s Keep happened to both be my absolute favorite retail establishment and also my employer. Situated rather conveniently a four buildings down from Haven, it specialized in board games and board game accessories; a local institution for nearly a decade.

You know when you find a place and it just feels like you’re coming home? Like you walk in and something about it, something in the air just makes you feel like you belong there? That was the Keep for me. Greg—who’d been my very bestest friend since the 7th grade and still somehow decided to live with me anyway—and I had wandered in one day when we were Freshmen in college. He’d heard about it from a guy in one of his English classes; apparently if we were interested in tabletop RPGS it was the best place to go, and we were, so one weekend we made the trek together and then we basically never left.

Eventually Paulie—Chief Nerd and intrepid proprietor of The Dragon’s Keep—decided that if I was gonna be there all the time anyway he might as well pay me for it, so now I got to sell board games and such for a living. It was a pretty sweet gig even on its worst days. My dysfunctional little nerd family away from home, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I wrenched open the door to the familiar chimes tinkling away above my head and the sounds of a Warhammer model painting tutorial playing on the TV, mixed with the dulcet tones of a raging nerd debate going on right in the middle of the store. Ah, home.

Paulie stood behind the register with his bushy braided Viking beard and his way-too-muscular-for-a-middle-aged-nerd-arms, covered in tattoos and crossed across his broad expanse of chest, all stoically imposing even in cargo shorts and a Star Wars t-shirt. Meanwhile Steven was over by the roleplaying bookshelves half-heartedly dusting, and the two of them were shouting about what sounded like the merits of various Barbarian builds. Because of course they were.

“You’re late,” Paulie interrupted Steven’s rant with his normal booming voice; he sounded angry, but the trick was that Paulie always sounded angry. I knew him far too well to believe it. He had that ever-present twinkle in his blue-gray eyes, so I couldn’t really be in trouble.

And anyway, if he was going to fire me for my appalling lack of time management skills he would’ve done it a long long time ago.

“Guys I’m gonna die alone,” I said instead as I trudged insde to lean against the opposite side of the counter across from Paulie.

“Uh-oh.” He shot Steve a look.

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know, just ran into this super cute girl at Haven. Literally.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.” I took a twisted sort of pleasure in confessing my crimes, like I could purge the embarrassment from my stomach by talking about it. “I knocked her coffee into her, fucking latte raining down from the heavens on us both, and then I perved on her chest, and then she bought me coffee while I forgot how human conversation works, and then I finally ran outta there like my hair was on fire.”

“Oh no, Cat,” Steven repeated in a delightful mixture of horror and amusement, and I could practiaclly hear Paulie’s wince.

“It was literally the worst thing that has ever happened to anyone in the history of forever and I want to actually die!”

“Yeesh kid.” That was Paulie’s attempt at sympathy. But at least he tried.

I just moaned in misery, burrying my head into my arms crossed on the counter while Paulie offered me a half-hearted shoulder pat.

“We have got to get you like a wingman or something dude,” Steven said.

“It wouldn’t help,” I muttered at the counter. I was definitely gettling like, face prints all over the glass. Someone was gonna have to wipe that down later. “I’m utterly hopeless, a 100% Certified Lesbian Disaster doomed to die alone in an apartment with like, eighty cats. I’m gonna be that lady. No one will find my body for weeks because all the stupid cats will have eaten me.”

“Morbid Cat!” Paulie gave me a horrified laugh.

“But you gotta admit,” Steve replied, “pretty ironic.”

I couldn’t see his face but I just knew he was giving me one of his stupid little goofy grins he liked to use when he knew he’d made a particularly horrible joke, because Steven was a bad person and I hated him.

“Oh shut up!” I pretended to snap at him in offence.

“Hey, you know what’ll really take your mind off of your romantic failures kiddo?” Paulie asked then, his voice entirely too cheery for the present situation.

“What boss?” I replied reluctantly, looking up and resting my chin on my hand.

“Selling board games of course!” He laughed his stupid bellowing Viking laugh and I rolled my eyes.

“Ugh. Can’t I take a personal day on account a’ all my trauma?”

“Nope, there’s orders to be filled in the back! Go, go.”

And then I was unceremoniously ushered away to the back office, whining the entire short trip around the counter and through the doorway there. I couldn’t help but smile just a bit, once I was out of sight. Paulie tried to project this air of a Gruff No-Nonsense Army Guy, but he was totally just a big ol’ softie under all those layers of nerdy t-shirt and muscle. He cared, about everyone, deeply, and he always had, had cared about me right from the first day I started working here.

The other boys did too; Steven, Walt, Ryan, even Jake, our newest minion. I kind of loved them, even if I would never admit that fact, even on pain of death. Working at The Keep was like working with a bunch of annoying older brothers. Comforting in its familiarity, that way.

I think, as far as first jobs went, I had gotten pretty lucky. It had its days, as all jobs did, but if I had to sell my soul to the institution of Capitalism I was glad to do it in a place that let me wear jeans and curse while I gently bullied a group of hopeless straight boys.

The rest of my workday passed as they often did. There were stretches of tedious nonsense (receiving and logging new inventory should’ve been listed in the Geneva Conventions as literal war crime, as far as I was concerned) mixed with moments of goofy nonsense and nerdy conversations and amusing interactions with our deeply weird customer base, all of it orchestrated to the background noise of board game demos and other related YouTube content playing on our video feed. Sure, it wasn’t exactly life-changing work, but I got to introduce a cute young couple to a few of my favorite two-player games and one of our regulars brought us cupcakes, and that’s a good day in my books.

I got home aorund 5-ish to Greg cooking dinner and Ginj drawing on her iPad at the kitchen table, anime playing on the TV. Whatever Greg was making smelled deliciously garlicky and my stomach rumbled in response. God I loved that he cooked. I mean, the fact that his favorite hobby was looking up fancy recipes from the internet and then trying to make them wasn’t neccessarily the entire basis of our friendship—I had known and loved him far too long for that—but it was definitely a perk.

Greg was, at this point, basically my Platonic Life Partner. We’d been friends since we were literal children, 12 years old, and somehow, despite all rational expectations, he hadn’t managed to get sick of me yet. At this point he wouldn’t be able to get rid of me even if he tried. I wouldn’t let him.

But I did love him, truly. He’d been there for some of the absolute worst moments of my life, and I’d been there for him in return. We had the sacred Lesbian-Gay Boy bond, and when his parents got a little Weird after he came out officially, it was my mom who became his support system. He fought with my brothers as if they were his own, and he had become an honorary member of the Stern clan in his own right.

You wouldn’t think he was the kind of guy who would be my ride-or-die bestie just by looking at him. Greg was kind of an enigma, a walking mess of contradictions. He was all Captain American Corn-Fed American Boy Realness on the outside, sandy blonde hair and blue eyes and a chin that could cut glass, but if you’d talked to him longer than five seconds you would realize that at the end of the day, he was just a really confident, unapologetically gay weirdo, obsessed with Lord of the Rings and deeply obscure anime as much as he was with football and classic rock.

But in a way, I loved him all the more for it.

“Hey Cat,” he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders, that merry little twinkle in his eyes as he flexed his chopping skills on an eggplant.

“Hello Housewife,” I replied with a mad giggle, stealing a slice of carrot from his chopping board and ducking out of range when he tried to elbow me back.

Ginj laughed at us and my heart felt so full, all of a sudden. That warm glowy-homey feeling that I got sometimes at moments like this, struck with the reminder that somehow, against all odds, I had found a place to belong. There was a long stretch of time there where I wasn’t even sure I was gonna make it out alive, that it nearly knocked me over to realize that I had. Where would I be in the world without these two, honestly?

At that point I’d practically forgotten all about The Coffee Girl Incident. There was too much good stuff going on. Everything in that moment was safe and right and good, and I was starting to believe it always would be, which was a rather novel experience to my still clincially-depressed and anxiety-riddled ass.

Until Ginger had to go and ruin it by making a stupid joke about coffee at dinner.

So I pulled her hair and she hit me and Greg threatened to send us to our rooms without dessert. Just a normal weekday dinner, really. And then I was far too busy eating a delicious home-cooked meal with two of my favorite people on Earth to care about silly stuff like spilled lattes and pretty blue-eyed girls.

I mean, I would probably be obsessing about the whole embarrasing incident for the rest of my life, especially when I was trying to sleep, but for now I focused on better things. I wouldn’t let it bother me. And such was the magic of Greg’s cooking, that just for a moment, I almost believed it too.

But of course, Fate wasn’t done with me just yet.

#my stuff #oc talk #if my work has Themes it is this: queer found families using kink as a coping mechanism for trauma and feeding people with love

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just-let-me-see-accounts · 3 years ago

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Alice in Wonderland with neopronouns! (ae/aer)

CHAPTER II. The Pool of Tears

“Curiouser and curiouser!” cried Alice (ae was so much surprised, that for the moment ae quite forgot how to speak good English); “now I’m opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-bye, feet!” (for when ae looked down at aer feet, they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off). “Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I’m sure I shan’t be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must manage the best way you can;—but I must be kind to them,” thought Alice, “or perhaps they won’t walk the way I want to go! Let me see: I’ll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas.”

And ae went on planning to aerself how ae would manage it. “They must go by the carrier,” ae thought; “and how funny it’ll seem, sending presents to one’s own feet! And how odd the directions will look!

Alice’s Right Foot, Esq., Hearthrug, near the Fender, (with Alice’s love).

Oh dear, what nonsense I’m talking!”

Just then aer head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact ae was now more than nine feet high, and ae at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.

Poor Alice! It was as much as ae could do, lying down on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more hopeless than ever: ae sat down and began to cry again.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said Alice, “a great enby like you,” (ae might well say this), “to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!” But ae went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round aer, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.

After a time ae heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and ae hastily dried aer eyes to see what was coming. It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other: he came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came, “Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess! Oh! won’t she be savage if I’ve kept her waiting!” Alice felt so desperate that ae was ready to ask help of any one; so, when the Rabbit came near aer, ae began, in a low, timid voice, “If you please, sir—” The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and the fan, and skurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.

Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, ae kept fanning aerself all the time ae went on talking: “Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle!” And ae began thinking over all the children ae knew that were of the same age as aerself, to see if ae could have been changed for any of them.

“I’m sure I’m not Ada,” ae said, “for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn’t go in ringlets at all; and I’m sure I can’t be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a very little! Besides, she’s she, and I’m I, and—oh dear, how puzzling it all is! I’ll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is—oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that rate! However, the Multiplication Table doesn’t signify: let’s try Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome—no, that’s all wrong, I’m certain! I must have been changed for Mabel! I’ll try and say ‘How doth the little—’” and ae crossed aer hands on aer lap as if ae were saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but aer voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they used to do:—

“How doth the little crocodile Improve his shining tail, And pour the waters of the Nile On every golden scale!

“How cheerfully he seems to grin, How neatly spread his claws, And welcome little fishes in With gently smiling jaws!”

“I’m sure those are not the right words,” said poor Alice, and aer eyes filled with tears again as ae went on, “I must be Mabel after all, and I shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh! ever so many lessons to learn! No, I’ve made up my mind about it; if I’m Mabel, I’ll stay down here! It’ll be no use their putting their heads down and saying ‘Come up again, dear!’ I shall only look up and say ‘Who am I then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I’ll come up: if not, I’ll stay down here till I’m somebody else’—but, oh dear!” cried Alice, with a sudden burst of tears, “I do wish they would put their heads down! I am so very tired of being all alone here!”

As ae said this ae looked down at aer hands, and was surprised to see that ae had put on one of the Rabbit’s little white kid gloves while ae was talking. “How can I have done that?” ae thought. “I must be growing small again.” Ae got up and went to the table to measure aerself by it, and found that, as nearly as ae could guess, ae was now about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly: ae soon found out that the cause of this was the fan ae was holding, and ae dropped it hastily, just in time to avoid shrinking away altogether.

“That was a narrow escape!” said Alice, a good deal frightened at the sudden change, but very glad to find aerself still in existence; “and now for the garden!” and ae ran with all speed back to the little door: but, alas! the little door was shut again, and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before, “and things are worse than ever,” thought the poor child, “for I never was so small as this before, never! And I declare it’s too bad, that it is!”

As ae said these words aer foot slipped, and in another moment, splash! ae was up to aer chin in salt water. Aer first idea was that ae had somehow fallen into the sea, “and in that case I can go back by railway,” ae said to aerself. (Alice had been to the seaside once in aer life, and had come to the general conclusion, that wherever you go to on the English coast you find a number of bathing machines in the sea, some children digging in the sand with wooden spades, then a row of lodging houses, and behind them a railway station.) However, ae soon made out that ae was in the pool of tears which ae had wept when ae was nine feet high.

“I wish I hadn’t cried so much!” said Alice, as ae swam about, trying to find aer way out. “I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! That will be a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day.”

Just then ae heard something splashing about in the pool a little way off, and ae swam nearer to make out what it was: at first ae thought it must be a walrus or hippopotamus, but then ae remembered how small ae was now, and ae soon made out that it was only a mouse that had slipped in like aerself.

“Would it be of any use, now,” thought Alice, “to speak to this mouse? Everything is so out-of-the-way down here, that I should think very likely it can talk: at any rate, there’s no harm in trying.” So ae began: “O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!” (Alice thought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse: ae had never done such a thing before, but ae remembered having seen in aer brother’s Latin Grammar, “A mouse—of a mouse—to a mouse—a mouse—O mouse!”) The Mouse looked at aer rather inquisitively, and seemed to aer to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing.

“Perhaps it doesn’t understand English,” thought Alice; “I daresay it’s a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.” (For, with all aer knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened.) So ae began again: “Où est ma chatte?” which was the first sentence in aer French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with fright. “Oh, I beg your pardon!” cried Alice hastily, afraid that ae had hurt the poor animal’s feelings. “I quite forgot you didn’t like cats.”

“Not like cats!” cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice. “Would you like cats if you were me?”

“Well, perhaps not,” said Alice in a soothing tone: “don’t be angry about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you’d take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear quiet thing,” Alice went on, half to aerself, as ae swam lazily about in the pool, “and she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her paws and washing her face—and she is such a nice soft thing to nurse—and she’s such a capital one for catching mice—oh, I beg your pardon!” cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all over, and ae felt certain it must be really offended. “We won’t talk about her any more if you’d rather not.”

“We indeed!” cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his tail. “As if I would talk on such a subject! Our family always hated cats: nasty, low, vulgar things! Don’t let me hear the name again!”

“I won’t indeed!” said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of conversation. “Are you—are you fond—of—of dogs?” The Mouse did not answer, so Alice went on eagerly: “There is such a nice little dog near our house I should like to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh, such long curly brown hair! And it’ll fetch things when you throw them, and it’ll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts of things—I can’t remember half of them—and it belongs to a farmer, you know, and he says it’s so useful, it’s worth a hundred pounds! He says it kills all the rats and—oh dear!” cried Alice in a sorrowful tone, “I’m afraid I’ve offended it again!” For the Mouse was swimming away from aer as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the pool as it went.

So ae called softly after it, “Mouse dear! Do come back again, and we won’t talk about cats or dogs either, if you don’t like them!” When the Mouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly back to aer: its face was quite pale (with passion, Alice thought), and it said in a low trembling voice, “Let us get to the shore, and then I’ll tell you my history, and you’ll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs.”

It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded with the birds and animals that had fallen into it: there were a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.

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

Alice in Wonderland available via Project Gutenberg!

Previous | Index | Next

AiW pronoun Masterpost

Feel free to correct any mistakes and have a nice day!

#alice in wonderland #neopronouns #ae/aer #Reminder I'll post a scaffold for AiW once I'm done with it so me and others can edit it easier!#Also I might take requests for pronoun sets after I'm done!#aiw

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scatterpatter · 3 years ago

Note

Corren - 1 through 100 - You did this to yourself.

FUCK YOU *UN-IRONICS YOUR ASK*

UNDER THE FUCKING CUT

1. What do they smell like?

Bad. Do you think their party is able to regularly take showers? I thinketh the fuck not. ... Pine and old books when he can self care tho.

2. What is their voice like?

Listen I know Corren, being taller, would be more likely to have a deeper register but you'll tear "tenor Corren" out of my cold dead hands

3. What is their biggest motivator?

Spite.

4. What is their most embarrassing memory?

When he first met his BFF Alondra, he was so antisocial and good at ignoring people that she actually got the impression he might have been hard of hearing. She never let him live that down. (one day I'll finish this fic i promise)

5. How do they deal with/react to pain?

"I will keep all of my pain in here, and one day I'll die." ... Okay but listen he's squishy so he takes like one hit and is bloodied up. Someone get him a healer. Pls.

6. What do they like to wear?

He likes his cloak. Its weighty and soft(well. WAS soft. got a bit of wear and tear these days.) and like. Who doesnt love cloaks.

7. Which of their relationships have impacted them most positively?

Ohhhhh fuuuccck this one's tough. I might have to go with Torvid honestly. While the entire party has had a positive impact on him(and trust me I was this close to picking Alistair), Torvid's been more of the one to call him out on his bullshit and to, oh I don't know, talk about your emotions? Ever??? Yknow BEFORE they become too much to handle and he absolutely breaks down???

8. What’s the weirdest thing they’ve ever eaten?

Alistair's cooking.

9. Describe the way that they sleep.

Good luck finding him NOT cuddled up with at least one dog. Tbh he just enjoys cuddles in general.

10. What is their favorite food/kind of food?

FUCKIN. GIVE HIM A GOOD STEAK. THIS BOY IS MOSTLY CARNIVORISTIC.

11. What do they feel most insecure about?

As tempted as I am to say "His cooking", it's actually his singing.

12. How do they like to dress?

"Comfort over flashiness tbh. I gotta go ADVENTURING in whatever I wear after all."

"... Also don't you DARE perceive me as cishet."

13. How do they react to feelings of guilt?

Call him a genie because he will BOTTLE THAT SHIT UP.

14. How do they react to/deal with betrayal?

Denial :D

15. What is their greatest achievement?

Shrike: Killing his dad

Me: NOOOOOO

EDIT: WAIT THIS WAS ANSWERED IN Q99 WHAT THE HECK

16. What are they like when they’ve gotten too little sleep?

Somehow more of a dick than usual. Snappy and cranky and just. Mrehhh.

17. What are they like when they’re drunk?

Doesn't get drunk often, but when he does I imagine he's actually giggly and a little clingy. It's cute :)

18. What kind of music do they enjoy?

*Opens my Corren playlist* Oh yeah. It's either full edgy alt rock or indie alt "depressed millenial" tracks.

19. Are they right or left handed?

FFFuuhhhhck uhhhh well

Looking over my old art I can't seem to pick a dominant hand(I've even drawn him handling his sniper with either hand???????????) so like oops guess he's ambidextrous.

20. Fears?

The dark, the ocean, dying alone and forgotten, his friends losing their trust of him

21. Favorite kind of weather?

Rain!!!! Especially cool rain like what people often get in fall months.

22. Favorite color?

Indigo!!!

23. Do they collect anything?

Books :3

24. Do they prefer either hot or cold weather more?

Cold weather by far.

25. What is their eye color?

Electric blue!

26. What is their race/ethnicity?

Well his race is a homebrew race known as Marelienth. Uhhh ethnicity? Idk he's from a mountain town way up north *shrugs*

In human aus I imagine him as half-Mongolian half-Norwegian so ayee

27. Hair color?

Black!

28. Are they happy where they are currently?

No :D He loves adventuring with his party don't get me wrong but he still has a lot of trauma to unpack. ... Also he was just possibly broken up with soooo. :/

29. Are they a morning person?

NOPE.

30. Sunrise or sunset?

*motions to above question* Sunset.

31. Are they more messy or more organized?

More organized, actually!

32. Pet peeves?

*unravels a list. It's all shit the party has done. Mostly Alistair.*

33. Do they own any objects of significant personal importance?

HOOUSIDSJFK- HE- Y-YEAH HE SURE DOES

His amethyst pendant used to belong to his brother, Julian, and he gave it to Corren right before they were separated so you BET it's sentimental as shit and he wears it daily.

34. Least favorite food?

Mecha's usually a great cook but one time trolled him with some absurdly spicy curry he couldn't handle and he's never forgiven them.

35. Least favorite color?

Hmmm. Maybe... yellow?

36. Least favorite smell?

He spent a year with his party in a damp cave and no showers, so uh. I'll give you a guess.

37. When was the last time they cried?

Literally last night in our game's timeline :D Full breakdown and everything!

38. Were they with anybody the last time they cried?

Torvid :D He was there to comfort

39. Tell us about one of the times they got injured?

One time they were in combat and Corren took a few hits and was down to about 2hp or so. He had a temporary level thanks to Kieran, which boosted his HP a little bit. When he teleported them to a safe town, though, well... Torvid was waiting for them so that's cool. But uh. Yeah that temporary level wore off then and there, dropping Corn Cob to exactly 0hp and he just- flopped down face first in the snow and started dying then and there KJNDKLFNSLKN

40. Do they have any scars?

Do you want to talk about the scar over his eye from a fight he got in with his dad or like. The scars on his limbs from the time he was literally experimented on.

41. Do they struggle with any mental health issues?

Undiagnosed+Untreated Anxiety, Depression, DPDR, PTSD, just to name a few

42. Do they have any bad habits?

Running away from his problems, definitely.

43. Why might someone dislike them?

He's a pretentious nerd. He can be a dick if he doesn't care about you.

44. Why might someone love them?

He's an adorable nerd! He's a hopeless romantic and oddly enough an optimist. He's passionate and driven too!

45. Do they believe in ghosts?

Well ghosts are like- a canon proven thing in his world sooo. Yeah.

46. Is there anyone they would trust with their lives?

His party. Well- most in his party.

47. Are they romantically interested in anyone?

Nethyl :)

48. Are they dating/married to anyone?

He's dating Nethyl and they're in a happy and healthy relationship :) *politely ignores canon*

49. Do they like surprises?

NO >:(

50. When is their birthday?

Heroya 5th! I think. I don't wanna check, assume it's this.

51. How do they usually celebrate their birthday?

"You guys celebrate your watchdays?"

Jokes aside, he mainly just treats himself to a nice dinner and a new book or something :)

52. Do they have any family?

Two older siblings: Julian and Mila. His parents are Andreas and Fanya!

53. Are they close to their family?

... *Coughs*. He was close with his siblings, but Mila died and he hasn't seen Julian in 30 years. Was close with his dad but last time they saw each other, they fought and Corren might have killed him so. ... Yeah. :/

54. What is their MBTI type?

FUCK uh. I... N... T... J? INTJ. Sure.

55. What is their zodiac sign?

In Sekrezia: The eagle

In our world: Uhhh. Idk. Capricorn????

56. What Hogwarts House would they be in?

Uhhh. Ravenclaw??? I know almost nothing about HP :/

57. What D&D alignment are they?

THIS ONE'S EASY- lawful neutral!

58. Do they ever have nightmares? If so, what about?

Used to have typical nightmares, nothing special. Nowadays though he often dreams of being underwater. Not drowning, though. It's... weird. He doesn't like those.

59. What are their views on death?

He's a necromancer lol.

Death is inevitable, though. It's a necessary part of life. Death is not an entire loss, though. One lives on in the memories others carry of them, in the love they hold in their hearts. Death is complicated, but that's okay.

60. What is something that they’re sure to laugh at?

Alistair :)

61. When bored, how do they pass time?

Dog time :)

62. Do they enjoy being outside?

... Ehhhhhh?

63. Do they have an accent?

Technically??? It's an accent from where he's from but like. I just barely tweak my own voice when I rp him so? Damn Corren I'm sorry you've been cursed with east coast dialect.

64. Upon seeing a slice of chocolate cake, what is their first reaction?

"Damn who's the rich bastard here?" (cake is kinda a delicacy in their world- not like elites only but not NEARLY as common as it is here)

65. If they knew they were going to die, what would they do/say?

Reassurance mode to whomever he's with. "Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm okay. Remember what I told you, death is a natural part of life, yeah? I don't have any regrets, I'm okay... Just. Thanks. For giving me a chance. Thank you. Thank you."

66. How do they feel about sex?

I SWEAR he's allosexual. I'm just bad at writing allosexuals.

67. What is their sexuality?

He doesn't really know how to pin it down, so he just calls himself "queer". Definitely not straight, that's all he knows.

68. Do they become squeamish at the sight of blood?

AHAHA no. He's hella desensitized

69. Is there anything that they find really gross?

Skulking cyst. Look it up at your own volition. It's. NO.

70. Which TV Trope(s) best describes them?

It's 12:21 in the morning and I'm NOT about to scroll through a bunch of tv tropes just. just. NERD stereotype.

71. Do they enjoy helping people?

Yyyyes? Only really if it's the people he cares about.

72. Are they allergic to anything?

Bullshit.

73. Do they have a pet?

WINGTHARA!! HIS SKELE-DOG!!!

74. Are they quick to anger? What are they like when they loose their temper?

Oh yeah he's all bark and no bite. He usually just throws a little fit and/or yells.

75. How patient are they?

More than he should be :/

76. Are they good at cooking?

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

77. Favorite insult? Do they insult people often?

Oh yes he insults the others all the time. No particular favorite, he likes so spice it up.

78. How do they act when they’re particularly happy?

Stim. Stim. Stim. His eyes get all sparkly and he. He.

79. What do they do when they learn about other people’s fears?

He will do everything in his power to assure they won't ever have to deal with their fears alone- You afraid of spiders? It's his job to get the spiders from now on so you won't have to deal with them.

80. Are they trustworthy?

Oh yeah. He's like Rapunzel- doesn't break promises.

81. Do they try to hide their emotions? Are they good at it?

Oh yes he tries to hide it. And yes, he's awful at it.

82. Do they exercise regularly?

Yes and no? No like- exercise regimen, but the amount of travelling and fighting they do is just- a workout in and of itself

83. Are they comfortable with the way they look?

Yeah! He's cute and he knows it baybie!!!

84. What are some physical features that they find attractive on people?

He,,, he likes someone who's physically stong,,, Muscles are,,, aaaaa >///>

85. What kind of personalities do they find attractive?

Someone he can nerd out with :)

86. Do they like sweet foods?

Impartial to it. He won't turn sweets away but he's not crazy about them either.

87. What is their age?

43, the equivalent of- I think someone in their mid 30s?

88. Are they tall or short or somewhere in between?

He's 6'8" :) Which is actually normal for his race

89. Do they wear glasses or contacts?

Sometimes! I like to think he has reading glasses or something like that.

90. Do they consider themselves attractive?

HE'S CUTE AND HE KNOWS IT.

91. What is their sense of humor like?

Julian tainted his sense of humor and now he finds the most dumb shit hilarious. Think very millenial/GenZ humor like "I wish I was Jared, 19"

92. What mood are they most often in?

"I don't get paid enough for this" or Fear.jpg

93. What kinds of things anger them?

People who don't keep their FUCKING WORD. Oh and like. Yknow. Half the shit his party does.

94. Outlook on life?

Again he's??? Oddly an optimist? In the "Things will get better and that is a fucking THREAT" way, but still optimist!

95. What kind of things make them sad/depressed?

Talk about his family :) Or the fact that his boyfriend might want him dead :)

96. What is their greatest weakness?

He's squishy as fuck. He goes down easy.

97. What is their greatest strength?

He's extremely intelligent and great with magic and his sniper!

98. Something that they regret?

Not doing more to stop his brother when he tried to resurrect their sister

99. Biggest accomplishment?

Either convincing an entire town his name is Torren or accidentally convincing some very OP people that he's secretly a dragon.

100. Create your own!

FUCK YOU I SPENT LIKE 2 HOURS ON THIS. NO PROOFREAD. IVE ALREADY DESIGNED CORREN'S AND NETHYL'S HYPOTHETICAL KIDS. ANYWAYS THEY'RE TWIN IRINAGA AND I'VE NAMED THEM AFTER THE DNDADS TWINS: THEIR NAMES ARE LARK AND SPARROW.

#LONG POST #LONG LONG POST #Corren #FUCK YOU DREWSKI <3

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shinymooncolor · 4 years ago

Text

Hi everyone,

Here’s a little companion piece to @canesinthecrease @siriuslyqueer’s O’Knutzy fic

As always - thanks to @lumosinlove for this fandom!

Leo grinds. Logan scowls. Nado strikes out. Kuny has a feeling. This is a short little thing. There’s a lot of arguing. Future plans are made.

——

Friday 5.32 pm

Kuny: we bring out leo and tremz. I think they want drink. We buy leo drink. Cute boy will help get girls

Nado: I love you bro. What better way to appreciate cute baby rookie than to use his innocent boy next door to ensnare hopeless girls

Kuny: I think he have fun. Tremz too. Boy very tense. Wanted fight today had to hold him away. Little puppy try to fight big dog

Nado; are you the big dog?

Kuny: bigger dog than u

Nado: fuck off you’re like build on whatever shit they fed you in Russia.

Nado: but you still wanna go out? I’ll ask tremz and Leo. What about Olli?

Kuny: not Olli last time he talk to stripper and help her get job. He not good at that

Nado: that was precious. He’s legit the only man to ever pay someone to get off his lap. I wasted $200 trying to get him a lap dance

Kuny: u can put on outfit and lap dance Olli. I know u still have it

Nado: of fuck off you couldn’t keep your eyes of me. Bitch

Kuny: you look good in heel. Hehe almost tall as me. That why picture is in living room.

Nado: Leo says he won’t drink much. Hahahaha no. Wanna go to slugs? Bet we won’t get trouble for Leo.

Kuny: slugs ok. Have shirt I borrow I only brought tshirt

Nado: don’t stretch it. But yeah. It’s in my bag

Friday 11.34 pm

Nado: hey Kuny where the hell u at? Tremz is scowling so hard and grumbling. I was gone for like 20 minutes

Kuny: leo drunk. Did u sex in bathroom? We at bar. Leo is drunk heh he wants dance

Nado: nah just made out. Lock didn’t work hahah also she was too young. Don’t wanna be creep.

Kuny: I think Logan jealous

Nado: what?

Kuny: he was rude to girl I introduce to leo and he blush when I ask why

Nado: he’s just tense af!! imagine living in dumo’s basement - he needs to get laid. Both of them.

Kuny: ok u find girl for Logan I dance with Leo

Saturday 1.33 am

Nado; did Leo just grind? Or did my eyes deceive me

Kuny: heh he grind and stole hat. He hang off Logan. Is cute like baby fluffy gray bear thing

Nado: a koala? Did they get into the taxi alight?

Kuny: yess koala. Yes leo climbed in Logan lap. I think he like boy

Kuny: Also u bring home girl?

Nado: nah can’t be bothered too much work. Wanna go get some greasy food? Also Calm down, I know you love queer eye but I don’t think leo and Logan are secretly screwing. And if he wanted boys why wouldn’t he be climbing me? I’m like 200 pound certified Canadian beef.

Kuny: I just get vibe but maybe u right. We get curly fries also u not hot. I’m hot. And cute accent

Nado: fuck off! If I wanted a man I could get ANY man I wanted.

Kuny: not me. And no. I get more man than u.

Nado: I know thAts not what you mean but hahahahhahahahhaahahahaahahahah - also, I think I couldn’t get you? I know you bub, I could get you in my bed in 20 minutes hardly even trying

Kuny: is not fair. I’m smart in Russian. Ha no u can’t - prove it

Nado; ok. I’d take you to the zoo so you can make faces and giggle at the penguins, then I’d buy you fancy sushi and fruity cocktails, I know you have a thing for hair so I’d get my fingers in your hair and you’d be on my bed. Easy peasy.

Kuny: not bad date but I saw kase scare you haha. U can’t handle big boys

Nado: I wasn’t scared? Did you see his eyes? He was about to eat me or something. Also if he hadn’t just played a game I bet he’d have been interested.

Kuny: u took cold shower.

Nado: I can’t help it man. Kase is hot when he’s angry hahahah

Kuny: home? I’m hungry u always so horny

Nado: you’re always hungry. Gonna eat me out of the house and I’m not always Horny but I have needs

Kuny: then find new roomie. U love me. U have date with right hand

Nado: alright you big lump, meet at the front doors. And leave my hand out of this. Freak.

Saturday 8.21 am

Kuny: I think this first time no girl in kitchen

Nado: well, couldn’t be bothered.

Nado: I want pancakes pleAseeeee I wuw uuuu

Kuny: I not wife u make pan cake and that don’t work when u not look like puppy. Also princess is napping on me. She cute

Nado: you’re so the wife. you came home with princess, you actually talk to the aloe Vera plant, you cook and clean. Don’t understand how she can stand your stinky face

Kuny: I not wife. U my wife I make more money and I’m bigger. Also not stinky took shower when we got home.

Nado: no you’re not. Ew don’t tell me about your wanking

Kuny: yes I am. And I not wank just shower. Leo spill his beer on me. Ur shirt hehe

Nado: well we’d be husbands anyways also you better have soaked that!!

Kuny: ur such a wife hehe my little French girl. Heheheh

Nado: you’d be lucky to land me. I’m legit the only person to keep up with your snoring and disgusting socks everywhere and I’m French Canadian Kunt not French

Kuny: u snore too

Nado: alright how’s this. Once we retire together if we’re both single, let’s give it a go. Bro wives eh??

Kuny: u make pancake and we have deal

Nado: alright you pathetic dork. Using our cat as en excuse to make me do all the work

#lumosinlove #lumosinlove ocs #sweaterweather #sweaterweatherchats

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bubbebruja · 4 years ago

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On the Death of Sirius Black and Literary Gay Bashing in Harry Potter

In 2003, I was ten, straight, and positively obsessed with Hermione Granger.

If those last two things sound a little contradictory, it’s because they were. I do not mean I was “obsessed” in the sense that I wanted to dress up like her for Halloween, I mean “obsessed” in the sense that I literally blushed anytime my mom read her name aloud to my sister and I.

Queer. I was queer. I just didn’t know it yet.

Thus, I didn’t notice the Sirius/Remus romantic subtext as a child, drinking hot chocolate propped against my sister’s knees and listening enraptured as my mom read to us from the most recently released Harry Potter book. When Order of the Phoenix came out, I was far more interested in Angsty Harry™ and the evils of Delores Umbridge, and when Sirius died, I was not even all that upset. I didn’t really like him all that much, knew even at that age that he embodied too many of the stereotypically “masculine” traits I had already grown to hate with his pride and brooding and emotional immaturity. I didn’t much care, much less recognize that JK Rowling had done something rather unforgiveable.

But others did.

Seventeen years later, I get it.

By 2003, many older, wiser readers had long since clocked the queer subtext between Sirius and Remus. And, when I picked up the books earlier this year to re-read them for the first time since they were read to me as a child, I saw it too. (Notably, this was prior to JKR’s most recent round of blazing transphobia, after which I stopped reading.) And, okay, yes, I am the type of queer who reads queerness into many things. But y’all, I really didn’t have to try all that hard this time. If I were reading these books for the first time in the context of 2020, I would assume Remus and Sirius were canonically a couple, and JKR just wasn’t bashing us over the head with clear evidence of it. She doesn’t do that most of the time anyway. By Order of the Phoenix, in my opinion, the evidence (as movie Dumbledore says so awkwardly) is incontrovertible. The living together? The joint Christmas present? The “Sirius, sit down” scene early in the book? The confirmed HIV/AIDS metaphor, IN THE 90S?? THEY’RE FUCKING GAY TOGETHER.

And here’s the thing, (and I have no proof of this, so you’re just going to have to roll with it): I think it’s pretty clear that JKR became more conservative as time progressed. Money tends to do that to people, conveniently. What started as a series about the power young people hold to defeat evil and fight injustice eventually devolved into a flaccid epilogue where heterosexual nuclear families abounded and there were (still) no visibly queer characters in sight.

By the time the final book came out, I was a full-fledged teenager, and I, too, had abandoned fantasies of fighting evil and injustice for fantasies of settling down with “my perfect man” (L. O. L.) So, I get it. I get that priorities change for young people. But for adults, especially those recently drunk on the power of infinite amounts of money and fame? Nah. JKR knew what she was doing. JKR laid all the groundwork for a possible relationship between Remus and Sirius and then changed her mind. Or was told to change her mind. Or was forced to change her mind.

I have A Lot Of Feelings™ about Tonks and Remus’s relationship (most of which are about the way their canonical relationship plays into a lot of really awful tropes about disabled people which, no matter how you read him, Remus is). And I have a lot of feelings about Sirius Black as a character. I have a lot of feelings about Dumbledore, some related to his posthumous outing and some not. And, like most of us now, I have a lot of feelings about the entire franchise as a whole. But here’s what I know: It doesn’t actually matter, because JKR didn’t just change the explicit relationship dynamics between Sirius and Remus, she quite literally killed any chances of queer romance.

And she didn’t just kill Sirius. She killed Remus, too. And Tonks (who is a genderqueer butch and I will die on that hill). And Dumbledore. And the cute, squeaky house elf with a love for clothes and an obsession with Harry. And the young Gryffindor boy who followed Harry around, constantly asking for photos and autographs. And – you know what? Fuck it. – the person who lived INSIDE ANOTHER MAN’S BODY before returning to his bodily form, during which time he relied heavily on his male servant who cut off a literal body part to restore his master.

Am I reading too much queer subtext into each of these characters? Maybe. But, as this lovely article states, “close reading is queer culture, always has been.” And I can’t help but notice that the vast majority of the characters JKR didn’t kill off are, well, pretty fucking straight. (Drarry shippers, feel free to come at me. I’m sure there’s plenty of queer subtext there, too). They’re, for the most part, characters with a clear canonical history of heterosexual romance, as if only those with a possible future of a heterosexual, nuclear family are worthy of survival.

And I just don’t think this was an accident. I think it was the intentional plan of someone who started to feel like the world of inclusion she’d created was being read as far too inclusive.

To call this “literary gay bashing” is a pretty serious accusation with a pretty serious use of a very loaded term. But the thing is, I think we too often let people like JKR off the hook without recognizing what her words – both literary and non-literary – have done and can do. We too often dismiss it with statements like, “she’s entitled to her opinion”. Gay bashing is the intentional abuse or assault of someone perceived to be a member of the LGBTQIA2+ community, physically or verbally, that often results in lasting harm or death. And I use this term to describe JKR’s work particularly because it is sensationalizing, because it calls violence what it is: violence. Because, sure, she’s as entitled to her opinion as anyone else. But the second you create a world where anyone, especially children, are going to see themselves, going to feel safe, your “opinion” better do as little violence as possible.

When I saw the first Harry Potter movie, back in 2001, I refused to discuss it for months. I was furious. At the time, I couldn’t quite pinpoint why, but I now realize that I was heartbroken that Hermione Granger didn’t look like me. When JKR described a girl with wild, brown curly hair, I saw me. I saw my hair. And so, as children tend to do, I saw the rest of me, too. I saw tanned skin and dark brown eyes and full lips and high cheekbones (the ones people always told me made me look “Indian”, which I only partially am). I saw the quiet confidence that develops when you’re the brownest kid in your school, ready to strike but only when provoked. The pale, arrogant, racially unambiguous Hermione Granger I saw on the screen made me feel dirty, cast off, unworthy of representation. The self-hatred I felt when White Hermione Granger entered the film alongside White Harry Potter and White Ron Weasley and White Everyone Else was a kind of violence.

And when JKR killed off all of her queer-read characters, she took that violence to another level. Because they were there, we saw them, we did not imagine the romantic undertones between Remus and Sirius, or the way that a shape-shifting young woman with short, spiky hair reads an awful lot like a person uninterested in traditional gender. We saw ourselves in the most beloved franchise of all time. And then, she took away those possibilities, and she took away those characters.

And you know what? People die because they can’t see themselves in media. People die because that’s what they’ve watched everyone like them do on screen and in books. It’s not harmless, and it’s not victimless, and it’s violent.

There’s only one solution to literary gay bashing: To Bash Back. We can and do write ourselves into the stories, into the world, and refuse to settle for explanations that gaslight us into thinking we imagined things that were never there, or ask us to settle for tiny crumbs of useless representation.

I intended to finish my most recent story, “Come Healing”, with an ambiguous ending that left the possibility of Sirius’s death open to reader interpretation. But then, JKR kept going, and talking, and kept creating violence, and I got mad. And so, like so many queers before me, I rewrote the story and changed the ending, and created love and security and peace and life where the canonical author had created hopelessness and death. And in the world we live in right now, that is radical. It is bashing back.

It’s tiny, but it’s something. Every time we write a happy ending for a queer character, we create the possibilities of happy endings for queer people everywhere. And no one – no matter how hard she may try – can take that away.

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hunterartemis · 6 years ago

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The Assistant: Chapter 9: On Their Own

I thought some Newt X OC action was lacking in many places. So I decided to create this chapter. I know this is a day late than promised, but I had some difficulties writing it, and I needed the writing to be cohesive than on time. And there are some details on Maxine’s Status

Word count: 5920

Chapter Theme:

Warning: Intoxication and injury

Chapter Theme: The Shepherd's Boy by Murray Gold: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDfAWuZP5go

And there were no two more cruel words in the world that ripped open four stout hearts into a bleeding oblivion. This was the moment, they realised that they were brought into the centre of the web of fate, and until every last drop of life was drained from their body, it was impossible for them to leave.

During this humdrum, when everyone’s eyes were veered towards the newly engaged couple, Newt quietly slipped outside to take his leave. The entire thing that he saw the evening had been very queer and disturbing. His attempt of hiding his face under his messy curtain of bangs was successful, like it always is—and it gave him time to ponder. As he counted his footsteps away from the Atrium, he carefully arranged all the things that happened in that evening.

As soon as the last speck of dessert was wiped off the table, Maxine disappeared from Newt’s side. He couldn’t go looking for her, because Tina was at his side, and her company brought an immense joy to him, like it always does. He was observing that the moment Maxine disappeared from his side, Tina’s stiff behaviour relaxed into a cordial one, and she started to speak on her own, and very freely.

“You know, I danced with Theseus this evening...” Tina smiled with a little bit of humour, “he is nothing like you have described, he is a kind of a poor guy who gets his hopes and happiness up really easy and falls on his face. It’s kind of endearing to watch the emotions changing on his face--” suddenly Tina looked at Newt’s and flustered horribly, “that doesn’t mean that I like him more than you—it’s just, now that I have chatted with him properly I feel bad about hexing him at the French Ministry--”

“I understand that Tina, you don’t have to justify that--” Newt replied with a crooked smile, and it held Tina’s special attention and she kept an amused eye on him. When it caught Newt’s eyes that he was being stared at, a sweep of dark pink brushed on his cheeks “what are you looking at?”

“Nothing... just how adorable you look in that suit--” Tina came across him and pulled his lapel, “I always liked your out-of-the-box style, but this—straight out of the hot issues from the Witch Weekly.” She giggled like a silver spoon through fine cut glass, and Newt started to scratch his neck. Suddenly Tina’s tone changed into a serious one, “I also had a talk with your assistant this evening, right before your dance--” Newt startled and looked at Tina’s way, to which she smiled a doleful smile, “you seem surprised... I would have been too, if I were you, but that’s for another day. Do you know what she said to me? she said ‘I give you some credit for showing up here...’ although I was angry for her attitude, but I had to admit—she was right, I shouldn’t have showed up here, with that fiasco with Queenie, I--”

“Tina...” Newt said softly, “I was there when it happened... Queenie was misled, it wasn’t your fault—Grindlewald is a shrewd man, and it is easy to be misled when you are driven by a certain emotion.”

His own voice echoed in the hollow of his head as the cold wind clashed with his warm face. He realised that he was outside. He grabbed his scarf tighter to save himself from the midnight chill, and hid his eyes from the streetlamps that was bleakly spreading light under the veil of the midnight fog. He didn’t want to apparate and just go straight to home. He needed the meditative concentration to process all the things which he could get only in walking. A faint tune of Christmas Carol was carried by the chill night wind, and it oddly reminded him of the afternoon in Montmartre.

He wasn’t really aware of his destination, he knew that he needed to walk and keep walking forward until his feet gives in. His own stubbornness was leading him further and further away from the dreaded home, that home which bore the witness of the unique passionate friendship between him and Maxine; the home, where each of the bricks and walls have recorded her full raspy and unapologetically loud laugh, her antics, her brilliance, her mischief. He didn’t want to go home tonight... he didn’t want to think what she was to him, and what he was to her. Because nothing in the world can answer that question.

What could be the reason which compelled Maxine to such a decision?

The soothing thoughts of Tina were only acting as a buffer between his own mind and the disturbing memory of tonight. He remembered how he saw a fine cloudy trail of black escaping swiftly towards the way of coatrooms. Maxine didn’t look very well throughout the dinnertime and he couldn’t make her speak about it. The sweeping trail reminded him of a cowered animal, seeking shelter from the upcoming doom. His unbridled curiosity lead him towards it, and the moment he reached his destination, he understood that it was the most unwise decision he has made. He was right about Maxine, but what he didn’t know was that she wasn’t alone. He could hear a raspy tone of a man, whose very voice stank of pride and possessiveness.

“Leave me alone Anatole... or I will kill you”

“Relax Maxine... I am not here to bother you, I will get plenty of time to do that after we, you know tie the knot...”

“What are you talking about...?”

“Oh c’mon darling, don’t pretend to be coy. I have already told your father how irrevocably in love I am with you. Why do you think I came to this despicable muck? To gloat about how patriotic I am? Please... Malfoys have always been more French than English, and besides... I am getting two gifts at once. See it’s not very often one gets the princess and the state together don’t you...?” Newt’s blood boiled when the man laughed.

“There’s a difference between fantasy and reality, Malfoy. The person, whom you are so sure of, is none other than ‘Rothbart’*, he can sell and buy you off the same market without breaking a sweat” a sneer of malice and mischief surfaced in Maxine’s frightened and threatened voice, “what makes you thing that you’re better than my father? Don’t you know you should not believe a word of a diplomat, especially if he is a Frenchman? Uh, Anatole... you are just as same as I left you, stupid, angry and thinking the world owes you everything...”

“Haha... Maxine, Maxine, Maxine” Anatole didn’t seem to be very bothered with Maxine’s words and in a taunting sing-song voice he continued “ma petite fille, do you think I don’t know what are the cards your dear little father are holding. Let me tell you something my darling, I did my time, I paid my dues, and this time you pay yours.”

“What do you mean?” the mischief in Maxine’s voice was no more.

“Your father is as tight as virgin’s quim right now. He married off Menelaus and Magnus with Svetlana Gruzinskaya and Elena de Orsini and bought their alliances. And right now, when you are slowly becoming public it didn’t escape their attention of what you are, and they are pressuring dear Rothbart that he must take care of this...” Anatole took a sarcastic pause, “situation” he gave a brief laugh, “and he found me, a true pureblood of French descent, who was generous enough. Although the Malfoy Manor will go to my elder brother Abraxas, but I am sure I can make other...arrangements pour la duchess.”

“I may be a destitute, but not that much.” Maxine hissed venomously, “ I would rather cut off my right hand and marry it... ”*

“Oh believe me, things are not what it seems... Maxine, no one knows you like I do. You may call me a demon, but only a demon can know and cherish another. Don’t you understand... no one understands you like me...?” The mere voice of Anatole send a sharp chill down Newt’s spine—in that passionate confession, lied a poison that made the hearer’s skin crawl with hatred, fear and hopelessness. Newt bravely peered outside to see what was going on. He felt a shame that he couldn’t go inside and slap that man out of his mind, but somewhere in his mind, he knew that something was going on, and if he interrupts he may never get to know what cards Anatole Malfoy was playing, the ones that made Maxine so afraid.

“When I saw you again in the British Ministry, I couldn’t contain myself.”Anatole’s voice shook with a covert excitement, “so I wrote it to you...” his pause felt like he was taking a breather between long exasperated sessions where the other party was too dull to understand anything what he said, “I knew you won’t reply, so I didn’t sign my name... but you didn’t reply. So I wrote like the way you said your mother wrote to you... but you didn’t reply... I thought you would recognise my blue seal*, but DAMN YOU, YOU DIDN’T ANSWER FOR A SINGLE TIME!” Anatole screamed like a madman, “I don’t deserve to be treated like this... what I didn’t do for you, Maxine! I even kept it a secret that you received my last letter in Romanian Dragon Reservation. I would have told the ministry Maxine, but I didn’t... because--”

What was spoken after that didn’t reach Newt—Romania? But there was no letter for her in Romania, except...no, no... That cannot be. She was being blackmailed by this wretched man... since then? And she had been holding it in, why? Why would she do things like that? Then Newt scolded himself. It was no longer his decision to make. He was her employer and she was his assistant... he should not have been prying on her life like this. He felt ashamed for eavesdropping and started to walk away from the spot.

It was no longer his problem. Whatever Maxine chose, or made to chose, it was and will be on her. He no longer remembered what he was doing the next, all he remembered that he was running, running towards the abandoned phone booth towards the Atrium, just in hope that he may see her again. As the lift towards the ministry descended, he felt a queer thing. He felt himself outside his body and it seemed to his that he was that damned soul, descending to the dark pit of the hell for the first time, to be burned for eternity. With the cease of the downward motion, he led himself forward to an uncertainty. He knew what he was doing, and there was no going back.

The clock of the Atrium chimed twice as Newt’s tentative feet touched the cold black marble floor. The silence of that place radiated with the coldness of death. With each footfall, the silence of that place seemed to scold him for the terrible, terrible thing he decided to do. No, the thing he was going to do was not only terrible, but also immoral and incomprehensibly low in the eyes of the civilized society; he would be seeking an audience with a newly engaged woman in the dark, and without any notice. But his deep, instinct-sensitive heart slowed with every step he took.

“Maxine...” his first called echoed in the hollow of the first chamber, where the party was actually held. His own tentative voice doubled and redoubled like a whisper of a ghost condemned to repeat them in an endless limbo. He entered further in, getting no response of any living being inside the ministry.

“Maxine...” a bit louder, a bit more desperate and a bit more fearful. Newt’s voice wasn’t shaking now for the immorality he was about to commit, his voice steadied because he was now concerned about her. Then again, another thought came into his mind; maybe she went back home. It was very late, and the party, as per the rules of the Emergency had to break up at midnight. Maybe he was a bit too over worried, maybe he was poking into other’s business. But no matter what he tried to tell himself, the constant knocking of fear and worry in his mind didn’t stop even for a minute. As he was stepping back with half relief and half confusion, a stray thought dragged him towards the coat room. The moment Newt ran through the empty marble hall, he saw a faint trail of a different kind of black was lying in the corner where the coat room was conjured for the purpose of the party. Now the party is finished, the enchantment was lifted and thus, he could spot the abject figure of a woman in black and diamonds.

“Merlin’s beard...” Newt whispered under his breath and rushed towards her. She reeked of rancid food and alcohol, and Newt saw how white fluid oozed from her lips. Her well structured cheeks were looking slightly purplish, almost bruise like and her eyes were closed, from where trails of tiny black rivulets stained her cheeks. Newt didn’t lose a moment, and pulled her up in his arms.

He was now in a situation where he had two choices: either he would have to take her to St. Mungos where he had to explain why he was in the Ministry at the dead of the night, after two solid hours when the party was over, with the newly engaged daughter of the French Diplomat in his arms, or he could take her to his house (or her house, equally disagreeable), have her under his care and deal with the ministry officials and eventually the Daily Prophet, about what he was doing with the newly engaged daughter of the French Diplomat. Like a sane person, his mind selected the first option. But he never thought of the third option that was neither taking her to either his or her own flat, nor to St. Mungos.

He apparated as soon as he came out of the Atrium, and keeping Maxine at a vertical levitation, as if she was standing upright on the ground, he pointed his wand to unlock the door, and after performing a serious ranges of non-apparating charms, muffling charm and disillusionment charm, he reached for his small leather suitcase.

“Creare Locus”* he slowly muttered at the opened suitcase with the wand pointing at its open space. After making sure that a room has been formed, he conjured the essentials swiftly, mimicking the furniture of his own room and that of Hogwarts dormitory. He never knew what house Maxine was in, or else he would have conjured something similar, but then again, he is never been to any other dormitory besides the Hufflepuff one. After he was done arranging, he picked up Maxine from his couch, where she had to be left when Newt was doing the work. With immense difficulty, Newt descended down the thin steep stepladder and gently carried her into the ‘infirmary room’. He softly laid her on the bed, and sat at the edge of the bed, thinking about what he would do now. He started to blame his own impulsively stupid nature for bringing Maxine here. She was reeking and possibly soiled—it would have been better to take her to the hospital than bringing her in here. He is a magizoologist, not a trained healer! How would he know what would she need?

After a lot of slow cursing, self-blaming, fidgeting and furious blushing, Newt managed to clean her up. It is better that the details of the story stays buried for the sake of both of their (mostly Newt’s) dignity. Although any man in her position would have had at least a drop of excitement to have such a beautiful woman in such a vulnerable position, where he could just admire her endlessly (with the presence or absence of her coverings) like the prince in Sleeping Beauty, but the thought of Maxine being exposed before him was already terrifying enough—her bare back in that velvet black dress was unnerving enough.

After putting her out of her evening wear and inside his spare dressing gown (with his eyes screwed shut and wand pointing at her shakingly) he had to take an air. He stomped up into his living room, and after three or so huffs, a small rectangular object caught his eyes. as he approached it, the name and the handwriting reminded him of something which he only did two days ago, but almost lost of hope being reciprocated.

“Dumbledore....” he huffed, and went towards the writing table to open the letter. He didn’t know when it arrived, but it gave him equal happiness just to see it. He took the letter and looked behind him; lest Maxine pulls up one of her sneaky little tricks—he wasn’t in a mood for that. But before he could unravel and read the letter, he could hear unsteady steps behind him. Maxine was standing right behind him.

“Always wanted to go inside that case, but never thought it will go that way...” she smiled weakly and tried to support her leg in the nearby table.

“You are awake...” Newt huffed in relief, “how are you feeling...?”

“Light headed and heavy headed at the same time to be honest... if that makes any sense, but what on earth am I wearing...” Maxine brought her sleeve close to examine the fabric, “is that��corduroy?”

Newt cleared the throat in the pleasantry “Sorry... it was the only decent spare dressing gown I had...” Newt commented, “yours were mostly soiled...your jewels are still in that case. Have it in a small case near the bed of yours in the case...if the nifflers nick it--”

“Thought I smelled the niffler—” Maxine interrupted ponderingly, “by the way, was I fun?”

“—sorry?” in the midway of gulping, Newt asked his assistant about her intention.

“I am asking—whether I was fun to undress...was I?” Maxine asked with her usual mischievous humour and enjoyed as Newt started to scamper away from the question. She thought she would jest with him furthermore, but couldn’t help it anymore. Newt looked so seriously flustered.

“Oh c’mon Mr. Scamander... you are breaking my heart now.” Maxine wobbled forward slightly, as her voice wavered a little for the first time, “the most decent thing to do after you undress a woman and put on a dressing gown of yours on her is to say that how beautiful she looks. After all body is the ultimate asset of a human, might as well be praised for its bareness--” Maxine tilted her head slightly to meet Newt’s eyes, “not. A. Single. Glimpse? You must be the first one of your kind Mr. Scamander that doesn’t get excited by a stranger woman’s body--”

“That’s enough Miss Valois. I see you with respect and cordiality, and it would be immoral as to you are now not a single woman anymore. You are engaged--”

Maxine’s smile faded instantly, she took a step to the left and peered behind Newt. At first he couldn’t make out for what, then she suddenly blurted out “Was that for me?” pointing out at the slight paper rectangle resting behind Newt at the table. Sliding the letter aside, Newt slantly looked at her, “yes... it was from Dumbledore—I wrote that while I was in Romania, the night you got scared—I was worried.” He nervously explained.

“Is that so...” Maxine slowly walked towards the couch and slouched on it. Newt hadn’t noticed Maxine properly until now, but it seemed that she didn’t invariably slouched; she couldn’t bear to stand on her feet any longer. Her face, now bare, looked tired to a point to grieving. Her eyes swollen and red, and her slit mouth was dry. She looked at Newt in manner which looked like she was making a lot of effort to do so “what he said about me...?”

“... I haven’t read it yet so--”

“That’s not very unpredictable now is it...?” Maxine said exhaustively, “I know exactly what he said... Albus Dumbledore, the great man, with ever greater heart sees me, Maxine Valois as his failure...” she admitted, as he head lulled back on the couch, “the best headmaster in the world... he can’t stand me because he couldn’t teach me his noble ways...” and then she started to laugh aloud. There was something pathetic about her laugh that wrenched Newt’s heart; it was a laugh of someone who lost everything in their life and now has nothing to live for. When her laugh stopped, her head became still, looking at Newt with glassy-eyed despair.

“When I just hoped that this time, I was over... you jumped in—what’s with you Scamander brothers? Does your noble hand itch to save a damsel in distress—hmm? DON’T YOU SEE I DON’T WANT TO BE SAVED...?”

“Maxine calm down... you are still very drunk--”

Maxine attempted to say something while walking towards him, but her feet wobbled horribly. She fell down on the floor and when Newt went there to help her out, but she shrugged him off. This wasn’t the Maxine Newt knew. She was fearless, not this victimous shadow of the woman he once knew. Something else inhabited her body, something sinister; but it didn’t ooze malice—it oozed pathos, like those stray carcasses on the side of the road. The second time, despite Maxine’s unwillingness, Newt put his arms around her. The moment, her cold face nuzzled in his warm chest, the despairing vapour from her heart erupted as tears. Newt felt his undershirt getting damp, and her thin fingers clutching the fabric of his suit like the last lifeline. He must have felt like the piece of wood used in the dam that used to hold the fiercest river; that piece of wood that was now being washed and destroyed by the roaring current of the river that has been held for just too long. His grip strengthened around her, he rest his chin on her head, trying his best not to break down. The whimpering sob was too hard for his ears.

“Maxine... ” Newt said with his utmost gentleness, “I am here... I am here...shh, you good girl... it will be alright.”

After that, started something that Newt never experienced before: he fetched himself to boil some soup for his assistant. That assistant, whom he had known for only two weeks—he was toiling to get her into shape. Was that the rule of the world? He knew that he had stepped out of his lines, might as well play it good. But there were bigger problems than his smashed assistant, sobbing in his couch. His unpractised hand burnt the soup twice and when it recovered it became barely edible. With his shaking hand when he pushed the spoon in Maxine’s mouth; for the first time in the evening, she smiled.

“Either I must be a really good assistant or you a terrible boss... I bet it’s both” she tried to speak with a hint of humour, but her voice was shaking despite herself.

“As long as you are my employee, you are my responsibility.” Newt scooped another spoonful of soup, and waited until Maxine slurped it. While taking the sip, her pale slit mouth curved into a sardonic smile, she looked at Newt and said, “The last time someone said that to me I ended my job.”

“Was that my brother...?” Newt asked quietly, and quietly looked up, shaking his bangs from his face. His blue-green eyes fixated upon the drenched, reddened face of Maxine, “so it was Theseus...”

“Does that bother you...?”

“I am used to all these things.” Newt said quietly, “from the beginning, it was Theseus who used all the first hand things, it was him who won the Hufflepuff House Cup, it was him who become the Head Boy, and it was always him who made the family proud. It’s good for Theseus, and for me--” Newt said on his own, “that way, I could fade into the background and listen to my own mind... not what my family wanted me to do. It hurt only once... just once, the only time I didn’t want Theseus to win--”

“Leta Lestrange...” Maxine interrupted. There was no hesitation in that utterance; there was a serene kind of surety that scared Newt. Maxine bared her teeth when Newt looked at her and gave out a small laugh, “so... same old same old? Hypolytte L’estrange*...What to do, we French women, tres irresistible, that you cannot fathom when you are seduced, enchanted and destroyed.” Maxine paused to breathe a little, “but then there is a dark side to it—you men, you are so pathetic. You have eyes for the sky, but you settle for dust—I couldn’t understand how could he not see how much—how much I, loved him—and gave it for him. But no, it was all my delusion.” Her voice quivered and eyes started to drip, “I was alone in that relationship, to him I was his responsibility which I mistook for love. And when Leta came to the equation, I understood that—I never mattered to him as much he mattered to me...”

“Did he hurt you? My brother... did he--” Newt gulped “hurt you?”

“—and what I didn’t do for him! I was barely out of my corsets when I started there—we’ve been through so much—the blood, the kills, the compromises, pulling him from the gutters when one of his companions were down...stopping him so many times from harming himself, kept him together, but he—took me as a companion at his beck and call—the audacity of him to get engaged when I was out in Verona... didn’t even know—didn’t even know till it was in the Daily Prophet” Maxine kept talking as if she didn’t heard any of the words Newt said, and Newt kept hearing them. He felt glad that it was him, not someone else or else—even the thought send the chills in his spine, the scandals that would spread across! But there was one thing that wasn’t getting in his head.

“Is that why you got engaged tonight?” Newt asked calmly, “to take revenge against my brother?”

“Revenge?” Maxine asked in a stupefied manner, “oh yes...revenge—no it sort of gotten in the way—revenge, huh! Yeah, Revenge, just—just didn’t—didn’t get to see his face...”

“Pathetic...” Newt drawled with a low voice, even he couldn’t recognise the emotion that was speaking behind it. Even Maxine, who was spewing out her sleeves red looked at Newt with an unfamiliarity. It was the first time the severity in Newt’s voice was more frightening than Anatole’s threats.

“Pardon?” with the hit of unexpected event, her native French accent came out like an unceremonious joke, “c’est quoi? Je suis pathetique?” (what’s that? I am pathetic?)

“I’m afraid yes...” Newt was on his feet and now looking down at Maxine with a sense of contempt which the other could not bear it, but she didn’t let it show, “it was beneath you Max. This revenge won’t solve you anything...” then his voice softened into compassion, “it will destroy you...”

“What else will destroy me Newt, can you tell?” Maxine slowly stood up, balancing herself on her wobbly legs, “just because I spent some time and some tears with you, you think you know me? What do you know about me—no, what do you know” Newt turned his faced away from her, but Maxine scooted herself to be under his gaze, and fixated her dark, bloodshot eyes upon his gentle ones, “do you even know what kinds of things I faced... the things that no child should ever have to bear—you commoners don’t get to know the likes of us. You should be grateful that I worked for you—if I wanted I would have bought you off and sold--”

“Maxine, please do not use that tone on me... you are terribly drunk...”

“YES I AM DRUNK...been drunk all my life. Drunk with the obsession of knowing myself when I was shunned in my family, drunk with excitement when I had nothing else to live for, drunk with the habit of travelling when I had nowhere else to go to... I thought—of all people—you would understand me... but you are nothing—all these, shyness and being different act of yours—all are pretence... and today, when I tried to drink myself to death, YOU SHOWED UP TO TELL ME THAT I DON’T DESERVE TO DIE EITHER--”

“What do you mean ... what do you mean by you don’t deserve to die either?” Newt asked with impatience that he never had on anyone.

“Hmm... charming, understanding, empathetic, Newt Scamander... always the idealist, and far away from the reality” Maxine said venomously, “you only saw what you wanted to see... me, a pathetic, ruined woman, hell-bent on revenge engaged herself off a foul maaa—AHHH...”Maxine started to writhe in pain and her erect posture fell on the floor and started to roll on the carpet in tremendous agony. The pattern was so conspicuous that Newt raised his wand in the air and pointed it all around, trying to find someone, but a small tug on his trousers attracted his attention downwards.

“There is no one... I am not under a Crutiatus Curse.” Maxine whispered pathetically, now her who face and neck were drenched with sweat, Newt immediately sat on the floor, taking Maxine’s head in his lap. He looked at Maxine with shame and a want for forgiveness. There was something sinister about that that he didn’t understand, but it can also be that it wasn’t her fault. “Newt Scamander... the ever-kind beast hunter. Still trusting me are you?” she laughed pathetically.

“What is going on... what—what happened to you?” he asked hoarsely, “Maxine... I am dead serious, what have you done now...what have drunk in the evening--”

“I wish I drank myself out of this....” Maxine said with a smile, while still suffering from pain, “but Newt... there are many things that I want to scream out to the world, but cannot.” She attempted to straighten herself out, “the women in my family—no, no... I, as a Valois have a—ahh...” she writhed again in pain and from her wrenched eyes; small rivulets came out from her eyes. Newt’s gentle hands started to wipe her tears and pat on her head, he was feeling extremely pained.

“It’s okay Max... you don’t have to tell anything that pains you...”

“No, you need to know... I want you to know this—and I want you to trust me. Because I will have only one chance...” Maxine panted, and Newt’s eyes didn’t miss the streak of red in her teeth. He wanted to know the truth, but not like this. He wondered about the mystery surrounding his assistant, but not with a price “I won’t let you hurt yourself...”

“Listen...” Maxine barely whispered and extended her left hand after uttering a muffled word “look at my palm... ”

Newt reversed her hand and the sight made his blood curdle. A long red gash was running horizontally right across her palm. It looked like someone wished to halve her palm with a very blunt knife. His eyes started to burn, and a drop fell on Maxine’s gash.

“Who did this to you?” a rageful vapour escaped the gentle lips of Newt Scamander.

“It is a ‘Mark of Honour’” Maxine said with a joylessness in her eyes, “it was given by my...ahh...father when I was fourteen. It forbids me to—AHH—speak against my family and my father. It also forbids me to reveal the—URGHH—Mark itself and compels me to obey my father’s decision... the decision that was made—URGHH—this evening, I will have to obey it.” She finished with blood coming out of her mouth in a thin streak.

“NO... you are still hiding something. This doesn’t add up... I saw you, tensed and afraid in the dinner. You knew what was coming all along didn’t you...DIDN’T YOU?” Newt grabbed Maxine’s shoulder and vigorously shook it.

“Yes...” Maxine answered with despair, “I knew it all along, since I worked in the Ministry. And then there was Theseus, who after losing Leta was going mad with grief—you know Newt, he proposed me to marry him... but I was too proud, I thought that—he is taking me as a leftover—but then Anatole started to write to me... I was afraid--Newt” Maxine looked at him with the eyes of a madman, “I was afraid that he will kill—urghh—Theseus, so I wrote to mum... to meet with her in Paris, then...everything changed, I found you...and I fell in love with you” Maxine reached for Newt’s shoulder, “you thought me as an assistant, maybe as a good friend, but I was in love with you all along... your book taught me that, it is possible for a man to love something that was hated by all... and then I was in luck when I heard you needed assistant... so I came, in disguise so that Anatole couldn’t trace me, and I quit my job orally, but never gave them my confirmation letter that came as the official notice...” Maxine whimpered.

“Please don’t say that...” Newt lowered his face in shame, anger, and regret and despise.

“Can you love me the way you love Tina? Can you return my love the way I do?”

Newt’s silence was volumes enough for her answer.

“Thought so...” Maxine stood up slowly. Her wretched hand reached for her face, trying to wipe away the tears, sweat and despair, “you can’t change me...” she turned her head towards Newt, her black locks hanging in front of her face, like a murky curtain, loosened from her primed pinned curls, “I am condemned to be trapped in unrequited love since I was a child... But Newt, the love I had with you, was the best of all, you showed me that it is possible for someone to love that selfishly—you healed me completely. I came to you to live before I am executed, and what a life I had...”

“What are you saying... nothing’s over yet... if you disagree with your engagement, you can still break it off--”

“I’m a Valois Newt... what would I be, if I am not that...” Maxine said exhaustedly, “I don’t get to agree or disagree like you do... I may be bound as a house elf, but I have the dignity to see it till the end, and I will.”

“What are you saying... Maxine, are you going to leave me...? leave your work, leave everything?”

With a last whimper Maxine disapparated with a crack. The gray light of the dawn was at the window, the silvery mist of the first snow left their palm prints on the murky glass window after seeing the ruins of tears and broken heart on the small apartment of Newt Scamander.

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

Rothbart : a condensation of Hrothgar Bartholomew. Rothbart is also a the evil magician from the ballet Swan Lake, who lead his daughter Odille, the twin dark swan to seduce the Prince Siegfried, which lead to the death of the White Swan Odette

“I would rather cut off my right hand and marry it... “: Inspired from a French saying “Eat your hand and save the other for tomorrow“ (said by the parents when their children annoy them that they are hungry). This is also an euphemism for masturbation.

creare locus: Latin for “Create Room“, not an official HP Spell, but I thought it would be something.

my blue seal : the anonymous letter Maxine received in Romania in Chapter five, that made her cry.

Hypolytte L’estrange : Leta’s name, I often wondered, if was inspired by Queen Hipolyta of the Amazons, a Virgin Hunter who later Married King Theseus. Leta as we know used to be with Newt (whose middle name is Artemis), and Hunters were loyal to Artemis, and then she leaves him for Theseus. Hypollyte is the French version of Hipolyta, and ‘Lestrange’ is inspired from the French Adjective ‘L’estrange‘ (pronounced as: Law-Trawnge).

#newt x oc #newt x reader #newt scamander x reader.#newt scamander x oc #self harm #newt scamander angst #torture #love confession #one sided love

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letmetellyouaboutmyfeels · 5 years ago

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Garcy!

Ooh this was fun to wake up to this morning! My looooooooves...

When I started shipping it:

Okay so to be fair I was dragged into Timeless by @captainofthefallen (who cheated and just started sending me pictures of Lucy and Flynn and telling me how hot they were because I’m a hopeless bi) who told me in advance a lot about Garcy as a ship, so I was kind of primed to go into it shipping them. I kind of spent the first few episodes going, “oh ho ho I love these interactions I can’t wait to start properly shipping them” and then 1x10 happened and there was the whole team-up and talk with the horses and I went oh dear I’m in T-R-O-U-B-L-E and then 1x11 and so on happened and I was just flinging myself headlong into the Garcy abyss and oh look I haven’t climbed out yet (and never will).

My thoughts:

Look, I am a queer polyamorous woman who is not here for your bullshit heteronormative soulmate nonsense. I am a huge proponent of free will and I will take a story where two people find and choose each other over and over rather than a story about two ‘soulmates’ who are destined to be together for Reasons.

Having said all of that.

OHMYGOD THEY ARE SOULMATES SOULMATES SOULMAAAAAATES I LOVE THEM SO MUCH LOOK AT THEM MY LOVES MY LOVES MY LOVES MY LOVES MY LOVES MY ANXIOUS ANGSTY SAD HURTING DARLING TURTLES I WOULD DIE FOR THEM TO BE HAPPY TOGETHER THEY DESERVE EACH OTHER AND THE WORLD DARE! I! SAY! SOULMATES!!!!!!!!!

What makes me happy about them:

How they support each other and see good in each other (Flynn sees Lucy’s a genius and an expert and a leader, Lucy sees that Flynn’s not a monster and is still a good but sad man), how they call each other out on their bullshit but never judge each other, how they are so soft with each other, how they let themselves be vulnerable with each other, how they will argue until they’re blue in the face over their clashing principles but still listen and respect each other, how Lucy just delights Flynn to the ends of the earth, how Flynn makes Lucy laugh and surprises her, how they honestly apologize to the other one when they mess up, how they know each other better than anyone else, how they stick up for each other to others, the tol and smol, how Lucy’s not afraid to get up in Flynn’s face and yell at him from day one, how Flynn never wants to hurt Lucy and how he puts all his faith in her, I could go on forever oh my God I love them so fucking much.

What makes me sad about them:

You mean besides The Abomination? That they are both such broken people who are hurting so so much. They hurt me constantly with their angst. But that’s why they’re so good at supporting each other and helping each other to heal.

Things done in fanfic that annoys me:

Well to be honest I only read Timeless fic by authors I really know closely and trust like @qqueenofhades. I have read snatches of random fics or skimmed other fics because friends sent them to me, but I don’t actually go into the Timeless tag on Ao3 and find fics out.

Having said that, in those snatches of random fics that people have sent me, there are two things that annoy me (please excuse the salt).

There was for a while (I don’t know if there still is) a rash of cheating fics, like where Lucy cheats on someone (Wyatt or Noah or whoever) to be with Flynn (I think in one of them Flynn was also married? But not to Lorena? anyway) and seeing as how in canon Lucy literally stated (to Wyatt) that she would never disrespect someone’s relationship and cheat or help someone to cheat and Flynn himself was still loyal to his wife 4+ years after she died, it felt so out of character for me. I don’t like cheating fics in general, but it being out of character as well, I just. What.

Also I personally don’t like to read Garcy fics where Flynn is the dominant one in the bedroom, LOL. It’s just so obvious to me, in my personal opinion, that he’s submissive to Lucy and that Lucy is dominant in bed, at least with her male partners. So if Flynn is the more dominant one I just... can’t get into the smut, haha.

Things I look for in fanfic:

Lots of character introspection, really well thought out character dynamics and behavior, lovingly poking fun at Flynn being trash--fics that don’t overlook his flaws in favor of making him a perfect soft husband because he IS a perfect soft husband but he was an entire season of flaming garbage fire first--Lucy getting to be a badass queen and not someone who needs saving, slow burn, sass, sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a knife and serve it for dinner.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

I can’t see Flynn ending up with anyone other than Lucy, honestly. That’s why in my Flogan fics I don’t have Lucy be in the fic, because while I loooooooooove Flogan with all my dear stupid heart, I 100% can’t see Flynn meeting Lucy and not falling in love with her. So Flogan, I suppose, or Lorena of course, but only with Lucy out of the picture.

As far as Lucy goes... I can see her with a woman, haha. A historical woman, or Jess even, or possibly Emma in an AU where Emma doesn’t pull all the shit she pulls in season two (especially specifically killing Carol and getting Rufus shot). I can’t see her with a man besides Flynn, though. I can see her with Wyatt in the sense of Garcyatt, but not Wyatt on his own. I tried to like Lyatt, really I did, before Wyatt became a complete asshole in season two, but they just don’t have the spark that you really need. If you ask me, Lyatt’s only interesting in the context of Garcyatt where they’re both in love with Flynn.

So yeah it’s hard for me to see them with someone other than each other because SOULMAAAATES but I can make it work in certain capacities.

My happily ever after for them:

They defeat Rittenhouse and each take time to settle through the trauma and loss they’ve experienced, and get therapy, and then they travel the world for a bit on Mason’s dime because they want to be together and happy but not ready to just go back to the regular world just yet, and Lucy eventually decides to go back to being a history academic and gets her PhD, and Flynn actually decides he wants to get a degree in history as well because he’s come to have a new appreciation for it, and they eventually get married, and eventually have a couple children (Maria and Ethan) and Amy’s back and she promptly adopts Flynn as her older brother, and they are happy, happy, happy because it’s what they DESERVE.

Who is the big spoon/little spoon:

Flynn is sometimes the big spoon but generally they sleep so that Lucy’s on his chest or they’re facing each other so not much spooning happens in general. There is definitely cuddling, so much cuddling, just not spooning.

What is their favorite non-sexual activity:

Going to museums and historical places and Lucy talking Flynn’s ear off for hours about it. Also just cuddling together and reading in silence, enjoying each other’s presence and the quiet.

#lincoln answers things #I could go on forever about these two but I tried to keep it short #garcy #timeless #findwhatyourefightingfor

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lewiscarrollsocietynorthamerica · 5 years ago

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CHAPTER II. The Pool of Tears

‘Curiouser and curiouser!’ cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English); ‘now I’m opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-bye, feet!’ (for when she looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off). ‘Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I’m sure I shan’t be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must manage the best way you can;—but I must be kind to them,’ thought Alice, ‘or perhaps they won’t walk the way I want to go! Let me see: I’ll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas.’

And she went on planning to herself how she would manage it. ‘They must go by the carrier,’ she thought; ‘and how funny it’ll seem, sending presents to one’s own feet! And how odd the directions will look!

Alice’s Right Foot, Esq. Hearthrug, near The Fender, (with Alice’s love).

Oh dear, what nonsense I’m talking!’

Just then her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact she was now more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.

Poor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more hopeless than ever: she sat down and began to cry again.

‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself,’ said Alice, ‘a great girl like you,’ (she might well say this), ‘to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!’ But she went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.

After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other: he came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came, ‘Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess! Oh! won’t she be savage if I’ve kept her waiting!’ Alice felt so desperate that she was ready to ask help of any one; so, when the Rabbit came near her, she began, in a low, timid voice, ‘If you please, sir—’ The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and the fan, and skurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.

Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking: ‘Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle!’ And she began thinking over all the children she knew that were of the same age as herself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them.

‘I’m sure I’m not Ada,’ she said, ‘for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn’t go in ringlets at all; and I’m sure I can’t be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a very little! Besides, she’s she, and I’m I, and—oh dear, how puzzling it all is! I’ll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is—oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that rate! However, the Multiplication Table doesn’t signify: let’s try Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome—no, that’s all wrong, I’m certain! I must have been changed for Mabel! I’ll try and say “How doth the little—“’ and she crossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they used to do:—

‘How doth the little crocodile Improve his shining tail, And pour the waters of the Nile On every golden scale! ‘How cheerfully he seems to grin, How neatly spread his claws, And welcome little fishes in With gently smiling jaws!’

‘I’m sure those are not the right words,’ said poor Alice, and her eyes filled with tears again as she went on, ‘I must be Mabel after all, and I shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh! ever so many lessons to learn! No, I’ve made up my mind about it; if I’m Mabel, I’ll stay down here! It’ll be no use their putting their heads down and saying “Come up again, dear!” I shall only look up and say “Who am I then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I’ll come up: if not, I’ll stay down here till I’m somebody else”—but, oh dear!’ cried Alice, with a sudden burst of tears, ‘I do wish they would put their heads down! I am so very tired of being all alone here!’

As she said this she looked down at her hands, and was surprised to see that she had put on one of the Rabbit’s little white kid gloves while she was talking. ‘How can I have done that?’ she thought. ‘I must be growing small again.’ She got up and went to the table to measure herself by it, and found that, as nearly as she could guess, she was now about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly: she soon found out that the cause of this was the fan she was holding, and she dropped it hastily, just in time to avoid shrinking away altogether.

‘That was a narrow escape!’ said Alice, a good deal frightened at the sudden change, but very glad to find herself still in existence; ‘and now for the garden!’ and she ran with all speed back to the little door: but, alas! the little door was shut again, and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before, ‘and things are worse than ever,’ thought the poor child, ‘for I never was so small as this before, never! And I declare it’s too bad, that it is!’

As she said these words her foot slipped, and in another moment, splash! she was up to her chin in salt water. Her first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea, ‘and in that case I can go back by railway,’ she said to herself. (Alice had been to the seaside once in her life, and had come to the general conclusion, that wherever you go to on the English coast you find a number of bathing machines in the sea, some children digging in the sand with wooden spades, then a row of lodging houses, and behind them a railway station.) However, she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high.

‘I wish I hadn’t cried so much!’ said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out. ‘I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! That will be a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day.’

Just then she heard something splashing about in the pool a little way off, and she swam nearer to make out what it was: at first she thought it must be a walrus or hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small she was now, and she soon made out that it was only a mouse that had slipped in like herself.

‘Would it be of any use, now,’ thought Alice, ‘to speak to this mouse? Everything is so out-of-the-way down here, that I should think very likely it can talk: at any rate, there’s no harm in trying.’ So she began: ‘O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!’ (Alice thought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse: she had never done such a thing before, but she remembered having seen in her brother’s Latin Grammar, ‘A mouse—of a mouse—to a mouse—a mouse—O mouse!’) The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively, and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing.

‘Perhaps it doesn’t understand English,’ thought Alice; ‘I daresay it’s a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.’ (For, with all her knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened.) So she began again: ‘Ou est ma chatte?’ which was the first sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with fright. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon!’ cried Alice hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal’s feelings. ‘I quite forgot you didn’t like cats.’

‘Not like cats!’ cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice. ‘Would you like cats if you were me?’

‘Well, perhaps not,’ said Alice in a soothing tone: ‘don’t be angry about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you’d take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear quiet thing,’ Alice went on, half to herself, as she swam lazily about in the pool, ‘and she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her paws and washing her face—and she is such a nice soft thing to nurse—and she’s such a capital one for catching mice—oh, I beg your pardon!’ cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all over, and she felt certain it must be really offended. ‘We won’t talk about her any more if you’d rather not.’

‘We indeed!’ cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of his tail. ‘As if I would talk on such a subject! Our family always hated cats: nasty, low, vulgar things! Don’t let me hear the name again!’

‘I won’t indeed!’ said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of conversation. ‘Are you—are you fond—of—of dogs?’ The Mouse did not answer, so Alice went on eagerly: ‘There is such a nice little dog near our house I should like to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh, such long curly brown hair! And it’ll fetch things when you throw them, and it’ll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts of things—I can’t remember half of them—and it belongs to a farmer, you know, and he says it’s so useful, it’s worth a hundred pounds! He says it kills all the rats and—oh dear!’ cried Alice in a sorrowful tone, ‘I’m afraid I’ve offended it again!’ For the Mouse was swimming away from her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the pool as it went.

So she called softly after it, ‘Mouse dear! Do come back again, and we won’t talk about cats or dogs either, if you don’t like them!’ When the Mouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly back to her: its face was quite pale (with passion, Alice thought), and it said in a low trembling voice, ‘Let us get to the shore, and then I’ll tell you my history, and you’ll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs.’

#Lewis Carroll #Alice In Wonderland #alicesadventuresinwonderland #chapter 2 #the pool of tears

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larenoz · 5 years ago

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Roswell New Mexico - Live Rewatch - Ep 3 - Tearin' Up My Heart

What matters is the science

The power to heal or harm. Hhhhmm, I wonder who else that might apply to in the future?

Hey lab rat!

Subtle, Liz. Real subtle.

No, he's not just stressed Liz

It's all a plan to get Max to get his gear off.

His heart isn't racing because he's scared of Liz. Neither of these people has a subtle bone in their body.

Die Jesse Manes Die

Hey there Kyle.

Alien hunting buddy, four war hero sons.

"Are you calling Alex faint of heart?" You go Kyle.

Die Jesse Manes Die

See now I think this is where Jesse made his biggest mistake. Threatening Kyle's life is one thing, but threatening his friends. That just kicks his protective side into high gear. Especially when it comes to ALex who he feels he owes. Probably gets his competitive side going as well

OMG Kyles face as Jesse walks away.

"I don't need an Airman, I need a Valenti"

"The light show whenever I feel anything" Yeah, we know what your talking about Max

Yeah, we know why you didn't Iz and Michael about the experiments.

So that's a yes then.

"Please don't touch me". Oh, that's gonna hurt the feels

Busted. Not sure how I feel about that shirt Iz is wearing though. I think we might be trying a bit too hard for the New Mexico aesthetic.

"We have a connection, we did, I think" Not too sure there Max

OK, now that's just mean Iz, with the Kyle/Liz hookup.

Especially when you know it's gonna hurt Max.

Now here we have on rewatch the first scene where I'm not sure if it's Iz or Noah??

Where she talks about his hand print on Liz's chest, just seems a bit Noah like??

Which would also explain the meanness?

Arguements about who knows each other best and relationships built on lies.

That's a set of criteria where everyone is on pretty shaken ground at this stage.

Max as golden retriever or X-file. Kyle being all caregivery. Fuck, I would give anything to see him in a nice white shirt. Sorry, I digress.

Provocation. Another theme we see again and again through the show.

Not a fan of this whole treasure hunt storyline tbh

Yes Kyle, we all love Max because he's tall.

OK Nancy Drew"

Fuck, you cannot just cut to THIS scene like that. Fuck me.

The song, the hand caressing that skin.

Fuuuuccck

Once again I am not emotionally prepared.

"Your awake"

"You staaayed"

God, such little dialogue that just tells us so much.

That Michael isn't used to Alex being there in the morning. That he leaves.

The way Michael looks over at Alex. So soft and happy.

Alex's barely there smile as he looks at Michael.

They just break my heart these two.

Fuck me.

The physical intimacy in this scene is just.... I don't even have words for it. It's so soft and gentle and ...

Michael's face.

It's just such an amazing scene especially for a queer couple.

The chemistry these two have as actors is insane.

God fucking damn it Isobel.

And fuck here it comes.

"it's just Isobel"

"Does she know about us?"

"would it be so bad if she did?"

"Yeah"

"Nah, don't worry about it"

Fuck me. Michael goes from being so happy to being someone's dirty little secret in seconds.

Now I'm pretty sure that's not what Alex thinks, but that's sure as shit how Michael interprets it.

All his insecurity and self-loathing just brings his armour back up.

oh shit yeah

It applies just as much to Alex as well.

The thing that hurts to the most is that Michael is so resigned to it. Like yep, this is how it always goes.

And I think that might apply to not just Alex, but other people he sleeps with. Good enough to fuck, but not good enough to be seen with. And that's just fucked up.

Especially for someone like Michael who is so tactile. That his way of connecting with people is so distained.

And Alex's face. He know's he's hurt Michael, even though that wasn't his intention.

But as they say, about paving the road to hell.

Tbh honest, I didn't notice until it was discussed in another channel that this ISN'T the morning after "I never look away" and that the Airstream has moved.

I blame opening the scene with all that golden skin. It's very distracting.

I offer that line as public domain to any fic writer that wants it!!

God how I hate that Michael is probably alot of people's dirty little secret. Fuck them.

"He's letting Liz experiment on him"

"Please say sexually"

Not gonna lie. THat is one of the best lines ever on tv.

Also Michael with no shirt.

Also if they ever get Michael in a nice white button up I'm gonna die.

Yes I have a white shirt kink.

Iz's face. :laughing:

Kids, kids kids. Have we learned nothing?

Plans involving Liz never end well.

Secrets, always about the secrets

Mix cd

Clues, Nancy Drew

Teen melodrama is our thing.

So cheeky Liz. It's a good look on you.

Liz is wearing armour lipstick.

Of course Maria is coming on the treasure hunt.

Cam buying Max a first edition. Nerd boner. Don't ever change Cam.

Max, max, max. It's not the time.

Don't dig into the past. HOld onto the good memories. Exactly the advice Kyle gave Liz last ep.

And he doesn't listen either. Lucky he's so pretty.

I really hope we get to see the hold your hair while puking, slash your exe's tires Rosa in S2. It's such a great description by Maria. Gives a great sense of the real Rosa.

"She's isn't what leftover in the dirty crevices of this town." That is such a great line - gives a great insight into Maria.

which in no way makes up for that fucking powder blue skivvy he wore!! Jesus that was ugly. So I need more white shirts to balance it out. Bonus points for linen.

But more likely on Kyle than Michael, not that I wouldn't be cool with that.

Ophiuchus

Liz's don't lie to me face.

And here we go with more heart break. THis show never stops.

I love so much that in this fandom a dark green and black flannel shirt is what constitutes the "slutty" outfit.

I love that he is alergic to buttons.

Scared of not being the number 1 person in Max's life. Tbh. he's not wrong.

Michael and his touching people to check in with them.

Annnd here comes the start of more pain.

Not to be shallow, but Alex's outfit in this scene is interesting. I know we haven't seen him in civies much yet, but even so this stands out. It's such a light palette. So different to the dark colours we've seen before and everything that we see him in after.

A reflection of the lightness he feels from reconnecting with Michael? That disappears after the drive in and never really returns for the rest of the season?

Maybe? I lean towards more unconscious choice.

A willingness to be seen?

Which then is picked up later with his "can't be seen with a criminal" comments.

Where he goes back to not standing out, even in civies

Gods, the looks on their faces. They just love each other so much but Alex is still struggling.

Alex's smile when Michael sits down.

Kyle you are so gonna get busted.

Your mum is the sheriff dude.

Seriously Max. take a fucking chill pill.

I know it's the overpower but seriously. How do people not notice?

Yes Kyle, this massive over reaction is about Liz.

OK, I know Kyle is doing it on purpose, but that is cold.

Kyle, Kyle, Kyle, alot of people want to hit you, don't encourage them.

And even if he was human Max has height and weight on him as well.

That smart arse smirk of Kyle's.

Damn, Jenna looks good with her hair like that.

Damn Kyles eyes.

And Kyle's little puff after Max leaves. He knows how close he came to getting his arse kicked in some way.

Die Jesse Manes Die.

Alex, ALex don't listen to the evil man. Please!!

And what about Michael, sitting so close to the man who mutilated him? Any person would have trouble keeping their cool.

Knowing Jesse is around is one thing, but what must it do to Micahel to see him like this?

"Can't lie to a psychic, hmm mmm"

Liz, spying on Max and Cam is a little bit creepy. Jealous much?

Not sure why Iz sees Rosa when trying to influence Liz??

Oh, Rosa's saying the lines she says to Iz later on after Noah is exposed.

Run and puke face.

Don't be a douche MIchael

Might not be a high school crush. More paralleling.

Max, don't be a dick to Cam. More than just try. And don't make it sound like a burden for fuck sakes.

"xenophobia sells more tickets"

I have Maria boot envy

And here comes the heartbreak

"I was dating a Chad"

"All the Chad's end up being Chad's"

That is some grade A dialogue right there.

Poor Diego

2 min break, I need a hot drink to stop myself coughing.

BRB

Could be. Might also be that Noah's blocks are weakening?

You go for it Cam.

Oh OK. Max you fucking dork.

OMG Liz, not cool.

Cam shutting this shit down right now.

Max making possibly the worst life choice ever seen on tv

Kyle Manuel Valenti!

And the most shit I'm busted face ever seen on a grown man.

Kyle why did you say love triangle? Don't say that.

Totally, he's hopeless but extra hopeless when your Mum is sheriff.

Sheriff Valenti has Jesse mans sussed out.

Tbh, I feel Max's pain as Liz reads out that letter. I found some stuff recently that I wrote at that age. OMFG, it was pretentious and oh so serious.

I like the hot sauce homage to OG

And then Liz just goes all in.

Don't do it Alex.

Fair warning I'm about to say some stuff about Alex that people might not like.

"I'm an airman, I can't be with a criminal".

Gods, Alex, no. You just let your Dad win.

You just told Michael he isn't important.

"All my life, the system has put me at the mercy of ciminals"

This line. FUck me.

Just another example of Michael flat out telling people the honest, painful, fucking private truth about his life and people then just blowing him off.

He just does it over and over again and then people have the fucking gall to say "we didn't know" How the fuck did you not know?

From anyone else it's bad but from Alex? Alex who knows Michael, who knows Michaels life, who has seen more of the cruelty of the world than anyone else in the show, from Alex it's a betrayal.

Yep, and using that as an excuse just compounds it. Because he's using the actions that Michael takes in order to survive against him. Compounds that betrayal.

And for me, if any action by Alex could be described as being a dick move, it's this one.

And I know why Alex does it, I really, really do, but fuck, it's still really, really bad.

And, And, all this happens in Michael's truck, his home, that Alex fucking knows he lived in during high school.

"Just trying to survive it"

Again, truth.

Not live, not escape. Survive.

Exactly.

Yes, he is Michael.

Fuck no, Alex. You don't get to say that. You don't get to blame Michael for your choices.

And Michael's sigh. Not even disappointed. Just resigned. Same ole, same ole.

Fair cop Liz. You don't really think Max killed Rosa.

But I'm also sorted glad they didn't make Liz into the sort of person who dismisses her own experience and world view just because she likes someone.

Max, it's not you place to decide what Liz can handle.

"That's what everything is about for me". Max, Max, Max. I'm impressed you could say that without coming off as a creepy stalker type.

You know what Max, now would be an excellent time to come clean about everything, just sayin'.

true

Noah, Noah

"I knew what I was marrying into" we now know what an understatement that was from Noah.

Gotta be honest, telling your husband that someone else is your person is a bit harsh.

You have two unhappy brothers Iz, pay attention.

True, but also Michael's abuser as well? I sort of read it as they both know the other isn't OK and they just don't talk about it with each other?

Noah, I'm trying really hard to block out that you are not a good guy.

Maria - "Max is so harmless" and Liz's face.

Kyle, Kyle, Kyle.

I really like how they actually have the smart person (a doctor) actaually be smart? He knows Jesse has power.

Paul Ryan comment

He cooperates just enough. Though I think part of that is he still doesn't trust Max.

Oh yeah

Max loosing his shit

Shut up Jesse, just shut the fuck up.

Yeah, not subtle but still good.

Overall not a bad episode.

As I said, not really a fan of the treasure hunt storyline.

I'm really happy with the way they handled Kyle dealing with Jesse. Again another example of a storyline that would drag out for seasons on other shows.

More backstory for Alex and Michael. My poor boys.

Love Maria giving us a more balanced view of Rosa. Who I am really looking forward to seeing in S2.

Yep, so many examples of how out of the loop people are keeping Maria. And we know it's just going to get worse. I really need for them to give her an opportunity in S2 to really rip into everyone for keeping her in the dark.

And Jesse fucking Manes. Just about everything he says makes sense. He's actually right about aliens. Even right about there being bad ones. But we also know that he's a violent, vindictive dick.

#roswell new mexico #Roswell Nm #roswellnm #rewatch-larenoz

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permissiblenormality · 6 years ago

Text

Eyes Wide As Starlight

Sometimes, the things that you want are not the things that you need.

Queer & LGBT fiction/fantasy, largely tragedy, and themes of self-harm and depression. 6k words.

The smell of roses filled the air, sticking to my robes, clinging to any surface it could find. I held my sleeve up to my mouth, coughing as I tried to breathe through the light pink smoke that had filled the room. I had followed the potion recipe to the letter, and it still came out horribly--like always.

“Valentine,” Castor said, his nose pinched between his fingers as he swung the door open. “What did you do?”

“I followed the recipe to the letter, I--” I coughed into my sleeve. “--I swear!”

“Are you sure?”

“I… I think so! Here!” I took a deep breath, and presented the potions book to him, my cheeks puffed out with air.

“How much rose oil did you put in?”

“Three cups, just like it said! Rose oil, 3 C,” I managed to squeak out. Castor inspected the page, kneeling down to my height, his brown eyes scanning over the page. He squinted for a moment, and then removed his fingers from his nose, licking one and rubbing it on the page. “Hey, wait, what’re you doing?!”

“That says rose oil, three degrees celsius.”

“W-What?!” I fumbled with the book, struggling to catch it as I turned it around. There, hidden behind a dried potion splatter, was a small circle just above the C. “No, no, no!”

“C’mon, Aster taught us about this, Valentine.” Castor shook his head, a slight smile on his face. “Why would a recipe ever call for three cups of rose oil?”

“I just… I thought, maybe if I really tried to follow it to the letter this time, if I just did it like it said instead of making adjustments…!” Castor put a hand on my shoulder, and our eyes met. He forced a half-hearted chuckle, and averted his gaze just slightly over my shoulder, over towards the cauldron that was still giving off pink smoke.

“Hey, it’s okay. Maybe… maybe next time, yeah?” Castor shrugged, and extended his hand towards the cauldron, making a pinching movement with his fingers. The fire underneath the cauldron snuffed itself out, and the pink smoke slowly began to dissipate.

“I… yeah, next time.” I tilted my head down, trying to hide my face. If the brim of my pointed hat didn’t do the job, my wavy blonde hair certainly covered them enough.

“I’m gonna head upstairs to bed, just wanted to check out the smell first. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Castor tried to sound cheery, but I could hear the weariness in his voice. A more sensible person might assume he was tired--but I wasn’t feeling particularly sensible.

“Mhm,” I nodded, moving over to the potions book, shutting it much more loudly than Castor shut the door on his way out. As soon as his footsteps faded from my earshot, I leaned over the cauldron, looking into the glossy, pink solution--seeing myself, distorted and snivelling and pathetic. Tears were already running hot down my cheeks as I thought over and over how much I had embarrassed myself in front of Castor. He’d never like me. Never the way I wanted him to.

Shaky breaths and blurred vision slowly encroached, my tears dripping down into the rose-scented disaster I had tried to pass off as a potion. As they sent ripples across the surface, my mind played the memory back again and again.

‘Hey, it’s okay. Maybe… maybe next time, yeah?’

‘Hey, no biggie. Next time.’

‘Hey, next time.’

‘Hey, next time, maybe you’ll actually do it!’

‘Maybe you’ll actually do it for once!’

‘Maybe you’ll actually do something worthwhile instead of fucking around like an idiot, day in and day out. God, I’d fucking pity you if you were worth anything more than… this.’

My chest tensed and my throat burned with pain as I screamed into the cauldron, the potion shaking and distorting my reflection even further. That was what I was. A monster. An idiot. A disgusting freak who never should’ve started to study magic. As an apprentice, I was a failure. As a friend, I never knew what to say. As a potential romantic partner?

I was hopeless.

I grabbed a chalice off of a nearby shelf, throat raw from screaming, my vision still blurred with tears. I dunked it into the potion, the solid pink color and strong scent entirely unappetizing. I swished the liquid around in the chalice, watching it swirl for a moment--and then downed it in one go.

As my vision began to spin and fade, I remembered Aster telling us to never, ever ingest a faulty potion--not unless we had a death wish.

‘Lucky me’, I thought--and collapsed to the floor.

I felt cold. So, so cold--and my vision was slowly being flooded with light. Everything was completely out of focus, shifting and sliding around as it got brighter and brighter. There was a sound of waking water--and suddenly, I was floating above water, the full moon shining down onto a gigantic statue that sat in the center of a lake. The stone bridge that led to it was being crossed by two people. I instantly recognized them as Castor and myself.

“I still don’t really know why we do this,” The me on the bridge said. “I’m a little behind on my lecture notes…”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’ve got it all written down--I’m even a little bit ahead.” Castor smiled, putting his hands halfway in his pockets as he walked. “So: this statue is dedicated to the goddess of magic. She’s supposed to be the one who gave the first magic practitioner their powers. It’s a whole legend, I think it’s chapter 13? There’s this guy, in a starving village…”

As Castor rattled the tale off, I noticed that the me on the bridge wasn’t paying very much attention. Rather than being engrossed in the story, he was fiddling with the edge of his robes, adjusting his hat… doing anything but actually engaging with the conversation.

“...But basically, we come here because she’s the reason we even get to be apprentices. She makes wizards, witches, magicians, astrologers… who they are.” Castor smiled brightly--and I could see his face fall just a little bit as the other me nodded meekly.

“Y-Yeah, I get it.” Even though I knew I had meant it, Castor’s smile disappeared.

With very few words exchanged between them, they both knelt in front of the statue and began to pray. My eyes widened as I clearly heard Castor’s voice in my head--and felt the other me’s wavering uncertainty of what to say to the goddess.

“...Please help him. I know he can do what he wants if he really tries, but I worry about him so much. Help me find some way to make him feel… better.”

I could feel my heart freezing over in my chest, shoulders shaking--even if I couldn’t see my body right now, even if I didn’t know whether or not this was real--the sentiment echoed through my head like an empty pot dropped into a canyon. Berating myself was one thing--I knew on some level that it was melodramatic. But to hear something so from-the-heart, so concerned, so Castor-esque in Castor’s own voice--it hurt more than anything. It hadn’t been that I was inferior. It was that I thought I was inferior. Maybe it was a mix of the two, but I wasn’t able to tell. Before I could delve deeper, I heard the other me speak up in his head.

“I’m sorry,” he prayed. “I’m sorry I took your gift and I’m squandering it. I know Castor is doing better than I am, and I promise, I’m really trying, but… everything is so hard. Sometimes, I think about just giving up. Maybe I don’t need to be good at magic after all. But…Castor keeps me going. I don’t want to let him down, so please, help me realize what I’m doing wrong!”

I couldn’t tell why the vision was suddenly so blurry--until I realized that the me that was praying was crying as quietly as he could. I remembered every hot tear, every choked-back sob, trying not to let Castor notice. The tears burned even hotter the second time as I realized what I had done. His only prayer was to help me--and mine was selfishly asking for help for myself. Whether or not that help was given to me, I couldn’t tell--but I knew at least one thing. The screaming, the crying, drinking the faulty potion...

I had let Castor down.

He would find me the next day, eyes lifeless and body spread out next to the bookshelf, chalice clasped in my hand--and he would be crushed.

The pain in my chest skyrocketed as I tried to open my mouth and scream again. I thought I was dead--I thought that finally, I would at least be free from this. Even as the vision faded into darkness, even as I sunk below the lake one more time, even as I saw the faintest pinpricks of light in the deep, dark water--I felt nothing but regret and shame.

I woke with a jolt. The world slowly turned itself upright, and I got a good look at my surroundings. I was still in the brewing rooms, lying down on the plush red carpet that was next to the bookshelves. Beside me, there was a bright pink stain. Aster would kill me.

Wait, kill me?

I could’ve sworn I had been dead. I felt myself, hands against my chest. Solid. I looked down at my legs. Still there, unmoved and miraculously unharmed. I figured I should probably start to clean the mess up as best I could before anyone had noticed what I had done. I was lucky to be alive--and I wasn’t about to suffer being yelled at after that vision. I felt plenty guilty already.

The issue arose when I did. My legs didn’t move--or rather, my legs duplicated themselves. One pair lay on the floor, where I had been passed out. The ones that actually obeyed my movement stood half-inside and half-outside, my translucent form seeming to phase through my own body.

“...Oh, oh gods--I’m actually dead.” I said out loud to myself.

“Dead is a funny word for it.” Not expecting a response, I yelped--and spun around, backing up towards the cauldrons on the other side of the room. Nobody was in the room--just my body on the floor.

“What… who said that?!” I called out, eyes wide and ice seeming to form in my chest.

“I would say you,” my own body said, sitting up. “But unfortunately, I believe we’ve made quite the arrangement! I’m very nearly you, that much is fair to say--I’m just… better.” I looked into my body’s eyes, the normally olive irises a bright, mint green.

“You… what are you?!” I screamed, backing up further. I stumbled over my own feet, and tried to grab onto something--but found my hand simply phased through the cauldrons and brewing stands.

“I told you! Ah, this is definitely one of your flaws coming into play. You don’t listen, unlike me.” He chuckled, gracefully covering his mouth with his hand. “I’m you, but better. That’s what your potion set out to do, right?”

“I… potion?” I racked my brain, thinking past the lake vision, the crying, the screaming… and my eyes locked onto the potion book, still open on the floor. That was right. I was making a self-confidence potion. Rose oil was supposed to be a small part of it--it was meant to make self-love easier, instill courage, and encourage understanding. In small amounts, it was already very potent, but I had added… “Three cups--”

“Yes, thank you, finally. Playing quite the game of catch-up, aren’t you? But it’s even more than that--not that you’d understand. Castor is so far ahead of you in your classes, it’s a wonder you’re even still here. But it’s alright, I’ll explain it to you. After all, in addition to being so much more knowledgeable,” he shrugged his shoulders, flipping his hair to the side with a shake of his head, and tossing his pointed hat directly onto the coat hanger by the door. “I am also so much more of a generous and amazing person.”

“I… I doubt you’re a person at all.” I balled my fists, my breath catching as I realized there was no tension in my muscles. Everything was wispy, nearly formless, and couldn’t even begin to interact with the world.

“Oho, what a wonderful idea! But, like most things you suggest, very wrong. You see, the properties of the potion you brewed, even with an enormous overdose of rose oil, would still have been the same, albeit longer-lived and certainly much stronger--in both taste and effect. However, you couldn’t stop yourself from adding even more incorrect ingredients, could you?”

“What do you mean? I didn’t even alter it after Castor left! I just…” I stopped myself short, swallowing thickly.

“Oh, I know what you did. We’re essentially the same person, remember? I keep telling you--you don’t listen! But you’ll never take my word for it, I suppose.” He sighed, shaking his head, his cocky grin never leaving his face--MY face. He walked with purpose towards the bookshelves, pulling a volume without even looking at the spines. He flipped it open to the page he needed on the first try, setting it up on one of the stands in front of the cauldrons, and began to waltz about the room, gathering ingredients and brewing tools. I tried to read the recipe, but it was written in traditional Sylvan--something potion brewers typically only learned after opening their own apothecary. “I’ll explain it so even someone like you can understand. Please don’t make me waste my breath again.

“When you broke down, you screamed and cried and threw a fit, just because of your silly little insecurities about your magic abilities--which, honestly? You have every right to be concerned by them. You’re nowhere near as powerful as Castor, much less Aster. At this rate, you’ll still be an apprentice when Castor starts on his fieldwork training. Anyhow, you did all of that nonsense right over the cauldron, didn’t you? Bitter tears of self-loathing and a scream of agonizing despair--although the specific subclass of the scream would also be self-loathing.”

“Screams have subclasses?”

“Chapter 57, Valentine. Try and keep up. I know it’s difficult for you.” He shook his head, scattering rose petals into the now-boiling cauldron and pouring in a heaping helping of honey. “You hated yourself so much that you physically expelled every raw emotion you had about it into a potion strictly made for self-love. And so, you created a version of you where you only kept the things you wanted. Me.”

“But you’re not me! And you have my body!”

“Surprise, surprise! Turns out that us humans are just so exceedingly complex that removing part of yourself through magical means causes a split. Normally, we would share the body, arguing and trying to figure out how best to re-merge ourselves. But, since you’re a complete and utter failure as a magic user and a human being, you expelled so much of what made you YOU that… well, you’re trying to steer the carriage hands-free, if you catch my drift.”

“But you… you’re steering it, so just hand the reins over!”

“Oooh, you see, I would like to--but you nearly got us killed! You tried to commit suicide not… what was it, eight hours ago? I don’t think I can trust you all too well, now can I?” He gave me a look of disbelief as he stirred the pot with a large paddle made from cherry wood. With his other hand, he tossed in a large amount of black tea leaves.

“You… you can’t do this! I can’t just stay like this forever!”

“Oh, but you can! If you remain just the way you are--a snivelling, worthless excuse for an idiot of a human--you’ll be just like that forever. Split and watching me succeed for the both of us. Buuut!” He pointed a finger at me, smiling with such a pity in his eyes as he set the paddle aside, scooping out some of his brew in a ceramic mug. “You could change, slowly--until you’re just like me! Like the you that you wanted to be! Then there’ll be no difference between us, and, well, once you’re worth something, we’ll merge.”

“But that’s… I don’t…” My eyes darted around the room, searching for anything to help me. Everything he said felt like itching under my skin, and every time I made eye contact it was like I was being plunged into cold, dark water. Even looking in his direction sent a fire up my spine to burn the back of my throat.

“I can hear your thoughts, you know--and don’t try to deny it!” He chuckled, wiping down the sides of the mug and setting it aside. “You did this. It’s your fault. You hated yourself so much that the universe just happened to give you a solution--and you’re saying you don’t want it? That’s, pardon my Elvish, fucking ridiculous! It’s almost like you grew a spine and want to stand up for yourself, want to make a big show against this ‘weird new guy’--but newsflash! Again! Not listening! I’m YOU but BETTER!” He threw his arms out wide, shaking his hands and smiling as wide as he could. “You’ll see--if you pay attention this time. For once.”

Before I could even say anything more, the door creaked open. Oh, gods, it had been eight hours. That meant--

“Good morning, Valentine.” Castor paused mid-stride, cocking his head to the side. “Did… did you stay up all night? In here?”

“Oh no, just an early bird, I guess.” My other self grinned brightly, making direct eye contact with Castor. “And actually, call me Val from now on.”

“Oh, uh, okay, Val.” Castor smiled a little, shutting the door behind him.

“Wait, he’s not real!” I yelled, running over to Castor, waving my arms. “He’s just a fake, he’s not… he’s…” I slowly came to a halt, my motions slowing as Castor looked through me--literally straight through me. He didn’t acknowledge anything I had said. He couldn’t see or hear me, and I couldn’t touch him. To him, I was completely invisible. I spun around, and Val was smirking at me from afar, his eyes half-lidded, before he turned his attention back to Castor.

“I made you some tea, since I knew you’d be up. You always get up early to do some reading, don’t you?” Val smiled, but I could feel it in my mind--he didn’t mean anything he said. He didn’t care about Castor’s habits, he just cared about the tea, for some reason. It was disorienting, feeling someone else’s--yet simultaneously your own--emotions. What struck me as odd was that he could hear my thoughts, but I couldn’t hear his. For a moment, I tried to quiet my mind to hear what was in his head.

It sounded like void. The sound was indescribable because there was nothing to describe, but even being able to say nothing was happening wouldn’t be sufficient. It was a purposeful absence where something used to be, something that was hollowed out--but somehow, not entirely empty. I clutched my head, drawing in a sharp breath as I allowed myself to think again. I couldn’t comprehend it at all.

“Oh, thank you, Val. That’s… very sweet of you.” Castor smiled softly, giving the cup a sniff. “Oh, rose with honey. You remembered--although after last night, I’m surprised you went for it.” Castor stopped himself before he took a sip. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to be so rude. I’m just joking around, I promise. I really do appreciate it.”

“No, it’s okay--I messed up. It’ll never happen again.” Normally, when someone said that, I didn’t believe them, but I gave them the benefit of the doubt, knowing they would try their hardest. When Val said it, it was stated so plainly and matter-of-factly that I couldn’t help but be shaken by it. He had really meant it: me, but better. Me, but perfect. “Go on, try it, I promise it’ll do exactly what I want it to this time.”

Oh gods, that was right--that wasn’t tea at all!

“Castor!” I leapt at him, aiming to knock the mug from his hands--and phased through both him and the tea, collapsing to the floor. At the back of my head, where Val seemed to reside now, I felt a tickle of satisfaction. I turned over, just in time to see Castor take a hearty sip. If Val felt my heart quaking, he didn’t show it.

“Oh, this is… really very delightful! It’s amazing. The brew isn’t bitter at all, and the honey comes through very well. It’s delicious! A work of art.” I squinted at Castor in disbelief. Like Val’s claim, it was stated so honestly that I had no choice but to believe it. He had never talked about anything I’d made for him that way, at least not with the same conviction. He had never talked about anything that way before.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” I gasped as Val suddenly put a hand on Castor’s cheek, locking eyes with him. “Works of art don’t have much on eyes like yours.”

“V-Valentine, I--I mean, Val, what’s gotten into you?” A dark red blush spread across Castor’s face. He moved to step back--and halfway through his stride, he completely froze. It wasn’t uncertainty--like everything else in Val’s plan, it was clear-cut and definite. “What’s… gotten into me?” He moved forwards again, dropping the tea, the mug shattering against the ground and staining the red carpet even further. He grabbed Val by the small of his back, and kissed him. He kissed him so tenderly and softly that, for a moment, I thought maybe he had always fancied me. However, a feeling of smug satisfaction tainted my surprise as Val released just a small bit of knowledge to me.

As Val and Castor locked lips against the wall, I scrambled to my feet, moving over to the potion book. The recipe made sense to me now that Val had shared his knowledge of Sylvan with me--although every word made me wish he hadn’t.

‘Love potion,’ it read, ‘for eternal and undying love.’

Val opened his eyes, still caressing Castor as he kissed him, and raised his eyebrows at me, as if to say ‘I win.’

I dropped to my knees, watching in abject horror as they continued on for what seemed like days, until finally, Castor pulled back.

“Oh gods, Val, I don’t know how I didn’t see it. That’s why I’m always concerned about you--I can’t believe I had never realized how much I… I love you.” His eyes sparkled with epiphanies, one after the other. “How much I enjoy spending time with you, studying with you, I… I don’t know what made me so blind.”

“It’s okay, Castor. The truth is, though… that this… relationship between us?” Val looked over Castor’s shoulder, shrugging nonchalantly. “It’s never really been about that for me.”

“Wait, wh… what are you saying?”

“Castor, it’s… that kiss? It was really nice, yeah, but I just can’t see us fitting together.” Val shrugged, not even making eye contact as he said it. My shoulders tensed, my teeth ground against one another, and I leapt to my feet.

“WHAT?!”

“I mean, us?” Val shrugged again, shaking his head. “We’d never work. You’re just too…” He stifled a laugh. “Nevermind, I won’t say it. But good on your for confessing your feelings.” Val patted Castor on the shoulder, and made his way out of the room.

I watched as Castor stood there, dumbfounded, and I swore I could hear the sound of a million pieces of glass scattering. I reached out for him, wanting desperately to comfort him, to tell him that none of this was real. As soon as I tried, however, I began to slide away from him, my feet gliding along the ground as if it were ice.

“No, no! Wait! Wait, Castor! Castor, please!” I leaned forwards as my back slipped through the brick wall of the room, and I slowly phased through it, entering the hallway. I whipped around, looking in the direction this odd pull was coming from. Of course it was Val. The further he moved, the more I was pulled along. I ran up to him, heart pounding in my chest and face a bright red.

“What was that?! You drugged him, and then you left him like that?!” I reached out to try and grab him, strangle him, punch him--anything--but my hands fell right through.

“Calm down, Valentine. God, you’re always so emotional. Maybe that’s why you never listen. Too busy listening to every malformed emotion that finds its way into your otherwise empty head.”

“Fuck you!”

“Ohhh, watch the language! All I did was make it so we could succeed more.”

“What does that even mean?!” I yelled, my voice cracking, composure be damned.

“Castor is eons ahead of you in terms of magical development. He has a natural talent, and even though I’m much better than you, I’m working with the inherent magical ability I’ve been given. If he stayed the most powerful magic student here, he’d swipe up jobs and opportunities from us in a flash--so I decided he needed to get a handicap. Now we’re still in first, and we have way more time to do it since he’ll never truly recover from that. I told you I’d make us both succeed.”

“But that’s… that’s not success!” I choked out, pulling on my own hair. “That’s… that’s terrible! You made him love you and you broke his heart--we were supposed to want his love, and even that was achieved in an awful way!”

“We?” Val scoffed. “I have no interest in him. As a colleague? Nothing. As a competitor? Yes--but not anymore.” He pushed open a large oak door that led to a stone path. The sun was just rising over the forests that surrounded the academy, but as he walked forwards, it only seemed to be getting darker.

“But isn’t that what makes us human? Our connections, our friends, our experiences?”

“What would you know about being human?” Val sighed. “Gods, you really are as annoying as you think you are. You got that right, at least.” He began walking faster. The sun began to set behind glades of evergreens. “Maybe it’s what made you human--what made you happy. But I’ve only got a mind for one thing.”

“Success?!”

“Exactly. You were so tied up in your shitty magical abilities that you tried to kill yourself. So what was left over? The part of you that actually yearned to do something instead of whining about it.” As the sky darkened more and more, I could only see the reflection of moonlight off of his eyes, and none of his other features. “And now I’m going to settle that forever. I’m going to do something about it.”

“What are you going to do?” I stopped to look around, having blindly followed him--although it would have happened even if I didn’t want it to. We were deep in the evergreens now, and the path back to the academy was too dark to see. The moon had risen overhead, shining bright, full, and white. Val was headed towards a large lake with a stone bridge--and a statue in the middle.

“That’s all you ever do, Valentine. You ask. You don’t do anything. Even now, you’re not even trying to stop me. You’re just saying every question that pops into your empty little head. And me? I’m going to get things done. Now watch. You can be the first to claim that you witnessed The Amazing Val single-handedly unmake,” he laughed, raising his hand into the air, electricity crackling around his hand. “A goddess!”

With a blast of thunder, a bright spear of lightning came crashing down onto the statue of the goddess--the head toppling into the lake, the arms crumbling to the sides, and the base splitting in half. In one swift move, he had dismantled the enormous structure. Stunned, I was dragged along flat-footed as he approached the ruins he had just created. A black cloud began to rise from the rubble.

“Goddess of magic, waker of seers, maiden of illusion--you’ve given me a gift, and for that I thank you. Unfortunately, you’ve also borrowed my services as the greatest mage of this generation and the next. I’ve come to collect what I will be owed when I take this world by storm--something the old me could never do.”

The cloud swirled, spiraling around the crumbled form of the statue, twisting into a tornado of smoke. The center grew darker and darker, the black shadows from the center tainting the lake around us. The moonlight no longer reflected off of the surface, and the waves came to a complete standstill.

“Show yourself. Face me! Face perfection in human form!” His eyes were wide, his grin stretching for ear to ear, and from the back of my mind came a surge of adrenaline. This was Val fulfilling his purpose. This was him at his height. He was ready to fight a goddess, and he was going to kill her because he would do anything to succeed.

Was this who I was to become?

The tornado began to pull water from the lake, the basin endlessly flowing into it as a great shape took form above us. It spread wide, covering the sky like a thick quilt, no moonlight permeating the enormous form. I tried to back up, tried to get away--but Val had my body. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t escape.

As she began to take shape, the land around us became darker and darker, until I couldn’t see anything except for myself and Val. Everything was pitch black--but I could tell that the goddess was here. When I looked at her, I saw less than an absence of light--I saw something less than nothing: a complete and utter void, something that my eyes could not see but my heart understood. My body tensed and relaxed in spasms at the sight, unable to respond properly to it--the absence of all and anything in this world. I couldn’t make out her form--but I could tell she was arching over us, covering us completely. She was here. She was unhappy.

“So nice of you to show up.” Val grinned, his hands sparking with electricity once more. “Now,” he smiled, and I felt a pinprick of giddiness from him. “Let’s begin!”

He rushed forwards.

Two enormous diamonds of light revealed themselves within the amorphous void that was the goddess. He froze, mid-stride in his sprint, electricity still arcing around his hands.

For the first time, I felt fear in his mind.

Slowly, more and more diamonds began to open, shedding solid beams of light onto his frozen form, locking him in place. I could feel struggle. Pain. Despair. Everything that he had suppressed from me came rushing back into his body, all at once--and suddenly, I could feel everything.

His very existence was torn from his skin. It didn’t burn, or chill, or sting. It felt as though bark was being gently torn from a tree, as if a spine was plucked from your cheek, as if whatever threads held your existence together snapped with the slightest pressure.

The last thing I heard, his body bathed in brilliant white light, his very being dissolving inside of it--was a scream.

A horrid, guttural scream, hot tears streaming down his face as he collapsed, departing from his body completely.

My body.

Time seemed to freeze around me afterwards. Nothing else showed even the faintest signs of stirring. For what felt like an eternity, I stood still. Tentatively, I took a step. The bright diamonds shifted, pointing at me instead of my body. I flinched, expecting the worst.

Instead, I felt a deep warmth inside of me. It rose from my stomach and bloomed through my thighs and chest, cradling my head and cupping my cheeks. I put a hand to my throat, breathing deeply, and took another step, walking towards my body. With every step, color spread out from around my feet, returning to the surrounding lake. Blue waters, golden sand, emerald trees, and a black sky with a brilliant white moon above me.

I crouched down next to my limp form, and then turned back to the goddess, looking at the first two diamonds that had opened.

“Thank you,” was all I could utter.

For a moment, the diamonds all shut, and I thought I had somehow offended her.

An instant later, they all reopened, shining with millions of different colors, showing me plants and people and clouds and lakes and art and things I didn’t have the words to describe. She showed me every warm beam of sunlight, every cool forest pond, every family and every grave. She showed me everything, her eyes wide as starlight, expanding and pushing past anything I could ever have comprehended.

I thought I had known.

I thought I had known everything this world had to offer for someone like me.

Gods, was I wrong.

My shoulders, for the first time that day, relaxed, and I let out a deep, shaky sigh. The colored lights disappeared as she shut her eyes one by one, until all were closed except for two.

I knelt down on the ground, and joined my hands together, and I prayed.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I divulged every secret, every insecurity, every doubt that I had in my mind. She did not interrupt me. I prayed until I was exhausted in every way, and finally dropped my hands, letting out one last shaky breath.

And she understood.

Slowly, I turned towards my unconscious body, then back to her. I nodded solemnly. I lay down on the stone, moving into the same position as my body, only my head sticking out now. I stared at the back of my head, took a deep breath, and plunged myself into it.

I awoke in the observatory. The sun shone brightly down onto the marble floors, nearly blinding me as I tried to adjust from the darkness. I covered my eyes and groaned, sitting up slowly. As I did, the door opened, and Castor entered, carrying a tray of food.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Castor smiled at me. “You fell asleep after we finished taking notes for the practical exam. I thought it would be nice to make you breakfast.”

“Thank you.” I looked up at him, seeing how his brown eyes glinted gold in the sunlight, how the beams shone through his soft, black hair. “That was very sweet of you.” I stood up from the chair I had fallen asleep in, grabbing a cup of tea and a plate of eggs and sausages from the tray. I spotted a second cup, a single rose petal resting on the surface.

“What’s wrong?” Castor asked, noting my silence. “Did I burn something?”

“Rose tea with honey,” I said, looking back up at him and smiling. “Right?”

“You’re right!” Castor laughed, looking quite impressed. “How did you figure that out?”

“I can listen, sometimes,” I joked, grinning wider. “As a matter of fact…”

I sat down with Castor, enjoying the breakfast he had prepared slowly, savoring each and every bite. I drank in every story, every joke, and every tale he told. He looked so happy to be talking to me, so happy to share this moment together, so happy to be with a friend. And I think I was happy, too.

Suddenly, he stopped in the middle of his story and let out a chuckle.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“It’s just… it’s your eyes,” he said, still grinning. “They’re sparkling. They’re like starlight.”

My smile spread from ear to ear, and I couldn’t help but laugh, too.

“That’s perfect, then.”

#writeblr #fantasy #fiction #lgbt fiction #queer fiction #I hope you all enjoy it #this is the first time I've written something for myself in a long time #And even longer since I've written tragedies #Please let me know what you think!#suicide tw #self harm tw

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luminenwalker · 2 years ago

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Catchup 3

I am hopeless. I am blind. I feel the rush. I am the enemy. //RRH

'Take these Mayans and their star-clocks, their carvings and their great cities. Who sacked them out of their cities, drowned the cities with a green jungle? A plague? A change of climate? A queer migration? Certainly they were skilful, certainly they created. //RRH

Its Halloween Heads so be on the look out for childish people in stupid outfits demanding bribes under threat of pathetic menaces- wait sorry its Tower Halloween is tomorrow. //Livewire

Have you ever seen Gen-Z kids acting like actual kids? No? Well then, try opening your doors on Halloween nights and give them candies, and you'll be able to see a spark of that thing we've all lost in these dark times. //Aunt Jenny

Celebrating Día de los Muertos? Oh no. I always wear a colorful mask that covers the entirety of my face, offers some ballistic protection and happens to be frequently seen by the soon to be deceased. //Smiling Doll

Do you ever think about the scabs you get after a tattoo? Don't you wish they'd just keep growing, thick plates of yellowed skin? Meet us at the Projects. We can talk. //Daydream

I'm seeing stranger graff. More burnouts in the street. Radios playing synth with insect noises? Something strange is going on in this city. A wave of dread. I should know. I'm riding it. //Tee-J

Surrender to the urge. Destrudo. Only worms are wise. Mortido. //Human

Something I'm seeing lately is people not being able to hold onto their egos. Don't mean losing confidence or thinking they're nova-hot shit. They lose the thing that lets them hold onto their own identity. Don't let addiction or the shakes twist you into someone worse. //Onran

You know, I heard the other day someone talking about choice. It got me thinking. I don't really think we have one. Oh, we want to believe we do, but Cinci has other ideas. You know where you're allowed to go, where you're not, who you can talk to, who you can't. //Catbear

The only choice you get is the blood in your veins, and more often than not, you don't even get that one. Choice; fuckin' delusional. //Catbear

Whether you get to eat, or starve, that's something the city dictates to you. Hell, it's hard to even get the buzz you want! A whole city full of chems and stims and spikes, but never the one you're lookin' for, am I right? //Catbear

There's a point where the body resists the agony it is currently in, firing off every single endogenous opioid it has to control the damage, to get you back home. I intend to go beyond that. //Shallow

This blade, it's beautiful. Shining steel, glittering in the light... I want to see what it looks like covered in blood now. //Crimson Rose

When you're working the information business, don't ever learn more than you can sell. //Lu

So many people with prosthetic arms, almost nobody with prosthetic legs. Imagine what your mother would think, knowing you're still walking around on the two stubs she gave you. //Daydream

Engineers saw the anatomical superfund site that is the human knee and steered clear. //Livewire

People don't wake up happy, they wake up tired. //RRH

The problem with AI isn't AI itself, it's that AI is replacing humans in jobs that humans can do better. And humans aren't learning to do those jobs because AI is doing them for them. //RRH

"Nobody likes the smell of reality." //Unknown

#cyberpunkdreams #cyberpunk

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just-let-me-see-accounts · 3 years ago

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Alice in Wonderland scaffold 2

Key: [s] [S] = subject (eg they) [o] [O] = object (eg them) [pa] [Pa] = possessive adjective (eg their) [pp] [Pp] = possessive pronoun (eg theirs) [r] [R] = reflexive (eg themself)

Plain text version here (where I mark italics).

CHAPTER II. The Pool of Tears

“Curiouser and curiouser!” cried Alice ([s] was so much surprised, that for the moment [s] quite forgot how to speak good English); “now I’m opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-bye, feet!” (for when [s] looked down at [pa] feet, they seemed to be almost out of sight, they were getting so far off). “Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I’m sure I shan’t be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you: you must manage the best way you can;—but I must be kind to them,” thought Alice, “or perhaps they won’t walk the way I want to go! Let me see: I’ll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas.”

And [s] went on planning to [r] how [s] would manage it. “They must go by the carrier,” [s] thought; “and how funny it’ll seem, sending presents to one’s own feet! And how odd the directions will look!

Alice’s Right Foot, Esq., Hearthrug, near the Fender, (with Alice’s love).

Oh dear, what nonsense I’m talking!”

Just then [pa] head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact [s] was now more than nine feet high, and [s] at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.

Poor Alice! It was as much as [s] could do, lying down on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more hopeless than ever: [s] sat down and began to cry again.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said Alice, “a great ****enby like you,” ([s] might well say this), “to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!” But [s] went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round [o], about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.

After a time [s] heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and [s] hastily dried [pa] eyes to see what was coming. It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other: he came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came, “Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess! Oh! won’t she be savage if I’ve kept her waiting!” Alice felt so desperate that [s] was ready to ask help of any one; so, when the Rabbit came near [o], [s] began, in a low, timid voice, “If you please, sir—” The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and the fan, and skurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.

Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, [s] kept fanning [r] all the time [s] went on talking: “Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah, that’s the great puzzle!” And [s] began thinking over all the children [s] knew that were of the same age as [r], to see if [s] could have been changed for any of them.

“I’m sure I’m not Ada,” [s] said, “for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn’t go in ringlets at all; and I’m sure I can’t be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a very little! Besides, she’s she, and I’m I, and—oh dear, how puzzling it all is! I’ll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is—oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that rate! However, the Multiplication Table doesn’t signify: let’s try Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome—no, that’s all wrong, I’m certain! I must have been changed for Mabel! I’ll try and say ‘How doth the little—’” and [s] crossed [pa] hands on [pa] lap as if [s] were saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but [pa] voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they used to do:—

“How doth the little crocodile Improve his shining tail, And pour the waters of the Nile On every golden scale!

“How cheerfully he seems to grin, How neatly spread his claws, And welcome little fishes in With gently smiling jaws!”

“I’m sure those are not the right words,” said poor Alice, and [pa] eyes filled with tears again as [s] went on, “I must be Mabel after all, and I shall have to go and live in that poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with, and oh! ever so many lessons to learn! No, I’ve made up my mind about it; if I’m Mabel, I’ll stay down here! It’ll be no use their putting their heads down and saying ‘Come up again, dear!’ I shall only look up and say ‘Who am I then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I’ll come up: if not, I’ll stay down here till I’m somebody else’—but, oh dear!” cried Alice, with a sudden burst of tears, “I do wish they would put their heads down! I am so very tired of being all alone here!”

As [s] said this [s] looked down at [pa] hands, and was surprised to see that [s] had put on one of the Rabbit’s little white kid gloves while [s] was talking. “How can I have done that?” [s] thought. “I must be growing small again.” [S] got up and went to the table to measure [r] by it, and found that, as nearly as [s] could guess, [s] was now about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly: [s] soon found out that the cause of this was the fan [s] was holding, and [s] dropped it hastily, just in time to avoid shrinking away altogether.

“That was a narrow escape!” said Alice, a good deal frightened at the sudden change, but very glad to find [r] still in existence; “and now for the garden!” and [s] ran with all speed back to the little door: but, alas! the little door was shut again, and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before, “and things are worse than ever,” thought the poor child, “for I never was so small as this before, never! And I declare it’s too bad, that it is!”

As [s] said these words [pa] foot slipped, and in another moment, splash! [s] was up to [pa] chin in salt water. [Pa] first idea was that [s] had somehow fallen into the sea, “and in that case I can go back by railway,” [s] said to [r]. (Alice had been to the seaside once in [pa] life, and had come to the general conclusion, that wherever you go to on the English coast you find a number of bathing machines in the sea, some children digging in the sand with wooden spades, then a row of lodging houses, and behind them a railway station.) However, [s] soon made out that [s] was in the pool of tears which [s] had wept when [s] was nine feet high.

“I wish I hadn’t cried so much!” said Alice, as [s] swam about, trying to find [pa] way out. “I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! That will be a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day.”

Just then [s] heard something splashing about in the pool a little way off, and [s] swam nearer to make out what it was: at first [s] thought it must be a walrus or hippopotamus, but then [s] remembered how small [s] was now, and [s] soon made out that it was only a mouse that had slipped in like [r].

“Would it be of any use, now,” thought Alice, “to speak to this mouse? Everything is so out-of-the-way down here, that I should think very likely it can talk: at any rate, there’s no harm in trying.” So [s] began: “O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!” (Alice thought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse: [s] had never done such a thing before, but [s] remembered having seen in [pa] brother’s Latin Grammar, “A mouse—of a mouse—to a mouse—a mouse—O mouse!”) The Mouse looked at [o] rather inquisitively, and seemed to [o] to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing.

“Perhaps it doesn’t understand English,” thought Alice; “I daresay it’s a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.” (For, with all [pa] knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened.) So [s] began again: “Où est ma chatte?” which was the first sentence in [pa] French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with fright. “Oh, I beg your pardon!” cried Alice hastily, afraid that [s] had hurt the poor animal’s feelings. “I quite forgot you didn’t like cats.”

“Not like cats!” cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate voice. “Would you like cats if you were me?”

“Well, perhaps not,” said Alice in a soothing tone: “don’t be angry about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah: I think you’d take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear quiet thing,” Alice went on, half to [r], as [s] swam lazily about in the pool, “and she sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her paws and washing her face—and she is such a nice soft thing to nurse—and she’s such a capital one for catching mice—oh, I beg your pardon!” cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was bristling all over, and [s] felt certain it must be really offended. “We won’t talk about her any more if you’d rather not.”

“I won’t indeed!” said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of conversation. “Are you—are you fond—of—of dogs?” The Mouse did not answer, so Alice went on eagerly: “There is such a nice little dog near our house I should like to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh, such long curly brown hair! And it’ll fetch things when you throw them, and it’ll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all sorts of things—I can’t remember half of them—and it belongs to a farmer, you know, and he says it’s so useful, it’s worth a hundred pounds! He says it kills all the rats and—oh dear!” cried Alice in a sorrowful tone, “I’m afraid I’ve offended it again!” For the Mouse was swimming away from [o] as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the pool as it went.

So [s] called softly after it, “Mouse dear! Do come back again, and we won’t talk about cats or dogs either, if you don’t like them!” When the Mouse heard this, it turned round and swam slowly back to [o]: its face was quite pale (with passion, Alice thought), and it said in a low trembling voice, “Let us get to the shore, and then I’ll tell you my history, and you’ll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs.”

****girl

———————————————————-

Alice in Wonderland available via Project Gutenberg.

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#aiw #scaffold

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